Tlakida, my daughter, last nymph of the Thimithi…
Can you remember what defines our clan? The flame that burns within us all? Can you still see it?
Can you remember the name of the white dragon reborn— the trial of the angelic host— the year of our hope 623—
Can you remember it all? The spark which ignited this fire that defines us…
There was one and only one who stood, when Karkel demanded the host punished for the crimes of the second dominion, pleading that she alone be executed for the sake of the rest — to be a matyr, and spare her comrades. She saw the error of their ways, and sought to atone. She was the first to burn in the white dragon’s breath. Do you recall Thesiza?
Do you recall Thalia’s devotion to the nymphs of the dream?
Do you recall Theion’s guidance shining for every bug under the new-hatched Pantheca? Each of us walked through fire in ages past; and we have never stopped burning. Every Thimithi hatches with the memory.
To be Thimithi is to be ardent, to sacrifice anything for the flame, to burn until your last mote of life is extinguished.
Ours is the will to set ourselves ablaze, if only to keep the ones we love alive and warm for one more breath.
I dont know if I’ll live long enough to say this to you in person. If I don’t… never forget that I burned out for you, Tlakida.
Keep the fire alive.
(In the flickering light of the Ebony Forest Exclusion Zone, a child is speaking to Tlakida.)
The Thimithi always had an affinity for prophecy, didn’t they? So many haruspcies, so many mystics, so many damn prophets.
But you know it’s the fate of all religions to be just a face of hierachy and nothing else, in the end. Every god wants its authority enforced, and every state wants its law santified.
Did you ever wonder why it is the Thimithi had a technique tailor-fit for mass execution?
Forget their words of damage control. The Thimithi ideals never went astray. If you would sacrifice your life, give everything to the flame — why not sacrifice your morality? Why not sacrifice the weak and wretched for the sake of the strong and pure? The Thimithi may have been the first to abandoned the Third Dominon, but never forget they were its first supporters. They were made in the Second Dominion, after all, and every Thimithi hatches with the memory.
For every Theion there was an Immolata, banes made cracked and hardened, hot with arrogant cunning. And the vespers loved Immolata every bit as much as they loved Theion. He was no less of prophet for being a tyrant.
You think your father was a coward, little Tlakida. You think he faltered in his path, and you hate him for it. He refused to give everything he had for your sake, everything you felt entitled to.
The flame had died in him, and you think that’s a bad thing.
You, unlike him, are the same as every Thimithi matriarch before you. Don’t feel proud — it’s exactly why you won’t leave here.
This is the forest where Immolata created me, where his ritual sentenced all of his clan elders to a fate worse than death. He didn’t know it then, but if he had… he think it’d all be worth it to save his sister’s blood secret, wouldn’t it? Ha. Haha.
And would they have agreed, if they known what he was doing? Everything to ashes, just to make the family warm. Even now, you agree with the sentiment, the spirit of it, don’t you? Now you get to burn with the rest of them.
Ironic, isn’t it?
(Now, finally, Tlakida speaks.)
“You don’t get to judge me”
Don’t I? You put an entire clan to the torch for the greater good, like oh so many Thimithi before you. You have the ardent blood pulsing within you.
“No—” (She’s coughing, sickly, body failing the words.)
Oh, you’re not fullblooded Thimithi, no. But you’re certainly living up to half your heritage.
“Would you rather I live up to the other half, then?”
You don’t have it in you. If you did, you wouldn’t have killed them all.
“I didn’t kill the entire clan.”
Oh yes, you left one alive.
“I did. And she can judge me, when she comes. Only then. Only her.”
You think it’s noble, don’t you? Throwing yourself to her mercy. What, do you think she’ll kill you for her crimes? Do you think you get to just die? Fulfill your family’s inherent fucking martyr complex?
I see right through you, Tlakida Thimithi.
“You don’t get to judge me.”
I may look like a nymph, but you’re a babe to me. You’re eight decades too young to think you can tell me what to do.
“My name…”
(She is speaks with great effort, will to overpower her failing body.)
“…is Akida Asetari. And I was just following orders.”
(Mewla is speaking beneath the light of the stars.)
There was a… let’s call it technique, that I learned — sounds better than coping mechanism — and it was useful in the Unbrood. You’ll find it useful.
Going forward, the weight you’re going to need to carry will crush you. Your back will break and everything you’re trying to build will crumble bit by bit to the ground. The things that will be necessary… the unnecessary things you’ll be ordered to do… it will test everything conviction you have — at least, every one more idealistic than blind obediance to the most powerful. You’ll question how you can keep going, stand for anything at all, whether this path could ever be justified.
And when that happens, do you know what you need to remember?
It doesn’t matter.
You aren’t a person. You don’t have a will or conscience or a hope. What you are is just a expression of your superior’s will. You are just another knot where the inevitable logic of the universe unravels. You’re just watching from somewhere far away.
It’s hard to uphold your principles. Do this work for long enough, and the strain becomes great enough that you can’t. They’ll fall, and you’ll fall too, careening with nothing to hold on to.
There are easier things to latch on to. You’ll learn the beauty of power, find things to appreciate in cruelty and making things die. When there’s nothing else, you can be believe that you’ve lost it all, become the monster you fought against, unrepentant, unsalvageable.
You aren’t, but you can forget that. Later, when your duties wanes, you can pick up the pieces, remember what’s right and figure out how to be a good person again. But that’s a luxury. When you’re in the thick of it… in this is a world, doing this work, only monsters survive. The only thing that separates us from the worst monsters is that when we take off the mask, we can tell ourselves we’re doing the right thing.
“But… I want to do what’s right. If I lose that… what’s left for me?”
If doing what’s right is who you are… then you will become someone else, when there’s work that must be done.
“If I become someone else, and I keep doing that, then which am I, in the end?”
(Mewla laughs in a stolen body.)
“Whichever one wins, in the end.”
Just following orders? You could have disobeyed, but you didn’t. You wanted to follow orders. And why did you do that? Because it was a sacrifice worth making. Thimithi logic to the very end.
“I followed orders, because that’s the Asetari way. Loyalty is strength. Obedience is power. I only wanted to be powerful, to express that power, in the end.”
(The false chimera staggers back.)
“And that’s why I’m leaving this forest and you aren’t. Because I understand the Thimithi better than you. The flames… they aren’t for sacrifice. That’s not what they mean. When Karkel threatened to set the host ablaze, Thesiza understood it as a test, and passing it granted us power. When Thalia remained loyal to the nymphs, she was granted techniques none else had. The Third Dominion simply slaughtered to make the nation powerful. Theion, Immolata, they ruled with fire. That’s what it means to burn: true power, and nothing else. This power… my father was too weak to wield it, and you still don’t fully understand. But I can show you.”
(Tlakida stands up, looks down on the false chimera)
“In the end, you are just a child. It can’t be helped.”