All the while Nomi is saying, “We have lived without assistance from the Order for five hundred years. What do you think we actually need? Do you know? Because forcing us to be involved in your war isn’t compassion.”
“It doesn’t need to be a war,” Eraya tells her, eyeing the shortening distance between us tensely. “If enough of us join together—”
“That only works if it isn’t forced joining, sweetheart. And you’re not going to convince other people to give up their power without a fight. Is that really what you want to use your power for? Making normal people give up their power, instead of the ones keeping them down?”
Mujin steps forward—still behind Eraya, of course—and the magical ties binding Teren drag him forward too, which makes me grind my teeth.
“If you believe that the Order’s ability to care for more people is oppression, then you are part of the problem we are here to solve.”
Oh, of course, he wants justification for killing Nomi too. This absolute fucker.
“What, don’t trust your sage spokesperson to do the talking after all?” I ask. “What is she for, then?”
“The Sage of Compassion requested the opportunity to try to resolve this without force,” Learned Mujin says calmly. “She has had her chance.”
Eraya’s hands twitch—like she would have clenched them into fists, at being cut off before she could even truly start, but knows not to.
I recognize myself so well in that aborted movement.
Sages are not for holding still.
“You are obsolete, Wrath,” Mujin says. “We have other sages. You do not belong in this time. If you have learned nothing since your profound error centuries past... you will not be allowed to make it again.”
A few days ago, that would have been a score for Mujin. I wondered, before I woke up, if I was irrelevant now.
But I have moved in the world, since.
And I’m going to teach the people of this time what wrath is.
It’s more than just violence.
“Sage of Compassion,” Learned Mujin says in a tone that has Eraya tensing. “It is time for you to serve.”
“I’ve learned quite a bit, actually,” I say, willfully ignoring his attempt to take control of the situation. My eyes are all for Eraya, who has fallen into a form but hasn’t started moving. “I’ll tell you what we’re for.”
“Compassion!” Mujin snaps, with no apparent awareness of irony.
If you have to yell atcompassion, you are not on the right side of history.
But Eraya begins to move. Jerkily, like she was not ever expecting to be called on in this way, but the Order’s pampered promises mean nothing when they are threatened.
And she is their puppet, and the Order holds her strings.
And so, on cue, do the priests move.
I spin reflexively into a form before halting at the sensation of my wrath flaring not just from within me, but alsoalong my mate bond.
I’m not alone.
Terrifyingly, that also means there are more people in danger than just me, and I’m beginning to appreciate how sheltered I used to be in this respect, too.
It’s much easier to burn yourself to a crisp when there is no one relying on you to exist.
I look back at Zan, who has stayed a distance away to be able to react to anything the Order throws at him. “I need more time,” I whisper.
All the time. For him—forme.
For all of us.
