I WOULD SPEAK WITH YOU.

  A melodious female voice sang into the silence between Aaron and the eldritch eye.

  Aaron clenched his teeth. Seems this one has better sound settings. His pulse quickened. Why now? Are they just going to keep harassing me?

  "I do not feel I have much choice in that matter," he ground out, fists clenching.

  CHOICE.

  A CURIOUS CONCEPT.

  FREE WILL STABILIZES MINDS—YET IT IS BUT AN ILLUSION.

  Warmth seeped into his skin, like a summer rain. His fingers uncurled. His shoulders loosened. Yes… This feels good. Feels right.

  A whisper of doubt stirred at the edge of his mind. Wait… why does it feel right? The warmth in my chest is foreign. It’s been planted there. Like a parasite.

  Then, rage tore through him, burning away the false calm.

  SEE.

  I REQUIRE NO CHOICE ON YOUR PART.

  YET I PREFER TO HAVE YOU SERVE ME WILLINGLY.

  A sledgehammer to the gut. The weight of an ocean crashing down. His lungs locked. His mind fractured—reality shifting, cracking apart, reforming under someone else’s will.

  No—wait—

  A cold hand gripped his spine. His fingers spasmed. He knew he was standing, but he couldn’t feel his body. It isn’t mine anymore. The thought festered, alien and absolute.

  I am so fucked.

  His mind clawed for control, but the thought festered like a parasite. It can do anything to me. Anything. Whatever it asks—I must obey. I must serve.

  SEE.

  YOU CHOOSE—AND YET, YOU DID NOT.

  THE PARADOX LIES IN ALL MINDS.

  Aaron stood still. He listened to his body. Nothing. Neutral. Ambivalent. Then, fury surged, burning away the false calm. His breath hitched. Heat seared through his veins.

  He screamed. “How dare you! You just violated my mind! My free will! You—”

  ANY INTERACTION IS MANIPULATION OF THAT KIND.

  I AM MERELY MORE DIRECT.

  STOP FRETTING, MORTAL.

  Aaron shuddered, jaw clenched tight. He wanted to argue, but the words died on his tongue. It didn’t mock him. Just watched. Like he wasn’t real.

  A shudder rolled through him. The voice was calm, almost amused. A titan watching an ant. It isn’t even mocking me. Just observing. I’m not real to it.

  Is it manipulating me again? I can’t tell. Did I just decide that, or did it make me think I did?

  His voice cracked. “What would you like to speak about?”

  YOU WILL LET ALL SAGES LIVE.

  THE HIGH KING, THE DRAGON, AND THE TWINS.

  THEY MUST BE SAVED.

  DO NOT IMPEDE THE OTHERS IN ESCAPING.

  The eye narrowed. A pulse in the air—thick, crushing. Aaron staggered. His mind caved in.

  I SENSE YOUR COMPLIANCE.

  The weight vanished. Air flooded his lungs, sharp and too clean.

  I WILL PAY YOU.

  Power coiled through his spine, cold and electric, threading into his mind like a second heartbeat.

  YOUR FIRST SPELL.

  AN ALTERATOR ON THE BRINK OF CONSTRUCTOR GRADE.

  ‘SPEED OF THOUGHT’ WILL SERVE YOU WELL.

  Aaron stared, transfixed. His lips trembled. Anger tangled with fear. Confusion warred with relief.

  The eye fell away. He exhaled sharply, shaking himself. Straightened his back. I will not be pushed around by those things.

  Cold sweat clung to his skin as he forced himself to speak. I have remained silent too often before.

  "I am supposed to save three people," he called after the eye. A beat of silence. A ripple in the air. It froze midair. Aaron gasped, breath catching as it turned back. A mouse before the snake.

  He inhaled sharply. Stepped back. The words surged out, reckless, defiant.

  "You want me to play along?" His voice wavered. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to stand firm. "Then I demand—" He hesitated– think, think.

  The abyss studied him, endless and unblinking. A cold weight coiled in his stomach. No way out. No way back.

  "Three spells. Powerful ones." Another eternal moment. The eye bore into him, an abyss swallowing thought. Sweat ran down his spine, but he locked his knees. You will not overcome me.

  A purr slithered through the air.

  I DO SO ENJOY THOSE WHO HAVE IT.

  THE WILL.

  DO NOT WORRY, WEAVER’S CHAMPION.

  I SEEK ONLY TO NURTURE YOUR DARKER IMPULSES.

  A rush of wind. The eyeball plunged into the depths. Silence. The kind of silence that rang in his skull, thick and consuming.

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  Aaron collapsed onto the pillar. His body shook uncontrollably. Did I really just do that? A jagged laugh tore from his throat. Darker impulses. The rush after combat. The thrill of breaking an enemy’s will. The joy.

  A burning city. Chained women. Ash drifting in the wind.

  His stomach churned. No. That wasn’t him. That would never be him. But the whisper in his mind wondered—if he had been born in a different life, would it be?

  He closed his eyes. Reached for nothingness. Failed. Time passed. His breathing steadied. That was something like the watcher, but stronger.

  A god. Probably. Which one? Aaron stared at the empty space where the eye had been. His lips trembled.

  Weaver? Worldsmith? The Mother they keep cursing? The Chained Fist? None of them fit. The Weaver has no reason to do this.

  That left two possibilities. The Endless Eye. Or She of the Psyche. An eye. But also definitely psychotic.

  Let’s add this to the list of things I have to ask Theon about. It’s getting long. The world lurched.

  A voice called his name—urgent, insistent. He flinched, but it was distant, muffled, like sound traveling through deep water.

  He turned. The metal sphere spun, smooth and untouched. The deformations were gone, wiped clean. A god’s whim. A shudder ran down his spine. It had marked him.

  The abyss was gone. But it had not left. The world slipped away. Reality took him. Weight returned. Gravity settled into his bones. The scent of cloth and incense replaced the distant void.

  —

  A calm, measured voice spoke above him. "I can find no fault with his brain. Trust me, your son is in perfect health, Anax." A stubbled face hovered over him—plain, unassuming, clad in a simple green tunic.

  "My son has been given float juice, and you claim nothing is wrong with him? I ought to have both you and the sergeants flogged," snarled a voice to his side.

  Warmth wrapped around him, too soft, too pleasant. His mind clung to shadows of the abyss. A heartbeat ago, I stood before a god. Now—silk sheets? Warm light?

  Aaron lay still, inhaling slowly. I am alive. But where?

  A sharp female voice cut through the rising tension. "You forget yourself, Adrikles. The honored mind-healer may leave now. We may require your services later." The man in green bowed slightly and disappeared.

  Aaron stretched. Every muscle hummed with deep, pleasant warmth. Like a full-body massage. Damn, I feel good.

  He turned his head. The woman who had spoken stood tall, wiry as steel cables. Next to her, a younger version—her sharp features still softened by youth—frowned at a man with a slight belly and a neatly kept beard.

  Theon and Rhea stood by the lavishly decorated door, sweat clinging to their fresh white tunics. The door closed after the young healer left.

  "It is my son. I will find a competent healer, unlike this fool!" he thundered.

  "Maybe talking to our son could be of use," said the younger woman in a too-sweet tone, "my love."

  The man grumbled.

  "Xandros, my son. Tell me, what is all of this nonsense your cousin is spouting? You are doing well, right?"

  The hope in his voice settled onto Aaron like a lead blanket. I’m talking to the parent of the guy whose body I snatched. This will be fun. Maybe I finally get to test my revival ability.

  Aaron remained silent. Slowly, he shook himself. Acting dumb worked with the sergeants. Let’s hope that I’m not drugged into meeting another god.

  He raised his hand, shaking it as feebly as possible. The adults gasped. "Get another healer!" shouted the man. Seems like this is convincing.

  Aaron motioned Theon and Rhea to come over. Better have them handle this. I have no clue who anyone here is. "Theon," Aaron rasped like death himself. "Rhea."

  He motioned them over a second time. At the old woman’s curt nod, they came over, taking cover behind her as they approached. Seems they do not like my father. He does not seem too bad.

  Theon tilted his head toward Aaron. Aaron pressed his lips together and nodded. Two of the women narrowed their eyes. Too observant. Rhea stood impassively in the background.

  Theon cleared his throat. His fingers twitched at his side—too subtle for most to see. Straightened up and met the old woman’s gaze. "Holy Matriarch, Clan Hellionis has been blessed with a champion of the Weaver. He was sent into Xandros’s body after Xandros was killed in the trial."

  Aaron’s breathing was the only sound in the room.

  Theon and Rhea stood rigid, their white tunics stained with sweat. Theon met the old woman’s gaze without flinching. Her expression shifted—mirth fading into something unreadable. The younger woman’s sharp eyes flicked across the room, searching.

  A ragged breath cut the silence. "Xandros is dead?" The father’s voice cracked, thick with anguish and fury. He took three steps forward.

  "You…" His finger stabbed toward Theon, his face twisting, red blotches rising up his neck. "You accursed Leukos have conspired against the Erythros branch! Holy Matriarch, I demand—"

  His feet left the ground. A noose snapped taut around his throat, jerking him skyward.

  A strange, spiderlike contraption clung to the stone above, fixing the rope to the ceiling. Xandros’s father kicked, grasping at the noose, fingernails digging into his own skin.

  The matriarch exhaled, almost bored. “Reikaia, your husband is grief-stricken. So distraught, in fact, that he forgot himself and made demands of me. Correct?”

  Not really a question, rather a command. Xandros’s mother studied her husband’s flailing form for an uncomfortably long moment. Then she smiled.

  "That must have been it, Mother. Shall I have the domestics bring him to his room?" Her voice was smooth. Even. As if commenting on the weather.

  The old woman’s lips curved in approval. "That would be splendid, my dear."

  The rope released. Xandros’s father crumpled to the floor in an undignified heap. He moaned, massaging his bruised throat. Has my new grandma just Darth-Vadered my new father?

  Slaves entered, lifting the reluctant man to his feet and dragging him toward the exit. The matriarch’s gaze shifted. Like a battleship cannon locking onto its next target.

  Aaron’s throat dried. The weight of her attention pressed against his ribs, tight, crushing. His hands itched for a weapon he didn’t have.

  Then—she smiled. A slow, deliberate movement. Her head bowed, chin touching her neck. His pulse thundered in his ears. Did I just pass a test? Or did I step into a deeper game?

  "I greet the Weaver’s champion. Clan Hellionis is honored by this blessing from the Weaver." Tension drained from Aaron’s body. I am finally in control. She respects me. Maybe this will not be bad.

  "May I inquire if anything but Xandros’s body remains? Is there anything you desire right now?" Aaron tipped his chin. What can I get? What do I need?

  Support. This family is powerful, and nobility matters. Being a commoner in premodern times is rather unpleasant. If I could retain my status…

  A moment of silence passed before he spoke. "I greet the Holy Matriarch," he paused. Too long? Not long enough? Should I add how honored I am by her presence or some Game of Thrones bullshit?

  No. Play it simple. "Sadly, your grandson is entirely gone. I am sorry for your loss. I just awoke in this body." A single tear ran down Xandros’ mother’s carefully composed face. The matriarch only nodded, curt and unreadable.

  She must have hated the little prick. Cannot blame her. Still. Losing your kid only to have a stranger take over his body as a flesh puppet—I get the father’s—my father’s—reaction. This is damned creepy.

  Nonetheless, someone powerful just asked me what I need. It could be a trap. No, that is exhaustion and paranoia speaking. Let’s see what I can get.

  "I would like to have Theon and Rhea available to talk with. Access to a library would be great. Oh, and there have been a few incidents around etiquette. If that could be taught to me, I would be grateful."

  Silence. The old woman stared at him. Searching my soul like the strange eye had. Oh god, what have I done now? Can’t I catch a break from the social landmines?

  The staring match dragged on. Aaron shifted under the blanket. Her gaze is as piercing as an owl wrought from steel and willpower.

  He broke eye contact.

  +++Shout-Out-Time+++

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  What do you think of Aaron's decisions? Would you have done the same?

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