The Nature of Breaking Points
The moon rises over what remains of the realm of Heaven, stained red by the smoke and blood of the battlefield. The scarlet portent informs something deep in Sovereign’s bones - against all wishful thinking, this battle will be the last. Just hours earlier, Vallis came to him, in the midst of a violent engagement, and made an appeal Sovereign could not ignore. Aurora is missing, Sovereign remembers Vallis explaining, followed quickly by the question, will you search for him?
It reminded him of Amara, the elderly Lifebringer who begged the warriors for weeks on end to search for his missing lover. Sovereign, on the insistence of his own master, Drusus, denied the request. This time, Drusus gets no say in the discussion. Sovereign told Vallis, I will find Aurora. I will bring him back to you. Promise. He was tired of leaving comrades to their uncertain fates, tired of assuming the worst, just to avoid doing the hard work of trying to prove otherwise.
Now, Sovereign drags his exhausted body across a desolate waste, moving towards a grove of dead and dying trees. In his youth, this stand of trees was small but very much alive. Today, the branches are barren from poison or blackened by fire. Smoke roils through the trunks, and enshrouds his body in their acrid grey cover, but something draws him in, deeper, perhaps a sense to find that which he seeks.
The smoke and shadows split, curling away and revealing a familiar form. Sovereign’s heart skips a beat. He recognizes those tall, flared ears, the six spines arrayed across one shoulder, the slender folds of those alien but beautiful wings. This is not Aurora, and yet...
“Ira!” Sovereign cries, relief washing over him, temporarily erasing the pain and tiredness. He takes two steps forward before stopping dead, alarm rushing in to replace the relief in a second. “...Ira?”
The light of the moon picks out Ira’s ruined face in scarlet detail. Two bloody hands hold tightly to xyr face, claws scraping against exposed bone in random jerking motions. The closer Sovereign looks, the more he realizes just how much of Ira’s skin and flesh are missing, and what remains hangs in strips, still dripping red.
Ira’s stumbling gait pauses, and xe turns subtly to xyr left, exposing xyr scarred right arm and missing wing - all that remains is an ugly stump, still raw and fresh from severance. Sovereign’s chest tightens. He opens his mouth to speak. All at once, eyes erupt across Ira’s arm, fixing him with a look of such pure malice, Sovereign nearly stumbles from the force of it. Ira releases xyr face, throws xyr head back, and shrieks as a wild thing, battling on death’s doorstep in the snare of a hunter’s trap, and a moment later, xe lunges for Sovereign.
“So, you both want to become warriors, then?” Early spring signals a good time for young daitens to think about their lives, and decide what changes they might want to make, and what paths to forge for themselves. Today, Freya inducts two young ones into the ranks of Heaven’s holy warriors, daitens pledged to the protection of the weak, loyal to Lord Qi and each other. Sovereign always knew he wanted to be a warrior, and always assumed he had few other options besides at his great size. Standing nearly twenty feet tall, and built like a tank, he could never see himself overseeing a kitchen as a chef, or attending to a garden as a greenthumb, or leading other daitens through ceremonies, when he can barely stand comfortably in most of the shrines and temples. His incredible strength could only be channeled by a warrior, he concluded, and today at last he aims to see that destiny through. His companion, Ira, stands tall compared with other peers, but is no giant like Sovereign. Still, at just under fifteen feet, xe also felt there was a place for xem as a warrior. Xe just has one small problem to overcome: xe hates violence. For as long as Sovereign has known Ira - nearly their entire lives - Ira avoided using force for anything more than opening a jar lid. Ira preferred to use xyr words to resolve conflicts, and to xyr credit, xe is an exceptional mediator, but they did not come here today to sharpen their arguments. Standing apart from Freya, but watching carefully, Drusus is the most senior warrior between them, but today he chooses to observe for the time being. Freya brings the attention of the two hopefuls to an array of tables and display stands, each holding wooden replicas of dozens, maybe even a hundred or more various weapons and tools, enough to make Sovereign’s head spin. “Everyone has their own style. Today, we aim to find what your personal affinity shall be. I want you both to familiarize yourself with as many of the assets as you can,” she pauses, selecting a hook from one of the tables, and lifting it to her scrutinizing eye. “Of course, if you find yourself coming back to the same thing, over and over, don’t fight it. Our tools of the trade have ways of talking to us, almost like they’re impatient to be in our hands.” Smiling, she sets the tool back down, then gestures expansively to the rest. Taking the cue eagerly, Sovereign dives straight in, picking up various weapons and testing them out on the dummies left around for them to use. He starts with a sword, which cracks immediately in his hand. Frowning, he tries a flail next, but the links snap after just two swings. At the same time, Ira appears to approach the inspection as a windoshopper, periodically touching a weapon, but never picking one up. Xyr anxious expression tells Sovereign everything he needs to know about his friend’s fear. Aggravated, Sovereign puts his reluctant friend out of mind, and selects a staff. Though promising at first, he manages to snap it in half after the first experimental bends grant him a false sense of security. His patience wears thin. Finally, Sovereign snatches an axe from a table next to another dummy, and with his best impersonation of a battle cry, he swings for the head. The first blow takes the head off the dummy, and the second takes the blade from the axe. The third reduces what remains to large splinters. Ira appears at his side, taking his arm so gently Sovereign could almost mistake the touch for a stiff breeze. “I do not know if this was such a good idea,” xe murmurs, xyr expression regretful and even ashamed. “I just can not see myself using any of these implements on another being. It just seems so... painful.” Xe glances at the wooden remains of the axe and dummy at Sovereign’s feet, and grimaces. “There is another way forward, young one.” Freya approaches them, followed silently by Drusus. “My technique may be just what you’re looking for. Come, let me show you.” She leads Ira away, leaving Drusus and Sovereign together. The older master looks up at Sovereign, regarding him carefully, before glancing back down at the remains of simulated weapon and enemy at their feet. “You require discipline.” He declares at last, plucking a wooden shard from the heap and placing it in Sovereign’s hand. “I can teach you.”
Discipline fails to stop Ira’s first blow from connecting with Sovereign’s head; xyr claws impact so hard they send cracks running up the length of one curved horn, sending a handful of splinters flying away. Reeling from shock both physical and mental, Sovereign makes a clumsy recovery, barely fending off the second attack with his bare hands, but his delayed response leaves him vulnerable. His lagging comprehension of the situation becomes an opportunity for Ira to follow up with a third strike, one even more vicious than the first; both sets of claws catch Sovereign by the horns and pull his large head down, cracking against Ira’s knee, and finally the warning bells ring with the sound of shattering bone. Sovereign bucks his head, forcing Ira to release and scramble away so as not to be thrown into the air. Tasting blood in his mouth, Sovereign focuses on the bitter iron sensation to ground himself, before attempting to speak. “Ira, please calm down!” Ira scurries around him, hissing and groaning, at times clasping at xyr head as though suffering some ungodly headache. “I can see they have harmed you, hurt you badly.” His gaze falls on the torn wing, and the angry wounds across xyr head which may never heal. “Hhhhurtsss…” The voice rushes from Ira’s throat, hoarse and tight from pain. Ira faces the ground when xe speaks, but the eyes arrayed across xyr arm stare at Sovereign, or glance around in quick movements at their surroundings. “I know, old friend.” Sovereign’s heart yearns again, his desperation to see Ira safe and sound outweighing any sense of danger. “Come on, let us return to the others.” He makes the mistake of coming closer. The advance triggers another flurry of attacks. Ira, despite xyr smaller size, moves with incredible, almost unstoppable speed, and xyr claws and teeth are sharp as steel. It is all Sovereign can do to remain standing, but every second he loses ground. Blood flows from hundreds of cuts and gouges across his face, rendering him blind and almost helpless. Howling, Sovereign finally throws himself forward, catching Ira in both arms and throwing xem over his shoulder.
Ira lands from Freya’s toss into a perfect three-point pose, already preparing a counterattack against xyr mentor. In the shadow of the coliseum walls, Sovereign watches, painfully aware of the pile of broken wood at his feet. For the past two weeks, Ira and Freya have sparred with real steel weapons - dulled, certainly, but still dangerous. “Focus, Sovereign. That is not your battle.” Drusus uses the point of his saber to move Sovereign’s chin back in his mentor’s direction. “I am your enemy today. Never take your eyes off a foe until it is defeated.” Sovereign scowls, all too familiar with these lessons by now. “Maybe if I had an iron weapon, I would be fighting other enemies by now,” he spits, too agitated to remember to watch his mouth. When Drusus lifts a dubious brow, Sovereign hastily adds, “It is these pathetic play weapons you give me! I cannot fight with something that just breaks.” Drusus’ expression remains stony for a moment before he replies. “Is that what you believe the problem is? You blame the weapon for your failure?” The mention of “failure” makes Sovereign cringe inwardly, and shame floods his face. “Even you must know iron is stronger than wood,” he mutters, but the retort lacks any conviction this time. “What else am I to do?” “Keep training.” Drusus shakes his head, apparently disappointed in his pupil. “You may wield a real weapon only when you master the delicate touch of your hand. There is no victory in pure brute force.” Aftwards, when Ira joins Sovereign for a warm soak in the hot springs, he finally appeals to his friend for help. “I need advice,” he mumbles, almost too embarrassed to admit it, but it seems Ira has anticipated the question coming for some time. “Master Drusus is a bit stingy with the weapons, hm?” Xe says, teasing Sovereign lightly. “Freya told me he takes things too slowly, too cautiously, sometimes. I am sorry he is putting you through it right now.” “Stingy? Oh, on the contrary! You’d think he grows whole groves of trees just for me.” The joke is one he has heard around before, when other daitens think he can not hear them. “How do you do it? I think I must be, in some cruel twist of irony, broken somehow, that I cannot so much as hold a stick without breaking it.” He sinks into the steaming water, narrowing his eyes against the heat. For a few moments, Ira remains quiet, and Sovereign begins to worry his friend has no words of guidance for him. The water beside him breaks apart as Ira scrambles out, sending a spray of hot mist and droplets cascading over him. “Hey, what was that- Ira, where are you going?” Sovereign rushes to follow his mysteriously silent friend, shaking away water and trotting to keep pace. “I hope you are not just fleeing my complaints, that would be just cruel, you know.” Ira looks back up at him, and smiles, all at once gentle and knowing. “I need to show you something.” Xe takes Ira into a small stand of trees, here and there pointing to small animals in the branches above or the leaf litter underfoot, asking Sovereign to carefully look for them, too. Finally, xe stops below a larger fir tree, and gestures to a branch nearly at xyr friend’s head height. “A bird nest?” Sovereign asks, noticing three blue eggs nestled inside the woven bowl of twigs, grasses, and feathers. “Ira, I am not certain I know what we are doing…” “If you held an egg like that,” Ira posits, sitting on a fallen log and looking up at xyr friend, “would you break it?” Sovereign’s eyes widen, and he glances between the nest and Ira several times before sputtering, “No! Of course not! I-I could never harm such a small fragile creature.” He takes a few worried steps away from the tree regardless, trying to put images of shattered shells out of mind. Suddenly, Ira moves like the strike of a cobra, laying Sovereign flat on his back in a heartbeat. Xe perches on Sovereign’s chest, peering down into his wild eyes with a calm, thoughtful expression, as though the action took no effort on his part at all. “You would never hurt me, either, right?” Gasping, Sovereign relaxes. He finally thinks he knows where Ira wants to take him… maybe. “Never. That is just completely unthinkable.” He lifts a hand to Ira’s face, but hesitates to touch it until Ira takes the hand and presses xyr face into his palm. “Ira…” “Just imagine, then, that the weapon is a bird’s egg, and your enemies are only friends in disguise.” Xe squeezes Sovereign’s hand, humming with contentment. “Do that, and I promise you will never break another sword again.” That night, as darkness fell, Sovereign went back into the woods, and plucked an egg from the nest. He sat on the log, cradling the blue shell with both hands, and stared hard while imagining he held a sword hilt instead. All night he sat there, holding the egg just tightly enough so as not to drop it, but gently enough not to crack the thin shell. When morning came, and the sunlight struck his outstretched hand, he returned the egg to the nest, whispered an apology and offered thanks. Sovereign never broke another weapon again.
Wiping blood from his brow and desperately clearing his sight, Sovereign conjures the memory to mind again, only, there is no need to pretend that Ira is a foe in disguise; Ira is his foe, and it is no costume xe wears. All this time, Sovereign’s greataxe remained firmly clasped in its holster; he can not even imagine drawing it on his brother, not even now. “Ira, please… I am begging you to stop.” Sovereign’s burning eyes blur as mercury tears mix with blood and wash down his ruined face. “Please, do not make me stop pretending…” For the first time, Ira’s movements freeze, even the eyes focusing their combined gazes on him. Xyr breathing continues to come out in ragged gasps and wheezes, but xe seems to be paying attention, finally. “Hhhhurtsss!” Xe cries, holding xyr face and swaying. Again, Sovereign wishes to go to xem immediately, to hold xem and tell xem he can make it better, that he will not abandon xem again. The way Ira looks at him with such yearning, it is all Sovereign can do not to rush to xyr side, but this time he knows to be cautious. “Ira-” When Ira lunges for him, Sovereign’s hand goes for the weapon without hesitation. Steel sings, and Sovereign’s roar accompanies it like a duet partner. The image of that blue egg shatters. Sovereign swings the blade with more force than he has ever allowed himself to use before, completely unrestrained, felling trees as easy as a scythe through wheat. He sees nothing through blood and tears, acts and moves only on the sounds of motion around him, until the woods are silent again, and he stops at last. Sovereign swipes the fluids from his eyes, blinking until his sight returns. An ancient fir tree, so massive the fires could hardly touch it, rears above him. Ira is nowhere to be seen, living or dead - vanished like the smoke that lingers overhead. The ground underfoot trembles. The heart inside his chest shears in two. When Heaven shatters, Sovereign does not know what broke first: his spirit, or the ground beneath him. His next cognizant thoughts come many hours later.
“So, you both want to become warriors, then?” Early spring signals a good time for young daitens to think about their lives, and decide what changes they might want to make, and what paths to forge for themselves. Today, Freya inducts two young ones into the ranks of Heaven’s holy warriors, daitens pledged to the protection of the weak, loyal to Lord Qi and each other. Sovereign always knew he wanted to be a warrior, and always assumed he had few other options besides at his great size. Standing nearly twenty feet tall, and built like a tank, he could never see himself overseeing a kitchen as a chef, or attending to a garden as a greenthumb, or leading other daitens through ceremonies, when he can barely stand comfortably in most of the shrines and temples. His incredible strength could only be channeled by a warrior, he concluded, and today at last he aims to see that destiny through. His companion, Ira, stands tall compared with other peers, but is no giant like Sovereign. Still, at just under fifteen feet, xe also felt there was a place for xem as a warrior. Xe just has one small problem to overcome: xe hates violence. For as long as Sovereign has known Ira - nearly their entire lives - Ira avoided using force for anything more than opening a jar lid. Ira preferred to use xyr words to resolve conflicts, and to xyr credit, xe is an exceptional mediator, but they did not come here today to sharpen their arguments. Standing apart from Freya, but watching carefully, Drusus is the most senior warrior between them, but today he chooses to observe for the time being. Freya brings the attention of the two hopefuls to an array of tables and display stands, each holding wooden replicas of dozens, maybe even a hundred or more various weapons and tools, enough to make Sovereign’s head spin. “Everyone has their own style. Today, we aim to find what your personal affinity shall be. I want you both to familiarize yourself with as many of the assets as you can,” she pauses, selecting a hook from one of the tables, and lifting it to her scrutinizing eye. “Of course, if you find yourself coming back to the same thing, over and over, don’t fight it. Our tools of the trade have ways of talking to us, almost like they’re impatient to be in our hands.” Smiling, she sets the tool back down, then gestures expansively to the rest. Taking the cue eagerly, Sovereign dives straight in, picking up various weapons and testing them out on the dummies left around for them to use. He starts with a sword, which cracks immediately in his hand. Frowning, he tries a flail next, but the links snap after just two swings. At the same time, Ira appears to approach the inspection as a windoshopper, periodically touching a weapon, but never picking one up. Xyr anxious expression tells Sovereign everything he needs to know about his friend’s fear. Aggravated, Sovereign puts his reluctant friend out of mind, and selects a staff. Though promising at first, he manages to snap it in half after the first experimental bends grant him a false sense of security. His patience wears thin. Finally, Sovereign snatches an axe from a table next to another dummy, and with his best impersonation of a battle cry, he swings for the head. The first blow takes the head off the dummy, and the second takes the blade from the axe. The third reduces what remains to large splinters. Ira appears at his side, taking his arm so gently Sovereign could almost mistake the touch for a stiff breeze. “I do not know if this was such a good idea,” xe murmurs, xyr expression regretful and even ashamed. “I just can not see myself using any of these implements on another being. It just seems so... painful.” Xe glances at the wooden remains of the axe and dummy at Sovereign’s feet, and grimaces. “There is another way forward, young one.” Freya approaches them, followed silently by Drusus. “My technique may be just what you’re looking for. Come, let me show you.” She leads Ira away, leaving Drusus and Sovereign together. The older master looks up at Sovereign, regarding him carefully, before glancing back down at the remains of simulated weapon and enemy at their feet. “You require discipline.” He declares at last, plucking a wooden shard from the heap and placing it in Sovereign’s hand. “I can teach you.”
Discipline fails to stop Ira’s first blow from connecting with Sovereign’s head; xyr claws impact so hard they send cracks running up the length of one curved horn, sending a handful of splinters flying away. Reeling from shock both physical and mental, Sovereign makes a clumsy recovery, barely fending off the second attack with his bare hands, but his delayed response leaves him vulnerable. His lagging comprehension of the situation becomes an opportunity for Ira to follow up with a third strike, one even more vicious than the first; both sets of claws catch Sovereign by the horns and pull his large head down, cracking against Ira’s knee, and finally the warning bells ring with the sound of shattering bone. Sovereign bucks his head, forcing Ira to release and scramble away so as not to be thrown into the air. Tasting blood in his mouth, Sovereign focuses on the bitter iron sensation to ground himself, before attempting to speak. “Ira, please calm down!” Ira scurries around him, hissing and groaning, at times clasping at xyr head as though suffering some ungodly headache. “I can see they have harmed you, hurt you badly.” His gaze falls on the torn wing, and the angry wounds across xyr head which may never heal. “Hhhhurtsss…” The voice rushes from Ira’s throat, hoarse and tight from pain. Ira faces the ground when xe speaks, but the eyes arrayed across xyr arm stare at Sovereign, or glance around in quick movements at their surroundings. “I know, old friend.” Sovereign’s heart yearns again, his desperation to see Ira safe and sound outweighing any sense of danger. “Come on, let us return to the others.” He makes the mistake of coming closer. The advance triggers another flurry of attacks. Ira, despite xyr smaller size, moves with incredible, almost unstoppable speed, and xyr claws and teeth are sharp as steel. It is all Sovereign can do to remain standing, but every second he loses ground. Blood flows from hundreds of cuts and gouges across his face, rendering him blind and almost helpless. Howling, Sovereign finally throws himself forward, catching Ira in both arms and throwing xem over his shoulder.
Ira lands from Freya’s toss into a perfect three-point pose, already preparing a counterattack against xyr mentor. In the shadow of the coliseum walls, Sovereign watches, painfully aware of the pile of broken wood at his feet. For the past two weeks, Ira and Freya have sparred with real steel weapons - dulled, certainly, but still dangerous. “Focus, Sovereign. That is not your battle.” Drusus uses the point of his saber to move Sovereign’s chin back in his mentor’s direction. “I am your enemy today. Never take your eyes off a foe until it is defeated.” Sovereign scowls, all too familiar with these lessons by now. “Maybe if I had an iron weapon, I would be fighting other enemies by now,” he spits, too agitated to remember to watch his mouth. When Drusus lifts a dubious brow, Sovereign hastily adds, “It is these pathetic play weapons you give me! I cannot fight with something that just breaks.” Drusus’ expression remains stony for a moment before he replies. “Is that what you believe the problem is? You blame the weapon for your failure?” The mention of “failure” makes Sovereign cringe inwardly, and shame floods his face. “Even you must know iron is stronger than wood,” he mutters, but the retort lacks any conviction this time. “What else am I to do?” “Keep training.” Drusus shakes his head, apparently disappointed in his pupil. “You may wield a real weapon only when you master the delicate touch of your hand. There is no victory in pure brute force.” Aftwards, when Ira joins Sovereign for a warm soak in the hot springs, he finally appeals to his friend for help. “I need advice,” he mumbles, almost too embarrassed to admit it, but it seems Ira has anticipated the question coming for some time. “Master Drusus is a bit stingy with the weapons, hm?” Xe says, teasing Sovereign lightly. “Freya told me he takes things too slowly, too cautiously, sometimes. I am sorry he is putting you through it right now.” “Stingy? Oh, on the contrary! You’d think he grows whole groves of trees just for me.” The joke is one he has heard around before, when other daitens think he can not hear them. “How do you do it? I think I must be, in some cruel twist of irony, broken somehow, that I cannot so much as hold a stick without breaking it.” He sinks into the steaming water, narrowing his eyes against the heat. For a few moments, Ira remains quiet, and Sovereign begins to worry his friend has no words of guidance for him. The water beside him breaks apart as Ira scrambles out, sending a spray of hot mist and droplets cascading over him. “Hey, what was that- Ira, where are you going?” Sovereign rushes to follow his mysteriously silent friend, shaking away water and trotting to keep pace. “I hope you are not just fleeing my complaints, that would be just cruel, you know.” Ira looks back up at him, and smiles, all at once gentle and knowing. “I need to show you something.” Xe takes Ira into a small stand of trees, here and there pointing to small animals in the branches above or the leaf litter underfoot, asking Sovereign to carefully look for them, too. Finally, xe stops below a larger fir tree, and gestures to a branch nearly at xyr friend’s head height. “A bird nest?” Sovereign asks, noticing three blue eggs nestled inside the woven bowl of twigs, grasses, and feathers. “Ira, I am not certain I know what we are doing…” “If you held an egg like that,” Ira posits, sitting on a fallen log and looking up at xyr friend, “would you break it?” Sovereign’s eyes widen, and he glances between the nest and Ira several times before sputtering, “No! Of course not! I-I could never harm such a small fragile creature.” He takes a few worried steps away from the tree regardless, trying to put images of shattered shells out of mind. Suddenly, Ira moves like the strike of a cobra, laying Sovereign flat on his back in a heartbeat. Xe perches on Sovereign’s chest, peering down into his wild eyes with a calm, thoughtful expression, as though the action took no effort on his part at all. “You would never hurt me, either, right?” Gasping, Sovereign relaxes. He finally thinks he knows where Ira wants to take him… maybe. “Never. That is just completely unthinkable.” He lifts a hand to Ira’s face, but hesitates to touch it until Ira takes the hand and presses xyr face into his palm. “Ira…” “Just imagine, then, that the weapon is a bird’s egg, and your enemies are only friends in disguise.” Xe squeezes Sovereign’s hand, humming with contentment. “Do that, and I promise you will never break another sword again.” That night, as darkness fell, Sovereign went back into the woods, and plucked an egg from the nest. He sat on the log, cradling the blue shell with both hands, and stared hard while imagining he held a sword hilt instead. All night he sat there, holding the egg just tightly enough so as not to drop it, but gently enough not to crack the thin shell. When morning came, and the sunlight struck his outstretched hand, he returned the egg to the nest, whispered an apology and offered thanks. Sovereign never broke another weapon again.
Wiping blood from his brow and desperately clearing his sight, Sovereign conjures the memory to mind again, only, there is no need to pretend that Ira is a foe in disguise; Ira is his foe, and it is no costume xe wears. All this time, Sovereign’s greataxe remained firmly clasped in its holster; he can not even imagine drawing it on his brother, not even now. “Ira, please… I am begging you to stop.” Sovereign’s burning eyes blur as mercury tears mix with blood and wash down his ruined face. “Please, do not make me stop pretending…” For the first time, Ira’s movements freeze, even the eyes focusing their combined gazes on him. Xyr breathing continues to come out in ragged gasps and wheezes, but xe seems to be paying attention, finally. “Hhhhurtsss!” Xe cries, holding xyr face and swaying. Again, Sovereign wishes to go to xem immediately, to hold xem and tell xem he can make it better, that he will not abandon xem again. The way Ira looks at him with such yearning, it is all Sovereign can do not to rush to xyr side, but this time he knows to be cautious. “Ira-” When Ira lunges for him, Sovereign’s hand goes for the weapon without hesitation. Steel sings, and Sovereign’s roar accompanies it like a duet partner. The image of that blue egg shatters. Sovereign swings the blade with more force than he has ever allowed himself to use before, completely unrestrained, felling trees as easy as a scythe through wheat. He sees nothing through blood and tears, acts and moves only on the sounds of motion around him, until the woods are silent again, and he stops at last. Sovereign swipes the fluids from his eyes, blinking until his sight returns. An ancient fir tree, so massive the fires could hardly touch it, rears above him. Ira is nowhere to be seen, living or dead - vanished like the smoke that lingers overhead. The ground underfoot trembles. The heart inside his chest shears in two. When Heaven shatters, Sovereign does not know what broke first: his spirit, or the ground beneath him. His next cognizant thoughts come many hours later.
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