Melthius Cantar had thought, for a very long time, that he was dead. Being killed usually did that; people were not supposed to be dead and not-dead at once. It was not the way of things, but more importantly, it was a contradiction of the sort that even Voidlings agree is unnatural.

Magic was full of contradictions. The founders of the elemental styles of martial arts--in the first generation after the dark age, the time of the Founders themselves--had found a contradiction in each element, and mages and martial artists both studied those contradictions as serious philosophy. How could flame embody order and chaos both at once? How could the bonds of earth embody both time and space at once? How could the element of Wild--and all life that derives from it--be both mind and body at once?

Yet to be dead and alive at once? That was less a contradiction and more an error in your definition of death, or perhaps in your definition of life. To be dead is to have lost your life--to have lost the thing that makes you, you. To lose that and still be is not a contradiction in the same sense as the elements. If you are no longer yourself, no longer alive, but someone else is, then you are not the one who is alive. And if you are still yourself, then you never died, even if other important things have changed.

When eventually he awoke to the fact that he was both dead and alive, he realized that the contradiction was real, and genuine. He was. But his body was no longer his; the connection between it and him was contaminated--stolen, perhaps. Another "him" had lost what it meant to be him. "He" still existed.

He realized, sitting there trapped for days on end, that his soul had been extracted. There was a thin thing stretching between his body and his soul, but it felt like it must feel to have your intestines fall out; your organs were not meant to have any shape other than the one they naturally have, and when they have moved, something is desperately wrong. Your organs and your soul both know this, although they have no mind to know it with; it is an instinctual thing, for any life, even parts of life, that have Wild energy in them must be both mind and body at once.

The thin bridge between his body and soul had a body of its own, somehow. It tangibly connected him, and everything on this side was his soul--or else it was his surroundings, whatever contained his soul. As he awoke to that, he began to see things that mortals were not meant to see.

And after a great deal of looking into that thought and seeing things, he understood. He had been forced to ascend, one step closer to the source of all will and magic... and one step further from reality and law. If he discovered the laws of this place, he might be able to reshape the rules of magic itself with only his willpower, create a new world of his own design. Not a world free of suffering--no, he understood magic too well. The world must be both pleasure and pain at once, balance and imbalance, law and will, order and chaos...

Time held no meaning for Melthius as he pondered these things, but it did eventually catch up to him. And then at once, he sensed a strange thing, for to see a deity in its true form is indeed rare. For here, further from law and closer to the divine, here there were gods, capable of rewriting the rules of reality. He thought, for a moment, that he might simply reach out and--

Melthius awoke in his body with no small amount of pain. He realized that he had memories he had never himself experienced, memories of being eaten a piece at a time by rats, of torture and scarring, of forced healing in ways that his body could not explain. He had memories of his own soul being stolen, but from his body's side. He knew agony he had never experienced.

And then the Deity laid one hand upon his head and the pain was gone. Melthius neither knew the raven-haired woman nor cared, for life was agony, even when he could not feel it. Contradiction after contradiction... he could not feel it, and yet he had not escaped it. The pain was true, even when it was false. More than anything, he yearned to once more be able to reach out to the source of magic, perhaps this time to alter the ways of reality, to simply make things be as he wished them to be. He had been unable before, but now...

The deity's hand on his head was gentle, and she pulled Melth's head to her shoulder, as though comforting a lost son. Melth felt, for a minute, all that pain and misery seep away, but it was no magic... or perhaps it was the best magic, because it was the truest, most natural magic.

Being touched as though by a mother, held warmly and with forgiveness, Melth felt a dam break, and he cried. He cried for minutes, or perhaps hours; no part of him cared about time, not now. That awful itch to become one with the source of magic faded, although some part of him knew it did not disappear, and probably would never disappear. And that fact, it seemed, was not lost on the god on whose shoulder he cried. That god patted his head and rocked him gently, but they both knew the simple truth.

Melth was no god. He could not handle touching that source, not without going mad. It would corrupt him, destroy him. He knew it, and still he wanted it. In spite of believing, himself, that it would corrupt him, he wanted to see that future, where he was corrupt but powerful. He wanted to become twisted, to become one of the fortunate unfortunates, who had the pleasure of making all the mistakes in the world.

Just like Amon Egrethore, the fat old bastard who had killed him. Just like Roan Egrethore, the useless twit of a son who twitched constantly like a drug addict--except never when his father was there. During those times, he was composed, formal. These were people who knew the joy of having power they did not deserve. They feasted on rich foods and slaughtered innocents, sometimes both at once, he was sure. Corruption and power at once? What luxury.

Melth had never been like this before, but something had changed in him, and he was no longer the man he once was. Alive, yes... but also dead. He still was... but the man he was, was gone.

Before he had really finished crying, the presence that held him was gone, and he found three people before him, only one immediately familiar--a fellow voidling, whom he had not seen in a good many years. Chai was his name; no family name, as he was not a noble and had not shown any interest in becoming one. Voidlings had the right, according to the Order; they were useful and necessary, and so the Order would protect them, gift them money and power, whatever they wanted.

Chai had been very demure and gentle; he seemed more a scholar than a warrior, and no use for land or coin. It simply seemed to be a part of his character, and he was content with the consequences. Melth himself, in his youth, had dreamed of fighting, but his studies of the elemental system convinced him that was a tool best left to others. To be a voidling required one to walk a neutral path; some days, yes, you went to war. But some days you must heal others, even enemies. Some days you must heal those that spited you, hurt you, despised you. If that was the right path, you must be prepared to walk down it. Such was the mantle of the Void that lies between all elements: embrace none, and walk upon them all. It was powerful, if perhaps a bit artificial.

As he was now, Melth wanted none of that. He neither embraced the elements, nor walked upon them. He dreamed of changing them, making them his own. He dreamed of enslaving magic itself. But crying had done him good. He knew that those feelings of hatred and fury were his pain controlling him. And here, now, that pain was dimmed.

"Hello, Chai," he said, his voice hoarse and broken. "You look... older."

Chai managed to keep his face composed. "Melthius... I am so sorry. Even though I was walking the path of the Sickness, we could not get here in time to save you. The world itself wanted us to save you, but we could not."

That only got his blood boiling once more. It sounded to him like a betrayal. The Void itself could not save him? With all the power--

"What happened here?" The woman who was with them reached out and put her hand on his forehead, gently. "The Lord of Eyes said that you had been... corrupted, by necromancy. Did Amon do this to you?"

Melthius wanted to rage, but the woman's hand on his face was cold, and warm at the same time. He soaked up that feeling for a moment, and found that the answer to her question came to him naturally. "No," he said. "His son did. I don't think Amon even knew about that; he had me brought to a separate place. There is a room--"

"We can't go in there," interrupted Chai. "Melthius, necromancy is an abomination. It changes people. What happened to you--"

"I saw the truth," hissed Melth. "The curtain pulled back, the truth of magic. If I were stronger, I could have changed it. Could have become a god." He paused, and let his head fall back against the cold stone wall, only then becoming aware of his body chained to it. He had been in his head so long, powerless so long, he somehow didn't notice... and he still didn't care. He laughed. "If I were stronger... what a joke. I am held here on the brink of death and I think I could be strong."

The three only looked at him for a time.

"Where is the Vein?" Suddenly, Chai just seemed tired, as though he had given up on something. There was little mystery what exactly that was, but Melthius chose not to dwell on it, addled as he was. "We have been unable to find it."

"I was unable myself, when I was here. But Ninama..." Melthius had to pause for a minute as his heart hurt at the thought of her. "...bless her heart, she knew it was there. She couldn't say so at the time, but she brought it up after we left... but before we were far enough away. She could not have known... but I should have." Melth shook his head, weakly; he could tell that every moment caused him pain, but it was all muted. "Behind a boulder, at the base of the cliff... I am sure it will be sealed by now." He stopped, and looked at Chai. "How did you three know about it?"

"The Patron," said Chai. "Master Marion was informed of a wave of Rakshasa. Beyond the Vein, there should be a spatial node, and concealed there is likely to be a Rakshasa Sorcerer, or perhaps even an Oracle... someone preparing to stand on the surface world and command a grand army, someone who knows the secrets of men, secrets that Amon most likely gave freely... secrets stolen from the souls of mankind. This family was not given the secrets of necromancy in order to empower them. It was a trade; by eating human souls, they grow stronger, they gain magic. Amon was not alone in feeding them, but the souls he gave would feed an army... did feed one."

Melthius stood there processing that for a time. Finally, he gave just the slightest shake to his head. "I do not envy you," he said solemnly. "I should, as you are living, and I am dying... I might as well already be dead. The shadow of war... no small war, one that will consume all..."

"We knew it was coming," replied Chai evenly. "We will prevail, eventually."

"Life is a series of contradictions," Melthius said, feeling himself suddenly slipping towards sleep--towards death, he knew. One last grace of the gods, to let him die quietly, without pain. "I have been obsessed with it, since I was trapped here. We are ready, but we are not. We knew it was coming, but we know nothing. We have a plan, but we do not. I am dead, Chai, and also alive. I hope so very much..." he closed his eyes, "...that this will be the end. Not a contradiction. Just... over."

"It is over," promised Chai.

Melthius both heard him, and did not hear him. He was there, and he was gone.