"I… no." Lord Satoris shook his head, frowning. "I cannot spare you, Vorax. Not now. When Tanaros returns… perhaps. And yet, I am disturbed. There is… something. A bright mist clouds my vision. I do not know what it means."
Vorax scratched at his beard. "Have you… ?" He nodded at God-slayer.
"Yes." The Shaper's frown deepened, and he continued to gaze fixedly at the dagger, hanging pulsing and rubescent in the midst of the blazing Font. "To no avail. If something has passed elsewhere in Urulat, it is a thing not even the Souma may show me. And I am troubled by this. Godslayer has never failed me, when I dared invoke its powers in full. Not upon Urulat's soil."
"Break it," Vorax shrugged. "Maybe it's time. It would solve a lot of problems."
The words were out of his mouth before he knew he meant to speak them. In the brief, shocked silence that ensued, he knew it for a mistake. Certain things that might be thought should never be spoken aloud, not even by one of the Three.
"What?" Lord Satoris' head rose, and he seemed to gather height and mass in the sweltering Chamber. He took a step forward, hands clenching. The flagstones shuddered under his feet. Overhead, massive beams creaked. Shadows roiled around Satoris' shoulders and red fury lit his eyes. "WHAT?"
"My Lord!" He backed across the Chamber and raised his gauntleted hands; half pleading, half placating. "Forgive me! I am thinking of us, of all of us… of you, my Lord! If Godslayer were shattered, if it were rendered into harmless pieces… why, it would no longer be a threat, and… and the Prophecy itself couldn't be fulfilled!"
"Do you think so?" The Shaper advanced, step by thunderous step.
"I, no… aye, my Lord!" Vorax felt the edge of a stair against his heel, and retreated up one spiraling step, then another, and another. He was sweating under his armor, sweat running in rivulets. "It could be like the Soumanië!" he breathed, clutching at the idea. "A piece for each of us, for each of the Three, and we could wield them in your defense, aye; and the largest one for you, of course! We would have more than they, yet no piece keen nor large enough, no dagger left to, to…" His words trailed off as Lord Satoris reached the base of the stair, leaning forward and planting his enormous hands on either side of it. His dark face was on a level with Vorax's, eyes blazing like embers. The reek of his blood hung heavy in the close air.
"To slay a Shaper," Lord Satoris said. "Is that it? Only pieces, broken pieces of the Souma. Is that what you propose, my Staccian?"
"Aye!" Vorax almost laughed with relief, wiping his brow. "Aye, my Lord."
"Fool!"
For a long moment, his Lordship's eyes glared into his, measuring the breadth and depth of his loyalty. A miasma of heat emanated from his body, as if Haomane's Wrath still scorched him. It seemed like an eternity before the Shaper turned away, pacing back toward the Font. When he did, Vorax sagged on the spiral stairway, damp and exhausted.
"It is Godslayer that keeps my Elder Brother at bay," Satoris said without looking at him. "Have you never grasped that, Staccian? Because it is capable of slaying a Shaper. That which renders me vulnerable is the shield that protects all of Darkhaven. Without it, Haomane would have no need to work through Prophecy, using mortal hands as his weapons." His voice held a grim tone. "Do you think the gap that Sunders our world is so vast? It is nothing. The Lord-of-Thought could abandon Torath and cross it in an instant, bringing all of my siblings with him onto Urulat's soil. But he will not," he added, reaching one open hand into the Font to let the blue-white flames of the marrow-fire caress it, "nor will they, while I hold this."
His hand closed on Godslayer's hilt. Vorax's heart convulsed within its brand, sending a shock of ecstatic pain through his flesh. Halfway up the winding stair, he went heavily to one knee, feeling the bruising impact through his armor. "Aye, my Lord," he said dully. "I am a fool."
"Yes," Satoris murmured, contemplating the dagger. "But a loyal one, or so I judge." He released the hilt, leaving the Shard in the Font. "Ah, Haomane!" he mused. "Would I slay you if I had the chance? Or would I sue for peace, if I held the dagger at your throat? It has been so long, so long. I do not even know myself." Remembering Vorax, he glanced over his shoulder. "Begone," he said. "I will speak to you anon, my Staccian. When my Three are united."
"Aye, my Lord." He clambered to his feet with difficulty, and bowed. "I will await your pleasure." There was no response. Vorax grunted with relief and turned around, making his way up the spiral stair. He kept one gauntleted hand on the glimmering onyx wall, steadying himself until he reached the three-fold door at the top of the stair.