Role

Chapter 14

The path down into the Fissure was never routine.

Ixen did not know if it was his upbringing far from the burning depths or
if the Fissure was simply that hot. Even with his advantages he knew that a
plunge into the lava would doubtless be the end of him, and so he carefully
watched his feet as he descended into the fires. He liked it here. That
knowing that one single step wrong would spella fall into an agonising
death. This was right.

Idrepi's casual scorn still set his teeth to grinding behind the mask. Oh,
the drow hadn't come out and mocked him directly. For all their embittered
alliance, he wouldn't risk that, Ixen was sure. But the casual disdain when
he'd said his prayers hadn't been answered yet when they'd spoken of faith
had not been imagined. Had it? Was he being paranoid?

No. Impossible. He saw more clearly than the rest of them. Even his fellow
Scions didn't truly understand.

But it didn't matter. It had been many years, but his faith was
undiminished. He would come until his bones were brittle and his arms were
tired, prayers answered or no. The dream was worth it. It had to be.

He came to Solisren as he had many times before. The dark phoenix rested
upon a great nest, and gave him no mind. Ixen spoke his prayer to Ocaiye
into the turmoil, and prepared to leave.

Then Solisren's beak opened for the first time Ixen had seen, and a whisper
like the igniting of dry tinder fell into the unstill surroundings.

Not since the Prelate of his youth had Ixen been questioned so. His every
word turned over and picked clean of flesh to show the bones beneath. But
as Solizren learned of him, as he demanded tribute, and entertainment, and
more, Ixen learned too.

Learned that he had not dreamed enough. That as the world must be cleansed
and made better, he too could be. Must be. After all, if he was to craft of
himself a gift for the one who he had commited his life to, it must be one
truly worthy. He must excise the rot in himself just as vigourously as in
the world.

More challenges. More suffering.
More struggle. More. More. More. He would make of himself something truly
worthy. Solizren might think him a floundering fish, but if he was to be a
fish then...

The somewhat simple giant frowned. Then what.

What would he be?

What did he want to be?

Not a fish.

Steam hissed from behind his mask as Ixen sighed. Thoughts turning over
like ponderous grindstones, the inexorable march towards terrible
conclusion that had always served him so well.

He didn't know yet.

But he would.

He would be worthy of her flames.