The road was long. No one should follow us because the way we went left no traces. So we jumped over bare rock zones, avoided populated areas. For the first time, I felt like when everything began—with a real idea of what I had to do to achieve what I had set out to do so long ago. Beside me traveled one who, in theory, should not exist. But I used all the magic I possessed to keep this happening.
The conversation with Chapatrueno, the blocking of that lesser god's stupid illusions—who only sought help but also to convince him that he was a better option than everything that dwarf had lived—left me on the verge of collapse. Drops of sweat soaked my face. When we returned to the road, the sweat felt cold, especially for such a jungle region as the one we were heading to.
The continent—I learned this from the elves' texts—was not isolated, not a unit in itself. Connected to the south lay the land of those miserable Drown elves. I did not want to imagine everything they had to live through to reach the "safe" zone. The harassment of the beings we were going to visit was so violent that conscious and unconscious species were swept off the map in search of a power that I feared they had obtained. The records were vague, but assuming some not-so-stupid elves, no one came here to see how things were—which was a shame. Having no way to travel—nor the power to do so—I had to walk roads where vegetation was all one encountered. Not hearing even the smallest marsupials stressed me a little, but I kept calm. This time, I did not come alone, and my companion needed to know that things were as they were. As soon as he understood, we could move forward.
At night, we ate. I prepared some vegetable stew; he went out and traveled. I did not know how far, but I had felt him near the sea, so I supposed he consumed large quantities of fish. When he returned, he had a little more shine—perhaps undetectable to those who saw him daily—but I knew it. My power was returned—a drop, like every day he fed. But not enough—not nearly. According to some estimates I made with Lilith, my current magical ability was at the level of the Blood Elves before they recovered all their power. My magic was renewed, unlike theirs, but it was limited. I had to sleep about seven hours a day to compensate. While I slept, the dreams returned.
I saw millions of forms, all attacking a poor being who defended the pass at all costs. He had to do it—otherwise, an elf woman and her people would be overwhelmed before they could complete their defenses. Seeing him and being able to help him were two very different things. All I could do was hope that the curse I placed on him was more of a blessing in terms of survival. His power was not based like mine on manipulations and my birth. His was born of rage, of the thirst for justice, of his stubbornness. Something like that could only be had by a true Deathbringer... When I saw what happened, I woke with my sword drawn, hatred in my mind, muscles so tense they hurt. But I said nothing—there was nothing more to add. He lived a story where he would know what to do and why; he would never be guilty of more than his actions.
Other days, I dreamed of Lilith. Ah, Lilian! I am so sorry for what she lived. It pained my soul that she had to survive by renouncing her humanity. Her memories entered my dreams; at times, I was her; other times, her captors. It was the problem of communication links—they did not know it—perhaps the Succubi Queen did—but I felt her emotions and experiences. Otherwise, I could not maintain the emotional synchronization necessary to communicate even when we were not in each other's magical field and without mystical devices. Lilian read her new name; I was sure it was part of the dark history of her people's religion. Lilith exists in many hearts, but she was not here to inflict pain. Lilian always wanted a little justice for the most needy—to give them what they never had: security, sustenance, a place they defend because it is their home, not because an idiot in armor forces them to die under pain of death if they resist. But at times, I felt all the pressure of the Keep, all the doubts, the plans. I supposed she was so strong she could handle that and more. Yet it was poor comfort when I pulled her out of a disgusting cave to throw her into juggling dozens of species and thousands of plots... Those days, I woke with a look of pride, with huge bags under my eyes, but happy to know that those I cared about were well—except for one.
There were days I did not have good dreams—when I thought of her, being devoured by Morgana, the Lich taking away my only chance to give her a dignified rest. For hours, I knew I saw her—divided, her body in this reality and her mind in the Chaos Marks, trapped forever in a reality where eating, growing, reproducing, killing, and dying were part of a single day or several lives in the same day. Her horror, if the ancient texts were correct, her inability to rest, trapped forever in the mind of someone so powerful that they could keep producing these beings without apparent effort. Those days, I sat up without saying anything—my mouth was a tense grimace, my eyes unable to see, but I understood that I cried. My companion did not ask questions—not because he did not know, but because he had learned the gift of silence, of understanding and empathy—something very difficult to teach, especially with Lilith and me as his teachers.
Finally, since I fed him with my power, I dreamed what he dreamed—millennial pasts. Time lost context when human numbers could not comprehend the time we were half-protected by his mother. I saw conflicts like brief flares, nations falling and renewing in an instant—only they were not; they were hundreds of years, millennia in some cases—all suffering for their greed, their stubbornness, the repeated need for others to obey them by force of reason. Their relatives, enemies of the mother, brutal, strong, with knowledge that in at least one case rivaled the one who cared for him until we could save him... Those were the days I did not want to sleep. I had a human life—only one!—to achieve what civilizations could not. But I would not give up. It was not a goal—it was a fact. I was called Dark Lord because my domain was where people could not go into the light. I was known as Overlord because the people willing to listen to me were scattered across the continent. Few knew me face to face; many tried to kill me—a stupid story, but it must be forgotten. My goal was not to dominate, not to destroy anyone from this place. But if I must dominate all the Chaos Marks, if I must eliminate all their inhabitants to free my beloved and give the people of Greenleaf true rest... I would be the one to wield power beyond the comprehension of those around me—even if that power destroyed me.