How can he be so calm?
The thought was a sharp, angry thing.
At a time like this... doesn't Mola remind him of... *her*?
Every detail of the human girl was an affront. The sway of her cheap robes, the determined set of her shoulders, the very rhythm of her gait. It was all wrong. This girl, with her mortal flesh and the stench of forbidden power clinging to her like a shroud, did not belong here.
Just like us.
The thought was unwelcome. She shoved it away, letting her mind drift back into the ashen deserts of memory, to the one other soul she had known who could command the void. A powerful revenant, her past shattered, her memories locked away by forces unknown.
Tentoria.
The name was both prayer and curse. She saw her again, not as a memory but as a feeling -- a yearning for closure that reverberated in Bazren's own hollow chest. Tentoria's sacrifice had been the key, the cataclysm that had blurred the lines between realms, tearing a fleeting doorway between their dying world and this one. A supernova of magical energy, a final, agonizing moment of wholeness before oblivion.
You unlocked this door for us... at the cost of your soul. At the cost of all those we left behind.
Her hand, still clutching the cold, dead weight of her severed torso piece, tightened. Their mission ablaze in her soul, an oath etched onto the very essence of their being. They would free them. They would restore the circle.
... Rebirth shall be ours.
She looked at Mola again. The question burned.
Why?
Why here?
Why her?
There had to be a connection. It couldn't be a coincidence.
It simply couldn't.
Xayn's voice, low and measured, sliced through her reverie.
Xayn: "Bazren...? You alright back there?"
She started, the world snapping back into sharp, unwelcome focus.
Xayn: "You've been quiet for an awfully long time."
Bazren: "I'm fine. Just thinking to myself, is all."
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched Xayn's lips.
Xayn: "Glad to know you do that from time to time."
Bazren felt a familiar surge of irritation, a welcome distraction from the weight of her thoughts.
Bazren: "Yeah, very, *very* funny... So, *Mola*."
The sorceress stiffened, her name a whip-crack in the quiet air.
Bazren: "You're awfully powerful for someone so young. Where'd you learn to wield magic like that...?"
Mola didn't turn, her voice carrying back to them on the wind, laced with a familiar, cutting sarcasm.
Mola: "Was that two compliments in a row? Careful the rest of your tongue doesn't fall out of your mouth from so much boot-licking."
She let out a short, sharp laugh, then seemed to catch herself.
Mola: "I jest, I jest... Well, what can I say. Some of us are simply blessed with a greater attunement to certain... energies."
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Xayn couldn't let the understatement pass.
Xayn: "What happened back there was a little more than 'attunement'. You must admit."
Mola sighed, a sound of theatrical weariness, and finally stopped. She turned to face them, her expression unreadable. For some reason, she seemed almost eager to explain.
Mola: "Whatever. I tried explaining my side to other people. They always treat me like I'm crazy. Since you two aren't really 'people' anymore... maybe it'll make sense to you."
She gestured vaguely at the world around them, at the vibrant, living landscape that seemed so alien to the three of them.
Mola: "Life and death -- two sides of the same coin. On that, I think we can all agree. We value and treasure one while fearing and lamenting the other. However... I don't see things that way."
She tilted her head back, a strange, almost rapturous smile touching her lips as she looked up at the sun.
Mola: "The very nature of our world is cyclical. We die, then we are reborn -- well, unless you're unlucky enough to be cursed to a realm of undeath... But! That aside. Given that the essence of our existence is not finite, but an eternal cycle of renewed experience... what do we really have to lose?"
Xayn and Bazren remained silent, caught in the undertow of her strange logic.
Mola: "Our past selves are lost, sure, I can give you that. I cannot recall my previous lives, and I doubt you can either. But there will always be a *next* life. So, why is everyone so afraid of *dying*? Why is everyone so terrified of experimenting with death? Of performing a temporary sacrifice in the chase of greater power?"
She fixed them with a challenging gaze.
Mola: "I'll tell you why. It is not the coming of something new they fear, but the loss of what they've always known. Wealth, fame, status, friends, family... How much would any given person be willing to voluntarily sacrifice in the chase of something greater?"
Bazren's reply was a single, guttural word.
Bazren: "Little."
Mola nodded, her smile widening.
Mola: "*Very* little. But then, you have others like me. Even if this was our one and only life... to hell with fetters. I will do whatever it takes to walk my path. I will give up whatever I have to give up in that pursuit."
Xayn's expression was grim.
Mola: "And so that's where I differ. Death is meaningless, as meaningless as life. Both are tools to be employed for a greater purpose. All I'm doing is seizing what I believe to be mine. Dark magic... it has always fascinated me. The ultimate embodiment of weaponizing not just life, but death. Taking the two great pillars of existence and utilizing them as tools. To tread where none have dared before. To unlock secrets that could otherwise elude us indefinitely..."
She paused, taking a breath, a manic energy radiating from her. Before Xayn could interject, she cut him off.
Mola: "... And! If I happen to fly too close to the sun... I'll gladly pay the price of getting burnt."
She let out another sharp bark of laughter, seeming to delight in the sound of her own voice.
Mola: "Okay, okay! Now, I'm done. Go ahead, Xayn... your curiosity seemed to have peaked."
Bazren turned her head away, her face a mask of revulsion. Mola was far too proud of her own poison.
Xayn: "Yours is an interesting perspective... But you'll forgive me if it seems rather hypocritical."
Mola's brow shot up, the good humor vanishing from her face.
Mola: "H-hypocritical...? Why?!"
Xayn: "If life and death are so meaningless to you, why do you treat us as if we're below your station? You bear a healthy body while ours are marred by decay. But our souls are worth no less for that."
Mola shook her head, a dry, dismissive sound escaping her nose.
Mola: "*Please*. There you go again, trying to make it seem like we aren't so different... Yet there is something critical that sets us apart."
Her gaze hardened, turning cruel as she peered into his glowing eyes.
Mola: "I *control* the energies of death, while you are merely its *puppets*."
She practically spat the words.
Mola: "Whatever body parts I sacrifice, I do so of my own volition... while you had your entire shells flayed from you. Separated at the moment of death, only to be reunited not with new flesh in your *next* life... but with rot and decay, still prisoners of your *previous* one."
She gave them a final, prideful look of superiority, her voice dripping with disdain.
Mola: "I chiseled my path, however ugly it may seem to you. Whereas you... you are merely ugly victims of someone else's chisel."
A raw, inhuman roar ripped from Bazren's throat.
Bazren: "Ugly victims who still kicked your ass, witch bitch!"
Mola's answering laugh was cold and sharp.
Mola: "To be sure... I never said you were poor fighters. Your weakness is of another kind..."
Xayn: "You do realize not everyone can be so lucky as to control dark magic? If you weren't born with such a talent, you could very well fall victim to the same trappings you so boastfully declare yourself immune to."
Mola shrugged, the gesture radiating an unshakeable arrogance.
Mola: "Perhaps. I cannot deny that... The truth of the matter is, I *was* born with such talents. And I intend to explore them to the *fullest*."
A shiver, cold and sharp, traced its way down Xayn's spine.
Just what kind of monster had they stumbled into?