99 AC / 54 HA
Hermione
"When I met you, having spent ages in this accursed cage..." Pausing, Hazkar—or Zahken, I knew not which self he identified with—raised his face, traces of shame lingering in his eyes. "I saw not the people that were before me, but tools to my own salvation. In that desperation, I concocted methods to find Chroyane. Ultimately, the shortest and fastest method was to sacrifice you, just as I had done Sartan, in order to bring out the traces of divine energy within you to cleanse this mist."
I felt sick from his confession. To so casually deem someone worthy of death—it felt unnatural to me. Yet, when I looked at Father, he had a wistful smile on his face. "To have failed so miserably, you truly must have been mad and desperate," Father said with chilling calmness.
"Alas, I was neither strong nor cunning enough to achieve my ambition," he said with derision. "But I ask you, please, save my mother. She is within the depths of Chroyane, calling for someone to reach her."
"You know it is not possible. Reaching the very epicentre of a mist that corrodes mana and corrupts divinity—" Father gave a scornful chuckle. "Even if I expend all my strength, I could likely clear half or even less of the mist, but never enough to completely eradicate it. The mist is a living creature; it ebbs and flows like the sea. Cutting off one part of it only pushes it to reconquer lost territory further. Over the past fifty years, I have observed it slowly feed on the mana of people who are lost within it to expand itself. It has now reached such an extent that within ten years or less, it will devour Dagger Lake, and in the south, the city of Selhorys is not far from reach. Based on this expansion, I would estimate that over a thousand years, the mist has doubled the area within itself."
Hazkar was stunned hearing this. "No, that cannot be. This monstrosity cannot be allowed to grow. It must be stopped."
"Your actions of using the Crab King's remains may have slowed the mist from expanding, but it crept on. Only divine energy can create a path through it, and your own actions have strengthened my assumptions. My daughter and I can leave now to return stronger, but your divinity is corrupted and severed. Living within this environment for a millennium has made you a slave to it. You do not realise, but the mist will act to not let you leave its bounds, as it has done for so many years past. The corruption is only a tool; the true tragedy of the Rhoyne is the prison it has created for its own people," Father pronounced with a tender voice but harsh words.
"Wait, you must not leave. There is a way!" Hazkar said hurriedly. "The child, she is connected to my mother. She can help us trace her. Please, I beg you."
At his words, Father's face became darker. I too had an inkling but had denied it, yet now it seemed that my doubts were about to be solidified. Father stepped closer to the prison. "Explain," he spoke with rising anger.
"She is a Diviner. When close to divinity, she can act as an oracle for gods that harmonise with her soul. When I read her thoughts as she dreamed, she was visited by my Mother. She stood within Chroyane as it underwent its cataclysm, speaking to my mother." Hazkar then looked towards me. "Do you not dream of a woman standing, calling out to you, child?"
I nodded. Father suddenly turned. "How long has this been happening?"
"Ever since we entered the mist," I answered.
"Is this related to the screams you have been hearing, and the light-headedness as well?" he asked, concern spreading over his face.
I nodded again. Father had a grim look.
"We need to change your Occlumency training. If a god can invade your mind, then it was not wise of me to bring you out," he said, thinking to himself.
"It is no fault of her own. Her capacity as a Diviner makes her compatible with gods similar in disposition to her. Her mind is quite the fortress. It took me over a day to break through," Hazkar added in support, which gave me some comfort, but the realisation that there existed some entities that could easily pass through my defences to commune with me was unsettling.
"I thought it was Mother," I said meekly.
Father stared at me before realising what I meant. His face adopted a profound sadness at my declaration. He raised his hand to cup my face. "Hermione," he said with gentleness. "You need only ask, and I will tell you everything," he added with sincerity.
His hands were warm, and so were the words he spoke. I nodded into his palm. "I know. I just did not know how to speak on it after so many years. I knew you would not keep it from me. But—" I choked a little, remembering the past. "But I have seen how recalling it all turns you sad. I did not wish to make you sad."
"No, Hermione," he said with the same sadness that I was afraid of facing. "I may feel the things I feel when I recall your mother, but that is no basis for you to deprive yourself. I have lived for ages; I can handle sadness. It has been a constant companion to me." His words, though comforting, revealed how unusually accustomed he had grown to sorrow. His emerald eyes reflected that feeling, churning like a sea of emotions.
I had carried the weight of Father's emotions unknowingly, and his words had released me from that burden. Still, a part of me felt that for all the happiness he has given me in life, I should also reciprocate and value his own feelings. That had been the cage that restricted me for so long. Now, that feeling had greatly reduced itself. It was relief that washed over me.
Father seemed to realise this as he smiled. "Once this is over, I believe that we should sit down, and I can tell you all about her."
I nodded, anticipation rising within me.