A white lie today can be the thread that holds tomorrow's fabric together.
King of Lies
For a moment, we sat in silence, the quiet hum of the observatory a soothing contrast to the memories we've seen. Livius looked at me again then he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The faint cold in his gaze shifted, replaced by something quieter, more personal. He glanced away, his gaze catching on the ornate patterns of the observatory's floor, as though searching for answers in the stone.
His lips parted, but the words seemed to falter, unspoken.
"You said I survived once," he murmured, barely audible. "What was different then?"
I let out a quiet breath, my tone softening. "You stopped trying to make the world fit into a mold it had outgrown."
His head tilted slightly, a bitter edge creeping into his voice. "And yet, here I am again. Stubborn. What does that say about me?"
"It says you're human," I replied, the hint of a smile touching my lips despite the heaviness of the moment.
For a moment, neither of us moved. The weight of the conversation pressed down like a storm cloud, but there was a flicker of something—understanding, maybe—in the way he held my gaze.
"Livius, this is your chance. So you need to make a declaration—a new declaration, one that sets a new course for the mage community."
His eyes searched mine, seeking clarity.
"Expand the council." The weight of my words settled on the room like a storm cloud. Livius's eyes widened as the idea sank in.
"You're saying—"
"—to make room for two more mages," I interrupted, my tone resolute. "Violan, a neutral mage for one. And Mose," I said, my voice firm, "is a Mystbane. If I hadn't welcomed him into my court, according to the traditions he would have been classified as a dark mage. Without a doubt."
Livius's eyes narrowed as he considered my words, his brows furrowing in thought.
"I'm glad you didn't suggest Mazen or Lilinette for the council," he said. "I would have said no."
I raised an eyebrow. "You like Violan more?" I asked, teasingly. The question hung in the air, challenging him to break the serious tone that had settled over us.
Livius's lips twitched, his eyes meeting mine. "Violan is... He doesn't play by the same rules, but he's not out to destroy everything we've built, either. And he's powerful. I have to admit that."
Violan had always been an enigma, a figure shrouded in a veil of mystery and calculated distance. He had always been careful to hide that power, to let his enemies see only what he wanted them to see. A practiced smile, a sharp tongue—those were his weapons when words were enough. But in that moment, under the weight of the threat we faced, Violan had shown everyone, the depth of his magic.
Livius let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair as if trying to shake off the weight of what we were discussing. "Shay, you know this won't be easy. Changing centuries-old traditions isn't something that happens overnight. Even with your influence, I'm not sure the council or the mage community as a whole will accept it."
I watched him, the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes reflecting something deeper, something I hadn't expected. I knew this was a monumental shift, but I hadn't realized just how far-reaching its implications were, not just for the council or for the community but for Livius himself.
"Livius," I said, leaning forward and dropping the facade of cool confidence, "I know it won't be easy. But if we want real change, we have to be willing to face that challenge."
He looked at me, searching my face as if trying to find something—reassurance, maybe, or the very certainty he was struggling to hold on to. "And what if it fails?" he asked quietly, the question hanging between us like an uninvited guest. "What if the council resists? What if the community splinters instead of unites?"
The weight of this moment was pressing on my shoulders, making my muscles feel tight and electric.
"Then we build it again," I said, my voice resolute.
Livius's gaze met mine, and for the first time since I'd arrived in the observatory, I saw a hint of a smile—a small, weary thing, but a smile nonetheless. "You truly believe we can change it all, don't you?"
I nodded, "Yep."
He exhaled, a little of the tension leaving his shoulders, and I saw the spark of hope in his eyes. I watched Livius for a moment longer.
"Damn you, Shay," he muttered finally, rubbing his temples. "Why do you always have to make things so complicated?"
"It's a gift," I replied, my tone dry. "You should be used to it by now."
A reluctant chuckle escaped him, low and brief, but it was enough to break some of the tension.
The moment stretched, and his expression shifted. He cleared his throat, his tone softer. "So? How is Mose?" he asked, his voice careful, almost tentative.
I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in topic. "He is... still unconscious."
Livius's wistful smile faded into a frown, his brow furrowing. "Mose is still unconscious?"
I nodded. "Rolo is working on a way to help him recover his magic, but it's slow going. His condition isn't just physical..." I trailed off, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.
Livius leaned back against the bench, crossing his arms. "Rolo's a talented mage, but that kind of recovery... it's rare. Difficult," he sighed.
I tilted my head, recalling a conversation with Lil. "Actually, Lil mentioned there's a mage who specializes in healing-based magical circulation methods. Their name started with A, but I can't remember the rest. Do you know anyone like that?"
Livius's frown deepened. "That's a rare field. If their name starts with A... could it be Aelric of the Amber Line?"
I snapped my fingers. "That's it. Alric. Do you know where to find him?"
I frowned as Livius's expression darkened, the usual calm in his demeanor giving way to something more somber. "Aelric," he corrected gently. "And yes, I know who you're speaking of. But, Shay…"
His pause lingered, heavy with meaning.
"What?" I pressed, my brow furrowing deeper. "If you know where to find him, just say it."
Livius sighed, his gaze drifting toward the sky. "Aelric wasn't just any mage. He was one of the ancients—a witness to the birth of magic itself."
I straightened slightly as if I knew what he was talking about. "One of the ancients?"
"Lived longer than any mortal should," Livius continued, his tone measured but firm. "He developed his healing circulation method to prolong his life, far beyond what ordinary mages could dream of."
"Then why haven't I heard of him until now?" I asked. "If he's that powerful—"
Livius turned his gaze back to me, his eyes filled with a quiet sorrow. "Because mages are humans, Shay. No matter how powerful, no matter how clever, we are not immortals." He took a steadying breath. "Aelric didn't vanish. He died."
I found myself staring at Livius, searching for any sign that he might be wrong. "When?"
"Long before your time," Livius replied, his voice soft but unyielding. "Even his legacy has faded into obscurity, known now only to a few. It's possible Lilinette heard of him because, a thousand years ago, he was still around."
I looked up, surprised. "A thousand years?"
He nodded. "Aelric's life spanned eras most of us can scarcely imagine. Our Master met him—said they were acquaintances for a time. But…"
"But what?" I prompted, watching his expression carefully.
Livius leaned back slightly, his gaze distant. "I was born too late. By the time I came into this world, Aelric was already a name whispered in history, not a man to meet."
I leaned back against the bench, running a hand through my hair in frustration. "So that's it, then? A dead end?"
"Not necessarily," Livius's expression shifted, his usual calm giving way to something heavier. "There is one thing," he said, his voice quieter.
I tilted my head. "Go on."
"In the memory globes left behind by Master, there's a single memory of Aelric. Just one, preserved for the future."
My pulse quickened. "Is it about his technique?"
Livius shook his head, a faint, almost mournful smile tugging at his lips. "No. It's of his death."
That brought me up short. "His death?"
"Yes." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, gaze fixed somewhere far beyond the observatory walls. "Master witnessed it. Aelric's life was long, but not endless. He died as all mortals do, though his passing was... different."
I frowned, trying to piece this together. "Different how?"
Livius glanced at me, his eyes heavy with an emotion I couldn't quite place. "He knew it was coming. Aelric didn't fight it, didn't try to stave it off with another experiment or some desperate act of magic. He embraced it as if he understood something about life and death that the rest of us never will."
A strange silence settled over us.
"And that's all the memory shows?" I asked finally.
"That's all," Livius confirmed. "His final moments. A farewell to magic and to the world."
I leaned back, trying to reconcile this with the image of the ancient mage I'd just been piecing together. A man who extended his life beyond measure, only to meet death on his own terms.
"Why leave that memory, though?" I asked after a moment. "Why not something more... useful?"
Livius's smile was faint but knowing. "Maybe he thought it was useful. A reminder that even the greatest among us are still bound by the same truths."
I exhaled sharply, shaking my head. "Cryptic to the end, huh?"
"Always," Livius murmured, his gaze distant again.
Livius straightened abruptly, his eyes sharp now with purpose. "I'll get it for you," he said, moving toward the far wall of the observatory.
I watched as he reached out and pressed his palm against the stone surface. A faint glow outlined the edges of a seemingly ordinary segment of the wall, and a low hum filled the air. The wall shifted, stone sliding against stone, revealing the hidden door within.
The vault. Still dramatic. I like it. I really need one, too.
Without a word, he stepped inside.
I rose from the bench, leaning against the doorway to watch him. I briefly looked at the shelves brimming with artifacts, scrolls, and crystalline containers that radiated power. Some were sealed within protective wards, others resting openly, their magical essence faint but present.
Livius stepped deeper into the room, his movements purposeful as he scanned the contents of a specific shelf. Finally, he retrieved a crystalline globe that pulsed faintly with an inner light, like a heartbeat trapped in glass. Even from the doorway, I felt the sheer weight of the magic it held.
Livius returned, cradling the globe with the reverence one might afford a sacred relic. "This is it," he said, his voice quieter now, almost reverent.
I crossed my arms, watching him carefully as he stepped out of the vault and the door sealed itself behind him with a low rumble.
I nodded. "Alright then. Let's see it."
Livius turned the globe slightly in his hands, and as the faint glow inside intensified, the observatory began to dissolve around us, replaced by the echo of a memory long buried by time.
The memory shimmered to life as Livius activated the globe, and I watched, drawn into its vivid detail.
Aelric sat cross-legged on the ground, his body frail and thin, his skin so translucent that the faint blue veins beneath were visible. Despite his state, there was a serene power about him—a calm that only comes with absolute acceptance.
Aleshio stood across from him, his youthful features a striking contrast to the ancient figure before him. His expression was uncharacteristically gentle, his voice steady but filled with an unmistakable fondness.
"You've always been stubborn," Aleshio said, folding his arms. "Planting a seed in your heart. Was it just to prove a point?"
Aelric chuckled softly, a sound like the rustling of dry leaves. "A point, yes, but not just to you, old friend. To everyone. Magic is not meant to defy mortality—it is meant to harmonize with it."
I frowned, watching the exchange. Aleshio—so young—was nothing like the mage I had known, and yet there was something achingly familiar in the way he leaned toward Aelric, listening as if every word carried the weight of a thousand truths.
"Magic, like life, must end to begin again," Aelric continued, his voice thinning. "The seed... it will outlive me, a piece of my magic that will return to the world in another form."
The old man placed his trembling hands over his heart. A pulse of light emanated from his chest, and a small green sprout broke through his withered skin.
Aleshio knelt beside him, his youthful features softening with sorrow. "You could've stayed longer. Fought harder."
"And denied the cycle?" Aelric's eyes, sunken but still sharp, sparkled with a wry amusement. "I thought I taught you better than that."
With one last, shuddering breath, Aelric's body began to dissolve, his remaining magic pouring into the sprout. The seed grew, vines twisting outward, forming flowers and branches that seemed to hum with a quiet life of their own. Within moments, where Aelric had been, there stood a huge, radiant tree, casting gentle shadows.
Aleshio reached out, brushing his hand against the bark, and for a moment, his expression was unreadable. Then he turned, his gaze far away.
The memory faded, and I blinked. I frowned at Livius, the weight of the memory settling in my chest.
Livius's gaze met mine, eyes sharper than usual, but clouded with something deeper—regret, maybe. He took a measured breath before speaking, the silence stretching between us like a taut wire. "It was the end of an era. He was one of the last who truly understood the balance of magic."
I studied Livius carefully, the weight of the moment pressing in on both of us. The silence stretched, thick and heavy with the understanding that had finally settled between us. But there was more to be said, more I needed him to understand.
"You want to guess," I said, my voice quieter now, "what was the only thing that remained the same in all those lives of yours?"
Livius looked at me, brow furrowed, his expression a mix of curiosity and caution. "What do you mean?" he asked, as if hesitant to dig deeper.
I leaned forward slightly, my eyes not leaving his. "The one thing that never changed in every single version of your life. Through all the twists of fate, all the things that could have been, there was one constant. The one thing that Aleshio never failed to do."
Livius's gaze sharpened, though the uncertainty in his eyes was still there. "Master? What does he have to do with this?"
"The only thing that remained the same," I said, my voice quieter now, "was Aleshio's sacrifice for you. No matter what timeline you were in, no matter the obstacles, that choice—his decision—was never changed. It wasn't an accident. It was something Aleshio chose, every time."
The words hung between us, and I could see the flicker of realization in Livius's eyes. His jaw tightened, and he swallowed hard, his gaze falling briefly before meeting mine again.
I studied Livius for a long moment, my gaze unwavering, as the weight of my words settled into the silence between us. "You're not the Sorcerer Lord because you're the mage with the strongest magic or the most magic in the world, Livius," I said, my voice steady and calm. "No, the reason you're the Sorcerer Lord is because you're the only one who can hold them together, lead them, even when they don't want to follow."
Livius blinked, his lips pressing together in thought, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes—something I hadn't seen before.
"That's what Aleshio believed in, even if you didn't realize it back then."
Livius looked away, a conflicted expression twisting his features.
I shifted my focus to the memory globe, the image of the tree etched into my mind. "Can I have this? I want to show it to Rolo."
Livius's brow furrowed, his hand tightening around the globe. For a moment, I thought he might refuse.
His eyes met mine, his expression unreadable. "I'm trusting you, Shay," he said, a note of finality in his voice. "But be careful. This memory... it's not just about magic. It carries the weight of everything Aelric was and everything he believed in."
I nodded, before reaching out. "I understand."
Slowly, Livius lifted the globe and handed it to me. The cool glass warmed under my touch, the intricate designs along its surface shimmering with a subtle glow.
"Thank you, Livius," I said, my voice low. I held the memory globe tightly.
Why hadn't I shown Livius memories of a life where he succeeded? A life where he united the mages, where he lived? Surely, those kinds of memories would have made everything clearer for him, given him something to strive for, something concrete to work toward.
But...those memories didn't exist. There was no past life where Livius lived. All the versions of him I'd seen, every life I had lived, ended in failure. In death.
And yet… I still wanted him to live this time. I wanted him to rise above the broken pieces of the past and carve a new path forward. For him, for the mages, and for the world that had never seen a future where he thrived.
So, I had lied.
I had shown him only the parts of the past that would push him toward something different, toward something better. I wanted him to believe in the possibility of change, even if the history didn't support it. Maybe it wasn't fair to him. Maybe it wasn't the right thing to do. But it was the only thing I could offer.