Chapter Text
Standing there on the dock, it was all he could see - the Shadow Fold. A wall of darkness, stretching as far as the eye could see, sparking fear in almost all who looked upon it, but not him. His greatest creation, and his biggest regret. Born out of unimaginable grief, anger, and pain, but also out of that dreaded merzost.
He had wanted to keep the Grisha safe, get revenge on the soldiers and the King for the death of his beloved Luda, but not to split the country in two. Countless lives were lost in its’ creation, Otkazat’sya lives but also Grisha ones. And for that he could never forgive himself. Every time he learned that another Grisha life had been lost while crossing the Fold, he felt personally responsible for their death. The Otkazat’sya deserved it for all the harm they had caused the Grisha, all the centuries of persecution, but not his Grisha, never his Grisha. They were under his protection, and he was going to do all in his power to ensure they were needed and feared, for that was what would keep them safe. He made it his mission to find every Grisha child, every misunderstood orphan, and bring them to the Little Palace where they could be trained and cared for, learn how powerful they could be and learn how to defend themselves, find their place in the world. There was no shortage of people trying to hurt the Grisha – the Drüskelle, the Shu, even some Ravkans. But in the Little Palace they were safe, under his protection they were feared, and to cross the Fold they were needed.
He told himself this place he had created for them was his penance, his gift. At least the Fold gave them power because the Otkazat’sya needed them. But he knew it was a fragile balance, one which hung on a knife-edge. All it took was one invention, anything which would let the Otkazat’sya cross the Fold without Grisha help, and the balance would shift. Once again, the Grisha would be tainted by association, the fact that one of them had created the Fold and in all the centuries since then they had not managed to tame it or get rid of it. That would be all the rest of the world would see, and they would once again be persecuted by all non-Grisha. For as long as he lived, he would not let that happen. In the aftermath left by his creation of the Fold he had vowed to never again lose control, never again let his emotions get the best of him. He would be feared, he would make it clear to everyone that he was the most powerful Grisha in existence, but he would always be in control. For centuries he carefully curated his public persona, always being careful to hide his true identity and the true extent of his powers. A feared descendent of the Black Heretic, but never a heretic himself. Or so they thought.
So once again he found himself here, watching as the newest invention by his Fabrikators was put to the test for the first time – a new sand-skiff, ultra-fast. For if anything could help with their dwindling supplies, it was a ship which cut the travelling time in half, was quiet as a mouse and was equipped with the safe lights which could light the way without attracting the dreaded Volcra. Hope for the First Army, brought to them by the revered but also hated Second Army. He had seen many inventions by his Fabrikators enter the Fold over the years, some successes and some total failures. For some reason he felt he needed to be here, always at a safe distance lest he get too close to the Fold and reveal his true nature, but close enough to see the journey start and ensure his Second Army was being given the respect they deserved.
He could see the ones chosen for the ‘nightmare lottery’ board the skiff, his Grisha standing tall and showing no fear, the First army group divided into those seasoned crossers, with their false swagger boosted by the presence of the Grisha, and those first timers whose terror he could feel even from a distance. He willed them to find some courage, knowing the Volcra could smell fear and would be more likely to attack if it was so apparent, even with all the Fabrikator inventions aimed at keeping them safe. The command was given and the sand-skiff starting moving soundlessly away from the docks, the Squallers doing their work as efficiently as ever. Right before the skiff was swallowed up by the Fold, a gust of wind blew a scarf in his direction, lost by someone aboard. He frowned as it passed him by, bringing with it a scent that was somehow familiar, reminding him of a sunlit afternoon free from shadow. But how could it be familiar, when he knew none of the Grisha on board were wearing a scarf and the rest of the passengers were all strangers to him?
He dismissed the odd thought from his mind and settled in to watch the Fold, listening for signs of trouble. His Oprichniki knew to ensure he remained uninterrupted when he was on the docks, only disturbing him if an urgent matter arose. When he was this close, if he concentrated enough, he could sense the mood of the Fold, the anger of the Volcra...for yes, the Fold was an animate thing, with moods like any other. It seemed relatively serene at first, but just a few minutes after the sand-skiff entered he felt a shift – it had been noticed, and the Volcra were hungry. This did not bode well for the fate of the skiff, another failure seemed likely. Angry, anticipating more lost Grisha lives, he turned to leave. He had been witness to enough Grisha deaths by his invention, he was not eager to see some of his most talented Grisha lost to it once more. However, just as he turned, he saw a flash of light out of the corner of his eye. Streams of light, bright as sunlight, were coming out of the Fold. He could hear the Volcra screaming, feel their pain…then just as quickly as it had started, the light faded and the Fold was silent. He could not sense the Volcra anymore, the Fold was once again serene.
What had he just witnessed? He knew it was not a Fabrikator invention, Saints knew they had tried and failed many times to invent something to mimic sunlight in the Fold. There was only one explanation he could think of, but he barely dared think of it. A Grisha myth, one he had been trying to prove true for most of his long life – a Sun Summoner. A Grisha who was the light to his dark, who could summon light just as he could summon shadows. With every decade that passed with more Grisha tested and none found with that power, with no evidence other than the folklore and myth speaking of it, he had started to wonder if maybe he was wrong to believe. Maybe it was just a myth, borne out of hope that a Grisha could destroy the Fold, and he had been a fool to believe he could find a Sun Summoner and in them the answer to all his problems. Could it be? Could he have finally found his Sun Summoner, here in this normal afternoon at the Fold? And if so, how had they not been found and brought to him as a child? How had all his careful testing programs missed their greatest hope?
He was brought out of his musings by the commotion being raised in the camp as everyone ran to the docks exclaiming over what they had just seen. He heard whispers of a miracle, a Sun Summoner, a Saint…..their saviour from the Fold. Or maybe a Grisha invention? He could see the Grisha also looked shaken, staring at him as if they expected him to answer all their unasked questions. But how could he, when he himself did not know what to believe? He made sure none of his turmoil showed on his face and turned back to look at the Fold, waiting for what might be his greatest hope or perhaps just another disappointment.