Last Mortal Standing

Tenyo Creator

Tenyo · Fri Feb 24, 2017 11:56 pm

Many thanks to ChildOfNowhere for mentioning! Since no new works can be posted on Sunday, anyone who would normally post in the main literary forum can post their chapters in here (you'll still need to put the link in the submissions thread) and then submit via publishing centre as you normally would at a later point in time.

crossroads

crossroads · Sun Feb 26, 2017 2:50 pm

Hah, and so it happens I end up the one posting in here.

These Brilliant and Beautiful Lies: Ch2, pt1

Spoiler

The masks on the wall seemed to stare back at him.

Brinn knew their order and their meanings by heart: the pale blue-grey that Father wore for the Isdian trials; the elegant, platinum-decorated that Mother had visited Caer with before Brinn was born; the matching white-and-red set their parents wore for their wedding thirty years ago. Dozens of others, their empty eyes a reflection of what they’d witnessed.
They were Captors’ masks, ones that covered the upper half of the face, issued by the Palace of Justice to be worn at specific occasions. And in the middle of the wall, where Brinn always tried not to look, hung the two masks of the Council: big enough for the whole face, indigo-silver and black-gold, fitted respectively for Father and Mother. They were the masks they died in, peered from their faces, with no opening for their mouth and sending shivers down Brinn’s spine whenever he’d think about them.

“You’re going to be late.”
Brinn turned. His brother stood in the doorway, with his customary silver-grey mask and in his always-perfectly-neat uniform, arms crossed.
“I’m sorry,” Brinn said, walking towards him. Reiner moved to let him pass, and then followed closely behind.
“The Masters don’t take kindly to students who don’t even bother showing up on time.”
“I know.” Brinn frowned at him. “I said I was sorry.”

His brother said nothing as they walked out and across the bridge connecting their house with the Palace. One of the twelve identical mansions, as Brinn remembered from his lessons, the Rose residency was built in one of the highest levels of the city, specifically intended to host a Council member and their family. Out of the twelve, it was also the only one currently not occupied by a Council member.

Not that it’s very far from that, Brinn thought, watching his brother where he store besides him. Reiner wore the uniform of a Senior Captor, so dark red it was often mistaken for black, with his knives tightly strapped to his thigh and a rune-engraved ring on each of his thumbs. Only the Senior Captors were allowed that, Brinn knew: the rings were a symbol of a dedication to the Palace and the Council’s gratitude for past services, and an attempt at stealing one from a Senior Captor was as bad of a crime as practicing magic in broad daylight.

“Down the stairs, the door to your right,” Reiner said, pulling Brinn from his thoughts again. They stood on the bridge, half-way to the Palace, where a winded staircase lead towards the northern entrance to the Academy.
Brinn swallowed. The building, shaped as a stylised pyramid and with three sharp towers on its top, stood as quiet as the Palace itself, its windows darkened and the Varien flags by its doors the only thing moving.
“Are you going to be there?” He asked, giving a shy glance to his brother. Reiner was far from a comforting presence: but he was a commanding and a respected one, and — provided he’d admit Brinn was his little brother — perhaps a way for Brinn to ensure a little bit of supremacy over other students.
“At the ceremony?” Reiner smirked. “No.”
“Ah.” Brinn’s teeth found his lip and chewed on it. “Will you be home… when I come back?”
“I don’t know.” There was a faint tone of irritation in his brother’s voice, one that told Brinn to stop asking questions and head down the stairs to do what he was supposed to do — and he’d learned well enough, in his eleven years of sharing a roof with his older brother, not to push that tone any further.

~

“Sabrin Rose.”

Brinn stood up from where he sat on the narrow bench. He glanced around him — at the small sea of white-robed students his age, all seated under the hall’s high ceiling — before making his way down his row and up the few steps to where the Masters awaited. In their dark purple robes and identical black masks covering all but their eyes, the three Masters of the Academy stood perfectly still.
“Sabrin Rose,” the Master to his left repeated. They — by voice alone, it was hard to tell whether it was a man or a woman — held a gold-plated notebook and a quill in their hand. “Is that the same ‘Rose’ as Elcanor and Leanra Rose, of the Council?”
Brinn nodded. “Yes, master. They were my parents.”
“Both deceased,” the Master to the right remarked. “I assume without a doubt, in that case, you are familiar with the rules of the Academy and the conduct of the Palace of Justice?”
Brinn licked his lips. This was something he’d been listening to his whole life — something his brother had just repeated not an hour earlier, before Brinn went to see their parents’ wall of masks.
“There are eleven rules of the Academy, and the sacred codex to guide the Captors and the Councilmen,” he recited, and paused, unsure. “Do you… want me to list them all—“
“If you knew them all,” the Master in the middle cut, “you’d know better than to be the one asking questions.”
Brinn felt his cheeks blush. He’d made a mistake, already. And his brother was already annoyed; if he found out…
“Forgive me,” he whispered. “I forgot my place.”
“Don’t forget it again.”

Brinn nodded, eyes on the floor, and tried not to squirm. He’d promised himself, walking down those endless stairs, that he’d be brave, meet their eyes and speak in a full voice. Barely five minutes into the entrance ceremony, and he’d already broken all of those promises.
“I am Master Kirie,” the one in the middle said. “I will be expecting you here at dawn with the rest of my class. Return to your seat.”
Brinn complied without another word, and made it his mission to stare as calmly and quietly in front of himself as he could for the rest of the ceremony. It continued, with the Masters calling names and other students stepping in front of them, for what felt like hours.

“I’m in Master Kirie’s class too,” a girl whispered next to him, as the Master on the left closed his notebook. Brinn glanced sideways: she was taler than him — not much of an achievement — and blue eyes under blonde curls danced with excitement. She smiled as she met his gaze. “Robinette. My family just moved to the city, a week ago, right before I turned eleven, just in time for this.”
Brinn thought back to the education he’d already been through: the private tutors who taught him a bit of every subject; the visiting academics, old friends of the family, who’d quizzed him every time they’d pay a visit to the Rose residence; his brother and his lessons on poisons, that left Brinn bent over a bucket for days on end until he figured out most of the antidote ingredients. This girl, whose name he’d already forgotten, was new to life this close to the Palace — she wouldn’t last a month.

“Call me Brinn,” he said, with a smile that hid every last of his thoughts. “Welcome to Varien Capitol.”

*

Hah, and so it happens I end up the one posting in here.

[b]These Brilliant and Beautiful Lies: Ch2, pt1[/b]

[spoiler]The masks on the wall seemed to stare back at him.

Brinn knew their order and their meanings by heart: the pale blue-grey that Father wore for the Isdian trials; the elegant, platinum-decorated that Mother had visited Caer with before Brinn was born; the matching white-and-red set their parents wore for their wedding thirty years ago. Dozens of others, their empty eyes a reflection of what they’d witnessed.
They were Captors’ masks, ones that covered the upper half of the face, issued by the Palace of Justice to be worn at specific occasions. And in the middle of the wall, where Brinn always tried not to look, hung the two masks of the Council: big enough for the whole face, indigo-silver and black-gold, fitted respectively for Father and Mother. They were the masks they died in, peered from their faces, with no opening for their mouth and sending shivers down Brinn’s spine whenever he’d think about them.

“You’re going to be late.”
Brinn turned. His brother stood in the doorway, with his customary silver-grey mask and in his always-perfectly-neat uniform, arms crossed.
“I’m sorry,” Brinn said, walking towards him. Reiner moved to let him pass, and then followed closely behind.
“The Masters don’t take kindly to students who don’t even bother showing up on time.”
“I know.” Brinn frowned at him. “I said I was sorry.”

His brother said nothing as they walked out and across the bridge connecting their house with the Palace. One of the twelve identical mansions, as Brinn remembered from his lessons, the Rose residency was built in one of the highest levels of the city, specifically intended to host a Council member and their family. Out of the twelve, it was also the only one currently not occupied by a Council member.

[i]Not that it’s very far from that[/i], Brinn thought, watching his brother where he store besides him. Reiner wore the uniform of a Senior Captor, so dark red it was often mistaken for black, with his knives tightly strapped to his thigh and a rune-engraved ring on each of his thumbs. Only the Senior Captors were allowed that, Brinn knew: the rings were a symbol of a dedication to the Palace and the Council’s gratitude for past services, and an attempt at stealing one from a Senior Captor was as bad of a crime as practicing magic in broad daylight.

“Down the stairs, the door to your right,” Reiner said, pulling Brinn from his thoughts again. They stood on the bridge, half-way to the Palace, where a winded staircase lead towards the northern entrance to the Academy.
Brinn swallowed. The building, shaped as a stylised pyramid and with three sharp towers on its top, stood as quiet as the Palace itself, its windows darkened and the Varien flags by its doors the only thing moving.
“Are you going to be there?” He asked, giving a shy glance to his brother. Reiner was far from a comforting presence: but he was a commanding and a respected one, and — provided he’d admit Brinn was his little brother — perhaps a way for Brinn to ensure a little bit of supremacy over other students.
“At the ceremony?” Reiner smirked. “No.”
“Ah.” Brinn’s teeth found his lip and chewed on it. “Will you be home… when I come back?”
“I don’t know.” There was a faint tone of irritation in his brother’s voice, one that told Brinn to stop asking questions and head down the stairs to do what he was supposed to do — and he’d learned well enough, in his eleven years of sharing a roof with his older brother, not to push that tone any further.

~

“Sabrin Rose.”

Brinn stood up from where he sat on the narrow bench. He glanced around him — at the small sea of white-robed students his age, all seated under the hall’s high ceiling — before making his way down his row and up the few steps to where the Masters awaited. In their dark purple robes and identical black masks covering all but their eyes, the three Masters of the Academy stood perfectly still.
“Sabrin Rose,” the Master to his left repeated. They — by voice alone, it was hard to tell whether it was a man or a woman — held a gold-plated notebook and a quill in their hand. “Is that the same ‘Rose’ as Elcanor and Leanra Rose, of the Council?”
Brinn nodded. “Yes, master. They were my parents.”
“Both deceased,” the Master to the right remarked. “I assume without a doubt, in that case, you are familiar with the rules of the Academy and the conduct of the Palace of Justice?”
Brinn licked his lips. This was something he’d been listening to his whole life — something his brother had just repeated not an hour earlier, before Brinn went to see their parents’ wall of masks.
“There are eleven rules of the Academy, and the sacred codex to guide the Captors and the Councilmen,” he recited, and paused, unsure. “Do you… want me to list them all—“
“If you knew them all,” the Master in the middle cut, “you’d know better than to be the one asking questions.”
Brinn felt his cheeks blush. He’d made a mistake, already. And his brother was already annoyed; if he found out…
“Forgive me,” he whispered. “I forgot my place.”
“Don’t forget it again.”

Brinn nodded, eyes on the floor, and tried not to squirm. He’d promised himself, walking down those endless stairs, that he’d be brave, meet their eyes and speak in a full voice. Barely five minutes into the entrance ceremony, and he’d already broken all of those promises.
“I am Master Kirie,” the one in the middle said. “I will be expecting you here at dawn with the rest of my class. Return to your seat.”
Brinn complied without another word, and made it his mission to stare as calmly and quietly in front of himself as he could for the rest of the ceremony. It continued, with the Masters calling names and other students stepping in front of them, for what felt like hours.

“I’m in Master Kirie’s class too,” a girl whispered next to him, as the Master on the left closed his notebook. Brinn glanced sideways: she was taler than him — not much of an achievement — and blue eyes under blonde curls danced with excitement. She smiled as she met his gaze. “Robinette. My family [i]just[/i] moved to the city, a week ago, right before I turned eleven, just in time for this.”
Brinn thought back to the education he’d already been through: the private tutors who taught him a bit of every subject; the visiting academics, old friends of the family, who’d quizzed him every time they’d pay a visit to the Rose residence; his brother and his lessons on poisons, that left Brinn bent over a bucket for days on end until he figured out most of the antidote ingredients. This girl, whose name he’d already forgotten, was new to life this close to the Palace — she wouldn’t last a month.

“Call me Brinn,” he said, with a smile that hid every last of his thoughts. “Welcome to Varien Capitol.”

*[/spoiler]

crossroads

crossroads · Sun Mar 26, 2017 10:17 pm

...I'mma just drop this in here again.

These Brilliant and Beautiful Lies, Ch6
Week Six - 1,242 words

Spoiler

“Councilman Rose, fifth to be given the honour” ,Elrick said. “It does have a certain ring to it.”
“Youngest Captor to wear a Council’s mask in the history of the Palace,” Myres added, raising his glass.
Reiner smirked, saluting them back. “You’re getting ahead of yourselves.”
“Perhaps.” Elrick gave a sideways look to Myres. “If he doesn’t hurry up, he may lose that youngest title.”
“Oh, we couldn’t afford that,” the other Captor agreed. “The day Reiner Rose doesn’t perform beyond the highest expectations—“
“Expectations are there for us to strive to surpass them,” Reiner cut, and the other two chuckled. He took a sip from his glass and licked his lips. The liquor was dark and red, close in colour to his uniform, and sweet enough to turn bitter. The light of the candelabras revealed tiny bubbles forming in it. He tapped his fingers against the glass, watching a pair of Captors across the room show their child the view from the window.

“I thought you maybe would’ve brought Brinn along.” He turned: Myres was looking at the Captors and their child too, and now raised an eyebrow at him.
“I considered it,” Reiner admitted. He heard Elrick huff behind him.
“You’re right,” the dark haired Captor said. “Perhaps better not to remind them of your siblings.”
Reiner slowly turned towards him. “Meaning?”
Elrick shrugged and emptied his glass. “Aren’t you ever worried he’d grow up just like your sister?”

Myres went very still, like a man expecting to have to break up a fight, as Reiner narrowed his eyes at Elrick.
“If what you’re suggesting is that I’m raising a traitor,” he hissed, pausing for effect, “reconsider.”

They just stared at each other for a moment — then Elrick held up his hands in surrender.
“No,” he said. “You’re as likely to raise a traitor as I am to become an Academy Master tonight.”
“Good.”

The door opened, cutting their conversation just as Myres was about to add something.

The Council walked in without a sound, their footsteps inaudible against the polished floorboards. Reiner let his eyes travel over the masks that hid their masks: eleven perfectly fitted artworks with facial features forever frozen in time, under which eleven pairs of sharp gazes assessed the room. One of the Councilmen’s eyes caught Reiner’s, and Reiner thought he got the tiniest nod in response to not looking away.
Next to him, Myres and Elrick were smiling the same smiles he could spot on some other faces around the room. Masked men and women — some of whom he’d known since the Academy, like the two Captors next to him, and others too old or too young to could’ve been his classmates — gaped at the Council members with dreams and ambitions written all over the still-visible bits of their faces.

Across the room, Reiner’s eyes grazed a familiar figure. Tall and gracious as ever, Superior Sazhey stood leaning back against the wall, openly keeping her gaze on him. He raised his glass to her and she responded in kind, gesturing for him to come over. He gave a small nod.
“I’ll be back,” he told Myres and Elrick, and made his way across the room as the crowd slowly returned to their chatting. The voices were lower now, though, laughter hushed, conversations most carefully crafted.

“It’s a surprise to see you here,” he told Sazhey as he reached her. Under her silver-edged mask, her eyes were excited.
“I’m invited every year,” she said.
“And I attend every year,” Reiner welcomed softly. “This is the first time I’ve seen you since I was your student myself.”
She grinned at that. “And some student you were, Mr Rose. I was equal parts sad and proud to see you leave.”
“Likewise.”
She wrapped her arm around his, and led the way towards the southern window.
“Your brother did well on his Preliminary, did he tell you?”
“I haven’t seen him,” Reiner said, shaking his head. Something — pride? — weighted on his chest as he heard her praise Brinn’s performance. “How well is well?”
She gave a catlike shrug. “He passed through the second door.”
Reiner hid a smirk by bringing his glass to his lips. “I passed the third.”
Her hand squeezed his arm. “And no other new student did it since.” She looked up to meet his eyes, and he was sure her eyebrow shot up behind her mask.

He gave in to curiosity. “What were his questions?”
Sazhey laughed: an outright, honest laughter that attracted attention and forced Reiner’s lips into a smile as well.
“He kept them for later,” she said.
He frowned behind the mask and admitted: “I wasn’t aware that was an option.”
“Not an often chosen one,” she agreed with another shrug, “but not against the rules, either.”

He stood next to her as she stopped walking, and they looked out together. The window gave a clear view to the Rose residency, no lights on at this hour, and further on, the harbour. The lights were on over there, tiny dots on distant rooftops to alert the nearby ships. Reiner remembered standing among them nearly a decade earlier, watching as the Captors searched for his sister.

“Do you remember Captain Vane?”
Reiner looked back at Sazhey. “Arcus?” The image of a young Captor, three or four years older than Reiner, flashed through his thoughts. “Of course.”
“He’s coming back to the Palace within a week,” the Superior told him. There was a hint of pride in her voice, and Reiner knew why: the Captain had passed his graduation exams with flying colours, and if he hadn’t chosen the seas he could’ve posed a challenge to Reiner’s Council ambitions. Sazhey was there for him the same way she was there for Reiner — sometimes, Reiner couldn’t help but wonder if she was in fact much older than she seemed. Every Captor he knew seemed to have learned from her at some point or another.
“What brings Vane here?”
She shot him another grin. “He’s bringing a gift. A practitioner.”
Reiner narrowed his eyes on her. “Had I known they were considered gifts now, I would’ve ordered to have them wrapped nicely before lighting the torches.”

Superior Sazhey said nothing for a long minute, the familiar patience-testing smile curling her lips. When Reiner didn’t react or ask again, she gave him another meaningful look.
“You’ve only ever encountered this kind of practitioner in literature, Mr Rose.” She turned to look at the Council members, and Reiner followed her gaze. They had scattered across the room, some standing together and others nodding solemnly to conversations they’d joined. Sazhey leaned close enough for her breath to tickle his neck.

“Look at them, Reiner,” she whispered. Her voice was almost too quiet, even mere centimetres away. “Look carefully.”
He complied, narrowing his eyes again. The masks the Council members wore were as delicately expressionless as ever, hiding any trace of emotion or thought. Their clothes, their hair, their completely silent yet inarguably dominant behaviour — nothing was different.
But their eyes, those sharp gazes that so few people dared to look up at, were not calm. They criss-crossed the room and searched for each other, shining under the candlelight, filled with knowledge they couldn’t or didn’t want to share.

“A Storyteller,” Sazhey whispered next to him. He felt her eyes on him. “Vane is bringing home a practitioner who bends the rules of time itself.”
°

...I'mma just drop this in here again.

These Brilliant and Beautiful Lies, Ch6
Week Six - 1,242 words

[spoiler]“[i]Councilman Rose[/i], fifth to be given the honour” ,Elrick said. “It does have a certain ring to it.”
“Youngest Captor to wear a Council’s mask in the history of the Palace,” Myres added, raising his glass.
Reiner smirked, saluting them back. “You’re getting ahead of yourselves.”
“Perhaps.” Elrick gave a sideways look to Myres. “If he doesn’t hurry up, he may lose that youngest title.”
“Oh, we couldn’t afford that,” the other Captor agreed. “The day Reiner Rose doesn’t perform beyond the highest expectations—“
“Expectations are there for us to strive to surpass them,” Reiner cut, and the other two chuckled. He took a sip from his glass and licked his lips. The liquor was dark and red, close in colour to his uniform, and sweet enough to turn bitter. The light of the candelabras revealed tiny bubbles forming in it. He tapped his fingers against the glass, watching a pair of Captors across the room show their child the view from the window.

“I thought you maybe would’ve brought Brinn along.” He turned: Myres was looking at the Captors and their child too, and now raised an eyebrow at him.
“I considered it,” Reiner admitted. He heard Elrick huff behind him.
“You’re right,” the dark haired Captor said. “Perhaps better not to remind them of your siblings.”
Reiner slowly turned towards him. “Meaning?”
Elrick shrugged and emptied his glass. “Aren’t you ever worried he’d grow up just like your sister?”

Myres went very still, like a man expecting to have to break up a fight, as Reiner narrowed his eyes at Elrick.
“If what you’re suggesting is that I’m raising a traitor,” he hissed, pausing for effect, “[i]reconsider[/i].”

They just stared at each other for a moment — then Elrick held up his hands in surrender.
“No,” he said. “You’re as likely to raise a traitor as I am to become an Academy Master tonight.”
“[i]Good[/i].”

The door opened, cutting their conversation just as Myres was about to add something.

The Council walked in without a sound, their footsteps inaudible against the polished floorboards. Reiner let his eyes travel over the masks that hid their masks: eleven perfectly fitted artworks with facial features forever frozen in time, under which eleven pairs of sharp gazes assessed the room. One of the Councilmen’s eyes caught Reiner’s, and Reiner thought he got the tiniest nod in response to not looking away.
Next to him, Myres and Elrick were smiling the same smiles he could spot on some other faces around the room. Masked men and women — some of whom he’d known since the Academy, like the two Captors next to him, and others too old or too young to could’ve been his classmates — gaped at the Council members with dreams and ambitions written all over the still-visible bits of their faces.

Across the room, Reiner’s eyes grazed a familiar figure. Tall and gracious as ever, Superior Sazhey stood leaning back against the wall, openly keeping her gaze on him. He raised his glass to her and she responded in kind, gesturing for him to come over. He gave a small nod.
“I’ll be back,” he told Myres and Elrick, and made his way across the room as the crowd slowly returned to their chatting. The voices were lower now, though, laughter hushed, conversations most carefully crafted.

“It’s a surprise to see you here,” he told Sazhey as he reached her. Under her silver-edged mask, her eyes were excited.
“I’m invited every year,” she said.
“And I attend every year,” Reiner welcomed softly. “This is the first time I’ve seen you since I was your student myself.”
She grinned at that. “And some student you were, Mr Rose. I was equal parts sad and proud to see you leave.”
“Likewise.”
She wrapped her arm around his, and led the way towards the southern window.
“Your brother did well on his Preliminary, did he tell you?”
“I haven’t seen him,” Reiner said, shaking his head. Something — pride? — weighted on his chest as he heard her praise Brinn’s performance. “How well is well?”
She gave a catlike shrug. “He passed through the second door.”
Reiner hid a smirk by bringing his glass to his lips. “I passed the third.”
Her hand squeezed his arm. “And no other new student did it since.” She looked up to meet his eyes, and he was sure her eyebrow shot up behind her mask.

He gave in to curiosity. “What were his questions?”
Sazhey laughed: an outright, honest laughter that attracted attention and forced Reiner’s lips into a smile as well.
“He kept them for later,” she said.
He frowned behind the mask and admitted: “I wasn’t aware that was an option.”
“Not an often chosen one,” she agreed with another shrug, “but not against the rules, either.”

He stood next to her as she stopped walking, and they looked out together. The window gave a clear view to the Rose residency, no lights on at this hour, and further on, the harbour. The lights were on over there, tiny dots on distant rooftops to alert the nearby ships. Reiner remembered standing among them nearly a decade earlier, watching as the Captors searched for his sister.

“Do you remember Captain Vane?”
Reiner looked back at Sazhey. “Arcus?” The image of a young Captor, three or four years older than Reiner, flashed through his thoughts. “Of course.”
“He’s coming back to the Palace within a week,” the Superior told him. There was a hint of pride in her voice, and Reiner knew why: the Captain had passed his graduation exams with flying colours, and if he hadn’t chosen the seas he could’ve posed a challenge to Reiner’s Council ambitions. Sazhey was there for him the same way she was there for Reiner — sometimes, Reiner couldn’t help but wonder if she was in fact much older than she seemed. Every Captor he knew seemed to have learned from her at some point or another.
“What brings Vane here?”
She shot him another grin. “He’s bringing a gift. A practitioner.”
Reiner narrowed his eyes on her. “Had I known they were considered gifts now, I would’ve ordered to have them wrapped nicely before lighting the torches.”

Superior Sazhey said nothing for a long minute, the familiar patience-testing smile curling her lips. When Reiner didn’t react or ask again, she gave him another meaningful look.
“You’ve only ever encountered this kind of practitioner in literature, Mr Rose.” She turned to look at the Council members, and Reiner followed her gaze. They had scattered across the room, some standing together and others nodding solemnly to conversations they’d joined. Sazhey leaned close enough for her breath to tickle his neck.

“Look at them, Reiner,” she whispered. Her voice was almost too quiet, even mere centimetres away. “Look [i]carefully[/i].”
He complied, narrowing his eyes again. The masks the Council members wore were as delicately expressionless as ever, hiding any trace of emotion or thought. Their clothes, their hair, their completely silent yet inarguably dominant behaviour — nothing was different.
But their eyes, those sharp gazes that so few people dared to look up at, were not calm. They criss-crossed the room and searched for each other, shining under the candlelight, filled with knowledge they couldn’t or didn’t want to share.

“A [i]Storyteller[/i],” Sazhey whispered next to him. He felt her eyes on him. “Vane is bringing home a practitioner who bends the rules of time itself.”
°[/spoiler]

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