Chapter Text
It is the end of the Archon War and the seven victors are decided.
They agree to meet - there are things to discuss. Scales to balance. Morax is of course the one doing most of the heavy lifting on that, and the rest of them - the Archons, they have agreed to be called - they trust him.
Murata knows from their few head to head battles that he is fair - a gentleman in every sense - but even if she didn’t, her beloved thinks him to be just and that is more than enough for her. Neither of them will sit at the table when the contract is forged, but the war is over and they are both alive.
Isn’t that enough?
“There is work to be done,” she is told. “The land has been ravaged, and there is justice to be wrought.”
Her heart pangs, because is this not what she admires most about her beloved, this dedication to her people? To bringing them all that they deserve and more?
That same dedication that leaves her no time nor inclination to anything else.
Like love.
Time passes - innumerable days and years and eras until they have both now taken their places among the ranks of the Seven.
There were caveats to being an Archon that they did not understand - long and detailed underpinnings originally meant to prevent a repeat of history where death was the only ruling power - to ascend and take a seat as one of the Seven changes you.
To be a god, one must set aside some aspects of their mortal person.
To truly elevate themselves they must also elevate a concept; become more than a person, become a symbol to an ideal. Something to dictate their natures and behold them to certain standards.
There was no question what hers would be, when she took the mantle of Hydro Archon and rule of her beloved Fontaine, with its showy courtrooms and tribunal performances.
There was no question what Murata’s would be, either.
To pledge herself, her whole being, to one thing? Nothing could be easier. Fire only knows one thing, and that is to burn. Whether it is with passion or with rage, everything it has will go into the blaze until there is nothing else left.
“Here we are again,” Murata says when they meet at last as equals. She can’t help but smile slyly. “I hope to work closely with you.”
“War brings no justice,” is the reply and she walks coldly by, focused and driven as always. Murata scowls after her.
It’s not about war. It was never about war.
War is just the logical extent of the inability to back down from a disagreement, and that is what Murata does, what she has always done, what she has always been best at.
She did not make it through the Archon War with compromise, she made it through with faith. She believed that they would win, and they did.
She believed that she was best for Natlan’s new Archon and she was.
This was the way of things, and how can her love be so blind to the way she shines bright with victory after victory?
She knows the answer, as much as it pains her. As much as that knowledge burns in her mind as well as her heart.
Once one becomes a god there is little room for anything beyond their ideal, and theirs it seems, are in opposition.
That same passion and focus to be righteous that had inspired her through the war now barred her from getting what she has wanted most in the world, what she has wanted most for centuries.
A good trade is a fair trade, Morax always said. Murata does not believe it to be fair. She does not believe it to be fair with her entire soul, and for that belief, of course, she would go to war.
Which only puts her back at odds with the one whom she never wants to fight.
How could Murata do anything other than adore the single-minded God of Justice, when her own ideal was Conviction?
But they have made their choices. And there is no going back now, for either of them.