The end of something usually means you have to clean up the mess and start over, but hey, at least it's a new mess.
A Memory of Death
The room was eerily silent after the broadcast ended, tension still lingering in the air. With a wave of my hand, my mask faded into nothingness.
Olie and Edie came up to me, their faces a mix of curiosity and something close to reluctant admiration.
Olie crossed his arms, his expression caught between skepticism and surprise. "You know, Shay, I never thought you'd actually go through with it. Trying to change the entire mage community? That's ambitious, even for someone like you."
I tilted my head, my smirk teasing. "Glad to see you're finally catching up, Olie."
Violan appeared from seemingly nowhere, his usual dramatic flair intact. He stepped closer, his golden eyes gleaming with a mix of mischief and sincerity.
"You kept your promise," Violan said, his voice softer than usual but no less captivating. "I'll admit, Shay, I doubted you for a moment. But today? You've proven yourself worthy of this Pretty Master's trust."
I rolled my eyes, though my lips twitched into a faint smile. "You're welcome, Vio. Always a pleasure to live up to your impeccable standards."
Violan's smile widened, dazzling as ever. "Oh, Shay, you flatter me. But let's not pretend this isn't about you basking in my approval."
Olie groaned, rubbing his temples. "By all the planes of magic, this is unbearable. Can you two not turn every conversation into whatever this is?"
Violan's laugh was like a silken dagger, sharp and smooth. "Oh, Olie, don't be jealous. There's enough of Shay's brilliance to go around... just not for everyone."
Edie sighed, muttering something about egos and dramatics as I suppressed a chuckle. Violan's theatrics were over the top, but even if in his own strange way, he helped me out with Valerus.
For a moment, even Violan looked serious as he eyed me, a fleeting glimpse of the weight we all carried before he brushed it aside with a wink. "Lead on, Hueless King. We're watching."
"Hueless King," I heard.
Livius didn't waste a moment before gesturing for me to follow him, his expression strained but composed. Without a word, we made our way to the observatory, the soft hum of magic amplifying the stillness between us.
Livius finally broke the silence with a heavy sigh, gazing at the sprawling cityscape below. "Shay, if you weren't my junior, I swear I would've strangled you on the spot."
I leaned casually against the wall, crossing my arms, a smirk tugging at my lips. "You can always try, Livius. It might be the most excitement you've had in centuries."
He turned his head to give me a look—equal parts exasperation and amusement—before releasing another sigh, deeper this time.
I stepped forward and dropped onto the bench near him, my posture relaxed despite the weight of our earlier confrontation. Livius glanced at me, then sank into the seat himself, his shoulders slumping slightly, the tension bleeding away.
"You couldn't resist, could you?" he asked, his tone more resigned than accusatory.
I tilted my head, letting the silence speak for me for a moment. Then, with a wry smile, I said, "Would you have?"
Livius's lips twitched upward briefly before falling again. "You really are a headache, Shay."
"Good thing you've had centuries of practice dealing with headaches," I replied smoothly, though my gaze softened slightly as I studied his profile. The weight he carried wasn't just from today; it was the culmination of years of leadership and sacrifice.
For a moment, we both sat there in silence, the observatory's vast windows framing the world beyond it. It was rare, moments like these—where the weight of our roles could momentarily fall away, leaving only the two of us.
Livius leaned back on the bench, his gaze fixed on the rays of sunlight glittering through the observatory's vast windows. After a long pause, he spoke, his voice quieter now, as though admitting something he had kept buried.
"I've felt for a long time that the mage community needed change," he said, his tone carrying a rare vulnerability. "But it's hard to kill old traditions and beliefs, Shay. They run so deep that sometimes it feels like they're stitched into the very fabric of our magic."
I glanced at him, noting the weariness in his features that he rarely allowed to show.
"Hard, yes," I agreed, "but not impossible. You've seen it yourself today—traditions crumble when people are given a reason to question them."
He huffed out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "Leave it to you to tear down centuries-old structures in the middle of a live broadcast."
I smirked, leaning back with him. "Someone had to. You've been sitting on this for decades, waiting for the right moment. I just gave you the push."
Livius gave me a sidelong glance, his lips twitching upward despite himself. "A push? More like a full-blown assault."
"You'll thank me later," I replied, my tone light but my words carried weight. "Change is painful, but stagnation is worse. You know that as well as I do."
He sighed again, but this time, it felt less burdened. "Maybe you're right," he admitted, his voice soft. "But it doesn't mean I have to like how you go about it."
"Wouldn't expect you to," I said with a shrug, a faint smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. "But you'll see—it'll be worth it."
Livius tilted his head slightly, his gaze turning sharp. "You're awfully sure of yourself, aren't you?"
I leaned forward, fixing him with a look. "I have good reason to be. I've seen what happens when things don't change."
His brow furrowed, confusion clouding his face. "What are you talking about?"
I didn't blink, my voice dropping low. "If things stay as they are, you're dead in five years."
Livius stiffened, his composure faltering for the first time in our conversation. "What sort of nonsense is that?"
"It's not nonsense," I said, my voice cold and deliberate. "I have memories, Livius. Memories from the lives I've lived before the Time Mage turned back time. In almost all of those lives, you kept your head buried in the sand, clinging to those outdated traditions. And you paid for it."
He stared at me, his lips parting slightly as though to refute my claim, but no words came out.
"Let me show you," I said, standing and extending a hand toward him. "You deserve to see what your choices led to."
His gaze flicked from my hand to my face, wary but curious. Finally, with a hesitant nod, he reached out. Our fingers brushed, and I let the memory flood into him.
The scene shifted into view, the warm glow of the observatory fading into a bleak, stormy ruin. My older self stood in a desolate courtyard, the remnants of a brutal battle scattered around me—shattered walls, scorched earth, and bodies strewn like broken puppets.
In the center of it all lay Livius's corpse. His once-bright robes were tattered, stained with blood, and his lifeless eyes stared up at the sky, wide with disbelief. My older self knelt beside him, his face carved with a sorrow too deep for words.
"Mazen," he rasped, his voice hoarse. "Was it you?"
Mazen shook his head. "No, it wasn't me." His voice was steady, but there was a flicker of anger in his eyes. "But it was one of us."
The memory lingered on my older self's grief, his hand closing Livius's eyes with a sense of finality. "You were a fool," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "But you didn't deserve this."
The memory faded, leaving us back in the present. Livius ripped his hand away from mine, almost falling from the bench as if the memory had physically struck him. His face was pale, his breathing uneven.
"That... That can't be real," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I don't—"
"It is real," I interrupted, my tone cutting through his denial. "You think your ideals are noble, that your favoritism for white mages keeps order. But all it does is breed resentment, Livius. Resentment that festers and explodes."
He shook his head, his expression torn between disbelief and the dawning realization of truth. "And you... You knew this?"
"Yep," I said simply.
He was silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the ground. Then, he looked up at me, his expression unreadable.
I raised a brow, my voice turning dry. "I saved you. You could at least thank me."
Livius's lips parted, but no words came out. His gaze darted to the floor, then to me, then back to the floor, as though searching for solid footing in a crumbling world.
"I don't know if I believe everything you've shown me," he said, his voice full of disbelief. "You're telling me that you've lived—what, multiple lives? That you remember them? And in those lives, I... I die."
I leaned forward slightly, my tone calm but unyielding. "Yes. That's exactly what I'm telling you."
He let out a shaky laugh, his hand running through his hair in a gesture that betrayed his usual composure. "Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds? How am I supposed to believe this? How can you possibly—" He stopped mid-sentence, his expression shifting as if the memory I'd shared replayed itself in his mind.
"You saw it," I said quietly, cutting through his spiraling doubts. "That wasn't just a trick, Livius. That was your death."
He flinched, his hand dropping to his side as though it had been burned. I sighed, my patience thinning. Without waiting for his consent, I reached out and grabbed his hand again. His eyes widened in protest, but before he could pull away, the memories surged forward, pulling him into the past that happened but not.
The first memory hit like a cold wind slicing through the room. Livius stood on a bustling street, the air filled with the hum of voices, the cobblestones slick with rain. People were passing by, children darted between stalls, and the scent of baked bread mingled with the sharp tang of smoke from the chimnies.
A young boy walked past him, no more than thirteen, yet his presence froze the air. His hair was dark, his frame slight, but his eyes—eyes so cold they could freeze your soul—locked onto Livius. The boy didn't speak, didn't stop, but the weight of his gaze forced Livius to turn and look back.
The crowd surged around him, but the boy stood still, his head tilted slightly as if he had felt Livius's gaze. The boy glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. Those cold eyes held Livius's for a moment longer, and then the boy moved on, swallowed by the sea of people.
The next memory burst into focus like a storm. Livius was standing in the ruins of a battlefield. Bodies of dark mages lay strewn across the blood-soaked earth, their faces frozen in terror. At the center of the carnage stood a man with silver hair, his dagger dripping crimson.
The Ashen King.
Livius approached cautiously. The man turned to face him, his eyes glowing faintly with a dangerous light. His voice was low, steady. "I've spared you the work, Sorcerer Lord."
Livius looked around, his features hardening at the sight of the bodies. "You... killed them all?"
The weight of the memory pressed down on Livius as it dissolved into smoke.
The next memory shimmered into focus, more vivid and immediate than the last. This time, Livius stood amidst the grandeur of a formal meeting—a vast hall carved from black stone. Monsters filled the hall, an array of creatures so varied, it clearly left Livius momentarily breathless. Every creature stood with solemn dignity, their attention focused entirely on one figure seated at the head of the room.
The Silver King. His silver hair gleamed like moonlight, his eyes a striking blue that seemed to cut through the very air. He sat with effortless authority, his posture relaxed yet commanding, as though the weight of his crown was but a feather. Behind him stood no human guards, but towering wolves, their presence both fearsome and loyal.
"You're the Sorcerer Lord?"
"I am," Livius responded. He couldn't tear his gaze away from the king.
The Silver King's lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile—not kind, but not cruel, either. "You are a bit shorter than I expected."
The memory shifted, and the scene settled into place. Livius stood in a throne room. The man before him lifted his gaze, his expression unreadable. "You've always been good with words, Livius," he said, his voice a low, steady rumble. "But not so good at seeing beyond them."
Livius stiffened, taken aback by the exhaustion in the man's tone.
"You think your stubbornness is strength," he continued, his blue eyes locking onto Livius with an intensity that could consume everything if let loose. "But it's a blade without a hilt. Keep wielding it like this, and it'll kill you."
Livius opened his mouth to retort, but the man continued. "Keep your stubbornness, and you'll see for yourself."
The memories faded, and we were back in the observatory. The air between us felt charged, heavy with the weight of what I'd just revealed. Livius was gasping for breath as if he were drowning, his hand trembling in mine. His face was pale, his breath shallow as he struggled to find words.
"You—each of them—it was all you," he whispered, his voice barely audible.
"Yes," I said firmly, letting go of his hand. "I've met you in every life, Livius. But you only lived in one."
Livius stared at me, his eyes wide and uncertain. For the first time, I saw doubt crack through his unshakable confidence. "Why show me this? Why now?"
"Because I need you to understand," I said, my voice steady but heavy with meaning. I folded my arms, holding his gaze.
He clenched his fists, his usual confidence cracking under the pressure. For a moment, I thought he might lash out, but instead, he just looked at me, searching for... something. Doubt? Uncertainty? He wouldn't find it.
"What do you want from me?" he finally asked, his voice quieter, the faintest tremor betraying his uncertainty.
I held his gaze, my own voice softening but losing none of its intensity. "I want you to live," I said.