What was the logical connection between pursuing his vendetta and becoming living flame?
Scorio sighed and dug his thumbs into his eyes. At least his titles were becoming more obvious. The Scourer, Lord of Nagaran, Master of the Black Tower, Bringer of Ash and Darkness, the Shadow of Spurn Harbor, the Abhorred, Quencher of Hope and Unmaker of Joy.
Nagaran. Had that come after, whatever it was?
And what manner of man had he been in the process of becoming? In his first flashback he’d been a man amongst many in the crowd, driven to save his brother. In his second, he’d been a respected lieutenant who’d stood up to his brother’s leadership and wrested away control of the rebellion. In the third? A powerful commander who’d ordered the destruction of Spurn Harbor, still respected, but now leading a fractious band, and whose decisions determined the fates of thousands.
And now this fourth. It felt like a lot of time had passed between Spurn Harbor and this final battle. He’d loved and lost the King’s Scepter. Earned the loyalty of a Sea Baron. Had acquired and mastered the magic of the Black Tower. Enlisted the loyalty of several Legendaries…
Scorio blinked. The Flayer of Men. Nissa? She’d been a follower of his? Who had the others been? Gedrick Firehands, Boko the Bear, and Branzina.
None of those other names were familiar.
Nissa. Where was she? The last time he’d seen her was when the Shadow Petal had stabbed her with her mana-severing blade, then kicked her hard enough in the head to knock her out.
Or kill her.
Was she still alive? How could he find out? She’d been working for Basilisk. The Seamstress was the Basilisk elder, and had sent Aezryna and Charoth to the Fury Spires. Might they know? But why would Blood Barons from the Emerald Reach know about a pseudo-Basilisk Red Lister operative from Bastion?
Scorio hissed and stood. He’d simply have to inquire when possible and see if anybody knew.
Still.
Scorio hung his head, hands on his hips.
That last vision of himself had not been a cheerful one. His voice had been reduced to a broken rasp, his counselors too afraid to advise him, his hatred so thick he’d nearly choked on it.
Scorio the Scourer.
How easily he could see why that version of himself had earned such a moniker.
“That’s not me,” he whispered. “That was another man from a millennia ago. Not me.”
But the words didn’t ring true.
Frustrated, he sought to clear his mind, closing his eyes and focusing on his breath, but Naomi’s voice intruded on his meditation.
“Scorio?” She leaned into his room, one hand clasping the archway. “Good. You’re awake.”
“Everything alright?”
“I let you sleep as long as I could, but a third messenger just left. All sorts of people want to speak to you.”
“To us.”
She made a face. “Sure. It sounds like dinner and the festivities ran late into the night, and this morning everyone’s up and ready to play at politics.” She stepped into his room and leaned against the archway, arms crossed over her chest. “The Iron Tyrant’s asked for you, as has Aezryna Frostborn. Both tried to insinuate we should see them first without coming out and saying it.”
“The third?”
“Ravenna. Moira would like to have a word.”
“Yeah.” Scorio pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sure she would.”
“Are you alright?”
“Fine.” He dropped his hand. “Just… it was a tough trial. What I saw.”
“What did you see?”
Scorio hesitated.
“Obviously you don’t have to tell me,” Naomi said quickly, her tone growing hard.
“I was alone. In a tower. The Black Tower from my titles. About to go to battle against the king. But I was… I was in a bad place. My heart had been broken by one of the king’s Legendaries, and I was so bitter, so filled with hate…”
Naomi drew close and touched his arm. “That wasn’t you.”
“I know.”
She took hold of his wrist and squeezed it. “That wasn’t you.”
“I know it wasn’t.”
“Look at me.”
He didn’t want to. His throat felt knotted up. She reached out and lifted his chin till he met her firm, almost fierce gaze.
“Scorio. That wasn’t you.”
His eyes filled with tears and the knot in his throat expanded till he couldn’t breathe. He felt an idiot, wanted to look away, but she held his chin so that he couldn’t.
“The person you saw was you in some ways, but not the important ones.” Her words burned with intensity. “That Scorio never found me in the ruins. He never befriended Nox. He didn’t resist the Academy. He didn’t fight for the people of Bastion. He never avenged Leonis and Lianshi. He didn’t kill Praximar, and he didn’t earn my…” She hesitated. “My true respect. You did that.” And she thumped her fist against his chest.
“I know.” His voice was shivery, and he forced a shaky smile. “You’re right. I know it. But being there, seeing how he felt, I could see… I could see how I could have gone down that road. How I have that potential in me. To be so angry. So furious. So ready to tear the world down.”
She quirked a smile. “That sounds pretty good to me.”
“No, it’s not. He was filled with hate. So much anger. Even his captains feared him. He was poisoned, and willing to die for his revenge.”
Naomi studied him silently.
“That’s not the way to be, Naomi.” His mind came around and he truly saw her. “You can’t live your life filled with hate.”
“Sure,” she said, tone suddenly brittle. “But the world needs to give you a reason not to hate it. What have we seen so far? The Academy, Praximar, Manticore, the Iron Tyrant. You think any of them deserved our trust?”
“No, but you’ve met good people, too. Nox, Leonis and Lianshi, the White Queen. Me.”
“You’re different.”
“No, I’m not. Well, maybe in some ways, but I’m trying to put that rage behind me. After seeing what it did to that older Scorio…” He shook his head. “It’s poison.”
“It’s an honest response to the shit that’s happened to us. To me. Since the first moment I ignited and even before.”
Now it was his turn to round on her. “I saw where that road leads. You can’t live that way.”
“Can’t I?” She sneered. “I’ve been doing fine till now.”
Scorio tried to find the right words, but he could sense her withdrawing from him, stepping back into the shadows with each attempt he made. “All I’m saying is that -”
“When did this become about me?” She released his wrist. “I was just trying to help you with your trial. I don’t recall asking to be analyzed.”
“Fine.” He fought to master his frustration. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
She scowled at him, clearly resisting the urge to remain angry. “I’m not perfect, Scorio. Have you forgotten what I turn into?”
“Of course not.”
She stepped in and stabbed a finger into his chest. “I am the Nightmare Lady. People feared me for years till you came along. And those who didn’t? They laughed me out of the Academy. The two years you spent in the Crucible? I was alone, in the Chasm, trying to survive while thinking you and everyone else I cared for was dead. You think I had dark nights back in my tower in the ruins? You should have seen me in that Chasm. You think I’m filled with anger and bitterness now?”
Her laugh was a hollow, terrible thing.
“I am a meek and biddable shadow of the monster that survived in the Chasm all those years. This is nothing compared to the hatred I felt.”
Scorio exhaled slowly. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
She hesitated, waiting for his argument, and when it didn’t come she drew back. “I don’t think you are. Everybody always thinks they know best. Don’t ask me to stop being angry when the world around me deserves nothing but rage.”