Askyr's Revelation
Askyr learns the truth of the past and loses his shit over it.
Suddenly, it all made sense. But it wouldn't be this simple, right?? This direct?? This horrible of a truth??
“N-no, this… No, no…” Askyr slid one paper to the side, skimming another… Two accounts of the same event. Two people from long ago who actually wrote their thoughts on the matter… Two separate surviving pieces of legible literature...
A noble of Jurrica… And a Veil manipulating slave. Of course. Of course, of course! It all made sense and he hated it! Askyr took a seat and poured over his recreation of the texts again, then twice more.
No wonder the old world was beyond their reach, no wonder it had to be him to make these discoveries. Did she know? Is that why he wasn’t executed when she learned of his disposition? Was she aware that all along the old world was barred by a taboo? And the artifacts… all powered by magic. The generator, sparked by the power of people seen as nothing more than tools… And now, him. Nothing more than a tool to rediscover; nay, recreate that world.
Frustrated fury began to build inside him. Was it worth it to restore his civilization to its former glory? To doom his own kind, already cursed enough as is?
No. No!
“I won’t have it…” The veil warped to his will with ease, heat radiating from his hands as they gripped the delicate parchment, crinkling it. “I refuse!!”
The paper went up with flames; Askyr jumped to his feet, knocking the chair over and nearly stumbling over himself, “I will be your slave no longer!!” But whether there or not, he felt the weight of her presence, the threat of shattering his will, confounding his own thoughts and notions of her. He could not keep secrets. The very world around him proved a threat, existence itself a curse, and within that moment logic faltered and paranoia took hold, insanity driven by a sharp mind; a blazing fire of determination driven spite and hatred and sorrow. His life’s work meant dooming others into his life of servitude. His fair civilization… would it be best to leave its secrets in the dark, and allow the shining jewel to fade and crumble into nothing?
What was the point of anything!?
He slammed his hands down into the stone desk, erupting a pillar of flame upwards, catching the papers and books and whatever else might be nearby alight. And within his thoughts, he could have sworn he heard a cackle, ‘Go on, burn everything. I no longer need it.’
Askyr screamed at nothing and did just that, manifesting emotion through his waring of the veil, uncaring of what might be get caught in the aftermath. He slipped onto the floor, holding his head in his hands. “Get out of my mind you vile witch!!” But he could swear there were whispers as if just behind him, that shifting presence, hard to pin down, impossible to predict…
In his madness, the heat of the rising flames around him meant nothing, and for a moment, he thought them an illusion as well. The air grew heavy, but even still he failed to break free, stumbling to his feet and yelling incomprehensibly at nothing and everything and himself, finding any papers that hadn't caught and tearing them to shreds before taking them in hand and reducing the remains to nothing but ashes.
Sobbing and laughing hysterically, all at once, unsure if this was a victory or a defeat, he gripped his chair and tossed it into a shelf, spiting his own work, and her orders, “I am in control!! The future lies in my-!!” He broke down into a coughing fit, tears running down his face as the smoke stung his eyes.