Archive of Our Own ^beta

Moash rolled the sphere between his fingers, appreciating the green shine that reflected onto his skin. An emerald broam. It was beautiful, just as beautiful as the one from the chasms, if not more so because this was his to keep.

So why did he feel so hollow now that he had it?

Moash had wanted power so he could change things. That's what he had told Sigzil all those months ago. Now here he was, suited up in full Plate and with a Blade he'd soon be bonded with, and everything was ... exactly the same. When he'd dreamed of this when he was younger, he'd always imagined infiltrating those lighteyed meetings and demanding things be different, the lighteyes bending to his will, but of course that wasn't really how it worked. He'd been fooling himself. He was one darkeyed Shardbearer, and though he wasn't ignorable by any means, he certainly didn't feel very powerful among the lighteyes. Not with any real power. In the end, lighteyes were still in charge. Darkeyes were still arrow fodder every day on the Plains. Elhokar was still alive.

It wasn't enough. Moash wasn't sure what would be. He would just have to keep climbing until he figured it out.