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if someone living initiates the process, they’re still in control of their own minds. They can influence the way things work, down there. But in doing that… eventually whoever does it is taken over, and their control is lost. They die. Become a iunctus themselves.” A long pause. I feel sick as I put together the pieces. “Marcus.”
Death is the door to life.
A vague, ancient war against an enemy that Caeror translated as the “Concurrence.” Then something called the Rending—that term, I recognised from the recitals of the iunctii—to prevent their victory, which split the world into three near-identical versions, but left Will broken into shards of itself. A power only whole again now when someone exists in all three worlds at once—“Synchronous.” Another term I’m uncomfortably familiar with.
“So you think the Labyrinth was originally designed as some kind of proving ground for soldiers. That they were being sent through to continue fighting the Concurrence in Luceum and Obiteum, after we won against them here.” Picking up where our conversation left off, before I requested the change of scenery. “And those soldiers were expected to sacrifice themselves here on Res, so they wouldn’t become Synchronous?”
But did they win in Res? If Ka is technically still in charge? Is it like mistborn where the lord ruler is evil but also keeping the world from breaking
“But if you’re right, then that means whoever wrote it was working against people fighting the Concurrence.” “They were working to circumvent a system set up thousands of years before their time; there could be any number of reasons for that. But they were certainly not for the Concurrence.
Wherever Ka is on our world, I have no idea where to look.
“You know, it’s not the Cataclysm, so much,” she observes. “It’s more that you might be our only hope of stopping it.” I gesture rudely as Eidhin shakes his head. “That is barely a concern—” “Thank you, Eidhin.” “Barely a concern next to the fact there are apparently three of him now.” “Gods. I’d almost forgotten that part,” says Aequa. “Proof that evil powers are at play,” adds Eidhin gloomily. I glare at him. He holds my stare for a long, long second. Expression unchanging. “Three of you. By all the dead and rotting gods.”
“Why do you remove their heads?” I ask it quietly, not wanting to watch but unable to look away as the others start similar, grisly tasks. Tara looks at me as if it’s a strange question. “So they cannot walk again, should the boundary to the Otherworld become too thin.”
“Fiachra, and Ruarc. With Gallchobhar’s help. So that the king would be put in an impossible position.”
She leans over and gently taps my heart. “The half that is missing is here. You have never been fully present. Fully engaged. Fully committed. And I understand that, now. You have always fought. Here, you do not have to.”
a man is known by his failings until he is known by his actions.
“The last independent community was absorbed by the Amemet two hundred and seventeen years ago.”
“Eighty-two external, tasked with searching out threats. Eighteen assigned to guarding Ka.”
As well as another, familiar wave of frustration at not understanding how Will is able to be used.
To begin with, who is ceding? And the Grove are commanding animals?
“An alupi?” He takes Diago in. “My, my. I thought these things only defended the Nexus here.
The hundred iron triangles I’ve been keeping as a snug layer of protection beneath my shirt begin to quiver. Slide, flowing upward and into the dangling sleeve on my left. Slowly they coalesce, fitting into place, filling out the cloth. At the end of it, the glimmering iron outline of a hand appears.
“It’s another world. The concept of ceding your Will doesn’t exist here, either.”
The last instance of complete activation was six hundred and forty-two years ago.” Six hundred and forty-two years. Vek. “What was it caused by?” “Destruction of the original filtration system.
but most of the time, people need to be shown a truth before they will truly believe it.”
“We are stronger together, Deaglán.” I return her gaze. An accident, I know, but that phrase. I have hated that phrase for so long. From her, I believe it. “Stronger together,” I repeat back at her, smiling.
“I am certain everyone will want to hear how you sent me to Solivagus before anyone thought it had value, so that our family alone could make the most important decision to be made in three hundred years.

