Zerxus, meanwhile, has done this enough now that he feels comfortable leaning over to scoop almost casually with that cup, keeping one eye on Kahl.
He does recognise Peter, knows enough about him to realise he isn't seeing a true mortal child being drowned in the dark, but that just means it strikes a different chord of stricken regret.
It makes a dramatic contrast with the vision hovering above him, horned and battle-scarred but more relaxed than he's ever been. He has one arm around Elias, and a hand gently grasping Kahl's; Evandrin is behind them, an ever-shifting silhouette of starlight, arms draped around his husband's shoulders. Tempus is lounging at their feet, purring contentedly.
Kahl makes a weird expression when he catches sight of the vision arrayed around Zerxus. He can't - not believe it, the nature of the light is plainly, intuitively, undeniably obvious. And he can't not want it, with an awful, bottomless longing, a two-thousand-years old longing, a hope that died centuries ago. He doesn't want it back. He survived alone. It's too late to matter. And yet it's there.
For a long moment, he's stuck fast between two impulses. Address what he sees, or understand what Kahl does?
Ultimately he glances behind him, and when his eyes widen it isn't with any sort of surprise; it's just the stunned response of vulnerability exposed, desperate yearning and guilty resignation twined together.
As far as he can fathom, this is another beautiful future he cannot have.
He takes a staggered breath and says, "Do you want to talk about me or Peter first?"
Well, he absolutely doesn't want to talk about that.
He knows where he stands, with Peter, whether Zerxus approves or not. It might even be easier, just to fight with him about it. Kahl sniffs, loftily, and looks away.
Every reason. For Jamie, for Peter's crimes, for the countless lost boys, for Kahl and his own exalted purpose. Because Kahl promised, because he had been waiting for an opportunity, because Corvo called for him. Kahl looks back, meets his eyes.
Kahl surprises himself by missing the other boy. They'd talked so briefly, but Kahl had...liked him.
"Peter devoured children for the pleasure of toying with them," he says quietly. "Children who looked up to him, adored him, trusted him. Children who called him friend. Jamie, he once called his best friend. But he killed Jamie's mother, the better to steal him away, and treated him like a toy, to be played with and forgotten, but that always belonged to him. When Jamie fought him, he cut off his hand, kept him tied to Peter's island, an immortal prisoner, while he chewed up more children, for centuries. Jamie had to bury them all. Peter would have left them tossed aside, broken on the sand. And the Admiral said he was to be saved."
Kahl clenches his hands around the silvered cup. He would have killed more children than Peter, if he'd succeeded in summoning the Maelstrom - he probably killed more children in the collapse of Sky, in mere minutes, than Peter did in all his spiteful, capricious ages. But Kahl had not betrayed them. Had not lured them from their families with promises of flight and adventure and endless summer, had not ever been their friend. No one had ever been a friend to him, before he died.
"He tried to hurt anyone Jamie cared about, to punish him for escaping from Peter's sway. He tried to kill Corvo, when the Enposib crashed. He had pinned him under a heavy cabinet, to taunt, to hurt, to kill slowly. Corvo prayed to me. And I came."
What he says first is, "You know I believe that everyone can be saved. But it was careless, at best, for the Admiral to pull them here at the same time." Killing an inmate would not be his first choice, obviously, and it sits like a stone in his gut that he never would have known, but -
Would Jamie have been able to thrive here, without that balance? Would Corvo have graduated? It's the first time he's ever really thought of vengeance and redemption as part of the same wider tapestry.
What he focuses on next is, "You came when Corvo called. You didn't have to do that."
"He was awful at praying. I had to nag him do it. To use my name when he wanted me to show up. I'd been reminding him I could help all the time. His old god didn't care about him at all, I don't think."
Kahl scowls. Jamie means everything to him, but he cares about Corvo, too.
"And it was the perfect opportunity. Of course I came."
"You proved to him that faith could be worthwhile." There's a shade of melancholy to his smile, because it still very much involved murder and divine retribution has never been a tenant of his own. That doesn't mean he can't recognise a place for it.
"Peter wanted to prove that...that Jamie could never escape him, that he could never grow up, have an adult life apart from Peter. I took his victory away. Normally it hurts me, to heal. I am not the god of fixing things. But it didn't hurt as much, to heal Corvo. Because Peter saw. Because he knew all the works of his spite would be undone, and he was powerless to prevent it. He knew, truly and completely, that he lost. I freed Corvo, and healed him, and dragged Peter down into the dark, in the one moment between the Admiral and the Cap'n that he was truly vulnerable."
Kahl lifts his chin, eyes bright and fierce.
"I think it's the best thing I've ever done."
And if the Admiral needs him to be sorry for it - that's too bad. Because he isn't, and he won't be.
As dedicated as he is to his own creed, his own methods, he will always respect righteous conviction. Kahl's glare meets an expression that's pensive, weary, tender.
"I've paid for peoples' freedom in blood before." It wasn't vengeance that drove him, but how much does that change? Lives were changed, and lives were ended. "I wish I didn't have to, but that doesn't mean I'd take it back."
He falls silent, for a moment, as he tries to gather his thoughts into something productive. He cannot, in his heart of hearts, approve of what happened. But if Kahl has to compromise, has to evolve, then so does he.
"There are things that you've done that are holding you back. That I think you need to confront before you leave. But I don't know that this would be one of them."
He gets an extremely flat look in return. "There is a difference between sacrificing your own life, for something you believe in, and being used as cannon fodder."
It's no coincidence that the hazy battlefield above him, the impossible future of Elias and Kahl fighting side by side, suddenly erupts in hellfire.
"Sometimes there is, and sometimes there isn't. Do you think they were not ready to lay down their lives to break the power of the Arameri?"
Yes, he had concealed his own plans from them; no, they hadn't wanted to give him the strength to end the world. But in the end, they achieved their goal and he did not, so it seems a bit precious to him to chide him for it.
For the first time, Zerxus himself changes in the light. His horns fade to afterimages, and his clothing shimmers - not into the armour of the First Knight but something he'd wear on his own time. Cloth spun by expert hands that would never weave again; buttons of polished brass cast in a workshop that's only ash and cinders now; a sky-blue cloak bearing the forgotten crests of both his cities.
"Did you consider, really, what you were taking? What you were using them to do?"
"I considered it longer than you've been alive. They wanted a war, despite not knowing what devastation even that would bring. I was not the one who entered that agreement too lightly."
But he did not lie. They wanted to hurt the Arameri enough to scheme and kill and die; he game them the power to do so. They did not ask what would happen next.
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He does recognise Peter, knows enough about him to realise he isn't seeing a true mortal child being drowned in the dark, but that just means it strikes a different chord of stricken regret.
It makes a dramatic contrast with the vision hovering above him, horned and battle-scarred but more relaxed than he's ever been. He has one arm around Elias, and a hand gently grasping Kahl's; Evandrin is behind them, an ever-shifting silhouette of starlight, arms draped around his husband's shoulders. Tempus is lounging at their feet, purring contentedly.
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Ultimately he glances behind him, and when his eyes widen it isn't with any sort of surprise; it's just the stunned response of vulnerability exposed, desperate yearning and guilty resignation twined together.
As far as he can fathom, this is another beautiful future he cannot have.
He takes a staggered breath and says, "Do you want to talk about me or Peter first?"
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He knows where he stands, with Peter, whether Zerxus approves or not. It might even be easier, just to fight with him about it. Kahl sniffs, loftily, and looks away.
"Peter, I suppose."
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"Why did you kill him?" Simple and steady, laced with all of that sorrow and guilt but not anger or disappointment.
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"You wouldn't understand," Kahl says flatly.
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Above him, the scene changes. Evandrin and Zerxus fade into the background, lost or trapped or wounded.
Elias's sword blazes with divine wrath, back to back with Kahl.
"That doesn't have to mean condemning it out of hand. And the more you explain to me, the more I can see it from your perspective."
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"Peter devoured children for the pleasure of toying with them," he says quietly. "Children who looked up to him, adored him, trusted him. Children who called him friend. Jamie, he once called his best friend. But he killed Jamie's mother, the better to steal him away, and treated him like a toy, to be played with and forgotten, but that always belonged to him. When Jamie fought him, he cut off his hand, kept him tied to Peter's island, an immortal prisoner, while he chewed up more children, for centuries. Jamie had to bury them all. Peter would have left them tossed aside, broken on the sand. And the Admiral said he was to be saved."
Kahl clenches his hands around the silvered cup. He would have killed more children than Peter, if he'd succeeded in summoning the Maelstrom - he probably killed more children in the collapse of Sky, in mere minutes, than Peter did in all his spiteful, capricious ages. But Kahl had not betrayed them. Had not lured them from their families with promises of flight and adventure and endless summer, had not ever been their friend. No one had ever been a friend to him, before he died.
"He tried to hurt anyone Jamie cared about, to punish him for escaping from Peter's sway. He tried to kill Corvo, when the Enposib crashed. He had pinned him under a heavy cabinet, to taunt, to hurt, to kill slowly. Corvo prayed to me. And I came."
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What he says first is, "You know I believe that everyone can be saved. But it was careless, at best, for the Admiral to pull them here at the same time." Killing an inmate would not be his first choice, obviously, and it sits like a stone in his gut that he never would have known, but -
Would Jamie have been able to thrive here, without that balance? Would Corvo have graduated? It's the first time he's ever really thought of vengeance and redemption as part of the same wider tapestry.
What he focuses on next is, "You came when Corvo called. You didn't have to do that."
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Kahl scowls. Jamie means everything to him, but he cares about Corvo, too.
"And it was the perfect opportunity. Of course I came."
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"With the right god."
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Kahl lifts his chin, eyes bright and fierce.
"I think it's the best thing I've ever done."
And if the Admiral needs him to be sorry for it - that's too bad. Because he isn't, and he won't be.
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"I've paid for peoples' freedom in blood before." It wasn't vengeance that drove him, but how much does that change? Lives were changed, and lives were ended. "I wish I didn't have to, but that doesn't mean I'd take it back."
He falls silent, for a moment, as he tries to gather his thoughts into something productive. He cannot, in his heart of hearts, approve of what happened. But if Kahl has to compromise, has to evolve, then so does he.
"There are things that you've done that are holding you back. That I think you need to confront before you leave. But I don't know that this would be one of them."
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Eventually, he accepts that Zerxus is as sincere as always.
"Okay. Like what?"
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"Like the High Northers. You made them sacrifices, in the end, not soldiers."
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It's no coincidence that the hazy battlefield above him, the impossible future of Elias and Kahl fighting side by side, suddenly erupts in hellfire.
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Yes, he had concealed his own plans from them; no, they hadn't wanted to give him the strength to end the world. But in the end, they achieved their goal and he did not, so it seems a bit precious to him to chide him for it.
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For the first time, Zerxus himself changes in the light. His horns fade to afterimages, and his clothing shimmers - not into the armour of the First Knight but something he'd wear on his own time. Cloth spun by expert hands that would never weave again; buttons of polished brass cast in a workshop that's only ash and cinders now; a sky-blue cloak bearing the forgotten crests of both his cities.
"Did you consider, really, what you were taking? What you were using them to do?"
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But he did not lie. They wanted to hurt the Arameri enough to scheme and kill and die; he game them the power to do so. They did not ask what would happen next.