Good Wishes for Tomorrow

For the Father - ATE

Somewhere beyond the heavens


“Kitsure…” The voice struggled to speak. There was trauma, and there was pain. He was disoriented. Slowly, his long life came back to him in flashes. A concerned father, a less than satisfied mother, and loving brother. Magic, and power. An Ageless war. Countless facts and knowledge that now, he supposed, didn’t matter. The face of his young apprentice. Kitsure had been everything to him for a long time now. There were those that called him the Regent of Alnora, sure. But there were also those who called him friend. Maybe even father…

Those connections were important, even now when it seem all his power had left him. There were no spells, no abilities, no strength could avail him now. A voice greeted him in his Darkness. “You slipped up, Firion. Did you not think that they could take away all the power they gave you? Your office went to your head, and now here you are.”

He recognized the voice, knew the face behind it. “Do you have any last requests before your time comes to an end?” The voice asked.


“Surely there must be something you want?”

“…Kitsure.” Was the only word his hoarse voice could gather.

There was a bit of laughter in the back round, from a different mouth than had spoke. A female voice struck up now. “Don’t patronize him! deserved, this might be, but it’s in now way funny.”

So All the Regents were here, then. Five watchers in the heavens, uncaring, simply observing. Why was it that the greater power he was given, the more rules there were about how he couldn’t use it? Once he had wanted to be the king of all worlds – second only to Fol himself. In the end he was one of the transitive ones after all. All things to their own time, he supposed.

He looked up into the eyes of the man who was standing above him. The man who would no-doubt gain all his abilities and responsibilities. He had always wanted Firion’s Throne after all. “A meeting with Kitsure can be arranged, I suppose. Last wishes should be honored, after all.” There was a mocking tone in the man’s voice, and the old Featherwalk thought of the world which would now be in his hands.

And in the dark, after all the voices and faces had left, he wept for the first time in several thousand years.



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