How can this be?

You’re dead. I watched you die.

Are you alive? Are you real?

Why?

Why?

Why?!

I loved you.

“Why are you here?”

The question finally came in spoken form, but never represented the one million different thought processes Shinsou had run in under five seconds. She shouldn’t be here. She was long dead, so it was clear that he was either under the influence of some sort of hallucinogenic spell, or experiencing a vision. Sadly, a brief glance about offered no path back to reality; only a dreamscape of his past.

“What are your hands for?”

The silky voice slipped through the shadows of the valley as Rhovani’s alabaster form turned to face him.

Shinsou groaned.

“I don’t have time for riddles, Rhovani. I-“

“What-are-your-hands-for?” She interrupted, her voice seeming to shake the sands of their new surroundings. For some reason, the question battered the Telgradian. The riddle clearly held some deeper meaning, but repeated attempts to recall any sort of connection to the question and him failed. Suffocating tendrils lifted from his vision and receded from his lungs as he breathed in stale must and ancient history. Then, a pang. A tiny fragment of a thought in his mind sparked to life and muscle memory kicked in.

“To build the world around us.”

“And what is your heart for?”

For a moment, the scenery faded. Shinsou could swear that, over him, loomed three slight figures clad in white and mottled with blood. The one on the right glowered at Shinsou, bristling with energy as his hands touched the wound in his chest. Pain wracked him again all of a sudden as the main figure worked and the other two regarded him with little more than mild interest. Before long, everything was suddenly sucked back into the Telgradian dreamscape again and his body returned to its numb state. What was that just now? The flickering of reality? The rancid musk of this place returned, accompanying a chill in the air. Hard rock dug into his feet, clawing at his heels.

“To shape the world we built,” he muttered. “What is all this about?”

“But there is another part to that haiku, isn’t there Shinsou?”Rhovani replied. The hint of a wry smile played about her lips.

“For fuck’s sake,” The Telgradian swore, this time not bothering to keep his temper in check. The roots of the valley reverberated in tune with his rage. Loose dirt and ash sprinkled upon his upturned, furrowed brow. “What is my sword for?. I don’t have the answer to that one, so, now what?”

“Now, Shinsou Vaan Osiris, you understand.”

“I understand what?”

Rhovani outstretched her hands and suddenly manifested a perfect copy of Enpera, Shinsou’s blade. The movement gave her a sweet scent of dark magic and the tantalising hint of the ruins that he had once walked as home. “That you don’t understand anything at all. The world you built with your hands, and shaped with your heart, is such a fragile thing. It needs a suitable lynchpin to hold it together. A sword pointed at the hearts of friends is no lynchpin at all. That is a feeble foundation for your world; your Brotherhood.”

Shinsou’s face hardened. His voice stabbed at her through the dim motes of floating dust. “You’re referring to Philomel van der Aart?”

Rhovani sighed, and turned to smile, white teeth gleaming.

“She is your world now, Shinsou.”

The Telgradian straightened as painful shards of rock continued to dig into his feet.

“Don’t patronise me with stupid suggestions like that,” Shinsou’s glare smouldered like embers. His fingers twitched. “She turned on me. Storm Veritas is the only person I can trust. What do you want?”

“For the moment?” Her smile revealed little. “Nothing.”