#so exciteda about this chapter!!

[bcdrawsandwrites]

For Unity By @jaywings​ and me

Rating: T Genre: Friendship, Angst Characters: urGoh, skekGra, skekSil, skekSo, skekTek, skekVar, urVa, urSu, urSol, urZah, possibly others… Warnings: A LOT OF VIOLENCE. Description: One was as vile and repulsive as his brethren. He murdered, and maimed, and reveled in it. The other was as slow and indirect as the rest of his brethren. He hated his dark half as much as the others did theirs. But who they were did not matter, for Thra saw its moment, and seized its opportunity. View all chapters here!

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Chapter 4: In Our Arrogance and Delusion Summary: In which the Wanderer and the Conqueror see something that changes everything.

---~~~----

The scent of terrified Gruenak was strong here.

SkekGra tore along the ground, his robes a flash of blood-red in the dim green glow of the tunnels, tail dragging heavily behind him and talons clinking against stone. He flared his nostrils, breathing deeply, but it hardly seemed necessary—the trail continued straight ahead.

His claws kicked up dirt and moss, sharp rocks occasionally cutting into his talon-tips, aggravating the burns on his hands and probably causing them to bleed anew, but he couldn't stop now. The further he ran, the more he could sense the clay-and-metal scent of his prey, still fleeing as far as they could from his advance. The tunnels he followed grew more and more narrow, and several times he found himself having to squeeze through tight passages. Part of him wondered if he was truly going the right way, but the scent of Gruenak only grew stronger—as did, strangely, the scent of fresh air. But how could there could be fresh air this deep underground, unless...?

Anger surged through his veins at the realization—these cowards knew a way out of here and were heading right for it!

Sure enough, he found himself moving up an incline, steeper and steeper with the air feeling fresher and more humid. The tunnels grew slick with mud and rainwater and he nearly slipped at one point, digging his talons into the rock and earth to steady himself before resuming his climb. He was amazed they could have made it this far, but then, these things did live in caves themselves. They probably felt at home here.

Just as he thought the tunnel would never end, it opened up into an enormous cavern, the Gruenak scent hitting him full in the face. He pushed himself back onto his hind legs; rain trickled from above, though this time it did not affect him, for he was on a mission—

But then, he saw… it.

---~~~---

Darkness enfolded urGoh as he ambled into the cave, rendering him blind.

He could not tell how wide this space was. His feet scraped against sharp rocks scattered over the ground, but the area around his arms was empty, he could tell the air did not press in too closely. Just as he was wondering how long this passage was, the space directly in front of him pulled open, flooding the cave with light and his ears with a clanking, whirring noise.

"Hm? AH!"

Startled, urGoh raised his head, looking for the source of the voice; of all things, he hadn't expected to hear such a tiny cry.

The voice’s owner came into view: a simple Podling carrying a feather duster. She crept forward, peered through the doorway at him, and scrambled backward with a loud scream. "AH! NO!"

"Um..." Passing through the door, urGoh watched as the Podling continued to back away from him, emitting a noise that sounded like a cross between a whimper and a growl. He regarded her calmly. "Hello."

That only made the Podling give a startled squawk, which grew in volume as she tripped over a stack of books she had evidently been in the process of reorganizing. Frantically she pushed herself up into a sitting position, and looked over her shoulder as though to check on something.

Following her gaze, urGoh spotted a quietly-snoring form beneath the Orrery: Mother Aughra herself. Or the physical part of her, anyway.

The Podling whipped her head between Aughra and urGoh several times before jumping to her feet and brandishing her feather duster at him with as much ferocity as a Podling could muster. She spoke quickly in her own tongue, and urGoh could only catch a few words: back, Mother Aughra, hurt, harm, monster.

"I am no... monster," urGoh said, taking a step closer, but the Podling only swung her feather duster and snapped something sarcastic and vaguely threatening. "I have come... seeking help."

"NO!" the Podling cried, finally daring to dart closer and bat at him her makeshift weapon.

The feathers tickled urGoh's nose, and he swung his head to the left, then to the right, the wrinkles in his snout deepening.

Shouting triumphantly, the Podling swatted the feather duster at him once more in what she likely hoped was a finishing blow. And urGoh let out a tremendous sneeze, sending the Podling sailing backwards in an explosion of feathers.

He blinked, shaking his mane. "My... apolo... gies."

Now halfway across the room, the Podling dazedly sat up, looked at the empty handle that had once been her feather duster, and gave a cry of despair.

"It is... all... right," urGoh said, moving closer. "I mean... no harm. I merely... need help."

The Podling frowned at him, her eyes narrowed in a challenging expression.

For a split second he nearly told her about the Skeksis going after the Gruenaks, but then he remembered: the Gelflings and Podlings both saw the Skeksis as Lords of the Crystal, as heroes. If he spoke against them, he would be putting his entire cause in danger. Instead, he chose his words carefully. "There are innocent creatures... being hunted... by a monster. A... true monster."

This seemed to catch the Podling's attention, and she carefully rose to her feet. The way she held herself remained cautious, but she no longer seemed to regard him as an open threat, at least.

"I need... something. Something... powerful." Slowly his gaze turned back toward Aughra's unmoving form. "Perhaps... something Mother Aughra... knew about...?"

A quick scan of the room revealed not much of interest. Certainly nothing that could be of use in halting a bloodthirsty Skeksis intent on massacre...

The Podling bit her knuckle in thought at his words, humming. She glanced from him to Aughra again a few times before nodding and toddling off to another part of the Observatory. Every few steps she turned to give urGoh a sharp glare, as though daring him to try anything. Still urGoh remained calm, hoping that whatever she found, it would be something that could truly help him.

The Podling shifted several piles of unorganized objects from one corner of the room before giving a shrill, but triumphant "ah-ha!" Lifting something up, she turned around, presenting it to urGoh with a smug look.

It was a basket of crystal shards.

Curious, urGoh moved closer to her, peering down at the objects. They were all vaguely similar in size and shape, and identical in color, each of them being clear as... well, crystal. The shape reminded him vaguely of the Crystal of Truth itself. But what help would these rocks be?

As though reading his thoughts, the Podling went off talking again, though slowly enough this time that he could pick up more words: Mother Aughra... study... crystals... important...

"What do... they do?" he asked.

The Podling only shrugged with a noncommittal grunt.

Well, if Aughra found these shards to be important, then they must be. With a nod, urGoh reached to pick one of them up, but the Podling yanked the basket backward with an angry retort.

"No!" she cried, holding it high above her head—which was, of course, not actually out of his reach, but he wasn’t about to force the crystals from her. "Nuh-uh! No!" The Podling went on, saying, from what he could tell, that these were Aughra's, and he could not keep them.

"Please," he said, sweeping his tail across the floor in impatience. "Time... is of... the essence."

The Podling frowned, staring down at the basket again and rattling the contents as she carried it around urGoh, so she had a better view of Aughra. She gazed at her for a moment, then back to the basket, and with a grunt set it down in front of him with a clatter. She then held up a finger, muttering that Mother Aughra would probably not miss just one of them.

"Yes. One... will do."

He hoped.

But which one? There were dozens in the basket, and he got the feeling that they were not all the same. He glanced at the Podling, but she didn't seem to know any more about them than he did. He fervently wished he could ask Aughra. Who was he supposed to ask in her stead? Thra itself?

While in thought, his eyes strayed upward to fix on the Orrery, which he had avoided focusing on for as long as he could. Shining, iridescent models of planets and moons swept through the air in infinite spirals, the strange machine clanking away and never slowing. Aughra’s spirit was somewhere out there, exploring and dancing among the stars. With a strange pang of envy, urGoh forced his attention back to the shards. They glittered at his feet, all looking remarkably similar.

He held his hand over the basket and closed his eyes in concentration. At least some of these definitely had magical properties—he could feel his fingertips buzzing.

The little Podling edged closer to him, apparently trying to act nonchalant as though hoping he wouldn’t notice her, before reaching out and prodding one of his lower arms. She jerked backwards and stared at it as though worried it would bite her.

UrGoh merely twiddled the fingers of that hand and smiled at her. “Four arms,” he said. “They are useful for things, like… juggling.” He paused. “If I could… juggle.”

The Podling did not look eased by the attempt at humor. If anything, she looked more concerned.

UrGoh placed a hand on his chest. “I am… urGoh,” he said. “And… you?”

The little caretaker peered at him suspiciously. “Fedle,” she said at last, nodding importantly.

UrGoh inclined his head. “It is an… honor to meet you… Caretaker Fedle.”

The Podling looked slightly taken aback by the greeting, but pleased.

“Doza aminia!” she squeaked, and made a fluttery little bow. A little tentatively, she peered at him and said, “You—urGoh—good?”

He hummed in affirmation, dipping his head again.

Fedle the Podling poked his lower arm again. “No monster?”

UrGoh smiled. “No.”

The Podling stood up straighter with a “hmph!” and gave a sharp nod, seeming to accept his presence at last. “Ta?” she said. “Want ta?”

UrGoh blinked down at her. “That would… be lovely,” he said, and the Podling bustled off to fix the hot drink.

He reached into the basket and fished out a shard—it was warm in his hand. Out of curiosity he clinked it against some of the others, achieving a pleasant noise but nothing overly interesting. Why would Aughra keep a pile of crystal shards in a box?

His thoughts slammed to a halt. Barely moving his head, he glanced slowly from the prone form of Aughra to the rock in his hand.

Crystal shards…

Aughra was looking for the missing piece from the Crystal of Truth.

UrGoh had not been in the Castle when the Crystal had been broken. No Mystic had been—the sixteen survivors had fled for their lives with the few other creatures who had managed to escape the Skeksis’ initial blind, murderous fury. The whole race from the Castle was blurred, indistinct, originating from his first few hours of confusing, terrifying consciousness in this strange new form.

He had not been there to see the Crystal cracked. But he remembered the feeling of it shattering. The entire world had shaken. Great fissures had appeared in the ground and it took him and the rest of his brethren to hold them back with song, to save all of their lives…

Hm… song.

UrGoh hummed a low note, opening his mouth and letting forth a deeper, richer sound, watching the shard in his hand. It seemed to tremble—by the slight clinking from the basket, it sounded as though the others were too. He tried different tones, seamlessly raising and lowering the pitch of his voice until he had to take a breath. Moments after the sound faded, the shards stilled. He stood with the shard held flat on his palm and waited for something miraculous to occur.

“Ta!” a Podling voice said proudly, and he looked down to see Fedle back at his elbow, offering up a steaming cup. It smelled delicious. Not exactly the miracle he was hoping for, though.

“Thank you,” he said, taking the cup and draining half of it in one gulp. He had not realized how thirsty the journey here had made him.

“Stones help?” Fedle asked, sipping from a smaller mug of her own.

UrGoh gave a disappointed sigh, feeling a tinge of frustration. No, the stones were not helping. At his core he felt that he was on the right track. He had been meant to find these shards, but he did not know what to do with them, and he had precious little time if he was to save the Gruenak refugees. If it wasn’t already too late.

Regret pierced his heart like a thorn—that he had sent the creatures away into the caves, that he had not insisted they stay with him at least a little longer. He could even have brought them to the Valley, perhaps, and the others may have let them stay…

As he took another gulp of ta to help him swallow back his guilt, he heard Fedle give an interested hum, and turned to her.

"Juggle?" she asked, waving her free hand casually at him.

“What?” urGoh said distractedly, staring at her, and she pointed to his flat palm. “No, no, I’m… not going to try… juggling…”

He froze.

He hadn't noticed it immediately, calloused as his hands were, but the shard he held was... trembling—no, twitching. Moving of its own accord.

Carefully he set his cup on the floor and closer to watch the crystal shard in his hand. Fedle leaned in closer too, giving an impressed oooo! On a whim, urGoh held the crystal out further, and its twitches grew stronger, until it began to spin.

It spun in the palm of his hand, like an erratic compass. Or perhaps it was a compass? He leaned in even closer, the tip of his snout inches from his hand; quite suddenly, the shard stopped spinning, snapping in one direction and trembling faintly, the long end pointed forward.

Following the point of the shard, urGoh traced his eyes up, but only saw the Orrery. He sighed—he still didn’t understand what meaning one was supposed to derive from the thing, incredible thought it was. He feared he would lose himself if he watched it for too long, and made to turn away.

He could not.

Something within him was... drawn to the Orrery. Everything else around him seemed to slow down, Fedle's curious speech fading into the background, while the enormous contraption before him seemed to speed up. It moved faster and faster, until it should have been nothing but a blur—and yet he was suddenly aware of every turn of the planets, every rotation of the stars, and it made perfect sense.

And then... he saw it.

---~~~---

The cavern before him was enormous, yet it was entirely filled with a system of massive roots that twisted all throughout the cave and over the ground. For a brief moment he wondered what plants these were, only to remember—of course, these were the roots of a sole plant: the Sanctuary Tree.

He’d seen it before, of course. It wasn’t all that impressive—just some massive tree that the Gelflings worshipped or something.

Had this been any other occasion, he may have spent more time looking around the place for treasures or anything else of interest, but right now his mind was set on one thing and one thing only: to find the deserters, and kill them.

Sure enough, they were here—he could see the three of them trying to make their way toward the central mass of roots.

"You!" he cried, and they looked back at him, yelling in horror. "Deserters! Get back here!"

In response, the three began to climb faster, and skekGra once again dropped down on all fours, barreling toward them. But a sudden thought made him take a split-second change of course, and he leaped onto a mass of roots immediately next to the one the Gruenaks were climbing. He scrambled up it, quickly passing the creatures, and drew his largest sword. With a wicked grin, he swung the sword downward, slicing the roots the Gruenak were climbing.

The roots were much, much stronger than he'd anticipated, however, and the blade only went about halfway through.

Before he could fully pull the sword back out to swing it again, the entire cavern began to shake and groan, as though there were something in its depths that were both alive, and massive. It echoed off the walls, seeming to come from all around them at once, and skekGra frantically yanked his sword away and redoubled his grip on the roots, heart pounding. Earthquake?

The Gruenaks had a harder time keeping their balance than he did, and were forced to drop back down onto the solid rock of the caves. At least that meant they were farther from the surface, but the thought that they might escape again made skekGra’s blood boil.

With an enraged cry, he twisted around on the roots and threw himself after them.

But he stumbled to a halt almost at once as his head seemed to fill with noise.

You...

It was a voice. Unfamiliar to him, and seeming to echo throughout the cavern. Frantically he turned his head this way and that, but saw no one other than the Gruenaks, still stunned from the quaking. It didn’t sound like a Skeksis, but if anyone were to witness him here…

"Who's there?" he cried. "Show yourself!"

You can already see me, O dark half of GraGoh…

“Don’t speak that name!” skekGra spat out, hackles raised, his own voice like splintered glass in his ears. He whirled around for the source of the voice, sword poised to kill, but there was nothing to attack. The voice came from nowhere. The only ones around were the three cowering Gruenaks, a few scattered birds fleeing toward the fresh air at the top of the cavern, and the…

...The tree.

The enormous, gnarled trunk and tangled roots suddenly took on a new light, becoming menacing forms that loomed over him rather than a harmless feature of the background. He faced the trunk, teeth bared, but ready solutions to this newfound problem eluded him.

This was ridiculous, of course—no Skeksis would believe in a talking tree—no Skeksis should believe it—

I have merely called you what you are, the voice said.

The words rang in his head, a deep voice-that-wasn’t-a-voice. Speech that came from thought alone. It was a familiar way of speaking—he remembered—as if from a… dream—

“Stop!” He balked, and there was a clatter; he realized his hands were clapped over the sides of his head, and his sword had fallen to the ground. “Lies! Stop speaking! You’re—you’re a tree!”

Well-observed, the voice said mildly. I am able to communicate with very few creatures of Thra. Even Mother Aughra cannot hear my voice. But for some reason you, offworlder, you fractured urSkek—

A harsh sound tore from skekGra’s throat and he ripped his talons away from his head. One flick of his tail and his sword handle was kicked off the ground and back into his claws. He brandished the sword tip at the trunk, pointing it at any spot in the ancient bark that looked vulnerable.

You can hear me.

“I hear nothing!” skekGra growled. He twisted around, eyes flashing, hunting for the Gruenak cowards once again. Whatever was going on, whatever was wrong with him—the strange feelings, the dreams, hearing voices now—it all tied back to them. When they were disposed of this would all be over with.

The Gruenaks had scurried toward the other end of the cavern, either hoping to find another way to climb out or to vanish down the tunnels again. SkekGra scrambled after them, darting in front of them to block their escape and snapping his beak inches from the largest Gruenak’s face. The small group skidded to a halt, looking at him in abject terror.

“You are not going anywhere,” he said lowly. “Not anymore.”

“B-back!” the lead Gruenak barked out at him, one arm spread in an attempt to shield the other two. “Back!”

It pulled a knife from its pocket and brandished it at skekGra. The blade looked like something that might be found on the Skeksis banquet table for cleaning their teeth.

SkekGra’s lips pulled back over his fangs in a smile. He straightened up a bit, fingers twitching on the handle of his own sword. “Look at this,” he said, tilting his head to the side. “Now we can tell those Grottan fools I was provoked.”

He raised his sword, the eyes of the Gruenaks widening in fear. For the briefest instant, he envisioned himself the way they must see him—a creature clothed in red, fangs bared, covered in the green stains of Arathim blood and wielding the weapons that had slaughtered their friends, their family, their entire clan—by Aughra’s eye, he couldn’t have looked more like a monster if he’d tried... But no, wasn’t that the point?

Before he could make a move, the sturdy roots under his feet jerked, casting him to the ground so that he landed hard on his wrist, jolting his already-injured shoulder and sending a flare of pain through his bandaged fingers.

They told you to back away.

The voice was now cold, a hard edge to it. SkekGra clawed his way to his feet, letting out a ragged hiss. The Gruenaks had seized their chance and were running again, clambering over the networked lattice of roots and making their way toward the top. He was after them in a heartbeat, only for the tree roots to retreat under his feet again and throw him once more to the ground.

You will not destroy more lives.

Again he climbed to his feet. Again he was tossed to the ground.

You can hear my voice, false Lord of the Crystal. Thra gave you this gift for a reason.

“I hear nothing!” skekGra shrieked again. He fell onto all fours and sank his claws deep into the thready roots, refusing to be shaken again, and crawled after his prey.

Yet, you respond. So. You obviously can hear. And you know that you cannot be this Conqueror anymore. You can no longer be who you once were.

SkekGra gave a great leap, bounding after the fleeing creatures and cutting off their escape once more, feeling rather like an arduff toying with its prey. He watched the Gruenaks slide back to the ground, breathing hard. “I am the Conqueror! I am a lord of the Crystal of Truth!”

If you are still who you say, then why do these three still live?

“Because I have not yet managed to kill them.” SkekGra dropped back to the ground, his grip tight on his sword and his eyes narrowed to slits.

You have had plenty of chances.

SkekGra bolted after the Gruenaks and ignored the voice. It was not worth conversing with. His prey would not escape again. This all ended here, and there would be no one left to defy him!

Defy him by… running desperately for their lives…

He closed in on the fleeing creatures, and at last, at long last, he snagged the largest by the collar of its shirt and yanked it toward him, the thing letting out a strangled squeal. The other two cried out in horror and huddled together. SkekGra dragged the Gruenak around to face the tree, raising his arm high enough to leave the creature dangling with only its toes brushing the ground.

“You still believe I am not the Conqueror?” he challenged.

You once said you were light-bringers.

The voice was like a slam to his chest and he choked on what he was about to say next, frozen with the struggling Gruenak still in his grasp. “How—”

Pilgrims. Ambassadors. Dazzling travelers from another world, distributors of knowledge and culture. Light-bringers. This is what the urSkeks promised upon arriving through the Crystal.

He knew that phrase. Light-bringers. He remembered the words, on the edge of his mind, fuzzy recollections from centuries ago—millenia—

Where is that light now, you shard of the urSkek? Dwelling in the urRu? Faded entirely? Or do you believe you have the chance to be whole again?

The cavern seemed darker, his vision blurred. He swallowed hard; it was difficult to breathe.

“I am whole,” he said, his voice shaking traitorously. “I am not a half-creature. I am not part of an urSkek—” he spat out the name like a curse— “I am not fractured from anything—I am a Lord of the Crystal, one of the Twice-Nine—I am Skeksis, not URSKEK!”

His mind reeled. Before today he had not heard that name in hundreds of trine, let alone uttered it himself. It repulsed him, it felt vile on his tongue. Yet… in saying it…

There is longing in your voice.

A sob erupted from his chest, and he crumpled in on himself, his grip on his quarry going slack. The Gruenak immediately sensed its opportunity and attempted to break free.

NO! NO!

He gasped, the air painful in his lungs; he snagged the creature’s collar again, straightening back up and fighting to claw his frantic, spiralling thoughts back under control.

“You know nothing, you- you moldering piece of driftwood!” he snarled. His broken voice only served to fuel his anger. “I’ll come back here with a dozen Skeksis—we’ll burn you to the ground until you’re nothing but ash—it’s our right! It’s our duty! We’ll tell the pathetic Grottans that their cursed tree was diseased, rotten to the core, and they will worship the Castle and the Crystal as they should, and the Gruenak worms will be wiped from existence for refusing our rule!”

But you do not have to do this. The tree was speaking quicker now, but softer, more gently. You can be so much more, skekGra. Your Mystic counterpart has given you a fleeting glimpse of how it was on the other side, and you still cling to that image with a desperate hope, whether you acknowledge it or not.

In his mind’s eye he flew back to that moment of contact, the lightning-strike of wholeness he had felt; but also the bottomless, drowning sensation of remorse, a black sea that, once he fell in, he would never be able to emerge from—

The Gruenak in his grasp had stilled, but it was trembling, its eyes darting from skekGra to its fellows, and sweeping around the cavern as though searching for a way out. The other two had backed away but seemed reluctant to escape and leave this one behind. How predictable.

You do not have to do this, the tree repeated. Let them go. Let them go, skekGra.

He looked down at the Gruenak that he still held by the nape of the neck, a shaky breath escaping between his teeth.

You have changed.

His head snapped up, a screeching roar scraping his throat raw. “I have NOT CHANGED! I’ll prove it!”

SkekGra released his hold on the Gruenak’s shirt, dropping it to its knees on the ground. In one smooth motion he swung his sword in an arc and severed the creature’s head from its body.

The cavern rang with silence.

He did not hear the body slump to the ground. All he heard were raindrops and his own breath, sounding extraordinarily loud in his ears. He felt detached from his body; his sword hung limply from his fingers, and he sensed rather than saw the mother Gruenak screaming, holding her child close and hiding his face in her shoulder, shielding his view.

His heart gave a strange lurch. One of them was a childling? Why had he not noticed until now?

Without warning he was yanked backwards and slammed into the tree trunk, the force knocking the breath from him. There was a tightness across his chest—he scrabbled at it to find a vine wrapped securely around him. More flew in from nowhere, wrapping around his arms, legs, and tail, rendering him immobile. His hand strained for his sword but it had fallen, probably when he was snagged by the first vine, and he could not reach the one still sheathed at his back.

“Help!” he cried as soon as he got his breath back, his voice pitifully shrill.

But there was no one around to help him, save for the Gruenak who had just watched him murder her mate.

So. I was wrong.

The voice was loud, now. Thunderously loud, pounding in his head and making him wince. The vines binding his body tightened, and he gasped.

Thra was wrong.

Something caught around his neck.

“No—” He wheezed, struggling against it, tears springing to his eyes—he hadn’t even known that was possible. Through bleary vision he saw the two remaining Gruenaks back away, turning around and vanishing down the tunnel again. Roots grew up over the tunnel entrance, closing it off from him. Not that it mattered now.

The Gruenak he had killed was still sprawled on the ground. SkekGra’s gaze seemed drawn to the still form, unable to tear himself away.

You have done enough.

His counterpart—the light half of the luminous being they had once been—had said that to him, on a blood-drenched battlefield surrounded by slaughtered creatures that had wanted nothing more than to be allowed to live in peace. The words now rang unbidden in his head once more, and would not cease.

He wanted to scream. To yell, to curse until his throat was raw. He wanted to claw at his face and curl up alone in the dark to sort through the tangle of confused images and feelings bombarding his mind, make some amount of sense from it all, but the vine curled tighter around his neck. His vision was going black around the edges.

SkekGra strained weakly against the vines, struggling simply to take a breath. “Have mercy—”

Why should I, when you never did? The voice sighed, sounding drained. I am tired. I am so tired of watching my world be devastated by the likes of your kind. When you met the Mystic by chance, whatever happened between you, all of Thra was shaken. I thought, perhaps, that it was enough.

But I was wrong. A nature such as yours can clearly not be changed. And I am certain that in time, all of Thra would forgive me for this.

The vine constricted around skekGra’s throat so tightly that his eyesight went black and he froze in terror. He was going to die. It was unthinkable. He was going to die, here. He was going to be killed by a tree, in the claustrophobic home of the weakest Gelfling clan on Thra, when no Skeksis had died for five hundred trine.

He was going to die.

He tried to say something, one last plea perhaps, or a curse, or nonsense, but nothing came out but a choked, garbled rasp.

And then the pressure around his neck and body released, and he toppled to the foot of the tree in a heap. The world swam back into focus and he gulped down air, his stomach churning.

But I preserve life, the tree said. I give life, never take it. The voice took on a bitter, scathing tone. That’s for the Skeksis to do, isn’t it?

SkekGra made no response. He wasn’t sure he could move, let alone speak.

So go on, then, if you have not changed. Burn me to the ground. Run after the mother and her child and strike them down, bring yet another species to ruin. Continue on with the destructive cycle trying to sate your unending greed and rot away with the rest of your kind, until this world is dead. Maybe then you will finally understand what you have done.

Or perhaps even that will not be enough.

SkekGra remained still on the ground, his chest heaving in heavy gasps. One of his hands gingerly rubbed at his throat. He made no effort to do anything else, other than to lie prone on the ground, surrounded by the stench of wet dirt and metal mingled with blood.

Still the tree went on. Perhaps you will never understand just what you have been doing to this world. Perhaps you will live your entire life blaming everything else for your problems, or not caring.

Had the tree told him these things mere days ago, he would still be arguing. He would fight through the pain in his throat, continue to scream, and maybe even set the tree on fire himself, as he'd proposed, before going after the remaining Gruenak survivors. But now, he didn't. He didn't answer; he had nothing to say.

It took him a moment to realize the tree had stopped talking. The chamber had gone eerily silent, with the steady fall of rain from the world above the only noise he could hear. He wasn't sure just how long he'd been lying there, still too shocked to move, and for a time he almost wondered if this had all been a dream—if he'd slipped and fallen, cracked his head, and found himself in another nightmare, like the one he'd been in last night.

But then something happened. There was a quiet shifting noise, creaking wood against rough stone, and skekGra lifted his head to see that the tree had uncovered the passage to the tunnel that the Gruenaks had run down.

They've gone that way, if you intend to finish the cruelties you started. The tree sounded… strange, as though unbearably defeated.

"No."

It took him a moment to realize that the word had come from his own throat. But, even realizing that, he made no efforts to take it back.

The tree was silent.

Finally skekGra brought two of his arms beneath his chest, pushing himself upright and fighting to his feet. But he did not continue down the clear path to the survivors.

I suppose they've run too far by now, the tree went on. Though I rarely see a Skeksis give up.

Give up. The phrase burned in his ears, left his stomach feeling rotten. Giving up, failure—these were things he had feared, terrors that lurked at the back of his mind as he went out for conquest after conquest. If he failed, if he gave up, could he really be a Skeksis? Could he truly be the Conqueror? If he dared show his face after such an occurrence, he would surely face punishment.

Yet now, the thought of going after the mother and child again felt... wrong.

And the very idea that it was wrong seemed wrong in and of itself.

But that was how he felt, inexplicable as it was. Slowly he craned his head toward the opened tunnel, and slowly he turned away. "No," he said again, his voice hoarse. "I am not giving up. But I am... not doing this anymore."

Again the chamber was silent. Even the rain outside seemed to quiet.

...Perhaps I was wrong, again?

SkekGra looked at the tree, though there was nothing to focus on; the... object? creature? being? filled up so much of the cavern that it was hard to take it in. But a soft creaking noise caught his attention and he turned toward it, mildly alarmed to see what appeared to be another vine heading in his direction. But this one did not seem malicious—it wasn’t rushing up to strangle him again, as the others had. On top of that, it bore a flower on its end, the petals slowly opening as it neared him.

If you have truly changed, then I have something to share with you. But I can only do so... if you accept.

For a long moment he stared at the flower, and one of his hands found the hilt of a knife.

It would be very, very easy to cut through the vine. Slice the flower clean off, as easily as he had separated the Gruenak's head from its body. One swift movement, and he could effectively refuse the tree's offer, turn around, and go back to chase the survivors, to slaughter the former denizens of this cave, to fight endless battles, as he had for hundreds of trine.

And yet he reached forward with a burned, bandaged hand, and touched the flower.

And then... he saw.

---~~~---

UrGoh couldn't breathe.

He felt as though he were sailing through the stars as he had lifetime upon lifetime ago, the void of space threatening to draw the life out of him, the air out of his lungs—or so he assumed, though it felt more like something was wrapped around his neck, throttling him. Stars and planets sailed past him, and he wondered if he was truly in space, or just enraptured in sight of the Orrery. Everything moved so quickly, and he watched the paths of the heavenly bodies in a daze of wonder, in spite of his pain and discomfort.

UrGoh had not intentionally observed the stars before; he’d avoided looking at them as he traveled by night. He was a Wanderer, not a destination-seeker, and had no need of navigation. The sight of worlds beyond Thra made his soul ache; he felt the prickling at the edges of the crater in his heart, the place where something was missing, had always been missing, and he had always done his best to ignore. So he ignored the stars.

But now they were all around him, and they were beautiful. Like billions upon billions of glimmering crystal shards.

As they moved, three began to stand out, brighter by far than all the rest: the Three Brothers.

When single shines the triple sun...

The suns were drawing nearer and nearer with every rotation. Soon they would be united once more, as they had thousands of trine past—the Great Conjunction was coming soon, and urGoh felt himself overcome with a sense of urgency.

But... urgency for what?

---~~~---

SkekGra's ears were filled with noise.

Impossibly loud, cacophonic noise: screaming, crying, metal clashing, arrows twanging, flesh being pierced and torn. The sounds of battle—something that he should have looked forward to, but now left him feeling unsettled and sick. Above that, however, was the sound of Skeksis laughter, which grew louder and louder until it overtook all other sounds. The screams, in particular, grew quieter and fewer until he could hear them no more.

He saw the faceless, silhouetted forms of eighteen Skeksis bearing staffs and gathered in a tight circle around the Crystal, which glowed brilliantly violet. It was the Ceremony of the Sun, with every one of the Twice-Nine thriving on life given by the Crystal. But the vision was a lie—two of the ones he saw now had not lived to ever take part in the Ceremony, they had been dead for half a thousand trine, though now he could not even tell which ones they were.

SkekGra realized he was holding a hand out to them, stirred with an emotion that… he couldn’t explain.

They don’t even know what will happen.

The Skeksis voices, meanwhile, faltered but then continued to laugh and snort and talk over each other endlessly—bickering, taunting, mocking, gossiping, chattering about weapons, outfits, their latest food craving, and he clasped his talons over his ears, only wanting it to stop.

But the voices only grew louder.

Is this not what you always wanted to hear?

---~~~---

Out of the endless, star-strewn infinity, Thra, an orb of shimmering blue and green, drew closer to him—or did he draw closer to it? Its surface peeled away like a wrapper covering a smooth stone, unfolding before him like a map. He could see every land, every sea, every cave marked in ink, and his eyes took it all in hungrily, trying to commit it to memory—to find every inch of Thra he had not yet explored, so that he could travel there in the future.

But he couldn't. Try as he might to focus on other aspects, he found his eyes drawn to specific points on the map: the Swamp of Sog, The Caves of Grot, the city of Ha'rar, and others. Gelfling civilizations—no, not just civilizations. It was the places the different Gelfling clans lived.

Before him, the map began to distort, warp and tear. Stone-in-the-Wood was ripped away as though shredded by talons, then the Caves of Grot, and on and on, each location torn away, leaving gaping holes. UrGoh reached out with all four arms to grab the missing pieces, but when he tried to place them back, they didn't fit.

Sorrow gripped him, though he did not know why; almost a tear-rending frustration that he should be able to fix this but couldn’t, he had to fix this, and the stars around him were a mocking reminder that once, long ago, he had power that would have allowed him to...

---~~~---

A strange, blue-white light swam in skekGra’s vision. He saw the Castle as if from afar, bathed in the light.

When he suddenly found himself standing in one of the corridors, he was nearly blinded by it, his nostrils clogged with a sickeningly sweet scent reminiscent of decaying flesh. He heard talk and laughter from the banquet hall; peering inside, he found his fellow Skeksis drinking goblets full of luminescent, milky blue-white liquid, laughing and cheering and belching as they gorged themselves and drank. It actually wasn't much different from their usual feasts, and yet... it was. There was something different this time, the others’ behavior more gluttonous, more riotous, more grotesque.

He watched Emperor skekSo spill some of the glowing liquid down his throat, and balked as the entire castle shuddered. Yet none of the other Skeksis seemed to notice. SkekAyuk took a deep swig from his own goblet, and the castle shuddered and groaned again.

What's wrong with you?! skekGra cried out to them. Can't you feel it?

But his voice was drowned out by their endless cheers and chatter.

You shun the triumph of your own kind?

---~~~---

The map drew closer to urGoh, taking him nearer and nearer to the loathed Castle of the Crystal.

He wanted to pull away—he did not want to be anywhere near them—but it only drew him closer, until he saw the inked lines of the castle rise up from the flat surface, folding and unfolding until it was a three-dimensional object—a paper replica of the castle itself. He phased through the walls as though they were smoke, pulled farther and farther into the castle, floating through passages he had the vaguest memories of running down, hundreds of trine ago.

Tumbling through one last wall, he found himself face to face with the Crystal of Truth itself. Unlike the castle walls around him, it was not made of paper—it was real.

He could feel it.

He could feel its pain.

---~~~---

SkekGra tried again to cry out to his brethren to stop as the world convulsed around him, but his voice died in his throat.

Before his eyes, the others had changed. They were not themselves. Or, they were, but they were wrong. They were not... alive. Or they shouldn't be alive. And yet...

Emperor skekSo lifted a glass, seemingly unaware as one of his claws fell out and landed with a splash in the tureen sitting in front of him. SkekEkt's once-beautiful face grew more shriveled and ugly by the second, his hair becoming wiry and gray. SkekSil, seated next to skekTek, suddenly turned with a savagery that even skekGra had not known the slippery Chamberlain could possess and clawed out the Scientist’s eye, then resumed eating as though nothing had happened, leaving skekTek looking stunned with dark blood gushing down his face.

The merrymaking had vanished from their feeding—it now seemed hurried, desperate. And yet the more they ate, the more rotten they became. SkekSo tipped his glass back, frantically licking at the last drops of liquid, but his tongue shriveled and turned to dust. SkekTek, still bleeding, was hastily snapping food off of his plate, even as his robes and flesh seemed to crumble into ash. And skekLach was scooping handfuls of soup into her mouth, taking no heed to the fact that her flesh was melting off her face, dripping down into the very bowl she was drinking from.

SkekGra bolted out of the chamber onto a balcony, caught himself against the wall, and retched.

Again the floor beneath him shook, and when he finally saw why, horror gripped his spine like the long claws of an Arathim. It was not the castle that was shaking and groaning.

It was Thra.

Do you know where your path is heading?

---~~~---

The Crystal blazed before urGoh as he set eyes on it for the first time in five hundred trine. But it was not the Crystal of Truth—not as it was supposed to be. Rather than the brilliant white light it usually gave out, it was a dim, agonized violet hue, full of cracks within and without. For a single moment he even thought he glimpsed the silhouettes of Skeksis gathered around it. It pained his own heart to look upon the very heart of Thra in this state. And then he spotted the hole—the spot where a shard had been broken away.

He placed his hand on his chest, feeling the Crystal's emptiness and incompleteness as though it were his own.

Yet... no, that was not true.

He'd always felt this way.

---~~~---

Everything around the castle was a complete wasteland, with no life growing for miles around. Every time the planet shook and moaned, deep veins opened up in the ground, a violent purple light shining within them. If the desolation around him was a terrifying sight to behold, the dark veins were somehow worse, spreading a poison throughout the already-poisoned land.

And still the other Skeksis sat in the banquet hall, feasting and cheering as they gorged themselves on what was likely the last of their own food supply.

And yet, as much as they ate and drank, nothing would fill them; anything they swallowed spilled back onto the floor as though their skin was vapor. They were all empty. All of them, incomplete.

“Why are you showing me this?” skekGra gasped at last, clutching at his head with both hands. He willed himself to leave the vision, to pull his consciousness from the tree’s grasp, but his feet remained rooted to the castle stone and his talons stayed locked around the center of the flower.

Had this been the terrible tree’s plan all along? To trap him here and torture him with visions of his world and his own kind crumbling to dust?

Do you still feel the longing, you dark shard?

---~~~---

UrGoh found himself once again in front of the desecrated map. It still felt empty, destroyed, and yet placing the locations—the Gelfling clans—back where they once belonged didn't seem to restore it. Uncertain, he placed them all back on top of the map.

To his surprise, the torn corners of each piece seemed to fit together, though they had come from separate places. Curious, he arranged them in the way they now fit, each piece linking together.

Strange... did the map seem more complete now than it did before?

Many things passed before skekGra’s vision as he crouched there, by the wall. He felt as though he had been turned to stone while the landscape around him changed and shifted endlessly, the sky revolving in circles. He thought, vaguely, that this must be how a mountain perceived the world, watching ninets pass like heartbeats and unable to do anything but observe.

Time passed like the shadow of a flier flitting overhead, and around him, the world died.

And he was at the forefront of it all, face streaked with blood that was not his own, directing hordes of Gelfling and the shadowy forms of other Skeksis to slaughter the skittering Arathim, cowering Gruenaks, lumbering Makraks… and when nothing but skeletons and empty shells littered the land they used to inhabit, he saw himself tilt his sword downward, and the Gelflings struck at the Podling villages. The Grottan caves. The Drenchen swamps.

But they were our allies, he thought, bewildered, and to his surprise, almost horrified.

And yet the army grew. SkekGra found his forces joined by creatures the likes of which he had never seen—hulking, soulless things with shells and glowing purple eyes, with enormous claws made for ripping. They knew no fear, no mercy. The perfect weapons.

In the blink of an eye there were no Gelfling left but the Vapra. Then, with a nod and a smile from skekGra, the Skeksis descended on the silver-garmented creatures, their claws ripping skin from bones and wrenching wings from shoulder blades.

Even the Emperor joined in the attack, beak split with harsh cackles. SkekGra turned his head away. There must be a reason for this.

He saw Mother Aughra, asleep underneath her ever-revolving mechanical Orrery, unaware of the tragedies, her soul free to wander the stars forever while her body gathered dust on a dying world.

You know the only way to end this. You have always known, but no one dares to speak it.

---~~~---

The shard that urGoh had taken from Aughra’s store was still held flat in his palm. As he watched, it spun wildly, so fast that he could not tell one end from the other—it had become one, a circle.

It lifted from his hand until it hovered in front of his eyes, in front of the completed map, brighter than any of the stars around him. Brighter, it seemed, than the Crystal of Truth in its full glory.

The light tickled faded memories at the back of his mind. He thought that he himself might have glowed like this, once. It was a light that would carry him home.

And then the light began to burn.

---~~~---

A thousand years had passed since the terrible split. And three suns came together, the third Great Conjunction skekGra had witnessed on this world.

As the light shone bright, the other ones entered the castle of their own accord—the beady-eyed creatures, the urRu, shambling across the stone floor with heads lowered and tails dragging, nothing left to protect.

The Crystal had called them here, but there was no triumph for them. It was skekGra himself who locked them away.

He saw, one last time, his brethren gathered along the banquet table, laughing and shoving food into their beaks, their flesh dripping from their putrid faces like the skins of spoiled fruit. It was only when skekSil leaned back in his chair that skekGra saw what he hadn’t before—that sitting in his own place at the table was a shell of himself, gaping black holes where his eyes should be and his armor rusted and chipping away, his beak open and laughing with the others, rotting with them. He remembered urGoh the Wanderer, locked away forever beneath the ground in pitch darkness with the other Mystics.

So this was how it would look. The great and powerful Skeksis, the immortal overlords of a dead world, with no one left to rule.

This can’t be the future.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, his double at the table raised its head and fixed skekGra with a stare, its empty sockets locked on his own eyes.

This is the only future.

---~~~---

He jerked backward, heart throwing itself against his ribs like a relentless drum, thrumming an impossible two beats for what should be every one.

He felt raindrops pattering onto his face, and the slight breeze from the mechanical wonder whirling above him; raising his head, he saw the twisting tree trunk against weak sunlight, the same light that filtered through the crystal ceiling and reflected off the shining metal representations of the planets in orbit.

His eyes flicked downward, where he saw a crystal shard in his hand, as well as a puddle of dark, glistening blood pooled among the gnarled roots of an ancient tree. Two reflections gazed at him at once, one from the crystal and one from the blood on the ground.

Do you now understand?

Two reflections, but one body. One mind.

“Never,” said one.

“I won’t,” said the other. “I can’t.”

Then you’ve already seen your future.

With a final, desperate surge of strength, he at last tore himself away, and blinked his own eyes.

And then he crumbled, and the world fell into blackness.