After watching over the second generation of his unified world, he ascended to seek more worlds to save.
The Abidan considered him perfect. Even as they delved into his mind, they found a humble hero, a ruler who wanted nothing more than to improve the world.
So they gave him worlds to improve.
Daruman was chosen by the second Court of Seven to be among the first of what they were to call their Executors. He was an agent of the Abidan, but un-bound to the Eledari Pact, so he was not prevented from interfering in Fate.
He and his four peers were sent to dying worlds, to defeat the threat from the inside and prolong the existence of the Iterations as long as possible.
At first, the experiment was declared a success.
None of those first-generation Executors were less than perfect, world-level combatants with sharp minds and resolute hearts. They saved world after world, allowing the Abidan to expand their Sectors and add more and more Iterations to their protection.
Daruman was not the first of those Executors to go rogue.
In fact, he was the last.
Though each Executor was mentally evaluated upon their return from a mission, their futures could not be read. By the nature of their work, they diverged from Fate regularly, so they became a blank spot for the Hounds.
When the first Executor fled Abidan control and took over a distant Iteration, the Hounds were shocked.
When the second gave up and lay down her weapon with no warning, they became alarmed. They enacted new restrictions on their remaining three Executors, as well as more extensive screening.
But by nature of their role, Executors were beyond Abidan monitoring while on assignment. The third Executor burned to the ground the world he was meant to save, insisting there was no other way to be rid of corruption.
Daruman chased down that peer himself, performing the execution with his own sword.
The fourth Executor attacked the Abidan. She tried to bring them down for reasons that were never clear, falling at the hands of Razael.
By this point, trust in the Executors was nonexistent. A second generation had already been appointed, but these had been raised from birth by the Abidan themselves, designed to be perfectly competent and loyal. Daruman was already considered a relic of an embarrassing past.
But he continued his role, finding satisfaction in saving world after world.
Until he found a world he couldn’t save.
Oth’kimeth, the Conqueror, had been considered a Class Two Fiend when it broke through Sector Control to invade an Iteration. As it began to feed, its designation was raised to Class One, and Daruman himself went to stop it.
He spent fourteen years in that Iteration. Due to the influence of chaos, records of that time are spotty, but it is generally agreed that he found Oth’kimeth to be a much greater opponent than expected.
Finally, he determined that the only way to truly remove Oth’kimeth was to seal the Fiend inside a vessel capable of resisting its temptation: himself.
Daruman returned to Sanctum and reported to the Judges the successful completion of his mission. He invited them to inspect him for any signs of chaotic control. He was still in command of himself, and he could turn the powers of a Class One Fiend to good.
The Court of Seven, unable to read his fate, nevertheless knew that no one could resist the machinations of a Class One Fiend forever. They weren’t even certain that he hadn’t already been corrupted.
They imprisoned him in the depths of Haven.
There he languished for centuries, in the heart of the Abidan prison-world. Just him and Oth’kimeth.
Four hundred and nineteen years after his imprisonment, he escaped. It was a feat never equaled before or since in the history of the Abidan.
Daruman was pursued by the second Makiel, who chased him into the depths of the void. To the horror of the Court, Makiel was defeated, suffering damage to the origin of his existence that would eventually cause him to pass on his mantle.
In a message broadcast to all of Sanctum and several others of the Abidan core worlds, Daruman declared the Abidan tyrants and swore himself to their destruction. He gathered up his original Iteration, forging it into the great fortress Tal’gullour, and moved to another world.
The people were all that mattered to the Way, he said, not the Iterations themselves. The Abidan were nothing more than jailers, and he would gather power until he brought them down.
It was determined by the Court that his will had been corrupted by Oth’kimeth, and he was given his new title: the Mad King.
[Suggested topic: the fall of the second-generation Executors. Continue?]
[Denied, report complete.]
Mount Samara’s ring was beginning to fade when they arrived at the eastern entrance to Sacred Valley.
The white halo around the snow-peaked mountain was dimming with the approach of sunlight in the pre-dawn twilight, and Lindon found his eyes growing wet.
Every night of his life for fifteen years, he’d slept under the light of this mountain. Now, it filled the windows of his own personal cloud fortress as he returned.
Lindon blinked his vision clear. He’d been preparing for this moment since the day he’d left.
So he couldn’t mess it up.
Tell the ships to land and power down, Lindon ordered Dross. Send as many Golds after us as they can spare. We expect to return within three days.
Dross obeyed, though he added his own commentary on the likelihood that they would actually be back within three days.
The Akura ships set down at the border of the blackened forest that represented the Desolate Wilds, but Lindon and the others flew closer to Mount Samara.
They couldn’t get any closer than the smaller mountains and hills surrounding Sacred Valley, as the aura was starting to fade already. Lindon’s spiritual sense couldn’t penetrate far beyond this point, and he was having to spend more and more energy to keep their cloud base afloat.
Next to him, Eithan shuddered. “It’s like diving face-first into a bucket of ink. I’m afraid my bloodline legacy won’t be of much use to you from here on, although I myself will be the same emotional asset and source of courage as always.”
Ziel slumped against the wall, his horns glowing slightly green as he regarded the view in front of them. “It’ll be more uncomfortable than you think.”
As Lindon landed on a snowy mountainside within sight of Mount Samara, he risked a moment of inattention to glance back at Ziel. He hadn’t considered what entering a power-dampening boundary formation would feel like to Ziel. It could dredge up years of painful memories.
Then again, he hadn’t considered Ziel much at all. Eithan was the one who had recruited the man, not Lindon. Ziel had linked his cloud fortress to theirs as they approached, so it would land as they did.
“If you would like to stay here, I would be grateful to have someone reliable protecting our base,” Lindon suggested.
“I’m used to having my power suppressed. But if you want me to stay here, I’ll stay here.”
Lindon doubted he was just being polite. As usual, he sounded as though he wouldn’t care if the ship exploded around him.
Mercy was standing right up against the window, staring at Samara’s ring. “It’s beautiful! I can’t wait to see it from up close!”
“Only get that view if we stay at Heaven’s Glory for the night,” Yerin pointed out. “Which I’m not panting and begging to do.”
From Lindon’s shoulder, Little Blue gave a ringing agreement.
Lindon found it hard to pry his view away from the shining loop of light, but he forced himself to move. He ran his spiritual sense through the beautiful, roomy void key now hanging from his neck. His wintersteel badge hung on the outside, a lump of cold power that resonated as his attention moved over it.