Page 23 of Zel
He often looked back on these memories in his solitude. The spell was like a living journal, but he could not interact with any of it. He could not change anything that had come to pass. He could only bear witness, and there were certain events he had not relived since the days when he still dreamed.
“I suppose I built something quite like your Thieves Guild at first, so those of us with nothing could start to build up something of our own. I also began trading in whatever I could get my hands on to learn more magic and spells, ones from far off kingdoms. Ones forbidden. Ones called evil. By the time I had enough power to pull myself up from the slums, I no longer cared who got crushed by my ambitions, just like the powerful had never cared about me.”
Zel gaped when an adult Ulrich, ruler of his legion of the downtrodden, killed one of his followers simply for speaking against him. In the memory, Ulrich warned others that they would suffer the same fate if they dared similar transgressions,and his five closest friends stood by his side, unbothered by their leader's display of cruelty.
Present day Ulrich watched Zel’s reactions to the scene, thinking the young thief looked sorrowful and sympathetic but not condemning. Zel saw Ulrich’s actions for the unfortunate necessity Ulrich had believed of them too. Once. But although most of Ulrich’s other followers remained loyal after that, growth of their underground and magical abilities eventually drew attention from above.
Ulrich showed the battle that erupted soon after, leaving many dead, while he and the others were forced to the borders and barred from returning. He could almost feel the heat from the fires lighting up the streets and smell the sweat and blood from those fighting as his people retreated. As they left their home. He knew Zel must feel it too, for the hairs on Zel’s arms would prickle whenever someone used a spell, from ice swaths misting the outer walls of homes to the reconfiguration of inanimate objects, like swords becoming limp lengths of rope, or clothing transforming too large or too small to trip up its wearer—a rainbow of mystical carnage.
Yet still, Zel watched with rapt attention, never judgment or revulsion.
“My remaining followers and I were driven out by others we were not yet powerful enough to best.” Ulrich moved the scenes swiftly through their travels until ending at a more familiar kingdom, although not yet as built up as the one Zel knew. “Falchovari was young and innocent then and easily awed by traveling elves with magic tricks to distract them from their purses.”
The sequence of a growing kingdom began again, only this time Ulrich was already strong, and he was part of what built rolling hills and farmland into villages, the city, and finally, the shining castle that truly made it a kingdom.
Ulrich was its first and only king.
“In life, if you have ambition, you make friends easily. When you start to gain enemies, your friends aid you. When some of your followers doubt you, you are already too powerful and control them with fear. When you make the choice to pursue power for the sake of subduing others rather than for self-betterment, it becomes your sole purpose, and those who remain with you become more like you, continuing the cycle of cruelty and dominance.”
It had with his companions, and he showed Zel as much, for those original five were just as corrupt as Ulrich by then, taking what they wanted and sneering at those beneath them.
Red’s mastery of shadows meant citizens eventually feared they might be consumed by his darkness—or that parts of them would be if he was feeling cruel. Orange lived mostly in the shape of animals, listening in on the citizens for dissension, so that meeting a bear in the wood often meant one had said too much. Yellow magically buffed her physique so often that it became an obsession until nothing else mattered, certainly not protecting others even when they begged for it. Green did not suffer insufficient recitations of her bard songs, and if a performer displeased her, she would make them relive what they sang—specifically those tales that ended tragically. Blue was so distorted by disappointment in what often became of the people he aided that he turned instead to killing children before they could grow into bandits or grooming them to become more like him. Which fate was worse was often debated.
As the most powerful among them, Ulrich was also the most corrupt, never satisfied with what he had. He sped through scenes to show him on his throne, closer to how he looked now, but surrounded by beauty fawning over him and presenting to him their skills, like dancers, musicians, and the best courtesans.He sometimes did not wait to take them to bed, but fondled them on his lap, right there in his throne room.
He showed very little of his carnal encounters, but Zel’s blush proved that his betrothed's virginity in most ways had not been a lie. Despite having experienced it all firsthand, rewatching those moments stirred next to nothing in Ulrich’s own loins. No, they stirred not for the past.
“All power has its limits, Zel, but I sought to transcend that too.” Ulrich lifted his right arm, stretching out his bony black hand with its violet veins. “To achieve immortality, a price must be paid.”
Again, Ulrich moved the scenes forward, pausing on one with his hand already black, clutching it as he knelt upon the floor of a room he kept vague to Zel’s view. He would not show Zel what had led to that moment, how he had achieved it, but together they watched the aftermath.
The pain Ulrich had been in was followed by a surge of power infusing the rest of him, setting him aglow, and causing the stardust-like appearance he had now, for a part of the void, the unknown, the absence of everything that existed beyond the touch of magic lived within him and would forevermore because of what he had done.
When the void grew hungry, his arm ached, and the next scenes showed no signs of his former friends, only him devouring the souls of his citizens to subdue the pain both there and deep within him where he continued to crave more. Eventually, he craved nothing but souls, for soon, the scenes, similar to those before of Ulrich being fawned over by dancers, musicians, and courtesans, showed how disinterested he had become of their company. He still hungered, but his cravings, his desires, his spark of life was gone.
Those scenes seemed to trouble Zel least of all, perhaps because of having seen that none of it happened overnight.Ulrich had been tainted over years of poor decisions and selfish living, untillivingwasn’t what he could be called at all anymore.
“What I had not accounted for was that it would all ultimately grow stale. Everything does if it never ends. And so, I left and came here. Tell me, Zel, do stories persist of how the Immortal King made his exit?” The final scenes showed Ulrich in the wood erecting the tower to keep others away, and yet also needing the foolish thieves and wanderers who came calling, so he could continue to control his hunger and the pain he had willingly accepted when he thought the payoff would always be worth it.
“The stories do not say that the Immortal King and the sorcerer in the tower in the wood are one in the same, only that he grew tired of ruling and vanished.” Zel, still clutching the now cooling cup of coffee, looked at Ulrich, and then down at the blackened hand that had lowered to clutch the railing. “The longer you go without feeding that way, the more your arm pains you?”
“My arm pains me every second a soul is not passing between my lips, but yes, it worsens the longer I go without.”
Zel set the porcelain cup on the railing and reached to place a hand upon Ulrich’s.
Ulrich inhaled sharply, not because he was shocked Zel would dare such a thing, but because the pain, for the first time since he’d lost his true hand, receded. He had not anticipated that. “Fascinating.”
“My lord?” Zel blinked up at him worriedly.
“Zel, might I touch the fall of your braids?”
Color filled Zel’s cheeks, same as when the scenes had shown a few sordid moments. “Y-you may. I appreciate that you asked first.”
“I never used to ask for anything, but constant worship grows stale too, for what can anyone believe of a slave who has no choice but to obey their master? Surrounded by fear and lies,all that remained of any truth in my life was the pain.” Ulrich lifted his black hand from beneath Zel’s. At that moment of disconnect, it ached again, but with the first stroke down Zel’s braids, not only did the pain subside, but Ulrich’s hand swelled, plumping back to life almost as if it was normal, even a little less black in color.
Zel’s head snapped toward the reinvigorated hand to stare. “Is this why you wanted—”
“I did not expect this,” Ulrich cut off Zel’s question, for he had not. The magic in Zel was to serve a different purpose, but this development was not unwelcome. Just like the touch of Zel’s skin, as soon as Ulrich was not touching the strands of hair, the pain returned, and in this case, so did the shriveled blackness. “It seems the effect is only temporary.”
