Derelict. That was the best word to describe this ruined citadel. Willem could only sigh as the legions rode into the Capital, that so-touted city of grandeur and magnificence. It was now barely more than rubble, its proud walls standing with little more than hope. Refugees filled the streets, looking too thin to be people and too desperate to be animals. What buildings remained standing had long since fallen into disrepair, or were boarded up with wood and iron to bar entry. Furtive eyes glanced at him as he strode past, only to quickly look away with closed curtains the instant he tried to make out anything more.

He felt strangely empty as they strode into the city. This was what all those Houses were fighting over? What so many men had died for? It was pathetic. He hated it, this pointless, senseless fighting. How many lives was a crown worth, when it left the country bleeding and dying?

Who are you to think these men fools? You hardly know who you are yourself any more. There was a mocking voice the back of his mind, a part of him that had resisted when he had first given up his crippled body. It watched his movements with a quiet contempt, speaking only to throw doubt in his greatest moments of hesitation. Ignore it, he told himself, as he always had. Ignore it and keep walking.

But he had been walking for so long, his feet caked with mud and his legs tired. His heart was weary—weary of always walking forward, afraid to look behind him. A sudden wave of nausea and disgust overcame him, and Willem stumbled over to a corner in a hurry. Bile bubbled up his throat, splattering over the muck-covered stones and cobbles. Gasping heavily, he wiped the corner of his mouth before finding an old rain barrel.

Making his way over, he staggered the final few steps before catching himself, propping himself on the sides as he gasped for breath. A reptilian face greeted him in the water, and a flash of fear and shock speared his heart before he realized that it was him, that it was merely his reflection. Slowly, Willem raised a clawed hand, peering at the rough scales that covered his hide, examining the curved talons of bone that seemed sharp enough to cut the air.

Is this me? For a moment, his reflection shimmered and he once more saw that crippled little boy with the Maes-covered face. His legs were lame, his fingers stunted, and his eyes were once more tinted with fear. This strength, the power that he held in this body, it was not him. The real him was weak. The real him was afraid. This strength was merely a facade.

“Thinking… yes?” a reptilian voice whispered from behind him, and Willem nearly leapt out of his own skin as he hurriedly spun around. Kha was returning his gaze, that serpentine mouth stretched into what Willem had come to assume was a smile. “Dangerous times for thinking… but thinking still comes…” Kha stepped closer, making Willem tense with nervousness as the demon approached him. That hesitation relaxed only slightly as Kha walked past him to peer into his own reflection in the water. “What are you… thinking of, pup?”

“I am thinking…that I have been looking for power for so long, that I’ve always been wanting—wishing—to be stronger, and now that I finally have it, I think I’ve lost myself along the way.” he murmured in reply, half speaking to himself. Absentmindedly, he clenched his fist, feeling the talons dig into his palm and draw blood.

“Mmm… thoughts of the self… are always hard to answer…” Kha replied, and for once Willem felt some of the tension leave him. “Ajah only creates life… where his brother would take it…” he continued after a pause. “Life is a gift… is his gift… but my god does not decide… what it is used for…” Kha blinked at Willem, those horizontal slits suddenly gleaming with a pride and depth that he had not seen before. “Why are you lost, pup? You are still yourself… as you always were…”

“But…” Willem stammered out in reply, trying to shape into the words the strange emotions that he felt roiling inside of himself.

“This… this is you…” Kha spoke, jabbing a claw at Willem’s chest. “And the you before… that was also you…” Willem felt his brows furrow, not understanding. “You will change… you will molt… but you will always be yourself… How can you be lost… when you can never leave the road?”

“But this—this body, it isn’t me!” he protested. “I’m no demon. I’m no beast!”

Kha cocked his head curiously. “This is you… you were first man… and you are now demon… What you once were… does not change what you now are…” The saurian demon gave another toothy smile before making off to leave, joining the rest of the legions as they walked through the streets. Willem was still clutching the sides of the rain barrel woodenly as he watched Kha leave, his thoughts swirling inside of himself.

What I once was… what I now am… Once more, he peered at his reflection on the surface of the water. As he watched, a tear fell from the corner of his eye, sending ripples across the smooth image. His muddled reflection seemed to change as he watched, his demonic appearance shifting underneath him. He could still see the eyes of that scared boy, but they were harder now—like soft steel that had been hammered and tempered. There was an edge to him, a determination that had come from walking too close to death.

Demon, or man… or something other? He lowered a claw to dip the water, sending more ripples before the first could settle. The image beneath him was neither beast nor man, but something in between. What he had once been, he was no longer. But I am still myself, nevertheless. The thought came to him unbidden, but he found a quiet strength in it. Like the reeds that bent before the storm, only to stand proudly at the end, he too felt a gentle pride in that knowledge. It lent him the strength to tear his gaze away from the water. The water held too many secrets—what he was, what he might be, they were all hidden away in those ripples. He did not need to know them.

He already knew what was was, and that was the him of now.

This body of his had changed. This mind of his had changed. But Willem closed his eyes slowly, searching inside of himself for the one thing that he knew had not changed, the one thing that had not left his side in this life. When he was young, he had thought it a curse. It had left him begging on the streets, unwanted and uncared for. It had mocked him as he struggled to walk, watched with unmoving eyes as he starved at night. Now, perhaps it was more of a blessing. It lent him his strength when he no longer had any to walk. And so he reached inside of himself for his magic.

He found it waiting for him with the patient familiarity of an old friend. As he drew that warmth out of his stomach and into his chest, he felt memories flash through his mind. He saw the sky darken, saw the shadows plume into a massive pillar that stretched towards the heavens. He saw Joy and Kha fighting, saw flames dancing across his field of vision. And he remembered. He remembered how helpless he had felt, with this strength that he could not use. He remembered how useless he had felt, only able to watch.

A memory was not reality, but the feelings inside of him were. They brought the mahji out of his limbs, unbidden and unheeded. The air around him began to crackle with purple static as he remembered, as he promised. Faster and faster, the winds gathered as if to bear witness to his promise. Never again. Never again shall I be that helpless. It was pride, it was arrogance, it was desperation. But then again, all promises were.

He closed his fist, feeling the air around him grow faster still. It settled around him like a second skin, like a sheet of armor that spun above his skin. And yet, as he closed his fist, he felt it begin to grow smaller. Its speed did not leave, compressing along with its form. More and more magic began to crackle from his pores, his body leaking mahji with his efforts.

As he watched, the air gathered in his outstretched palm. What had been around him was now in a space no greater than a fruit, spinning impossibly fast. Its center was like a storm, crackling madly with wild purple mahji, its exterior a shell of impenetrable wind.

He turned to see the rain barrel behind him now overflowing, the water puddling on the cobblestones. He could see his reflection in there once more, tinted with purple. Power crackled from his figure, and yet something ate away at him, forcing him to turn away.

Why could he not meet his own eyes?