"My lord, the preparations are complete. Soon, Elysium will be ours…"
In a colorless gray space cut off from the flow of time, Serivhal, Lord of Ashen Eternity, sat on his Divine Throne, listening with half a mind as his mortal thralls' reports came pouring in through his control network.
Life was inefficient, and the mortals fickle and prone to temptation. But they were what he had to work with, so Serivhal suffered their existence. For now.
He methodically catalogued threats, assessed possibilities, and laid down the foundations for his grand design.
His chess pieces moved into place, infiltrating human society under his instructions.
Unlike Liria Yggdris, who only had superficial knowledge of the coming three centuries through historical records, Serivhal had lived through this era. He knew all the opportunities, the hidden treasures, the unrecognized talents who could have become great. His information advantage was absolute.
Under his guidance, his pawns would rise to high positions and erode the mortal kingdoms from within. The world would be his yet.
A scream of terror drew Serivhal's attention to one of his more carefully tended connections.
He looked through the eyes of a skeletal mage as a party of adventurers writhed under necromantic fire. Their screams soon died out, and they rose again as shuffling zombies, their faces slack, their movements guided entirely by the skeletal mage's will. Which was, in turn, guided by his.
The skeletal mage pressed on into the Dungeon's lower levels. The newly raised zombies followed in a shambling column. Good. His fledgling undead corps continued its slow and methodical Dungeon conquest, one corridor at a time.
The Dungeon was but one of many. Serivhal's erosion of the land would begin in the world's deepest places. The mortals will never notice until it's too late.
He reflected on the past months.
Waking to find himself outside time was unpleasant, but at least he could not be erased. In the future Liria Yggdris had denied, Serivhal had usurped the dead god, its power forming his Divine Throne. Now, in this altered past, every prayer to that god flowed to him, sustaining his Time Stop indefinitely.
He was far from powerless. Faith ran both ways. Those who prayed opened themselves to his influence, whether for empowerment or manipulation. As Lord of Undeath, all unliving things were linked to him, and through them he could see. The undead born from his other half were the most useful, and these he could control outright.
The green flames in Serivhal's eyes flared erratically. The existence of his other half had been the most unpleasant surprise.
When Serivhal first woke up in this timeless realm, the first thing he felt was hollow emptiness. He was power and knowledge unmoored from existence, and when he reached for his missing anchor, Serivhal had found all that he hated. All that he thought he had left behind.
He barely remembered his mortal days as Seris, but surely he, the Lich King Serivhal, could never have been such a pathetic and miserable wretch. Something must have gone wrong when time rewound. That was the only explanation.
Curse you, Liria.
He had tried, at first.
Tried to guide the boy. To teach him. To show him the futility of clinging to mortal conceits.
Listen. Serivhal had whispered into the child’s mind. Everything you suffer is proof. Strength is the only truth.
The response had been… disappointing.
“Go away! Go away!” the child had screamed, curling into himself, hands clamped over his ears as if that could block a voice inside his own head.
Serivhal had watched.
Watched him dig through refuse. Watched him flinch under blows. Watched him endure humiliation after humiliation without learning anything of value.
A wasted effort.
So he abandoned him.
The child was a doomed investment anyway. Soon, Liria Yggdris would wake, and the moment she did, his other half would die.
He had no illusions about this. This era was three hundred years before Liria Yggdris's proper awakening, and doing so would cost her, but he had no doubt that she would wake.
Little did she know that he had already outplayed her.
Serivhal was beyond her reach, and losing his other half would be a minor inconvenience. Seris’s power would scatter at death—imperfect, but a fair trade to be rid of that sniveling personality. He could always raise the boy as undead later, perhaps even refine him into a suitable vessel.
For now, Serivhal would use him. The thought grated, but they were two halves of one whole. The undead born from Seris’s rampaging power were uniquely attuned to him, extensions of his will. Each night, as the child slept, Serivhal unleashed that power through their bond, seeding the world with undead avatars.
That was what he would miss most once his other half died.
And die he would. It was time.
Through his necromantic nexus, Serivhal felt vast swathes of undead stationed closest to Seris being annihilated in an instant. Liria Yggdris had come to finish what she started.
Serivhal felt a faint anticipation stir within him. His other half's dead body would make for prime crafting material. He'd put it to good use.
The world had gone mad.
An entire day had passed, but his other half was somehow still alive.
Serivhal watched with morbid fascination through Seris' eyes as the child practiced his letters for the very first time. Every moment chipped away at his sanity, but Serivhal couldn't bring himself to look away.
What is this miserable thing writing? Where is your pride?
"My big sis is the best big sis in the world! I love my big sis! We'll be together forever! My big sister is the most beautiful big sis in the entire world! My big sis is a Goddess…"
The words burned themselves into his mind like a brand, and Serivhal felt as if his very soul was being violated. It was bad enough that his other self had rejected him, but the ignorant child was now sitting in the lap of his greatest enemy, singing her praises with guileless joy.
This cannot stand.
Liria Yggdris continued to brush his younger self's head, and the sound of his giggle felt to Serivhal as if the world was ending. It shouldn't be possible for such a sound to come from those lips.
His other self finally turned around and looked up at his nemesis with adoring eyes.
The Incarnation of the Goddess sat radiant under the morning light, her gentle smile unchanged from the last time he saw it. To Serivhal's eyes, that smile now seemed full of mockery.
Humiliation burned white hot within him. It was not enough for Liria Yggdris to undo all his work, she was now keeping his younger self around as some kind of… pet.
This cannot stand.
He was tempted to just end it. Seize control for a single moment and ignite all the mana within the witless child in a furious blaze of retribution. Turn the child into a human bomb.
Serivhal forcefully clamped down on the impulse; doing so would reveal his hand. Liria Yggdris had no idea he existed yet, and Serivhal planned to keep it that way.
He cut the connection, and redirected his attention to worthier tasks. No matter what his fawning other self did, as long as he could not see it, then it wouldn't wear at his sanity.
He watched through an attendant's eyes as the Lord of Elysium collapsed in his study. The devout zealot’s face was pale and haggard, worn down by tragedy and countless sleepless nights. But Serivhal would grant him no rest, not even in this moment of unconsciousness.
He reached out and sent him another carefully calibrated nightmare. The weak, fallible mortal stirred fitfully in his sleep, weeping as he cursed his Goddess.
"I gave you my everything! What more could you possibly want? Goddess of Light, how is this justice? Why have you forsaken me?"
Serivhal allowed himself a nod of satisfaction. The Lord of Elysium’s corruption was proceeding according to schedule. All was as he willed it.
The existence of his other half gnawed at his mind, curdling even this moment of triumph.
Why couldn't the child bow like everyone else? What fresh indignity was the whelp unleashing now, when he wasn't watching?
Serivhal knew he shouldn't, but morbid curiosity drew him back. He once again observed the world through Seris's eyes and found the child pouring his mana into a starmetal amulet, its sigils fine enough to give even Serivhal pause.
Serivhal studied the enchantment, traced its architecture, and felt something snap inside him.
The realization arrived with the particular quality of an insult delivered in one's own home.
That deviant harlot was not just keeping his younger self around as a pet, she was trying to… fix him. As if there was something wrong with him. As if his power and birthright was a disease.
The green flames in his eye sockets blazed, and for a moment the colorless throne room lit up in sickly emerald light.
Foolish child, you cannot escape your own nature. Serivhal venomously whispered, directly into his younger self's consciousness. Have you really not noticed? Or are you just pretending not to notice? The way your "Big Sister" tenses up each time she holds your hand?
Seris' breath hitched, his magic fizzling out, and Serivhal allowed himself a moment of vindictive satisfaction.
Regret came belatedly, but he dismissed it. He couldn't allow his younger self to be "fixed" like some neutered mongrel. His interference was subtle; Liria Yggdris should not be able to notice it.
To get to the point: she noticed. Of course she did.
He should have stopped whispering to the stubborn child the moment Liria Yggdris began to look concerned, but Serivhal had been backed into a corner. Seris was already so defiant; if Serivhal let Liria seal away the child's magic, he'd lose his hold over his other half completely.
Dwelling on the past was pointless. Serivhal had taken a calculated risk and it had not paid off. That was all.
He was once again tempted to turn the child into a human bomb and end their ill-fated connection, but it felt like a waste of perfectly good crafting materials. So Serivhal had attempted to salvage the situation as best he could.
Liria Yggdris hadn't expected Serivhal to turn her own amulet against her, and his decision to run despite his summoned death knight being much higher-leveled had taken her by surprise.
As the distance between them grew, Serivhal had almost believed he'd make a clean getaway with his other self.
A searing beam of light and heat put an end to that.
The death knight pitched sideways, its right leg disintegrating. And then Liria Yggdris was upon him, causality twisting before her will, the world itself folding under her feet. Serivhal made the undead knight swing its sword, expecting nothing and getting nothing. Liria Yggdris dodged with effortless grace; her steps were a beautiful dance, and the world itself seemed to dance with her. From the moment the death knight began its swing, its failure to hit her had already been established.
As expected, retreating had been the right decision.
She placed a hand on his death knight's armor. There was no fire and fury. No telltale glow of magic. Liria Yggdris's touch felt almost gentle, but Serivhal could feel his bindings unraveling under that touch, his death knight being unmade.
He hastily ordered his servant to take its distance, and forced a semblance of calm. So what if Liria Yggdris had invented some bizarre new Skill? That was what she did. Serivhal still had the advantage.
As long as Seris was strapped to his death knight's shield, Liria's destructive magic was sealed, and whatever she just did must require prolonged physical contact. He would still get away with his prize yet.
Throughout the chase, his other half had been screaming and struggling against his bonds with the fury of an aberration from the Outside, and Serivhal had nodded in approval—so the whelp did have it in him.
Yet the moment Liria Yggdris entered his sight, the witless child had immediately settled down and was again looking at his nemesis with puppy eyes. Serivhal felt his spine crawl at the sight.
Disgusting.
"Seris," The daughter of the World Tree called out to his other half, "that death knight was born from your power. Can you feel your connection to it?"
His other self nodded, and something seemed to shift inside the child. Serivhal could barely hear Liria Yggdris' next words—all his attention was focused on maintaining control over his undead servant.
The cold fury his other half directed at him was a familiar echo of his own.
Monster. Seris flung at him through their connection, his mental voice cracking with rage. Abomination. I am finally happy. Why won't you leave me alone?
The death knight froze for one heartbeat under the grasping weight of his other half's desperation, and Liria was instantly upon it, her sword blazing with concentrated light.
Serivhal scoffed.
He reasserted control with a thought and ordered the death knight to block using Seris as the shield. Let her stop in time or not; he was tiring of this farce either way.
The world went white.
When sight returned, Liria Yggdris was staggering to her feet while coughing up blood. She had paid a heavy price for canceling her attack at the last possible moment.
Serivhal went still on his throne.
In thirty years of war, he had never seen Liria Yggdris look wretched. This had to be a trick.
His death knight’s leg had finished regenerating, and once again Serivhal was faced with a binary choice.
Running away with his prize would be the cautious and sensible decision, but…
What if this was real?
Life was inefficient, and Liria Yggdris was very guilty of the sin of trust. Doubly so if the sin was compassion. It was not completely implausible that she would make such a mistake. Could he really afford to give up this chance to finally be rid of his nemesis?
The uncertainty was maddening. If only he weren’t seeing through another’s eyes…
He carefully pressed his attack, ready to retreat at the first sign of trouble, but all Liria Yggdris did was awkwardly dodge. The Incarnation of the Goddess had been reduced to bleeding and rolling in the dirt like any other mortal. The gathering magic on her sword sputtered out.
This was real.
Liria Yggdris had decided to bet everything on his younger self, and that mistake would doom her.
Serivhal watched with vicious satisfaction as his death knight severed her ear.
Well done. He praised his other half. So you were good for something after all.
The incandescent rage that came back at him could have rivaled Serivhal himself at his best. Good. Perhaps he could turn the whelp into a proper necromancer yet.
An unsettling silence followed.
The witless child was no longer crying and screaming at him over their mental connection. No longer whining at him to "leave me and my big sister alone."
Then, Seris spoke:
"Stop!" his voice rang out, cold and imperious. "Undead abomination born from my power! I, your rightful lord and master, command you to stop!"
The child's will crashed against Serivhal's with renewed fury. The touch of his mind burned like holy fire, forcing Serivhal back. The shape of his conviction felt all too familiar: unyielding belief in a brighter tomorrow, desperate resolve, and the will to burn oneself to ashes to protect what is precious.
Serivhal had seen this before. He had seen it in the Golden Compact's last stand, in the Dragon Emperor's suicidal final attack, in Alaric Sunwarden's grim resolve. What he did not expect was to find it in any version of himself.
The death knight froze in place.
Two days. Serivhal fumed. They've only been together for two days!
What profane sorcery did Liria Yggdris work on his other self to turn him into… this?
Serivhal moved to reassert control, and put the upstart thing in its proper place. His will pressed down upon the child with the weight of three centuries of conquest, of ruined civilizations, and a world in its final death throes. A child's mind could never have withstood that pressure. By every measure of reason and power, the contest should have been over in an instant.
Seris trembled. His will did not falter.
The death knight crumbled into ashes under Liria Yggdris' touch, and for one eternal moment as she traced the control thread back to its source, her all-seeing golden eyes were looking straight at Serivhal, across the barriers of time and space.
Serivhal cursed and immediately severed the connection. The Ashen Wastes dissolved around him and he was back in the throne room, in the gray silence, alone.
The green fire in his eye sockets burned low and unsteady.
This only happened because he had been too lenient, Serivhal decided. The next time he reached out to his other half, Seris would die.