“In traditional Soulsmithing, Archlord artifacts are effectively the peak. There is no higher form of soulfire than that which Archlords produce, and spirits are usually raised past that stage artificially. Beings stronger than Archlords don’t often die and leave Remnants, you see.
“Even if you were fortunate enough to get a Herald or Monarch’s Remnant, or to raise a Remnant to be equivalent to a Herald, you would still be tempering it in Archlord soulfire. It would be only marginally better than an actual Archlord weapon.”
Eithan swept his arms around the Soulforge. “If you really want to perform Soulsmithing on a higher level, you need a way to imbue the authority and willpower of a greater existence into the item. That requires tools and locations on a superior tier of existence, which are few and far between. If you wanted to forge a Monarch a sword, for instance, you would want to do it on a battlefield in which Monarchs died, of which there are surpassingly few.
“This was a fairly ingenious solution, I will admit. A portable location that can increase the level of existence of projects worked here, allowing the manipulation of more advanced forces. It’s not quite as good as if you crafted a device in a significant location that suited the project, but it has the advantage of being universally compatible and mobile.”
Lindon wanted to rub his cheek all over the anvil. He could see exactly how much of an advantage this would be.
But Eithan had used a word that caught his attention. “Did you have a hand in the creation of this Soulforge, Eithan?”
The Archlord sighed. “Sadly not. This was Reigan Shen’s design and creation, and he was only willing to part with it because he is capable of building another one. Though it will be expensive, even for him.”
Something visibly occurred to Eithan, and he asked, “Why did you ask if I made it?”
“You called it ingenious.”
Eithan staggered back, clapping a finger to his chest as though wounded. “I do not like what you’re implying, my beloved disciple.”
“So this was part of Reigan Shen’s bribe?” Lindon looked around the space, jealousy worming his way through his heart. “Why didn’t you show me this before? Are you even a Soulsmith?”
“It’s rare to find a sacred artist who hasn’t at least dabbled in Soulsmithing,” Eithan protested. “And it so happens that I have been using this facility to prepare the materials for the Pure Storm Baptism that Ziel has enjoyed. I intended to pass this on to you when you were ready, and now that we have been interacting with objects of some significance…”
He left the sentence hanging suggestively, and Lindon was so excited by the space that he was willing to let it pass that Eithan had kept another secret from them. “Does this mean you can make anything—wait just a second, did you say you were passing it on to me?”
“Very soon. Ziel could still use one more treatment, I’d say, but it’s best that you start practicing before you inherit this from me.”
“Can we use this to fix Dross?”
Eithan cleared his throat. “If it could, I would have revealed it to you earlier. I’m sorry. But you will find a solution for Dross, I’m certain!”
Lindon was overwhelmed. He blinked back tears. “It’s too much,” Lindon said, though he would already fight a Dreadgod with half a paintbrush over the Soulforge. “You’ve given me so much already.”
Eithan cocked his head as though he didn’t understand. “I consider the things I’ve given you to be the best investments I’ve ever made.”
Lindon straightened up and pressed his fists together, bowing over them in a sincere salute. “Gratitude, master.”
“You know, you never call me that.” Eithan ushered Lindon out of the Soulforge, though Lindon kept shooting longing glances backwards. “It’s probably for the best. I don’t want status to go to my head.”
“I’m not sure I can pay back an investment like this.”
“Oh, you can start paying me back once we’re out of Cradle. My investments are long-term.”
Information restricted: Personal Record 3349.
Authorization required to access.
Authorization confirmed: 008 Ozriel.
Beginning record…
When Ozriel reaped a world, perfectly eliminating it from existence, the Abidan could colonize nine others.
His work was vital to Abidan expansion, and there were even those who believed him to be the most valuable of the Judges. When an Iteration dies normally, it corrodes, breaking into corrupted fragments that tend to corrupt others and accelerate their own death.
With Ozriel, that no longer happened. He was the machete the Court of Seven used to beat back the wilderness of chaos, rapidly expanding their holdings.
More Iterations became habitable than ever before. It was an unprecedented golden age for the influence of the Way, and even Makiel admitted the utility of Ozriel’s Scythe. It was only the man behind the mantle that Makiel didn’t trust.
Ozriel’s own objections started to grow louder.
If he weren’t bound by the Eledari Pact, he could have gone in and saved that world. They had known for centuries that this Iteration was going to be corrupted, and he could have cut the cause off at the root.
That would itself be a deviation from Fate, Makiel argued. In the grand scheme of things, that would lead to an increase in chaos.
But manageable, Ozriel said. They could keep the deviations under control, which would rarely—if ever—rise to the point of having to destroy an entire world.
Unfortunately, while both models had their advantages, neither could be proven conclusively. By the very nature of the problem, there was no looking into the future to see how it would play out. So the two beings most skilled in reading Fate continued to argue.
Meanwhile, Ozriel discovered the restricted records of the Court of Seven regarding the Executor program.
This should be his solution, he thought. Raise up people from the Iterations, not sworn to the Way, who could interfere without compromising their oaths.
But from the records, he could see that it had failed. Again and again. Those who fought corruption inevitably became corrupted themselves.
So Ozriel decided to do some investigation of his own.
He traveled to Haven, the prison-world of the Abidan, where he used his authority as a Judge to gain access to the Mad King, Daruman. Once the greatest of the Abidan Executors.
He asked the Mad King what he thought. Why was the Executor program flawed?
It wasn’t the program, Daruman insisted. It was the Abidan.
Being sworn to order made the Abidan too inflexible, too bound to their own thoughts. Creativity and flexibility were beyond them, and the second that anyone started pushing at the boundaries of their rules, the offending party would be condemned.
Ozriel promised change. He wanted to revive the Executor program, but this time, they would be an official division of the Abidan beneath him. They would be unbound to the Eledari Pact, able to intervene in worlds, and personally selected and supervised by him. They would save worlds by eliminating apocalypses at the root.
He would call them Reapers.
And if he could get enough support from the Court of Seven to create his own official Division, he would even recruit Daruman. Ozriel was uniquely able to handle Class One Fiends.