RE: Monarch

It began with the iron lung potion. But that was hardly where it ended.
Most magicians who claim mastery in any given field are the eclectic, selfish sort. They would only part with their secrets when properly motivated—grand amounts of gold, servitude, or support of some cause—and even then, they often took their greatest advances to their grave, simply running out of time before they found someone worthy of passing the knowledge on to.
The formulation process of the first iron lung potion was a trial run, one I cleared easily. Thoth finally made a decision. She spent a while scribbling on her parchment, then handed it over. The contents were a list of no less than twenty different alchemical potions, salves, and tinctures, along with rudimentary steps to form them.
Some were prohibitively complicated.
As I read over the list, she dragged a three-legged stool to the corner and perched on it, clarifying instructions as she relaxed.
"It's odd." I murmured as I read through the list. The ingredients and components were a degree rarer and more difficult to source than their apothecary equivalents, but not overly so. A few were arguably a bargain, worth far more than the sum of their parts. "I was under the impression alchemy was highly impractical for little gain."
"Oh, it can be." Thoth leaned her head back against the wall. "Especially the sort you'd be familiar with. Pomped-up snake oil salesmen, promising to cure the desiccated nethers of wealthy patrons who fawn over them, always showing less than impressive results."
I remembered the bawdy advertisements of criers outside some of the local shops in Whitefall. "You're telling me that dragon scales aren't a catch-all cure for virility?"
"Not necessarily. But I will say this. If you happen across someone peddling the genuine article, the safest thing you can possibly do is take off running until you are as far as humanly possible." Thoth laughed darkly, and I suddenly found myself unsure of whether she was joking.

"Are there?"

"What?" Came the reply.
"Dragons left alive?"
"I very much doubt it." Thoth returned evenly, neutral voice heavy with doublespeak.
I rolled my eyes. "Before the cataclysm."
"Few that are tolerable, even fewer of use, all scattered to the far corners of the world. They would obliterate you in an instant, simply for speaking your family name in their presence, but aye, a handful remain."
"Why." It hit me a moment later, and I groaned. "Because of what happened in the Enclave when the dimension gate was destroyed."
Thoth nodded, her voice distant and analytical. "There's no question that the infernals suffered the brunt of that exchange. Any skirmish involving dragons tends to go that way for the other side. They're simply too big of a force multiplier." There was no trace of falsehood in her voice. My mind wandered, suddenly awash with the possibilities before she interrupted. "Before you ask—yes, we attempted to court them. In more than one iteration. And it was never worth the time."
"Locking down an alliance with an overwhelming force capable of turning the tide of any battle wasn't worth it?"
She held up an angled glass, inspected the darkened contents, then dumped it down the drain with a bitter sigh. "How easy it is, for one who does not remember and has not experienced to offer critique. To pull it into perspective, imagine negotiating with a surlier, less reasonable version of me."
Briefly I imagined fist fighting a spiked wall. "Alright."
Thoth's mouth quirked, absence of amusement perfectly clear. "I'm waiting."
"... to answer my question?"
"To absorb whatever clever remark has been drafted in the dim recesses of your mind."
"I'd never joke on the topic of dragons."
"And perhaps in that alone, you'd be wise." Thoth shook her head and refilled the glassware halfway, pausing to check the measurement line. "Now consider having that negotiation with a version of me that has stopped paying attention to where I am in the cycles, whose blending-together-days are spent defending the same static hoard of wealth and riches, because centuries ago, it simply grew too big to feasibly justify leaving even for a short time to acquire more."
"So a bad-tempered, out-of-touch version of you who is remarkably powerful, and has been stuck in the same routine for so long it's practically welded to their feet."
"Go ahead." Thoth gestured to the empty space behind us, her voice deadpan. "The crowd leans forward with anticipation, waiting for the feckless jester to reach his punchline."
"Just... making sure I understand." I said, backpedaling once again. It was beginning to be a pattern, which while uncomfortable, was oddly novel.
Like most boys I wasn't born with tact. I had to learn it. And before I did, my mouth often got me in trouble. My observations were too clinical, which led to comments that were too direct. Part of becoming a good statesman was learning to blunt anything that could be considered an insult, cloak the direct in obliques that gave the impression of the broader thought without stating it outright. Eventually, I'd nursed the talent for speaking out of both sides of my mouth into something practically undetectable.
But Thoth was different. Because she never missed a beat.
"They take years to negotiate with. Nearly half an iteration every time, even when the route is perfectly optimized. And once they are prepared to finally sit their oversized rumps down at the table, what they offer is paltry, laden with the sort of strings that lessen the offering further." She shook her head. "A dragon is mighty. But it is not without equal. Several prominent demonic legions are more than capable of matching the strength of a dragon."
"The entire legion."
"Yes. That is the truth, believe it or not. Demons are far more reasonable than dragons."
I paused, still wrestling with the idea that the majestic creatures from the stories were not all dead, as I'd believed. "You'd... think, they'd want to help. That any being with immortality would, faced with Ragnarok, given what they stand to lose."
"In part, I agree. We hunted several for that very reason—because they hoarded resources we desperately needed, callous to both their own demise and the inevitable fate of everyone around them." Her mouth tightened, and her hand went to the scarred section of her face. "Eventually, those of us capable of doing what was necessary extracted what was needed, and it was collectively decided that the dragons should be left alone."
"We hunted them."
"Yes. Leading to a series of grand duels that occurred centuries ago, yet are still utterly emblazoned in my mind." She turned toward me, a barely detectable sadness in her voice. "You were the only one to emerge from your conflict unscathed, only because you felled it through cunning, though even you were altered. The rest of us fell to great injury and casualty. And by the time the fighting had ended, we lost a third of our number."
Again, I couldn't ask too much about the nature of the loop without raising suspicions. So instead, I keyed in on something in her voice that had sounded a little like respect—reverence, even. "You sound as if you fear them."
Thoth shook her head. "Some are worthy. Most are fools. Not unlike mortals. What I fear is not the overgrown lizards themselves, but the ancient mana that pools in their pathways. The purest and oldest magic. So ancient and unknowable that it is literally timeless."
The scar.
It'd always struck me as odd that she'd kept it. Even if I was right, and she had taken measures to disguise herself somehow.
The answer came to me. "Those who died remained so."
"And those who were wounded returned maimed, even after death had claimed them and the next iteration took its place in the cycle. In some cases the benefits of the victories outweighed grave injuries. In most cases, they did not."
"So there is a way to permanently remove someone from the cycle."
Thoth swatted the air in my direction. "I never claimed there wasn't. Just that the method was inconvenient. Which it fucking is." She snorted. "Especially compared to cast, stab, bleed out. The real trick would be finding a dragon that doesn't find the cloying stink of lizard-death offensive, and somehow goading it into doing my bidding."
"Again, it's a relief to know that some things are beyond even your grasp."
"Says the ant to the eagle." Thoth rolled her eyes, and the clinking of a metal stir-stick accelerated as the fluid within the vessel she held formed a bubbling cyclone. "It isn't beyond me."
"Not an indictment. I certainly couldn't manage."
"No. You fucking couldn't. And if I was so inclined, I know exactly who I'd go to, when, and what I'd offer. It's within my means." She said, her voice increasingly snippy.
"Okay, fine." I agreed, letting the moment hang, until the question could no longer go unuttered. "Then why haven't you?"
There was something charged in the silence. As if one of the progressing mixtures had caught a stray, volatile particle and was on the precipice of overflowing. Something warned me not to speak. A feeling as deep and instinctual as the instinct to keep one's hand away from a crackling fire.
"It would make sense." I ventured quietly. "If you spoke the truth, about not wanting some of those you slay at the beginning—some of the names that compose your list—to suffer."
From the outside, it probably looked like I was trying to get myself killed. But in reality it'd been clear almost since the beginning that I would not get any straight answers from Thoth. About who she was, or why. It wasn't just information I needed—it was the way she planned, the manner in which her mind processed information and formed thought.
I needed to understand her.
"Would it?" Her tone was flat. Emotionless.
"Perhaps doing so takes too much time and effort to be feasible. But if I were you—"
"You're not."
"Yes. But if I were, and my choice was to either spend time slaying those who were once my friends and allies at the beginning of every iteration, versus using one to ensure I never had to face something so horrible again—"
"You'd gather them all up and let the dragons render them to ash? Strike them from your sight so they are easier to excise from mind, as is your custom?" Thoth snarled, raising her arm as if to throw the tincture, which she instead slammed on the table before her, still wrapped in her knuckles. "Oh right. Your opinion holds no weight. Because you washed your fucking hands of all of it rather than owning up to the implications of what we created—what
created. Why own up to anything when it's easier to just fucking forget it all. It's not personal that way. Not anymore. Just someone else's fuckup. Right?"
I clamped down on the words before they could escape. Something about the sudden surge of vitriol, and the purity of hurt and pathos that flowed beneath it marked perhaps the first time I'd felt anything other than hatred for her. And you could likely cover entire wingspans with the words left unspoken.
But I knew how she felt in that moment. Because I'd felt similarly. Many times over.
And I wanted her to hurt.
Another voice, calm and kind, cut through the fog of hatred that dimmed my mind.
When I spoke, my voice was unsteady. "I can't imagine what it's been like, doing the sort of things you've had to do, for as long as you've done them. It's been so long that many of the explanations may be lost. Reasons faded to ritual. It's not my place to presume."
"I am not some addled fool." Thoth hissed.
"Those were not my words."
I returned to work, busying myself, keeping an eye on her. She seemed profoundly unsettled, even queasy. Her skin was pale, pallid. And I watched as she stared at her palm, suddenly unable to stop the shaking. "I'm aware that there are simpler ways to deal with such things. It would not take long to teach the appropriate magic to a spell blade, and have them carry out the business for me." She straightened up a little, her gold eye filled with judgment. "But I promised myself I would never hide from the ugliness, as others were quick to do. And when they die... on the rarest of occasions, I see them again."
"Because you're there. Killing them."
She shook her head, expression dreamlike and faraway. "It's more than that. Sometimes, in their final moments—one in a hundred, maybe scarcer—they reclaim a piece of who they truly are. Find their ire on the doorstep of death. The shepherd becomes a general again. The doddering merchant strikes back, showing a glimmer of the best duelist this plane has ever seen. Gods, even the farmer's daughter that mastered the elements, who despite her simpering and handwringing nearly matched us in power." Her eyes flicked to me. "And, of course, the prince who became the greatest magus I've ever known. On the rarest of nights, with the kingdom burning down around him, sometimes I see him too."
The words washed over me, rife with meaning.
"But they don't remember." I remarked, thinking back to her earlier comment. "Right?"
"I don't know. Sometimes they regard me with such betrayal and disdain it feels as if they must. Briefly, at least. It passes quickly."
"If you hold some fondness for them, wouldn't it be better to simply let them be?"
"No." The answer came quickly, definitive and harsh.
I struggled to wrap my mind around it. Follow the logic, even though I was loath to do so. I shook my head. "It sounds like you believe you're doing them a kindness. If there was someone I loved—and you must have loved at least a few of them—I'd want them to live as long as they could, even if it wasn't ideal. To enjoy the small pleasures they could with the time they had."
An accusatory finger jutted towards me, wreathed in shadow. "And then? The next iteration?"
I blinked. "The same. Mercy."
"Because you can't understand. And you never will. You could fill an ocean with the corpses of those felled by your mercy."
With that, Thoth shifted and turned her back to me.
I opened my mouth and paused, trying to figure how best to communicate the thought tumbling in my mind. Eventually I abandoned the notion of tact and simply asked it outright. "Was it ever anything other than miserable?"
Thoth slowly turned. "What?"
"Every story I hear is blood and more blood."
"There was a lot of blood."
"But surely it wasn't always a night of roguish blades. We were companions for longer than most alliances between countries last. And from the sound of it, we—all of us—were shoved together in the face of it. Joined with a common goal. Perfect conditions to forge the sort of bonds legends and stories are made of."
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"Moments of fellowship and lightheartedness were in remarkably short supply." Thoth glowered.
"Yet it can't have been as dour as the retelling makes it out to be." I poked at her, feeling growing confidence. Part of the difficulty of discussing this with Thoth was that the topics she was quickest to discuss were failures, which she wielded like blades, intending to either shut down the line of questioning or punish the asker. Doing so worsened her mood and eventually caused her to shut down completely.
Cracking the shell of wretchedness, even for a moment, seemed worth the attempt.
An attempt that failed, or so I thought. She'd returned focus to her worktable, and over the following minutes stayed completely invested in her work. Then a sound came. A short vocalization that could have been a cough. Then another, the stilted noises stitching together into a snicker.
"What?" I prompted.
"Thotar had the misfortune of disparaging dwarves once."
I absorbed that, confused. "Just... once? His teachings often villainize dwarves if memory serves."
Thoth gave a quick shake of her head, still snickering. "No. Thotar himself. Manifested."
"What—in person?"
"In the literal flesh."
"I thought the gods were dead."
"This is before that."
"Right. Of course."
Thoth carried on with the retelling, clearly amused. "It was meant to be a casual meeting, prelude to negotiation. A half dozen of us attended, scaling or otherwise ascending to the roof of the Chapel of Elphion, where he—despite picking the time and place of meeting—made us wait for nearly half the day."
"Rude. Even by divine standards."
"It was." Thoth rolled her eyes. "Our collective strength was formidable enough that we were rarely made to wait. We weren't exactly all-powerful—not yet—but our collective strength was nothing to scoff at. By then the gods knew most of us by name. We were hardly lost faithfuls."
"And why were we off negotiating with gods?"
"Several things had gone wrong in the first few years of that iteration. Enough to consider it forfeit. And whenever an iteration failed, we had a litany of riskier objectives to pursue. The intention being to throw ourselves at more complicated ventures with a high risk of failure when the greater iteration was unlikely to be productive, and use whatever we gleaned from that in following attempts."
That made sense. Ironically, it was the same line of reasoning I was following by engaging her like this. Salvaging whatever I could from the end of the loop.
"Back then we had no methods of advancing our age or altering our appearance beyond simple glamours, which do nothing for height, so we appeared young. Thotar—once he finally arrived—seemed to take great joy in lecturing us, as if we were the wayward children we appeared to be, despite knowing full well what we were. We were prepared to endure the abuse. The gods were hardly forthcoming, even at the best of times, and often temperamental, which is why we put off negotiating aid as long as possible."
"It's strange. I always pictured Thotar as the strong, silent type."
Thoth shook her head ruefully. "That's the image he'd prefer. But the bastard never shuts up."
"You uh, still haven't explained the misfortune part."
"Oh, we're getting there." Thoth chuckled again. "So we're all waiting as he blathers on, scorching in the summer heat, already burned from the exceedingly long wait and lack of shelter, yet to even state what we sought him for, squinting into dusk as the sun sets—then he hones in on our dwarf. Starts really turning the screws on him. 'Where do you hail from? What divinity do you worship?'" She snapped her fingers for emphasis. "Just hammering with interrogations better suited to a nosy priest rather than an all-powerful god. The dwarf was the youngest in attendance, only an iteration or two old—nothing to scoff at, but still pretty wide-eyed coming face-to-face with powers of legend, which of course, Thotar picks up on. Then the pontificating begins. He begins by pointing out our errors—the ones that cost us the iteration, and as you said, blaming the dwarfs, or rather, this specific dwarf, for nearly everything that went wrong. Mocking us for bringing those 'not-worthy-of-mana' into the loop."
"How insufferable."
Her eyes glimmered with amusement. "In so many ways nothing has changed. It vexed you then, too. Rage was your vice long before it was ever mine. And between the wait, and the lecturing, and to state it frankly, one-sided prosecution of the least experienced among us, something snapped."
I imagined how I'd react if some uppity god started picking one of my companions apart. "Oh, no."
Thoth nodded, still struggling to keep a straight face. "You told him you took umbrage. Insulted in trade, said whatever you needed to rile him up. Then suggested a physical contest. He was already in human form, so all that was needed was for him to swear off magics and divine power."
"What? They cheat—it's obvious from the stories that they consider themselves above mortal rules."
"Yes. But an important distinction is that they cheat discreetly, following the letter of the law and ignoring the spirit. Furthermore, the point wasn't to win. The physical contest was the means. Not the ends. You set the parameters that you would go first, and he would attempt to copy your effort and do it better." Thoth's laughter overflowed.
"Without stating what it was." I clarified, with dawning horror.
"Not so much as a hint."
"Please tell me this isn't going where I think it's going."
"So he stood there like a stooge, waiting as you squared up with him. And raising your arm with the casualness of a man about to point at something—"
"—Oh no."
"You pulled your arm back and punched the god of the seas and thunder right in the fucking nose."
"Oh, no."
Thoth cackled, her laughter filling up the hut. "Whitefall has never been so silent, and a god has never been caught so flatfooted. It was as if the entire city heard his bird-nose break and froze where they were. He just stood there motionless, wide-eyed as a doe, trickle of blood dribbling down his flattened nostril."
"I'm guessing negotiations broke down afterwards."
"For the moment. But Thotar made a mistake. If he'd kept his wits, that would have been the end of it. Even limited to physical he likely held enough strength to snap your head back hard enough to snap the neck that held it." Thoth smirked. "But he was too slighted to be measured, and called down lightning instead."
I considered the reaction. That our companions at the time were likely chomping at the bit. "They wouldn't have just waited—we fought a god atop the cathedral of Elphion. You have to be kidding."
"Oh, it happened. If you believe nothing else, at least that much is true." Thoth laughed. "He really pulled out all the stops after that. Hunted us down, even those not in attendance. Ended the iteration prematurely." She wiped her eyes. "At the beginning of the next, we found him waiting for us, full of piss and vinegar. Sulking. Remember whose house you punched the god on top of?"
"Elphion's." I realized, the seemingly rash action making far more sense now.
"It catalyzed their rivalry. Elphion witnessed the entire exchange and reported Thotar's actions to the pantheon. His cheating was deemed flagrant and unbecoming, which led to censure. We attained everything that we wanted from him and more. As a bonus, after witnessing the thunder god's embarrassment, the rest of the pantheon were far quicker to take us seriously."
"It's a hell of a gambit to make, considering how badly it could have gone." I imagined an angry god showing up at the beginning of every loop, doing everything in his power to kill me.
"Yes. But that version of you? Could do no wrong in my eyes. You always saw the bigger picture and acted on it. It led us to such great heights. Until you grew too wary of the consequences and fear forever tainted your perspective."
"It's truly a burden, being terrified all the time."
It wasn't particularly funny. My delivery was flat, bordering on ironic.
Yet Thoth fixed me with an incredulous eye, and suddenly her cheeks ballooned, and laughter flooded out of her in gales.
"Please stop. The monsters will hear." I responded dryly, which only seemed to exacerbate her amusement.
The laughter died, and she considered me thoughtfully. When she stood and approached me with slow, cat-like footsteps, the urge to run was nearly impossible to fight.
"I did not know we could be like this."
"What? Civil?"
She shook her head. "We've played at civility before. But always when there is a fog of lies between us. Here, in this place, there are shockingly few to come by. Yet you remain, not running, fighting, or dying."
"It's nice." I admitted, forcefully filtering any potential sarcasm from my voice. "To not be running, fighting, or dying for once."
"Well, I suppose we are dying." Thoth shrugged. "Typically, I'd end it early. Wake up at the beginning and start again." Her visage grew serious. "But I'm not sure how many iterations are left. There were too many mistakes, this cycle. I need to take stock. Consider the future course and examine where it all went wrong." Her golden eye traced a line to the window. "Figure out why this horseshit happened early."
"In that we are aligned."
"Good. It's an arduously long death to face alone." She placed a hand on my shoulder.
I winced as the skin beneath her touch immediately went to pins and needles, all poking and pricking as if urging me to break contact, to do whatever I could to get away. Somehow I tolerated it, even dredging up a smile. "Perhaps it will not be so poor compared to deprivation. Dying the same way as the last."
"...Good." Thoth repeated, tilting her head a little. There was still an edge of wariness, but she seemed to have decided, at least for the moment, to take me at my word.
How long had it been since that happened?
"Grab your kit and come to my side." She gestured to her station, where a few suspensions of muted amber, red, and gray were still slow heating. "I'll need help in a moment. And maybe you'll learn something."
Tension left the room. For the next few hours, it was as if Thoth had forgotten our quarrel. She taught me the basics of alchemy, even showing minimal hostility towards my apothecary background. As vexing as this is to admit, my greatest enemy turned out to be one of the best teachers I'd ever had. There was a feeling of progress, though it's difficult to say what sort, exactly. Often, when she broached a new topic or technique, it was almost cautious, as if she expected me to mock her methods or reject the knowledge.
When I absorbed it instead, she actually seemed... pleased. Or at the very least, less curmudgeonly than before. It helped that I had a history with difficult teachers, and it was hardly the first time I'd learned from someone from the opposite side of the conflict.
There was something in Wi'rell's tomes about that. 'The greatest of lessons can come from the worst of enemies.' Or something to that effect. In all honesty, at the time of reading I'd thought it ignorant, high-minded philosophy with no bearing on reality.
Perhaps he was right.
Still there was a sense of rising tension. Even as she commented on processes and instructed offhandedly, her movements grew frantic, even erratic, as she juggled stirring a brown-blue paste and adding some sort of solvent to a heated red mixture.
I'd learned enough to connect the dots. "That," I indicated the solvent, "you're stopping it from catalyzing, or delaying it."
"Which would be easier if this sludge did not coagulate on a lark." The stirring implement rattled against the side of the bowl, and she frowned at the suspension.
"Give it here."
I held out a hand, fully expecting the bowl to be thrust into my palm. Instead, it was yanked away, and she shifted her narrow shoulders to shield it protectively.
Interesting.
"You allowed my aid with the last dozen steps." I pointed out, leaning a little, trying to get a better look. My unexpected teacher moved so quickly in her craft that it was difficult to keep track of what she was doing, but I was pretty sure the ingredients she was slaving over were both key ingredients to palliatives of the mind—though the conditions they treated varied significantly, and from what I could remember, combining them was a terrible idea.
"This is critical." She said, dead serious, glaring at me over the bowl.
"What is it?"
"A potent anticoagulant. In this environment, blood is more precious than air. We cannot complete it until the spare returns with its harvest."
Almost assuredly a lie... perfectly told. If I'd not matched the ingredients she'd gathered to the mash I would have believed her outright.
I nodded, miming understanding. "This may come as a surprise, but I also happen to be highly invested in keeping my blood in my body."
She tensed. "There is not much of it left, and if it is wasted—"
I dropped tact. "For fuck's sake. Give it here before your arm falls off."
Thoth studied my expression, her gilded eye piercing through me. Finally, with a barely perceptible tremble, she held it out, continuing to stir. "Take the bowl first."
I reached out.
"With both hands."
Annoyed, I did as she asked.
"Transfer on the tenth stroke."
As I counted the strokes up towards the specified number, watching her technique as she deftly manipulated the mash, my mind wandered in a dangerous direction. Temptation weighed heavy.
Between the lie and sudden deviation in behavior, it was obvious this was something that was needed rather than wanted.
It'd be so easy.
To simply drop my arms as soon as it was passed over.
And watch the precious mixture go crashing to the floor.
THUMP THUMP THUMP.
The sudden pounding at the door startled both of us.
"Just... come in." Thoth said, her brow furrowing. She'd stopped stirring for nearly five full seconds now.
"Open the damn door." The spare returned.
"Elphion, what the hells are you doing." No longer able to stand it, I snatched the bowl from her, resuming the stir with an identical technique. It did not move as freely as it had, but from appearances, it was not yet ruined.
"Good work." She caught my eye and nodded in appreciation.
"My ass." I muttered under my breath, already feeling my arm straining from the repetition. "Immortal master alchemist can't keep her shit together under pressure."
If Thoth heard, she didn't show it. She stalked to the door, pausing to cast what appeared to be an air spell, tracing a square around the door itself before she cracked it open. The spare—as she'd been called—squeezed in, her face dirtied with ash, a large canvas bundle in her arms.
"Yes." Thoth hissed, dropping the bundle to the ground and unrolling it. She went through them one by one, organizing them by type. "For nausea, will definitely need that. And symphytum! You actually found blade root. Excellent." She sorted through a few more, enthusiasm dampening as her movements slowed. "Where's the rest?"
The spare sagged against the doorframe, taking wheezing breaths. "That is all I could carry."
"There must be a mistake." Thoth chuckled. It rose in pitch at the end in a manner that raised the hairs on the back of my neck. "Because it's not here. The one that stabilizes. Uh—uh—uh—" She snapped her fingers.
"Heart of Anjeire." The spare provided, showing no expression, though her voice was devoid of energy.
"Surely you found some. The sprouts are not so uncommon—"
"When the world is not rotting on its axis. As it is, it's a miracle to even find everything I did. You should be grateful—" The spare argued, cutting off at the end. Something about her posture—the way she stooped, still weathering the elements she'd left behind minutes ago—set me ill at ease.
"What." Thoth said, slowly turning her head from where she knelt near the material.
"...It is nothing."
"Finish your thought. From the beginning."
I spoke up, not even sure why, gesturing to the newly organized bounty. "There's a great deal here to work with. If there's anything we're missing, perhaps we can take some of the equipment with us and gather more along the road—"
Thoth held up a fist to silence me, never taking her eyes from her double. "Say it."
The spare held her gaze, unflinching. "We should be grateful. To have found what we have."
"Ah. Gratitude." Thoth nodded, as if it was completely obvious. "Of course."
I was already taking several steps backward, and paused mid-stride when she called out to me. "Cairn."
"Yes?" I answered.
"You can stop."
There was a screaming urge to ignore the command. To simply let it pass by as if I hadn't heard it. Because I couldn't escape the notion that if I did, something terrible would happen.
"Stop. Stirring."
With a grimace, I let the stirring stick fall to the rim of the bowl, where it landed with a hollow ting. As was predicted, mere seconds after stopping, the mash hardened, turning the color of bone.
"Help me answer a hypothetical." Thoth murmured, still staring down the spare. "If a commander returns to your king with the report that he and his charges were successful in many battles, yet absolutely failed in their efforts to win the war—how would the good king react?"
"It... depends." I struggled. "One commander would typically not be expected to win a war as a sole effort. Failure is subjective to the task. It could be, if the task was difficult enough, and he truly made a good showing—"
"A critical skirmish then," Thoth clarified, immediately pivoting. "Utterly flummoxed the only one that truly mattered. Stop equivocating and answer."
"Poorly." I returned.
"Funny. Why do you think that is?" She inclined her head towards the spare.
"This is unnecessary."
"Really?" Thoth extended her arm towards the delivered bundle. "It seems necessary to me. Because you hauled back half the woods yet didn't bring back the one thing that actually mattered."
The spare closed her eyes. She seemed to relax some, the tension suddenly leaving her. "I made my best effort."
"Oh!" Thoth turned back to me, wide-eyed and astonished. "Did you hear that? She tried."
I nearly said something. Conjured some argument in the spare's defense. It occurred to me that there was no reason to. I wasn't sure how capable it was in terms of power or ability, but I'd seen nothing to disprove there was any actual difference in personality between them.
The conclusion had no more than entered my mind before there was a blur of movement.
My cloak billowed as Thoth shot forward as if shot from a bow, yanking the spare back painfully by her head before slamming her skull into the doorframe.
The double dropped to the ground, leaving a red imprint on the wall behind her.
"Centuries of experience tucked away for that insipid little mind to draw from." Thoth drew her knee up high and stomped downward, boot impacting with an audible crack. The double's legs seized, stretching out once before they pulled up to her chest. Thoth drew her knee up and stomped again, and again, each blow punctuating her scathing words. "And you still. Can't. Solve. A simple. Fucking. Problem. You. Witless. Incompetent. FUCK."
The last obscenity was punctuated by the sound of her boot slamming down in one final, terrible squelch.
Beneath her, the spare's arm raised. Like a child trying to catch the attention of a tutor. It simply floated in the air until Thoth crouched, battering it away where it landed with a wet noise, the pool of blood welling beneath her extended outward by the second.
Thoth sidestepped the pool and crouched beside her, revealing her face. The side with the golden eye was entirely caved in, nothing but brutalized flesh and fragments of bone. The remaining side—now turned towards me.
With the placement of the hand, it almost looked like she'd been reaching out towards me.
There was a sound of expulsion, and a wad of spit landed on the spare's ruined face.
"Thank you. Soooo much. For trying." Thoth growled, seething with hatred as she rose from her crouch, stretching out the leg she'd just put to such terrible effect.
It was awful to witness. Several years ago it would have been the worst thing I'd ever seen.
Those years had been long. And within them I'd seen much worse.
Yet, for some reason, it disturbed me just the same.
The ringing in my ears faded, replaced with a distant bubbling.
"Arch-mage—" I cut off as she whipped around, her face and figure covered in blood, then indicated the now bubbling red liquid with my thumb. "It's catalyzing."
Thoth seemed to come back, taking stock of the hut, and herself. She brushed a bit of gray, oozing tissue from her pant-leg and it plopped to the ground. "Cut the fire, dump the contents. Then get started on the rest of the list."
"Easy enough."
Thoth swooned a little, limping back a step before she considered the door. "I'm... going to go canvas for anything useful. The anticoagulant is likely beyond us now, but it clearly wasn't very thorough. Don't worry about the mess. It'll dissipate in an hour or two."
After one last petty kick, she opened the door and slammed it closed behind her.