Lodestar knew he had not completely gone from this world. He could feel the other souls around him, human souls, caught in the Pillar of Ice and Fire.
The Guardian returns!
In his essence, he knew what it meant, how excited the other souls were at its return, so he retreated away, attempting to find rest in the cacophony.
Then, the Guardian was no more.
Whether she died, or gave up, whether she moved on or went elsewhere, none of the souls knew. Finally, it was quiet, and Lodestar could find his rest, though it became too quiet, and he ventured forth to the edge of the Pillar to see what was going on.
Twilight’s Son hovered there, watching.
Lodestar, you are needed.
I rest, Lodestar replied, retreating slightly.
Find the Guardian.
Find another. I rest—
Not in peace.
No, not in peace, he thought forlornly.
Once more, Lodestar, find the Guardian, see if she is true, and you will find peace.
A host.
Then Twilight’s Son began to sing. The language became clearer in his mind, as he remembered his former host, remembered his hosts before that, the heroes, the men and creatures he had aided, and most of all, he remembered himself. He remembered that he was a hero.
I have found the Guardian, Twilight’s Son.
And?
She has chosen to learn dark ways. Lodestar almost spat the words out, his anger palatable. She’s a shade, still powerful, but a shade nonetheless. She is under another’s spell.
You no longer guide, Lodestar. You have an opinion of this matter.
She is the Guardian and has a responsibility. What can dark arts teach her? Who will guard
There are many other heroes who would gladly take her place.
“She can’t just give it up!” Lodestar roared, no longer content with mere mind contact. “She has a responsibility!”
“As do you, now, to guide her back to her responsibility.”
“I can’t go to Grandville.”
“You can go between dimensions, and you can stay here. The Midnighters are looking for new members.”
He shook his head vigorously. “No magic.”
Twilight’s Son chuckled, a sweet tone to the sound.
“You stay entrapped in nine generations of Aztec priests and see how you like it.”
You still are angry at your past hosts.
I’m angry at magic.
Magic is what made the Guardian, and magic is what made you.
His human face contorted into a look of disgust for a moment before he heard the swishing of wings.
Yes, StarWyng comes here often to fly.
Nate is still dead.
No, he isn’t. He was brought back to life to continue his killing ways.
“StarWyng should have killed him by now, then.”
No, she hasn’t.
She will kill me, instead.
No, she won’t.
“We’ll see, fellow traveler,” Lodestar said, striding away. “We’ll see.”
As it happened, she did not kill Lodestar; in fact, she embraced him as if she has been lost without him. Lodestar was slightly upset that Nate wasn’t dead by now – his time with his last host had burned him. But part of an unsaid rule of Kheldians is that once a new host is chosen, the old host was to be forgotten.
But the magic spell took the attributes of his last host. He looked like Nate, sounded like Nate, felt like Nate. Lodestar couldn’t forget him that easily.
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