So she gave the question a moment of thought.
She could point out the number of lives at stake, but that was just as compelling an argument to wait. Every decision she made balanced the fate of innumerable lives. That was what it meant to be a Judge of the Abidan Court.
The Vroshir were coming for Sector 11, which included the strategically significant worlds of Cradle and Asylum. Strangely enough, Asylum was probably safe for the moment. Oth’kimeth, the Fiend inside the Mad King, did not appreciate rivals.
But after the rest of the Sector was destroyed, the corruption would no doubt break open that prison sooner rather than later. It would be a disaster for the Abidan. She could use that looming threat as a card.
In addition, Cradle was the birthplace of the Abidan. The first-generation Court of Seven had ascended from that world.
She had tried to use that as a lever for negotiation already. None of the current generation of Judges came from Cradle, and while they agreed it was a tragedy, the history of Cradle was already thoroughly represented in their archives. They would build it a lovely memorial.
Those were reasons why the Sector might be important to the Abidan, and strategic reasons why the Vroshir had gone to such lengths to surround it.
How important was it to her?
She thought of the worlds in the Sector. Asylum, Amalgam…Cradle.
She thought of Wei Shi Lindon, and of Ozriel. She had always known she would see Lindon die someday. Had expected it, in fact. And while Ozriel had left memories all over that Iteration, he hated the place. He might have even seen the outcome of the world’s destruction and allowed it, though she couldn’t imagine him allowing the rest of the devastation the Vroshir had brought.
“There is no reason to extend myself for this Sector,” Suriel said aloud. It was lost. She’d made her peace with that.
Or she should have.
[No compelling one,] her Presence agreed.
“But I want to.”
It was irresponsible, given the scope of her responsibilities. And far too small in scale. When the entire city burned around you, why try to save one house?
Then again, why not try? The city was already burning.
Her Presence gave her a sigh. [Then go to the Sector yourself.]
They had modeled that, and she couldn’t stop the Vroshir advance. Not that she needed a model; the Mad King had torn through Suriel and Makiel together. She alone wouldn’t even slow him down.
[Sector 11 is not enough of a strategic asset to mobilize the Court of Seven,] her Presence said. [But Suriel is.]
Suriel’s armor flowed around her, and runes spun in her eyes. She looked into Fate; could Makiel see what she was about to do?
Under normal circumstances, he would have seen the possibility years ago. Now, he was watching futures other than hers, and chaos muddied the entire weave of Fate.
But her decision had shifted threads of causality. Makiel was already starting to trace them back, looking for the cause.
Before he could find it, Suriel summoned her Razor and entered the Way.
She let the flows of pure order carry her between worlds, guided by her intentions. It took time to complete the journey, but she spent it gazing into the future and preparing.
When she arrived, she didn’t emerge right away. She sat inside the Way and looked into the Sector.
As always, the space between worlds looked like a tunnel of textured blue, like a cross between light and cloth, but also indescribable in physical terms. But with her understanding of the Way, she could see tunnels branching off, splitting in different directions.
She hovered outside Sector 11, catching glimpses of its Iterations.
There, down that tunnel, was Amalgam. A standard, almost barren world, with tinier balls of color and potential clinging to it like fuzzy moons caught in its orbit. What the locals called Territories.
Up another sloping tunnel, she saw Asylum. This one was sealed off, and she could see the discs of elaborate script-formations set up by a previous generation’s Gadrael. The scripts were fragmented and flickering, on the verge of failure, but they had been that way for decades.
Beneath the seals, the world itself was smoky gray, locked against intrusion from the outside. Through that barrier of gray, she could dimly see unspeakable shapes squirming, pushing against the restrictions of their prison. Fiends of Chaos, each powerful enough to contend with Judges. Trapped there by the collective will of ordinary humans.
She looked to each of the other worlds in the Sector, some more notable than others.
Then, finally, she looked to Cradle.
It should have been closer to her than any other Iteration, but the Way grew thin and gray as it approached Cradle. The Vroshir influence. If she tried to enter that Iteration, she would be shunted off to the side, most likely into another Sector.
But even obscured, Cradle shone like a star. She could see the powers that made it up swirling, the powerful—but still mortal—fates that clashed inside.
[WARNING: intrusion detected.]
Her Presence drew her attention up, until she looked into the neighboring Sector Twenty-One.
The Mad King’s burning eyes met her own. Around him, blue light crumbled and twisted, the rules and laws of the universe breaking around him.
He wouldn’t enter the Way physically for her. No fisherman dove into the ocean to wrestle a shark.
The Vroshir reached out with one bone-gauntleted hand, and that hand clawed for her in the Way, larger than her entire body. Its weight distorted the swirling world of order, bringing with it the crackling darkness of the Void.
Suriel’s Razor erupted into its true form, from a meter-long bar of blue steel to a branching tree that sparked with light. It was the ultimate tool for cutting away corruption, and she cut at the Mad King’s attack, severing it from existence.
[WARNING: multiple intrusions detected.]
Her enemy wasn’t alone.
A chain of shining stars crashed into the Way to wrap around her, a constellation brought to life. From another direction came a thousand hands of blood. From yet another, a wisp of the same dark, corrosive smoke that Gadrael had faced.
She cleansed or severed each one, catching glimpses of the Vroshir on the other side as she did so. A spear crashed down on her like a meteor striking a planet, and she met it with her Razor.
Outside the Way, that would have been a deadly attack. Here, she could meet it, but it took all her focus.
And more and more of the Vroshir were drawn to this spot.
They swarmed around her, and the Way dimmed. Thread by thread, it unraveled around her, revealing endless darkness specked with distant, swirling balls of color. The Void.
Enemies surrounded her, all attacking. And as they struck, she slipped from one side of existence to the other.
At least it’s working, she thought.
Then the Mad King reached out again. This time, she had to bring the full force of her power to bear against the grasping hand, and the clash of forces stretched the Way even further.
The chain of stars wrapped around her midsection, and she couldn’t spare the attention to stop it. Bloody hands landed on her leg, and a wisp of smoke twisted around her neck.
Her armor began to crack.
[Arrival incoming,] her Presence said.
A flaming sword burst through the Mad King’s hand.
A woman carved through the Vroshir’s attack with her sword, her Mantle boiling behind her like wings of white fire. Even her hair was crimson flame, and she severed the other attacks binding Suriel with one more sweep of her blade.