Chapter 174: Book 8 Chapter 9

Everything. Joan could feel everything, see everything. It was so, so much worse than when she was with Penthe and she was surrounded by everything. She could feel and see every single life, where they would go, where they MIGHT go, what decisions they’d make, could make, wouldn’t make.

Across a million different worlds, all connected, all nudging each other. Each and every life affecting a massive web. So many that she couldn’t even hope to understand any of them. She’d thought the Realm of the Gods with Penthe had been terrifying, but this went beyond anything she could ever imagine. She couldn’t handle it, she--

Then it all stopped.

“Sorry,” a voice said. “I forget sometimes how much a mortal can handle.”

Joan whimpered, though she made no sound. She tried to speak, but no words came out.

“You need a body for that. Don’t worry, though. I know exactly what you’re thinking, I can-- wow. Rude.”

Joan couldn’t help thinking rather sarcastic thoughts, it wasn’t her intention.

“You really do have poor impulse control, don’t you?”

She wondered if that was the fates talking to her, or perhaps something else. Wait, hadn’t she said ‘I’?

“I did,” the voice said again. “We have been granted this opportunity. My sisters are tending to the others. Now then… it will likely be disorienting at times. I will do my best to shield you from the worst effects, however. If you don’t want to know anymore, then you need only think it.”

Actual answers? From the fates? As if she’d ever say no to that. Why would she ever, oh, right. Knowing everything at once was-- wait. How many other worlds WERE there? How many realms? How many souls? How many other hers?

“Trust me, your mind wouldn’t be able to handle knowing,” the fate said with a light laugh. “It can be quite exhausting sometimes.”

Joan didn’t doubt it. But she wondered what happened now.

“Now you wait patiently, difficult for you, as I do this.”

Nothing happened. Joan felt her impatience only growing.

“Must you always be in a rush?”

Joan mentally sighed and wondered if she could be if the world wasn’t on the verge of destruction.

“Maybe, but I’d say unlikely. Now then, I’ll be showing you a very curated amount of my own threads.”

Ah, yes. Curated. She definitely knew what that word meant.

“It means you’ll only be seeing the parts I let you.”

That made sense, at least. Wait, the fates had threads of their own?

“All things that live and die must.”

What did that even mean? Did that mean all of those worlds would lose their fates?

“You worry too much,” the fate said. “Calm yourself. This is a natural cycle and has happened many times before and will happen many times after. You have more important things to worry about. Like this.”

Suddenly Joan was standing in front of a burning village. Or, rather, she was inside someone who was watching a burning village. Although they weren’t really a someone, it was more like a presence and--

It stopped suddenly.

“Mortals are so simple, one moment,” the fate said with a soft sigh. “This should be easier for you.”

Joan was inside a body, a person. She was that person.

She was frustrated, watching that village burn, hearing the screams of those within it. Begging for mercy. The flitting of fairy wings as they tore some apart, stole others into their fae realm. The Champion would be here soon and the fae knew it, they had to move quickly.

None of the fae could see her, though. Primarily because she wasn’t really there. She was--

“Try not to think on it too hard,” the fate said. “Focus on what you can be aware of.”

Joan was in the body, in some ways the mind of one of the fates. Or living out their ‘life’ as it were. Odd, it felt almost normal. Then again, she supposed that was the fate’s work. She was frustrated. Not by all those lives cut short, not by the souls stolen away to the Fae Realm. No, the Champion would come and those souls would be freed. She could see that.

What frustrated her was the same thing that frustrated her sisters. They’d finally won the war, but they’d had to make so many sacrifices. Sacrifices that shouldn’t have had to be made. Souls that were lost and would remain lost forever. Time was running out and, soon, they’d need to pack up this world and leave. Take what they could and leave it to wither and die. Even the eldest amongst them, she who saw the end of all things, didn’t like this.

Their task was to watch over and guide souls, to help them weave the tapestry. This world had such a beautiful, chaotic tapestry once. It wasn’t ending in a way it should have. More akin to a disease, cutting off the frayed remains of the tapestry to save the rest. Despite all of their efforts, despite even the gods stepping in to try and fix things, they were failing.

A victory so short lived.

Yet they could see the end in sight. So many threads would be lost, sacrificed for the greater good of the rest.

The Guide knew this, had accepted it with great difficulty.

The Champion would never accept this, were he to know he’d have fought all the harder. Not just against the Hungry One, but against the fates themselves. The gods.

Of all the fates, she disliked it to the most. Her role was to create. To take the souls her sister cut and weave them once more into the tapestry. To abandon this world, as there was no doubt in her mind that was what they were being forced to do, went against everything she was. Everything she stood for.

Yet what more could they do? They were the fates, their roles, in many ways, even more predestined than those of mortals. The most they could do was alter, slightly, what would come. Even if it was unfair to those souls left behind, even if it went against everything they believed to just leave a world to end in such a manner, they had no choice.

She could see where this path now went and there wasn’t even a chance of escape, of altering it. How many more cycles until their Champion was lost forever? How many more--

She stopped for a moment and looked over the village. She could see it, a single thread. So many of these threads were already set. They would end. But there was one that was not. It took her a moment to find that thread.

A child, a little girl. Frightened, alone. Begging the gods for mercy, for them to save her. Alas, she had no idea how much of a mercy it may be to die here. Even as she lay, huddled in a corner of a burning building. Too frightened to escape, the fae approaching her terrified form.

The child would die here. She would be captured and then die. She would run and die. She would fight and die. So many ends. Yet, there was one tiny, small, minor chance there. One little shift that would allow her to, maybe, live.

The Champion would be here soon. The building was on fire, straining under the weight of its own burning frame. A single fae was flying closer to the door, once they passed it they would see the girl and her destiny would be sealed.

The fate reached a hand out and gave that small little nudge of chance. The boards of the old house creaked and then, finally, they gave out. The girl didn’t have a chance to scream even as the house fell on them. The fear, the moment of confusion. The questions as to why did the gods abandon her in her darkest moment?

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But the fae flew by, unknowing of what transpired. Unaware that another soul was trapped, hidden from their sight. Bleeding, hurt, burned. If they would survive? Well… in even the smallest chance there was possibility.

Perhaps that was the biggest difference between herself and her sisters. One only saw the results, the end. One saw the process, the paths that were chosen again and again.

But all she could see was the possibility, no matter how small.

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Joan wondered what in the world any of that was. Why was she shown that?

“That was you, in a way,” the fate said.

That was HER? When? She didn’t--

“Many, many lifetimes ago. When the Champion was still the Champion. Before a Hero existed. It’s interesting how the patterns repeat themselves, don’t you agree?”

Joan felt even more confused. What pattern? She didn’t see a pattern.

“You called out for help, for the gods,” the fate said. “You asked to be rescued. Something you so often do, now. Your tapestry is filled with those calls. Some silent, some loud. But deep down in your core, you desire to be saved. It echoes out through your very soul.”

Joan would have cringed if she could. She didn’t mean to be weak, it was just she had a lot on her plate. She couldn’t deal with this alone.

“You do that often as well,” the fate said.

Fail?

“Take the wrong thing from a lesson,” the fate said. “A call for help can be more powerful than most even consider. All mortals need help, though many refuse to see it. It’s an interesting conundrum, to be sure. So many mortals desperate to be strong, to take what they need. Trying to be an arbitrary amount of strong enough and never need others. Yet a tapestry is not woven with but a single thread. It is all the threads together that make them interesting, beautiful. It can take a strong soul to ask for help.”

But how was she supposed to help others if--

“Why does one preclude the other?” the fate asked. “Your thread sings with a need to be rescued and saved. When it finds another who shares such a song, it echoes it. Weaves around it, if only for a moment.”

Of course she responded when others needed her, it was what the Hero did. It--

“Even before the Hero,” the fate said. “There were calls for help. Your own. Even the Chosen.”

Well, yeah, the Chosen needed her because she knew what would happen. Other than that, they didn’t really need much from her.

“Perhaps I should show you that as well,” the fate said before giving a soft sigh.

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“Help me,” she said, her entire body quivering. Korgron? It felt like her, but not like her, at the same time. “Please, help us. We’ve fought these monsters, we’ve given everything we have. We’ve done everything we can. With every battle more of us are lost. We thought, no, I thought we could. I thought if we just killed enough of them, if we just worked hard enough. I thought I could do this. But every life lost is… please. Help us. I can’t protect my people alone.”

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Joan wanted, desperately, to reach out to Korgron’s soul and hug it. To tell her that it would be okay. That they’d make it through this.

“The Chosen called to the gods for help, begged for help, long before then,” the fate said.

Of course they did, they were weaker, then. They weren’t the Chosen then. They needed--

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“Please, help us,” Korgron said, her hands clasped together. “We can’t do this alone. No matter how incredible I am, no matter how strong I am, I can’t do this on my own. I need the others. We need the gods. Please, help us. Please.”

Korgron knelt before statues of the Peacock and Phoenix, in a sign of subservience that, frankly, Joan had never seen her in.

“I’ve already lost so much,” Korgron said softly. “My parents, my family. I’m doing all I can to set things right. Please help me make this right. Help me break whatever spell is killing her. Help us save the world so she doesn’t have to go through this anymore.”

Joan would have gasped if she could. Was Korgron praying about her?

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“It echoes through the tapestry,” the fate said. “Begging to be saved. Begging to be able to save others. From the weakest to the strongest. This tapestry has been woven in so many such threads and it has made it… unpredictable.”

Unpredictable? Was that supposed to be good?

“It has created a chance where once there was none,” the fate said. “I do not know if it will be enough in the end. But, perhaps. So, shall we continue?”

Joan wanted to nod, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t deny being a little afraid, what did all of this mean? Was her becoming the Hero entirely just chance? Saved on the whim of a fate? Was she--

Wait. She was a GIRL then. Was that why the Hero had always felt so strange? Why he had--

“No,” the fate said. “That… is just something that happens. I’m not entirely sure why. Some threads are just woven like that.”

They were? Why, then? If she’d wanted to be a girl, why not just weave her as a girl?

“You vastly overestimate how much control I have over the threads I weave,” the fate said with a soft sigh. “Or underestimate the amount of them I must weave. Many threads are flawed, many threads become flawed. But there is much beauty in that. The way they re-weave themselves.”

Joan couldn’t help feeling a little frustrated at that. Easy for her to say, she didn’t have to go through that.

“No, I did not,” the fate said. “But do not think it malicious that this happens to you or the others it happens. In the end, it is chance, one I cannot often correct. Shall we continue on? Or have you learned enough?”

Joan almost felt it was. Except she knew she’d never get another chance at this, the fate had said as much. She had to know what happened. How had she ended up on this path. How had she become the Hero?

“Very well, then, let us see the next weave of your thread…” the fate said.