Interlude 8

A fter spending some time allowing intellect to rule, Taravangian changed. He let intellect be ruled by emotions for now, and braced himself for what came next: A flood of passions and feelings. A dam broken down. They washed through him, each stronger than the last.

Worry, confidence, passion, fear, rage. Rage.

He instantly traveled back to Kharbranth, the home that he cared for so dearly. He blanketed the city so he could feel the emotions of each and every person there.

He loved them. Oh, how he loved this city, with its art, and its library, and its many hospitals that took any patient without cost. He even loved the secret portions of those hospitals, where people had died—feeling so many things—at the hands of his surgeons, killed to gather their Death Rattles. Sacrifices made in a terrible, but important quest—for that had once been his sole way to gain insight into the future.

His policies ensured the greatest good. In Kharbranth he found justification, for here was a city that—in war—knew peace. Insignificant crime rates created by giving police the ability to exile offenders, leaving in Kharbranth only the serene and wonderful.

Was that enough? He began to weep, for he knew it would not be enough. He instantly transferred to his daughter’s room, where he sensed she was playing with his grandchildren. He watched them laugh while he trembled, suddenly afraid. Should he not feel love, seeing them again?

No. He was terrified. They were exposed.

Expelling criminals was not enough. He needed to punish them. Annihilate them, so they could not hurt his family or his people. And what of other kingdoms? They could come here, invade, destroy. His family would never be safe unless everything everywhere was under his control.

Only then would he never have to fear.

He did not appear to his family. He gave them each a hug, but silently, invisibly. They must not know what he was and what he had to do.

Emotion insisted on war.

In this, remarkably, both intellect and feeling agreed.

Cultivation was wrong. War, leading to his control of everything, was the only way.