A shudder passed over all the students.
Message sufficiently delivered, Lindon veiled himself again. This time, he pulled out a book. He ran a thumb over its pages—some yellowed, most weathered, and some newer but crammed loosely in the middle.
Then he opened The Path of Twin Stars.
“Now, prepare yourselves and follow closely,” Lindon said. “This is the Heaven and Earth Purification Wheel.”
Despite Suriel’s title as a Judge, she rarely sat in judgment of mortals. Even ascended ones. Their business was rarely important enough to justify her individual attention, so it was usually handled by lower-ranking Abidan.
But the business of Executors was critical enough to require three Judges.
Technically four, but Ozriel was hardly objective in this issue.
In the Hall of Judgment in Sanctum, three members of the Court of Seven sat to decide whether the Executor program could be resumed. The Fox, the Phoenix, and the Ghost looked down on their subjects.
And the grinning Reaper who stood over them like a proud hen.
Suriel smiled over the Monarchs from Cradle. “Ziel. Mercy. Yerin. I’m pleased you made it. I’ve been watching over you for a long time. I am Suriel.”
Mercy and Ziel were visibly astonished to be addressed by name, but Yerin was unsurprised. She regarded Suriel frankly.
“Hear I owe you a debt. You sent Lindon my way.” Yerin straightened up and pressed her fists against one another, bowing over them. “Gratitude.”
A Sacred Valley gesture.
Suriel found that adorable.
But she was a professional, and she wouldn’t let her personal attachments influence her decision. She nodded to Yerin and then turned a more serious gaze to Ozriel. “Have you explained their responsibilities?”
“I have, but I encourage you to hammer it in.” A ghost of the old Ozriel passed through him. “I’m not certain it’s possible to overstate the gravity of the situation.”
No matter what experiences Eithan may have had in Cradle, Ozriel did take his role seriously. Too seriously, which some might say had led to his abandonment of the post in the first place.
Suriel looked over to Darandiel, the Ghost, who was staring off into the distance as her mind drifted to strange places.
Nonetheless, the other Judge responded in an ethereal voice. “The worlds fall further apart with every word. We will send you, with minimal training, into Iterations on the verge of destruction. You will be in danger of becoming trapped in a dying world. If you do not succeed well enough, you may doom neighboring worlds. If any Abidan suspects you of betrayal, you may be utterly erased, all memory of you in all realities crushed and swept away.”
This time, Mercy and Yerin were the two who were disturbed. Ziel’s thoughts were ordered.
Suriel couldn’t read minds—at least, not without detection—but she didn’t need to. People’s thoughts were never as well-hidden as they thought.
Zakariel leaned forward and jabbed a finger at Ziel. “You will betray us. They always do! Why are we here?”
“Have you made up your mind, then?” Suriel asked.
“Oh, I’m going to vote for them,” the Fox went on. “They can’t make things any worse than they are now. Maybe they’ll do some good before they go crazy.”
Suriel disagreed on two points, but instead of voicing her thoughts, she turned to Darandiel. “Are you also in favor of re-forming the Executor program?”
The Ghost still gazed at something deeper than the rest of them. “Their corruption is not a given. Just because something has always happened doesn’t mean it always will. But they can make things worse.”
Darandiel looked down and made deliberate eye contact with the three potential Executors…and Ozriel. A shadow passed over the mortals, but Ozriel gave a nod in return.
“Things can always get worse,” the Ghost said.
Suriel picked up the speech and continued. “Ordinarily we would give you years of training and preparation, and I still would not be certain you were ready. Now, time is our most precious resource. Therefore, this is your last chance. If you agree to intervene in mortal worlds as our Executors, by far the most likely outcome is that you will either die or be executed.”
The mortals were lost in their own thoughts for a moment, and while Suriel felt the urgency of the other worlds deeper than her bones, she let the moment stay. They needed to consider this with the weight it deserved.
Akura Mercy was the first to speak. “We can make a difference, right?” Her gaze was surprisingly piercing.
“The lives you could save are beyond counting,” Suriel responded.
“All right,” Mercy said calmly. “I’m in.”
Next to her, Ziel raised a hand. “Better to try than to sit on the sidelines and wait for things to fall apart.”
“Who decides if we’re rabid?” Yerin looked around the Court at the three Judges. “Is it you? I’m not about to swear an oath that lets you slit my throat if I look at you sideways.”
Zakariel propped up her cheek on one hand. “We could slit your throat now.”
Yerin weighed that for a moment as Suriel wondered if she would say something antagonistic. If she did, that would be a bad sign for her career as an Executor. Making enemies of Judges wasn’t a good path toward a long, healthy life.
“Would you sign up to this?” Yerin asked Zakariel. She jerked her head in Ozriel’s general direction.
The Fox’s answering smile was a feral gleam. “I’d have done whatever it took to get close to real power.”
“There it is, then.” Yerin’s red eyes met Suriel’s. “Looks like we’re all in.”
Suriel had never expected otherwise. Ozriel wouldn’t have brought them here if he hadn’t at least described the situation and gotten their agreement already. But they needed to be officially sworn in before the Court, and for that to be binding, they needed to realize the full depth of their commitment.
She tapped into the Way, backing her words with the fundamental laws of reality. The other two Judges silently lent her their authority as well.
“Then as the representative of the Court of Seven, I hereby permit the creation and operation of the Execut—”
Ozriel cleared his throat. “Reapers.”
Suriel stopped.
“You have a division named after you,” Ozriel pointed out.
Ultimately, it didn’t matter what they were called. Their role would be the same. And naming them after the Reaper would make him more responsible for their behavior. In theory.
“…the creation and operation of the Reaper Division,” Suriel continued. “For the purpose of removing threats to preserve existence. They will report to Ozriel, the eighth Judge, who in return reports to this Court. As they bring light to the many worlds, may they go with the Way.”
Reality settled in response to Suriel’s declaration. Now, the Abidan had an eighth division.
However short-lived it might be.
Suriel felt a distant sadness as she looked out over the young faces she had watched over for years. Odds were, she had just consigned these three to corruption and death.
But the Abidan truly needed them, and they had chosen knowingly. Moreover, they were hardly the first people she had watched walk into tragedy.
She would hope for their success. And in the very likely event of their fall, she would remember them as they were now.
While they were still themselves.
Yerin poked at the wall of the metal carriage that surrounded them. She didn’t like the designs of the vehicles here. They were like smooth metal eggs, and while the windows showed a vast silver-and-gold city retreating beneath her, she couldn’t feel any wind aura supporting their flight. It made her feel like they would fall any second.