Lindon’s stomach twisted as he realized she was relying on him to go back and face the Dreadgod…because she thought he could do something. Her estimation of him was too high.
“Apologies, but I’m afraid I might be weaker than you think.” He was afraid to look her in the eyes. “I’m not…I don’t mean to argue with you, but I am not ready.”
He would do what he could, would strain himself to his limit, but he understood where his limits lay. He wasn’t powerful enough to save everyone.
“Ready?” She leaned forward and tapped him on the forehead with two fingers.
Suddenly, he was seeing through someone else’s eyes. Crouched, shivering, on the deck of a cloudship as men and women in Akura colors passed out hot food.
The deck wasn’t full, but it was crowded. The people from Sacred Valley had divided themselves—clans and Schools sticking with their own kind—but there were at least a few dozen visible, and he saw a few heading downstairs, suggesting more on a lower deck.
Her fingers released, and the vision faded.
“Lindon, when I said I already saved them, I meant I already did.” She leaned back in her chair, satisfied. “Or should I say, you already did.”
He remembered the sight of the crowds squeezing out of the exit on Mount Samara. “There are so many people still back there.”
“You don’t have to save everyone,” Suriel said. “It’s a lesson you learn and learn. I wasn’t the one who told you to save Sacred Valley. You decided to do that, so you decide when you’ve succeeded.”
She moved until her scripted eyes had his full attention. “And you decide who you’re going to be after that.”
Lindon knew what he was going to do afterwards. He was going to return to his advancement without so much pressure hanging over his head.
A faint smile crossed her lips again, and she gestured as though tapping him on the forehead one more time.
Suddenly, he was hovering over Sacred Valley, a Thousand-Mile Cloud beneath his feet. Yerin and Eithan floated to either side of him, and the Wandering Titan stared them down.
The three of them unloaded their most powerful attacks in coordination, and they struck a heavy blow against the Titan.
Until its tail caught Yerin unexpectedly. Lindon lunged out of position, and the hand of a Dreadgod closed over him.
Lindon died.
Then he was on Windfall, and he decided not to go back. The months sped by as they gathered the remainders of Sacred Valley. There were more survivors than he expected; tens of thousands of them.
They re-settled Sacred Valley one restored building at a time. The suppression field was weakened, and somehow—the vision skipped over this part—he managed to deactivate it completely.
Lindon saw himself, looking virtually the same as he did now, tutoring his three black-haired children in the sacred arts with Yerin at his side. His future self reached out, scanning the children…and checking each of their twin cores.
The futures washed over Lindon, so he only got a glimpse of each.
There were futures where he and Yerin split up and went their own separate ways, futures where he had children, futures where he and Yerin ascended from Cradle in months, even futures where he married Mercy.
And there were futures where he killed the Dreadgods.
He saw himself years in the future, one arm white and one coated in what looked like black scales, his eyes black pools with white circles. He stood over the crumpled body of the Wandering Titan, cycling its power…and condensing the spare earth madra as he vented it, tucking it away for storage.
Northstrider loomed up opposite him, moving for the Titan, and Lindon appeared in his way. The clash of their wills warped space, and the vision changed.
Lindon saw himself with a giant white tiger—the Silent King—splayed open and hanging in the air in front of him. Blood spattered the room, and he sawed away with Wavedancer, carving out a beautiful binding like a smooth pearl.
Outside, the world trembled under the pressure of the three remaining Dreadgods, but he had his prize already. He could do what no one had ever been able to do: forge a weapon with the power of a Dreadgod.
The visions passed, leaving Lindon feeling out of breath. He sunk deeper into his chair, though surely he didn’t have lungs here.
“That…those were…possible futures, right?”
“Strands of Fate. All possible, if some more likely than others. And that list was by no means exhaustive.”