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Start small. That’s the lesson of eternity. Creation magicks are fickle things, requiring absolute clarity and unwavering focus. A single stray thought could ruin the process, even for an expert. Recreating a sunken, rotting city in a single moment would be a tall order for anyone. Even Emet-Selch. So, start small. Perfect the foundation. Build. He had time.
A thick crust of barnacles and lichen clenched tight around his old office door. He gave the handle a tentative jiggle. The door held fast. Sealed stuck by the crustaceans and the pressure of the ocean depths. A disappointed grunt rumbled through the water which filled the hallway. A twitch of his fingertips sent an electrical bolt through the crust, searing it from the door with only a blue-green outline and a rush of bubbles to mark its passing.
Emet-Selch strode inside, nudging the door closed behind him. The water churned. A gentle tug pulled at his coat. A weary complaint from a city whose slumber had been rudely interrupted.
‘A fine place to begin,’ he thought. ‘Familiar and self-contained. No possible distractions.’
He raised one hand. Closing his eyes, he thought of home.
The desk beneath the window. Neatly stacked papers and reports. The squat, miniature plants growing on the ledge. Shelves stacked with jars, themselves fat with aetherologial reagents. A fresh stack of papers from the Bureau of the Architect, brought over directly by the department’s chief . The radiant sigh of the city beyond. Its people moving as one, each aware of their place in the greater whole. The sun beaming from a golden sky, bringing light to the darkest days.
He snapped his fingers. His eyes opened.
In place of the waterlogged wreck Emet-Selch had entered, he now stood in a memory given form. Thin wisps of steam rose from every surface. After a moment, they faded, the last trace of the sea banished from the room. Even his clothes were dry. While he had no true need for air, it was a little more comfortable in the lungs.
He pulled out his chair with a huff. Taking a seat, his hands came together, fingers interweaving as he raised them to his lips.
He sat for a while.
“You look as if something’s weighing on your mind.”
Emet-Selch’s heart twitched. His hands slammed onto the chair’s armrests. Eyes wide and jaw tight.
“Too many long nights? Too much stress? I have been telling you to arrange some time off.”
A figure swirled into being, given form with every word. Three yalms tall, draped in a thick, nondescript robe. A translucent head peered out from beneath the hood, with an ornate white mask perched on the barest hint of a face.
“What are you doing here?” Emet-Selch whispered.
“Here to see you, of course. How else would I spend my rare handfuls of free time?”
His breath hitched. His fingertips dug into the armrest wood. His eyes twitched up and down the phantom form, before his familiar glare asserted itself.
“Remove yourself.”
“Eager to be rid of me so soon? You really must be worked to the bone. How fortunate, we both know that you work so much better when I’m around. I distinctly recall, you said to me once, ‘How did I ever manage without you, my dearest Hythlodaeus?’”
Emet-Selch rose from the chair. His eyes glimmered red. A low growl paced around the back of his throat. He hunched forward, the heavy coat of Solus zos Galvus dragging at his shoulders.
“Speak that name again and I shall raze this ruin to the ground.”
The figure, Hythlodaeus, cocked its head.
“Would you rather I spoke your name, Hades?”
The growl burst from Emet-Selch’s throat.
“No, I would not.”
“You’re an abysmal liar,” Hythlodaeus raised a spectral hand, fingers brushing against Emet-Selch’s cheek. “It’s good to see you, old friend.”
He tilted his head, leaning into the figure’s fingers. His gaze traced the spectral arm, from Hythlodaeus’ shoulder down to his wrist. Heavy, lined eyelids flickered closed.
In less than a moment, he sucked in a breath. He pushed back his shoulders. Raising his chin, he looked up. Past the figure. He addressed the gilded ceiling.
“It’s been too long.”
“Far too long, for you,” said Hythlodaeus. “You don’t do well on your own. You never have. All those worries, weighing down on you. I can see them plain on your face.”
“Don’t…” his eyes closed, brow gently furrowing. “I have only ever done what was asked of me. What is necessary. This was always the plan. Always.”
“That is Emet-Selch talking.”
“I am Emet-Selch.”
“But must you be him all the time? Can you not indulge yourself just a moment, Hades?” Hythlodaeus dropped to one knee, translucent head level with Emet-Selch’s. The hand on his cheek drifted to his chin. A gentle tug forced him to stare into Hythlodaeus’ wide eyes. “Indulge me?”
“What do you think I’ve been doing? Having you remain here? Your every word is an indulgence that I dare to allow. You are the mistake of a novice. A wayward idea that slipped my mind at the instant of Creation. I could be rid of you in a moment.”
“And yet, I persist. If I am here, Hades, it’s only because you want me.”
Emet-Selch raised a hand to Hythlodaeus’ mask, tracing the ivory embossments with a shaking finger. The other hand rose to cup his spectral cheek. The lines of his brow dug deeper into his forehead.
“Do you think this is the first time I have done this?”
“I know it isn’t.”
“Lahabrea is dead. Elidibus has become increasingly erratic. I have searched the Shards for everyone else, but there’s nothing. It all falls to me. Again.”
The lightless sea beyond the office window churned in silence. If either of them cared to look, they could pretend the city slept as it had in their time. The darkness of the final hour before dawn. A school of dark green fish glinted in the warm light from the office, giving lie to the illusion.
“Do you remember the first time we removed each others’ masks?” Hythlodaeus murmurs.
“I do.”
“I have never known someone to be so hesitant, yet so desperate to get something over with. But then, that is generally you to a tee, isn’t it?”
His spectral hand reached for Emet-Selch’s arm. An urging tug brought his fingertips to the rim of his mask.
“I know what you’re doing…” Emet-Selch breathed.
“I know,” he paused. “Look at me, Hades.”
Emet-Selch gripped the mask. He lifted it.
Behind the mask, Hythlodaeus had no face. A flawlessly smooth approximation of a head nestled under his hood. Hades’ hand left his cheek, tracing the phantom jawline up toward what should have been his ear.
His frozen frown cracked. Flickers of warmth touched the corners of his lips.
His eyes scurried across every inch of him. Recognition poured through him with every blank space that he saw. His lilac eyes, deep like pools of velvet. The hair that swooped down across his shoulder. His lips…his smile…how kind he had been to allow the world to see it…
Emet-Selch felt a pressure in his face. A smile burst onto his features. A wet glint trickled down the side of his cheek. He forced a breath. Then another.
Hythlodaeus shuffled forward, wrapping his arms around the smaller figure.
Emet-Selch slipped his head into Hythlodaeus’ hood. His face buried itself in the ghostly crook of his neck. A deep breath. Only the smell of empty air filled his lungs.
“I stand by my decision, Hades,” said Hythlodaeus. “I would never amount to much, otherwise. The least I could do was play my part and save the star.”
Emet-Selch gave a minute nod.
“It wasn’t a decision made lightly, in case you wondered. Perhaps, if things were different…so on, so on. There are plenty of things I would have done, were it not for the impending apocalypse. The facts remain exactly as they are. So I did what I had to.”
“Just as I continue to do what I must.”
“Is it, though, Hades? Must you, really?”
Emet-Selch pulled himself from Hythlodaeus’ hood. His hands shifted to the figure’s shoulders, holding him at arm’s length. Heavy fingers dug into the mass of robes, squeezing tighter with every word.
“I must. I must. The world hangs on my shoulders, Hythlodaeus. So long as I remember, there’s still hope. Still some chance I can bring you all back! Fix this nightmare! We can be exactly as we were, and more!”
“Can we, truly? Perhaps, that may have been so, once, but…I have fulfilled my duty. Do you not deserve to do the same? Do you not deserve happiness, after all this time?”
“This is my duty! It must be! It has to be! I have held onto you for so long! Held onto all of you! Every detail I allow to slip from my mind is lost; every instant I falter, our world fades ever further! All these years cannot be for nothing! I cannot…I cannot lose you again!”
Hythlodaeus stared into Emet-Selch’s wide, bulging eyes.
“Oh, Hades…Whatever shall I do with you?”
“I am right, aren’t I?” his voice crumbled to a whisper. “Please…Tell me. All that has passed is for a reason. I cannot let that reason die. Even now…I know there are things I’m forgetting. I can’t possibly hold onto your every detail after all this time, no matter how hard I focus. What am I supposed to do if I allow myself a moment’s true reprieve? If I let you go, would I ever find the purchase to find you again?”
“I don’t rightly know,” Hythlodaeus’ own voice had dropped to match. “I can only say that you are suffering, like this. That it hurts to see you go on, day by day, year by year. The real Hythlodaeus would never want this for you.”
Emet-Selch’s brow twitched. His lips turned, curling into a snarl.
“I told you not to speak that name again.”
Hythlodaeus’ face fell. A long sigh rolled through his shoulders.
“You are ever as I remember you.”
“Be quiet! I have had quite enough out of you!”
Emet-Selch dug the fingers of his left hand into Hythlodaeus’ shoulder. His right hand dropped, bunching into a fist by his side. Thin trails of purple smoke oozed from between his fingers.
“You are a fiction. A ruinous crack in a world I wish to recreate. I shall remove you from this place and rebuild the city as I wish it.”
“If you say so, dear Emet-Selch. For all the good it shall do you.”
“Should you ever be woven by my hand again, you shall retain no memory of this. You shall play the role you are given to perfection! You shall see my reality as the reality!”
Hythlodaeus shook his head. “As I was supposed to now?”
The smoke in Emet-Selch’s hand roared into a churning, dark vortex. He snarled. The ridges of his teeth seemed to sharpen to points in the purple glare.
He raised his blazing hand.
A snap rang out.
Hythlodaeus’ form fizzled at the edges. His robes dissolved into a churning fog. The fog became mist, drifting back toward the walls. His mask clattered to the ground. Its unblinking eyes remained fixed on Emet-Selch.
It crumbled to dust.
Emet-Selch lurched forward, staring at the ground. His eyes fixed on the spot where the figure had stood. His dark hair fell around his face like a deep, brown curtain.
Every breath heaved like an exhausted dog. His arms hung loose at his sides.
Of course he would see the lie. Of course. Hythlodaeus would surely realise the truth, whether he was the real thing or a simple approximation. Or, perhaps he was an abysmal liar, after all.
A shaking hand tugged at the thick fur lining of his imperial coat. He began to pull it off. Clutching strands of fur gripped to the shirt underneath, leaving the coat hanging from his shoulder.
He tightened his grip. The first tears dropped to the floor. They pooled in the dust of Hythlodaeus’ mask.
Clear away the imperfection. No further distractions. Rebuild the foundations, and do it right this time. This time.
He yanked the jacket closed. Solus zos Galvus…Hades…whoever he was…clattered to his knees.
Fire burst from his left palm. Crisp, white fragments of ice coated his right hand.
The burning fist hit the floor. The tiles cracked. The frozen fist followed. The dust of Hythlodaeus’ mask scattered, flickering into black cinders.
The seas churned around the weary bones of Amaurot. Its lone inhabitant screamed, smothered by the darkness of the deep.