“It’s been a while, young one.”

Avalel only remembers his vision gradually blacking out as he stares into Klarsten’s helmet, the latter carrying him hurriedly to some destination with the entire company of soldiers fleeing the scene. He has lost to the Black Maiden, he who had before never lost a battle since taking power has been defeated by a single assassin.

His strength certainly overpowered the Maiden, the power disparity between the two of them much too obvious right from the start. He sensed she used magic, of course, but not even close to the level and output of the Anapadeia. Even if she was more agile, possessed fast reflexes, and used strengthening magic, it was not enough to even level the playing field. Yet Avalel still lost. Did he hesitate during the duel? He isn’t sure. After all, he isn’t even sure if, back then, it was he who was controlling his body, or… that.

The consciousness of the Anapadeia takes form along with the “world” around Avalel. The familiar field of grass growing beneath his feet, the soft wind brushing his hair, the clear blue skies dotted with fluffy white clouds… the same vast expanse of emptiness first seen from a forgotten time in his childhood.

And she stands a short distance before him, taking the form of a tall woman dressed in white, her long silver hair flowing like waves. One of her eyes shine an emerald green, but the other is pitch black with a crimson pupil, and below it, a tattoo shaped like a sword with outstretched wings etched into the skin.

In her hand is the Anapadeia, the gem a dark red, almost glaring into Avalel’s eyes.

The Anapadeia. Elethien. I.

“Look at us, young one.” Two overlapping voices emerge in unison from Elethien’s mouth, beckoning, directing Avalel’s gaze to look at her, like invisible hands lifting his chin upwards.

“Come.”

With that one word, his body suddenly moves, approaching closer to her. His armor is shed, replaced with his usual formal attire, bearing the same whiteness and purity as Elethien’s clothing. As he finally reaches within an arm’s length of her, his legs mechanically stop, his vision focused only upon the first Queen of the Achien Empire.

It’s been years since he has last seen her face. The gentle yet authoritative expression bearing upon him, looking from unreachable heights yet also so close in distance. Avalel’s physically taller, yet he feels like a dwarf in her presence, merely a child looking at an adult graced with age. Unlike before, he doesn’t feel fear or even repulsion, only silent awe accompanied by a strange feeling of piety.

“You have done well considering your rebellion against I, but it seems you have returned here once more,” Elethien says, her voice like a mother comforting her child after a fall. “No fatal injuries, thankfully. Fate is a kind deity to you. Always.”

She takes a step closer, brushing his hair softly with her hand. The hand of the spirit that had tortured him for so long. “Yet you’re still confused, lost, injured. The same little boy from before, only a little taller, the voice a little deeper, and a little more experienced with the world.”

“Confused? Lost?” Avalel weakly scoffs, trying to push back this tide of intimidation even as fear slowly creeps up his body as it has every time in his interaction with the spirit. “Without your meddling and interference, I have slowly regained myself in this chaos. There are no more needless deaths, only victory upon victory as I lead my troops forth to eventually defeat the Confederation. And the moment I receive my first setback, I see you appearing before me to gloat over my defeat?”

“Do you think you can really do all this without my guidance, young one?” Elethien laughs lightly. “Do you think you can really achieve these heights without the Anapadeia? All this time, I have been watching over you, and you dare to believe this is all your own efforts? That’s quite arrogant of you, young one.”

While Avalel is frozen in place, Elethien moves as she pleases, her arms flowing, conducting the wind around her. The lightweight, thinly woven dress sways in tandem with the grass, so soft and graceful, blending in, complimenting the environment. In contrast, Avalel’s stiff suit struggles to harmonize with his surroundings, a statue in a space of constant movement.

“I am the master of this world. You cannot achieve any of this without me.” She lets her hand relax, freeing Avalel’s hair from her embrace. “I have always, always been looking over you. From the moment you took up the sword, I have taken care of you. Fate has guided you to your successes, even when you so adamantly reject its love.”

“I have made my stance,” Avalel stiffly replies. “I do not need, nor do I want your intervention. I have made that mistake before. I do not intend to fail again.”

Her voice is soft, the words said with a gentle smile. “Without my intervention, you would’ve been a dead man right then and there, your throat forcefully pierced by the Black Maiden. Even now, you still hesitate when you have to kill with your own hand. The intriguing thing is, you no longer react with revulsion when others kill in your stead. Is this why you decide to lead from the safety of your headquarters as thousands of your own people kill and be killed for you?”

“A commander is of clearer mind when he is within the safe confines of his quarters, allowing for better judgment to decide the outcome of the battlefield.”

“Oh, but you were never a commander,” Elethien says with another refined laugh. “Not then, not now. You are not even a leader. Do you not remember who brought you to your current state of power?”

The brief time of madness when he had swiftly taken power over the New Rule. The quick, ruthless death of Ipela, the one who had plotted against him despite being the first to take him under her wing. The people’s frighteningly loyal response, flocking to their savior as they lifted him to become their leader, their President.

The disappearance of Kavlina… and the death of Tarak, stabbed cleanly through by the Anapadeia, from Avalel’s own hand.

“Yes, it was all I,” Elethien says flatly, noticing his thoughts. “You already knew this years ago, but you still do not understand these are all necessary events to make you who you are today. You alone are not willing to sacrifice, to kill, so I have made that sacrifice in your stead.”

“Necessary? Necessary?” Despite still being unable to move, Avalel growls furiously at such words. “Taking me into this hell of a world, removing everything I once held dear just to place me into a position I never desired is considered necessary?” The awe and fear earlier is gone, replaced with raw anger not felt in a long while. His body aches, desperately trying to break free from the invisible bindings, but he remains stationary, firmly confined as Elethien looks at him, that sickly smile still plastered on her face.

“It seems you do not understand.”

Elethien snaps her fingers. Avalel’s body is freed, and at such an opportunity, he suddenly lunges at her, his arm thrusting forward as if holding a sword… only to find the Anapadeia, in Elethien’s hands, piercing his throat.

The next moments are a blur to him. His body is rapidly cut into pieces, the Anapadeia leaving no part untouched. Save for his head, his entire body is butchered and violated. Fabric, skin, fat, flesh, bone… all blended together in an unrecognizable, bloody mess. Soon, all that remains is Avalel’s head, frozen in shock, connected to his twitching spine, as if it is still being stabbed and slashed by the ruthless weapon.

He sees, for a moment, a blank, infinitely large realm, filled with an uncountable number of spirits. He cannot see their expressions, but they seem to be singing and dancing. At their center is a formless light, at least it can be described as so in his comprehension. He is the only one that is silent.

A few of the spirits notice his presence and stretch their hands (if it can be called that) towards him, their voices creating what seems to be praises. Unconsciously, he reaches out in response, stretching towards that unknown realm. Yet before they can even come into contact, eight red strings envelop around Avalel, binding him, dragging him away and into the darkness beneath him.

And he wakes to an unbearable pain, his eyes locked onto Elethien, towering over what remains of his body.

“You are still very much lost in your own stubbornness, young one,” Elethien states, staring at Avalel’s “corpse”, despite him still very much conscious, kept alive by some sort of magic in this dreamlike realm. “The deaths of your friends are a result of your rebellion against predestined fate. There could’ve been a way to avert such a conclusion, but because of your refusal to accept this sword, you have essentially caused such events to happen.”

Avalel cannot even scream in pain and hatred.

“You are not in control. Who holds more power? A little boy possessing a maturing brain, blinded by his fluctuating emotions? Or the author of this world, the one who knows all, controls all, and determines the paths of all? You are allowed to resist your ultimate fate, but it is only to display your follies and weaknesses, so that you may know, you may understand that…”

Elethien kneels, brushing Avalel’s bloodsoaked hair with her equally bloody hands. “Without I, you are nothing.”

She gently touches Avalel’s trembling cheeks. Immediately, Avalel’s body begins to rapidly regenerate, rebuilding his entire material self in only a few moments. First the bones, then the flesh, then the skin, and finally, even the clothes worn earlier. The overwhelming pain earlier abruptly ceases, and instead of drowning in his own blood, he finds himself resting on the comfortable carpet of grass. Elethien herself is also cleaned with not a single trace of blood remaining on her garments.

It’s almost as if nothing had happened earlier. Except that Avalel now finds himself prostrating before Elethien, unable to rise to his feet as he is overcome with an incomprehensible sense of terror. She had only shown a fraction of her power even now, but that’s already too much for his feeble mind to even understand the extent of the woman— no, the deity standing before him.

All this time, he had been resisting something that could’ve easily killed him if it desired. In order to live as a free individual, he had instead shackled himself with unbearable consequences and responsibilities. He is not omnipotent, nor is he omniscient, yet he had pretended to be so. A fake savior, claiming to be all-powerful in order to hide behind his own weakness and cowardice.

He has been dead ever since he failed to protect Kavlina and Tarak, yet his denial had made him a confused, lost husk in these past four years, and only now, when he has returned once more to this realm, his raw emotions returning briefly, is he finally, truly freed from his folly.

“So this is what it takes to make you come to realize your foolishness,” Elethien says in satisfaction. “Your core has stayed intact in this realm since you last declared your rebellion against I years ago here, not maturing or changing a moment, so that you may realize this fully as your true self, not as a walking ghost calling himself Avalel. Finally, you bow before the true power that you have so repeatedly offended before. Only when you are defeated do you realize.”

She crouches, and Avalel feels Elethien’s silver hair rustling, caressing his skin. “Rise, my vessel,” she whispers. “For you are finally saved. Do not fear or be dismayed, for Fate has never, and will never forsake you.”

As he is slowly brought back to his feet, facing Elethien, there is that same terror, but with it is a newfound sense of reverence. His mind is no longer clouded but purified, clear as the environment around him.

“Fate has protected you, and will continue to guide you to your destination,” she says. “Trust in I with every facet of your life. No longer will you rely on your limited understanding, that your destiny may be made clear. Follow I, and your path will be made straight.”

Elethien puts her hand on Avalel’s chest. For a moment, Avalel feels some part of himself being forcefully removed, leaving an empty abyss, but immediately, it is replaced by a greater, much more powerful sensation, the energy rippling throughout his body. The Anapadeia fades away from Elethien, the stone slowly making its way across the air until it softly lands on Avalel’s hand, melting into his flesh.

“I bless you, Avalel, heir of the Achien Empire,” Elethien says. “By forfeiting your flawed identity for the sake of I, you have found life once more.” She makes the same smile, but Avalel no longer feels repulsed by that expression. This is the smile, the blessing of a deity after all. How can he possibly be disgusted by it? How could he have once considered this smile vile and sinister?

“For I am the way, the truth, and the life. Without I, there will be no salvation for this world.”

He nods to Elethien’s words. He will no longer be defeated now. This delayed acceptance most likely is hated by his younger self, but that self is destroyed now. He finally admits his death in order to gain a new life. By being baptized in the hell of this world, he is reborn to be under the full obedience and guidance to Fate.

He was stupid before, but he has finally come to his senses. He will no longer deviate from the path laid before him by Fate. He will no longer hesitate to remove any obstacles to his final destination set by Fate. He will no longer be bound to anything other than the gentle yoke of Fate.

He is a vessel, a servant of Fate.

He will stumble and doubt himself, of course, but he will always be redirected back to the path, the way to his destination, no longer lingering lost and confused. It has taken such an extreme measure for him to finally submit to Fate, but he is thankful.

He opens his mouth. Although the voice is his, the words that come out are not of his feeble mind. In perfect unison like a holy chorus, he and Elethien’s voices chant:

“I am I. I am Elethien. I am Avalel. We are the origin. We are the will. We are the vessel. We are three. We are one.”

Avalel as he was is finally broken. The stubborn boy has finally died. Traces of that ghost may still remain to haunt him, but it will no longer affect him. His soul, his core is sacrificed, willingly offering himself to be the vessel of this being. All for some distant unknown destination set forth by Fate, but a destination he has already accepted nonetheless. How can he even reject it now after witnessing, being killed by the being itself?

He is gone, completely corrupted and tossed away.

Avalel nai Stasibel is dead.

“We are I.”