She was just as I had forgotten her to be: a swirl of shadow, coalescing into perception, taking form from the gradual accretion of a spinning gravity of nothingness. The last time that I had been summoned by the Council to stand silently before Her, I’d been informed in such a way as to allow not even the merest hint of uncertainty of Her intentions, that were I to return again to Her demesne, it would mean sure forfeiture of self, my life being the very minimum that She would take. I never bowed before her when I came of age, nor declared my opposition; I never felt any inclination of obligation, nor desire to profess some binding fealty towards any of the countless Powers which claimed this otherwise nugatory estate comprised primarily of stone and grove and the longanimity of unrealized dreams. My growing strength of mystic will and natural capacity to casually manipulate the Shadowstuff which bound the Beasties and the Spiritwalkers to this world was cause enough for their disquietude, but the simple notion that I refused any and all affiliation whatsoever to whomever might have desired it was entirely beyond reason. The Greymage and his incalculable intent, they finally decided, would not be suffered any longer.
Ten years ago, The Council of the Powers summoned me to stand trial before The Quiet, wrapped in shadow and gagged with inchoate mammal panic at the foreknowledge of my inexorable disposition should their appraisal of my character and propensity for interference be determined unavoidable and unacceptable to their current and future whims. The Quiet, oldest and least tolerant of man, could see beyond even the most skillfully wrapped evocations of layered obfuscations a mage might summon about his heart, and gaze upon said man’s quintessence: the seed of sentience from which all further futures would spring forth.
The person which I’d always believed myself to be, and the face of the man I wished the world to know would be weighed in judgment against the being She perceived that I would always be. Any variance summarily judged dissemblance, indicative of the danger which I represented to their order with my every breath. She whispered slivers in my dreams, and shouted glamour to my fear, seeking the destruction of my conscious self to lay the writhing tremors of deception bare. There has never been, nor ever will there be a man who shall survive our introductions, little worm. Enjoy the final moments of your agony’s endurance, for they are all of which remain of you. My history began to burn before my eyes and in my head: joys and triumphs cherished, torments suffered and replayed over and over and over again throughout the freezing depths within the tiny hours of the night; everything which had ever contributed to who I had become, now a searing conflagration reducing and exalting me within the fires of Her Night. The crucible of Her perception cauterized my every hurt and loss, purifying that potential which, until now, I had begged be taken from me.
Serenity came suddenly upon me, a calm of purpose pumping ice and argent fury through what little of myself remained. Liberated from the shackles of any callow aspiration to survive her eradicative interrogatory, I summoned up the will within me which had so terrified the Council that they’d sought first to secure from me fidelity, and, failing that, procure a more permanent neutrality. I forced my eyes up to look into the deeper blackness where the Queen of Night’s own should have been, casting toward Her in that gaze, every shard of aggravation which threatened to consume me in a righteous and cathartic apotheosis. Silver rage burned fiercely behind my eyes, and a molten tone infused the words upon which I impaled The Quiet, “Remember in the moment when you fade away, that this could have been avoided. I never wanted anything to do with you or anyone on, or represented by your preposterous Council! The boy has burned away, and naught but the Greymage remains.”
I raised my index finger up and sliced away the aphotic interdiction these primordial numina had set upon me, cutting loose the Shadowstuff with blinding light, barely registering as it melted down and slunk away, driven down and out of sight by the silvery bells of pure phosphorescence which shimmered just beneath my skin. I traced my sigil in the air, every motion incandescent, blistering the space between us as my animosity ignited and renewed my sign of power, a clear, defiant denunciation of the supposed hegemony of the power of the night. With each heartbeat, my power grew, and I knew I could not long survive it. No hope remained to walk away, and leave them to their inconsequential mystical hostilities; in order to survive, I’d left myself nowhere to run, and the price to end this confrontation would inevitably be my final breath.
Little child, The Quiet boomed, I believe I’ve had more than I care of this. I could extinguish you, as you might do so to a wick. There is power in you, yes, but not near enough to challenge me. Take care that you don’t pester me, or I will snuff you out this night.
“You’re bargaining?” My fires dimmed, my tone a touch more cautious, “If you’re so bloody powerful, why bother with a warning? If you could end me here and now, why haven’t you already?”
Sweet, dearest child, I don’t tempt me into action. I looked into your very soul, and saw that I must, some day, destroy you. But you are stronger than I care to face, for though I could erase you from the very Tapestry of Life, the effort would surely drain me. My brethren, though cowardly and weak, have no special warmth within them toward me. They are many, and I have ever been just One. They would set upon me like a wave of pestilence, devouring me until I posed no further threat. And then a war the scale of which you could not possibly conceive would fill the entirety of reality until nothing but the victor’s will remained. It is my wish that this should not come to pass.
“Assuming that I were to believe you, what would you have me do?”