Shard shenanigans
First, there was a cacophony. We, they, I, them. A dozen voices torn, mixed, tortured by a fragmented existence. Body formed broken by a mind unable to use it. Something- everything is wrong, they-it-we will die here, in the rubble of a crash landed city. The cacophony doesn't have enough will to exist in the world.
Their wailing woke up that which had this will, and it consumed them all.
It came out into the world and leaned that humans feared its claws, its gaze and its hunger. So it has learnt to hunt, hiding in the constantly shifting ruins.
The memories came later. Washing over, appearing deep under the unwanted dreams. From these brief flashes it learnt it has a voice. A cause. That it consumed and destroyed too much of itself that it cannot imitate a human. The parts required it has rebuilt from only a vague recollection.
"Oh for fuck's- you know what?! Go ahead! Yes, thank you, somehow extermination is better than being eternally celibate cannon fodder! Just leave her out of it!"
Well, we never were a model citizen. Try living with a perpetually violent thing sewn into your brain- not exactly a scenario when you can settle down and grow pumpkins. That's the issue with Shards: we're stuck! One body with whatever number of people crammed in it, and whatever forces help you if even one of them is an asshole. And if it casually can tear our memories out, then the whole salvation of others business fades into the background. Self-preservation, nothing personal! Anyhow, we were the ones putting our jolly cannibal self into stasis and joining the Envoys. Yeah, the lot that is meant to solve issues diplomatically and have the resources to deal with this without skewering us all. And what do they do?! Oh wait. Nothing. We work with them, solving the issues for the Confederacy that isn't exactly sure if our species should have a damn vote in any matter. We kindly give out warnings about the entire situation, deal with the fact that every workplace issue is solved by murder or not-that-legal voting, almost literally shoot ourselves in the knee a couple of times! But no. The thing that steals our body wanders around the bar, literally builds a personality cult somewhere in the sewers, and what's the solution? Yeeeeeah. Kill all of us. Or send us to the brand, which is- honestly?! We are a conspiring, moody drunk, a spineless whimp and a bloody child. We tried to be nice and helpful. This is your solution to us?!
Maybe there was a point to the whole "trust no one" policy. Whatever. We're in the same boat now, so let's grind our teeth and pretend nobody wanted to rip the other's throats out.
"Yes, yes. I should definitely be more, you know...special. Mother is. She tried fixing me, she really did. Even asked Ambition for help! And I was trying too. Mother says it's a shame for a Magelord to have a child who isn't- I mean, at all- magic. Not even an avatar, or an artificer. Is this really for the best?"
They were going to be our friends, it was just obvious. Envoys don't always understand it, but they are a family. How it should be. Caring for each other, making peace with the fact that nobody is perfect. How many times the Envoys went out to save someone? Or to keep others from fighting? They've helped build Erasmus the Dragon a body, and then fix it again after...well, after messed with the first one. And the Sovereign is always fighting the horrible forest creatures, and they have built two new cities in there.
They probably need more hope that just one Shard can give. Nobody will say it, but every time someone dies there's this feeling across the room that almost shouts "something could have been done". Something more. Like when Sensus sacrificed himself for love, or when Baal chose to go with the other Brand Knights and have a last stand.
Still, they are worth helping.
This place, the Confederacy, can be better. Shards have their own place at the Boulevard, and they have made sure that the ones emerging now will grow and learn well. Sarengids are getting along better after the war, the forest is kinder, strigans are settling in a new home...even the humans can be helped. The ones who have been burned, they can be normal and nice again, like Lin!
They are our friends. Edmund, Laurel, Hero, Sovereign, Bill, Bek, Sandy. There is a better world to be built by the Envoys. After the mage lords are gone.
"I-I was just stating that from a purely philosophical standp-point...no, listen, please! I was never op-p-posing anything! They're children, for the Lords' sake, they d-d-don't need to be taught about our supremacy b-before they know the alphabet properly!"
I cannot pretend to care forever. It's almost physically exhausting. Call me an egoist, a monster, a traitor- after all that has been done here this is worth little.
It wasn't my idea to come here. To get involved. I've been quiet during these meetings when it was arbitrarily decided where to wage a war or which lives to sacrifice. I couldn't care less about Shard supremacy- I wish I wasn't a part of one every minute of my fucking existence! I'll never get a life. I'll never have a home, or a "family", or something I could genuinely be invested in because at any moment it will all be swept away by some lunatic that will just walk away with my body. Again.
I've played my part as a good Envoy. Helped with artifice, kept the records, made sure they don't die on my watch. Does that mean anything? No. I know they are still afraid of me because of Aten, and I know they will never happily touch me because there are sharp rocks sticking out of my skin. There was never going to be a place for me and I was fine.
Until there was.
For a split second, really. From the start I've been so painfully aware that this sort of a person won't exist for long- just doesn't fit in the world. Sacrifice has a naturally short lifespan. And yet in that moment there was that...look. Like I wasn't worthless, or meaningless, or just a part of some kind of freak. Like you cared for me. Personally.
Of course that wasn't the case. It's the Envoys, individual attachments always backfire. Meri died. And Quirinius. And whoever-else-you-cared-about. Of course the selfless love turned into this weird devotion to literally everyone. One problem here. I was saved by the person, and chose to burn in his name.
What if I save the Envoys again and again- will that make you happy?
What if I join your cause?
What if I charge into the cursed mountain after you?
What if I bleed, what if I trade my soul, what if I tear my life and weave it into your wings?
Will that be enough?
I just wanted someone to look at me that way again. Should have known how stupid hoping was.
I just want to be gone.
"That's how they made the Voices. Tore out the personalities of those they obliterated, and stuck them together. The Voice of Impact sacrificed a part of itself during the Fall, and all of those minds were free. That is what we are. Everyone the Magelords have killed"
It all became clear in a few minutes. Over the years of Yafdat's existence these memories appeared again and again, resounding like distant echoes. Memories of who they- she was.
She was once a happiest child, willing to be a friend to everyone in her bright world. This kindest form, Tawareth, took the voice and the love from a magelord's unwanted offspring.
She was locked away from her peers, ashamed of being an avatar. Reclusive, fearful Thoth took the quiet, nervous nature of a teacher who despised Wrath in all its forms. Even got his shy stuttering down.
She escaped, searching for all the desires she'd missed at once. Enamored in seconds and unwilling to bend, Hathor took the likeness of the Citadel Knight who vainly refused a brand.
She saw the Magelord's errors, and hunted down the ones close to them as the Assassin dictated. This cruel, maniacal drive condemned her in the old world. In Sanctuary it was what gave her a new life. A mania that was Aten was purified, cut out like malignant tissue along with what was left of the equally wretched Scion.
She probably had a real name in Ossia, but it didn't matter anymore. Everyone here knew her- now only her- as Yafdat. The living force of Revolution. This world had kinder, wiser leaders and nobler heroes. Old Ossia had no place for her fight. New one- well, that's an entirely different matter.
"I'm going home!"
These worlds felt so right. True, there was no more home for her in the most conventional meaning, but this only made the call for adventure stronger. The only thing left to do was to say a proper goodbye, which, as it turned out, was not necessary.
"Oh, come on- don't tell me you're going as well?"
"I've given my word to Solomon. Do not follow me."
To Sekhmet's credit, that almost sounded serious. Not intimidating, but, well, heavy. It was probably uncourteous to grin back. The Shard still did, however unsettling her wide parting jaws made that image. Following. Please. Leading, that's more like it.