Role

Chapter 15

Deep beneath the earth, in a chamber meant for meetings of the vilest magi
Ixen sat alone.

To the outward observer, nothing would be different. The giant sat as he
often did. Unnaturally still. Expressions concealed. Silent. The only sign
of the giant's inner turmoil the slow and inexorable drumming of fingers
upon the table before him. In the unhallowed halls of the giant's
malevolent mind he replayed his conversation over and over with Solisren.

Him. A preserver?

This could not be true.

But truth is a lie.

Teeth ground together behind a mask of iron. The giant's natural
inclination to crush the life from the thing that troubled him so rising to
the fore, but finding no outlet. After all; these were a knife of words,
and this was not a thing which his monstrous strength could contend with.
This was in the mind and in the marrow and in the blood, a poison which ate
at convictions and long held beliefs.

He wished to deny the claim, even now. Had he not dedicated himself to
destroying these preservers? These men and women who clung so viciously to
the status quo. Who would see this world persist. Unchanging, in all its
wretchedness? Who would strive to see the new world remain an unrealised
dream?

He had. And yet.

He clung to things too. Different things, yes, but things he wished to
preserve. He told himself it was for the dream. They were necessary. They
were important to the work.

How was he to use this pain?

How could such a revelation be endured? After all he had done? How could
this be suffered?

What was he to do?

The tapping fingers stilled, splayed hand poised like some crouching spider
upon the table. Ixen knew he was well learned compared to other giant's he
had met. But it was in moments such as these that he realised his own
limitations were not so different. Introspection had always been simpler
when he had had years of solitude devoid of interruptions. He knew the
words. He knew clever things. But putting it all together was always so
difficult.

Could he give up all those things he preserved?

His bounty of screaming souls? His place within the chasm? His treasure?
More?

No. He liked what was his. More, they helped the great task. The dream. To
varying degrees.

So what was the answer?

What was his answer?

Steam drifted from behind the giant's mask as he let out a sigh.

He must find it.

This answer.

He would endure until he did.

He must.