Chapter Text
Moash sat alone on his bed in a room of the Kholinar palace. He had a window through which he could look over the beauty and destruction of the city. Broken walls and destroyed gardens still littered the landscape, but the vibrancy, the living pulse of the city hadn’t been lost. There were still thousands of regular people doing regular work to keep everything running, and not much had changed for them.
At least the Fused treat their human slaves better than the humans treated the parshmen, he thought idly, a justification he’d run through his head so many times it had become a rut. The world is completely stormed up. Staying afloat, in whatever way possible, was the only way to survive, and he’d done that. He wasn’t proud of what he’d done, but he must’ve done something right because here he was in the palace, in a position of honour that came with a new name - Vyre - and an Honorblade.
Moash summoned the Blade and admired it again. It was smaller than other Shardblades he’d seen. He was told it carried the Surges of Gravitation and Adhesion, just like a Windrunner, and he’d laughed at that. Let Bridge Four see him now. I should really practice with it, he thought, but he didn’t feel like it. When he held it, he saw Kaladin’s face, his broken, hollow expression, after Moash’d killed Elhokar. Moash thought he’d feel better after killing Elhokar, but he didn’t. Was that what Kaladin’s eyes had said? Was there something else he needed to do to get justice for Ana and Da? Was there someone else he needed to kill before he’d finally feel peace?
Why couldn’t I have been a real Windrunner? Why must I be a shadow of them? Didn’t I deserve to be part of Bridge Four? Why couldn’t Kaladin understand?
You don’t deserve to be part of Bridge Four. You betrayed them. The thought, coming up often when his mind turned to Kaladin, used to hurt, used to burn in his chest, made him want to hide away, but now the heat of his disgrace didn’t hurt at all. It was like he was in a burning house, but without the instinct to flee. He could warm himself with his shame.
You should have thrown yourself in that bonfire . Another thought he’d had often. Perhaps he did deserve to die. He looked at the Honorblade, then shrugged and dismissed it. He felt no urge to make it happen.
The heat inside him intensified. You should suffer! Yes, he probably should, but he wouldn’t. It’s strange that my thoughts have gotten darker since Odium took away my pain . He leaned back against the wall, the stone cooling the back of his head and shoulders. It was nice, he supposed, that it didn't hurt anymore to be pathetic and broken, a man who just stormed up every good opportunity he got. He chuckled to himself, shaking his head. See, it’s easy to think that now. I can just accept it. I’m just a lowly human, and if anyone thought more of me, that’s their problem.
“No, you could have done better. You should have done better,” he thought, but the sound of it seemed to come from outside his head. Moash looked up, surprised. The sun had just set, and Salas was rising, casting a dim violet light through the window.
“You’re not pathetic because you’re human, Moash. You’re pathetic because of the choices you made. Because of what you did . It’s your fault. ” The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. Moash stood, confused, and scanned the room. It wasn’t large, and he spied the one sliver of deep darkness in the gloaming.
With a sound like the tearing of cloth, a man stepped out of the shadow, into the violet light of the moon. He looked just like Moash, except his hair was longer, he was bare footed, and he wore a different uniform - cut just like that of Bridge Four, but all in black, without any insignia. His heart racing, Moash sat back down on the bed. Who knows what can happen when you give your allegiance to a god? he thought, indifferent to the arrow of shock that shot through his belly. Perhaps this is a messenger from Odium, or my imagination, lighted by passion.
The other man crossed his arms, and his expression held a frown reminiscent of Kaladin’s. “You chose to surrender to the Fused,” he intoned. “You gave up your Shards. If you’d chosen Honor you would have fought to the death.”
So he’s not a messenger from Odium , Moash concluded. Must be a shadow of my imagination. Perhaps I’ve gone insane . “I didn’t deserve them anyway,” he said mildly. It was true.
“You chose to betray the man who gave you those Shards, a man who trusted you, the best man you ever knew.” The man in black took a step closer.
Moash remembered the way Kaladin had stood after he'd punched Kaladin with the full force of his Shardplate. The way he'd lit up with Stormlight, wielding ancient power. “He was wrong,” Moash shrugged. “I didn’t deserve him, either.” He felt no pain in admitting it, although a shamespren fell beside him, the white petal looking purple in the light.
The man stepped closer and leaned down, face to face with Moash, who was forced to look up to meet his gaze. It had been a long time since he’d bothered to look at his own reflection, but their features were identical, as far as Moash remembered. He looked so familiar and yet...there was something in the expression...an authority that Moash could never hope to achieve.
The man in black frowned, and Moash felt a cold wave of contempt hit him. “You chose to leave Ana and Da. They died because you weren’t there to protect them,” the man said, his teeth gritted. Moash remembered returning to cold emptiness instead of home. He remembered the hollow sound of his footsteps in a house with nothing boiling on the cookfire, no reed scratching away at the accounts, no warm voices of welcome.
Moash hissed automatically, even though there was no longer pain in the image. “It wasn’t my fault!” he barked, the words themselves an echo of younger days, when the pain was a white hot brand in his chest and nothing could ease it. “It wasn’t my fault,” he said again, more evenly. He’d thought it so many times - while pacing his grandparents’ vacant house, sitting by the fire on a caravan job, staring at the ceiling of the Bridge Four barracks - the path had become intimately familiar and he travelled it again, even though it was pointless. “It was Elhokar’s fault.”
The man in black raised his eyebrows and laughed, then started pacing in front of Moash. “ Elhokar? You saw the man, he was toothless. A puppet, spouting out other people’s ideas. A foolish child playing at being a king. You think he’s responsible? You saw his idiotic face when he died. And he was going to be a Radiant. You’re more of a failure than he was.”
Moash pursed his lips and looked away, his thoughts continuing down their well-worn path. If it wasn’t Elhokar’s fault, then it was his father’s fault. No. Navani’s fault. She’d raised him. She knew what he was when she put him in power. Perhaps she needs to die. Then it’ll feel right. It hadn’t felt right when Elhokar had died. He didn’t know why.
The sound of quick footsteps was followed by a warm hand gripping his jaw, firmly pointing his face upwards again. Moash flinched in surprise. He’s real? Reluctantly, Moash’s Honorblade-blue eyes met the man’s dark brown ones. The man in black smiled grimly, leaning in closer until their noses almost touched. “Looking for fault elsewhere is a fun diversion, isn’t it?" the man smiled humorlessly, "but it was just a lie to hide your pain, Moash. You don’t need it anymore. Drop your shield. Deep down you know the truth. You abandoned Ana and Da to go gallivanting for adventure in the big wide world! Your selfish dreams killed them. You weren’t there to protect them when they were arrested! You didn’t get them out! You failed them." His voice got louder, and each statement tore at Moash's heart.
Moash had never allowed those thoughts to reach the surface of his mind, but somehow this other man knew his deepest injury. He felt the tearing of his heart. Without the pain, he could witness the fine details as pieces were ripped from him. Moash tried to pull away, but the man’s hand tightened, holding his jaw firm.
“Who...who are you?” Moash whispered. His heart raced, his blood rushing in his ears, but all he felt was an intellectual curiosity. I’d like to know who killed me . Perhaps he should have felt more angry, protected himself. As it was, he just felt sweaty.
The man in black laughed coldly. “You simple fool. You don’t recognize me? You’re such a follower you need someone else to think for you? Look at me. ” He shook Moash’s face. “I’m you , I’m the real you. The source of your pain.” His dark brown eyes searched Moash’s, then he dropped his hand with a huff. “I’ve been with you all this time, but you still don’t recognize me. Stupid. All I ever wanted was to help you. I tried to help you feel the pain so you could take responsibility for it. So you could grow past it, be the person you were meant to be.”
The man started pacing again, and Moash watched silently, dumbstruck. “If you had heeded the pain instead of shielding it," the man ranted, "you could have been someone who deserved those Shards. You could’ve been a Windrunner. You could have had everything!” He spun on Moash, pressing a finger into his chest. “Heralds know the men of Bridge Four aren’t perfect, but they took responsibility for their decisions. Even the firemoss addict gets to fly. Teft is broken, just as bad as you, but he owned his mistakes. That’s why he’s free, claiming the skies, bonding with Honor’s spren, glowing like Stormblessed himself, and you’re a slave now in truth. You’ve sold your only chance at bettering yourself, and all you can do is sit in the dark, waiting for the next call from your master.” He shook his head and shoved his finger harder into his chest, a dangerous violet glint in his eyes. “I thought you had so much promise. I was trying to give you a gift -”
“The gift of pain ?” Moash interrupted, pushing forward against the man’s finger. “Are you mad? You must be. If you are who you say you are, you almost drove me to the brink. I lived with pain every day -”
The man in black jabbed harder. “I was trying to make you pay attention to what you did, but you ignored me! So I had to become louder and louder, and still you wouldn’t listen. Do you have any idea how frustrating you are? You went to Odium to take away your pain! MY pain!” He slapped Moash across the face, and the sound echoed in the emptiness. Moash smiled.
The man grimaced. “I see I can no longer sway you,” he admitted. “Pain was my tool, Moash, and you’ve taken it from me.”
It was true - all his pain was gone. The burn of the slap was almost pleasant, warming his face.
“You’ve denied me my satisfaction,” the man said coldly. “You can only reject me so many times. I used to love you. Do you understand that? Now I have nothing left for you but contempt. All I want to do now is destroy you.”
Moash’s smile turned smug. “How can you destroy me if I’m beyond pain? You can’t hurt me. No one can.”
The man shook his head. “You truly are stupid, aren’t you? I may not be able to cause you pain, Moash, but I can still harm you. Just because you can’t feel the cut doesn’t mean you’re not bleeding to death. I swear to Odium, I will make you pay for allowing Ana and Da to die. I will make you pay for not living up to the man you could have been. I will make you pay because no one else will.”
Those were fighting words. Normally Moash would have lashed out already, but he found he was only mildly annoyed. He wasn't fully convinced this man...this thing...would bleed real blood if he attacked. Still, he wanted to shut it up. Whatever it was, it was interrupting his evening. Insulting him. Putting its hands on him. And it was wrong . Somehow, even though it didn’t matter anymore, he still needed to believe that none of it was his fault. This thing had to go.
“I’ve had enough of your tiresome speeches, whoever you are,” Moash said. “You say you’re me, but I don’t recognize you. If you’re real enough to slap me, you’re alive enough to have your soul torn from you.” He reached out his hand, summoning his Honorblade.
It didn’t appear.
Confused, Moash looked up. The man was smiling now, his eyes shining blue. “You still don’t know who I am,” he said, chuckling long and low as he held out the Honorblade, wet with condensation. “ I am Vyre. Not you. I have the power now. You couldn’t be trusted with a Blade this valuable, anyway,” he mocked, admiring its shape, testing its weight in his hand.
On instinct, Moash slid forward to take out his legs, but Vyre was faster. Vyre's hand brushed against Moash’s chest, and he found himself twisting uselessly in the air as Vyre Lashed him up and sent him flying across the room, landing flat against the far wall.
Vyre tilted his head and smiled as Moash struggled uselessly against the Lashing. “Are you afraid of what I’ll do to you? You should be,” he said smoothly.
“I’m not scared,” Moash whined. “I just want to be free.”
“You’ve never been free,” Vyre spat. “I’m tired, Moash. All these years trying to help you, trying to make you a better person, and all you’ve done is push me away. Now without my pain, all I have left for you is contempt. I will make sure you know nothing but betrayal and abandonment. I will tear your life apart. I will destroy everything you love, because you don’t deserve anything good.”
Maybe he’s right, Moash thought, sagging in his uniform. I left Kholinar chasing freedom and ended up back here in chains. I might as well accept my fate.
Vyre frowned, turning the Honorblade in his hand as he regarded Moash critically. Then he raised the sword, putting the tip to Moash’s wrist.
“What are you doing?” Moash asked, but Vyre ignored him. He carefully sliced Moash’s sleeve, cutting the uniform open up to the shoulder. Moash realized he was holding his breath, and forced himself to calm, watching as the man cut a smooth, straight line along his other sleeve, then across his chest.
With Vyre so close, Moash could finally see that this stranger truly was real. Vyre’s hands were careful as he reached to pull the clothing off him, and his cuts were sure and precise. Could Moash have ever been that confident? Was he a version of Moash that was truly free? In the absence of Kaladin, could this be the best man to follow?
As Vyre exposed Moash's upper body, he clicked his tongue, looking at the tattoo on Moash's shoulder. “This won’t do,” he said to himself. Moash watched impassively as Vyre used his Honorblade to slice through his shoulder. The grey, dead colour of his skin now obscured the lines of the tattoo. Moash shivered, a shock of cold running through his body. He couldn't look away.
"You think that's going to destroy me?" he chuckled. "You're doing me a favour. I needed to get rid of that tattoo anyway."
"I've only just begun," Vyre growled. "You need to know you can never go back. To Kaladin, you are an enemy now. You will never serve him again."
Moash knew that already, but still his thoughts turned to the words he'd said to Kaladin, heavy like a promise on his heart. You're my Captain. Forever . He watched as Vyre sliced through his pants and underclothes. Forever had gone by in the blink of an eye. Every last vestige of Bridge Four was ruined now, and he could no longer cling to the idea in the back of his mind that he was still a part of them, that they could still belong to each other. He was truly alone, and the shock of it left him dizzy.
He looked up, and Vyre was searching his eyes with a grim expression, as though he could read his thoughts.
"Bridge Four is just another family you abandoned," he frowned, bathing him in judgment.
Heat flooded Moash's face. He was naked now, stuck to a wall, his Honorblade taken from him, and this man was insulting him, destroying his uniform, and stealing his new name. I should be angry, he thought. I should be trying to protect myself. But what can I do? I never deserved to be protected anyway.
"I'll give you what you deserve, Moash," Vyre assured him. "You never wanted the responsibility of being a man. You were always a follower. The caravans, Kaladin, Graves, Odium..." Vyre tilted his head. "As much as I loathe Odium for what he took from me, I think he will like me better. From now on, I lead us. And I will lead us to destruction."
With his last free thoughts, Moash turned to a memory of Kaladin, the distress in his eyes when he'd killed Elhokar. Why did he look crushed? Didn't he understand what it meant to me? That it was for him too? And why didn't I feel good after? It was supposed to feel good...
"Pathetic. Without pain, you just keep poking your wound. Well no more," Vyre said coldly. "I will take Kaladin from you, permanently."
Moash stared with wide eyes, unable to resist.
Vyre turned away from Moash and spread out his arms. He floated upwards, the Honorblade extended elegantly in his hand as though it were made just for him. "Goodbye," Vyre said, his back to Moash. "Enjoy your view from the background where you belong. No responsibility, just the way you like it." He fell backwards.
With a gentle thud, Vyre landed against the wall. He released himself from it, floating slowly with his toes pointed down. He smiled and dismissed the Blade as he landed on the pile of cut up clothing. "This uniform is much more suitable," he said to himself, pulling the sleeves straight. It was better than Bridge Four. Black was the right colour for an assassin, and the sleek cut made him look distinctive, yet refined. The pain was still absent, but he could feel the clarity of his purpose. No doubts anymore, no thoughts spinning in the wind. He looked around the small, empty room, and found a half finished glass of wine.
Vyre brought it to the window, taking in the light of Salas at her height. He took a sip, bathing in the violet light, and took in the destruction of the city he'd grown up in. He breathed it in and smiled, and started thinking of ways he could kill Kaladin Stormblessed.