Chapter Text
Gods of all sorts from far-off planes lined the rows of an arena that stood near the edge of Mystra’s realm, a new place that was clearly created for the duel. Gale could see the deities for elves, gnomes, and dwarves of every alignment, barely mingling, giving the center their full attention. It was a tense gathering of differing ideologies and powers, though the state of magic united them. He took some comfort in seeing how many turned up; they wouldn’t have bothered if they knew he would lose.
Seated near the front and apart from all the gods, Gale saw Tav gripping the edge of her seat with her lips pressed together, trying not to betray her nervousness. When he presented the idea of her staying in the tower during the duel, she wouldn’t hear of it. He supposed the anxiety of anticipation would have eaten at her, though he could imagine her devastation if he should fail.
Gale pushed the thought back into a dark corner of his mind. No, I can’t think like that. I have to win this. For her, and for the future of magic. He wasn’t the humble wizard that Mystra cast off so many years ago, pining for a drop of acknowledgement. Now he was a force to be reckoned with, a problem of her own making. He would not be ignored any longer.
A hush fell over the crowd when Mystra appeared, solidifying from lights that danced on the air. She cared little for the crowd, her attention focused on Gale. Her eyes went from the crown adorning his head to the scepter in his hand, her nose wrinkling.
“So, you only dare to face me when bearing Karsus’s toys?” As usual, her tone was scathing, attempting to reduce him.
He smiled. “Consider it a show of respect for your power. I have to give myself every advantage.”
“Respect? Bringing back the magical items that ended not only an era of unparalleled prosperity, but also my life? Don’t mock me. They are a reminder of one of my only mistakes—trusting mortals with godly power.” She stood tall, shoulders squared, face betraying no sign of fear. It was the kind of unwavering confidence a mortal could only dream of. She was the Weave, close to being more of a natural force than a being, barely contained by the form she held, and her ire was directed solely at him.
The crowd looked up as the sky darkened, thunder rumbling, arcs of lightning scurrying across the clouds. The storm interrupted Elysium’s usual perfect calm like a nightmare overtaking a dream. Wind rushed through Gale’s hair and whipped at his robes, but he remained firm, refusing to be intimidated.
The scepter sparked, as though sensing the heightened state of magic. The orb in his chest began to glow, and he felt its excitement, the rush more powerful than anything he’d yet felt. The crown hummed, buzzing on his skull. Though long dormant, now that all three were in the presence of Mystra, they could not help but react, the duel bringing back a distant memory in them. They were looking for a rematch.
Mystra’s eyes brightened, her aura flashing as she raised her arms above her head. She closed her eyes, communing with the threads of magic invisible to the eye, gathering power above her. Then she released it without warning. A beam of light descended on Gale. A lesser being would have been vaporized in an instant.
Even as a god, the light tore at him, burning patches of his metallic skin. Gritting his teeth and wincing, he raised the scepter against the onslaught.
The gems at the tip of the scepter began to glow. A bubble formed around it, then grew, creating a protective pocket within the light. Tendrils of magic were drawn toward the gem. It was slow at first, but soon the magic was drawn within the scepter faster than the flow of a river. When the beam of light ceased, Gale straightened, then tapped his chest with the scepter.
The spool of magic emptied from the gems and into the orb. The battery made short work of consuming the energy, and it disappeared with a flash. He took in a breath at the sudden increase of magic within him. Within the span of a minute, she had given him an ocean. With the blast of energy, he realized just how empty the orb had been while he was mortal. It could contain so much more.
The crown grew hot on his brow. It seemed to sing, giving out a sound only he could hear, and it was in time with the battery, a melody and harmony in tune. The Regalia of Karsus waited for a command.
He sighed with resolution. There was a tiny crack in Mystra’s demeanor, betraying a hint of apprehension.
Rather than fire back, Gale raised the scepter, willing it to take everything the goddess had. Mystra fired at the items, trying to damage them, but they swallowed every spell, voracious for the Weave. She backed away as Gale came forward, growing in confidence. The gems of the crown were as radiant as stars. It was easy to see how Karsus toppled Mystra the first time. There was little she could do to him, as the items did not rely on her magic, and anything she tried was simply more fuel.
The Regalia then moved with one accord, acting even without Gale’s initiation as it gathered the Weave. The ground cracked, dust whipped around him, and the sky above became a cyclone. Lightning struck the arena just beyond the edges of the battle. At some point, Mystra lost her balance, and she looked at her own hands with horror, her limbs shaking with the loss of power.
“Stop!” she cried out. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to the Weave?” It was the first time Gale had ever heard her desperate. It almost shocked him out of his gathering of the Weave, but he could not cease now.
Though the power he gathered felt like a torrent, it was only a small string of the entire Weave, and as he tugged on it, far more came loose, crashing down upon him all at once.
He gasped, his senses no longer comprehending the space around him. Everything was taken up in the sudden awareness of the Weave and how far it reached. He was a part of it more wholly than ever before. The Weave reached farther than he ever realized. It was in the atmosphere of Toril and baked into the earth. It stretched beyond the planet, even into the stars, becoming eddies in the phlogiston, buoying up infinite amounts of matter in every plane. He felt every small magical interaction upon the face of the Material Plane—every time a person cast a spell, every item imbued with power.
If Gale had not been a god, the knowledge itself would have destroyed him, the comprehension squashing a mortal mind as easily as a mountain would an insect.
He was attached to the Weave now, somehow. It was a part of him, as much a part of his body as his physical form. He could move it, beckon it, yet much of it remained unseen, an invisible giant lumbering the cosmos.
Mystra trembled on the ground in front of him, barely able to lift her head. The aura was leached from her body, and when she looked up, her eyes were now a pale yellow rather than the arresting shine he was accustomed to. She appeared almost mortal, though a divine spark still rested in her, marking her as a goddess. He could also still feel an attachment to the Weave in her, though it was out of her control. It could only be removed completely by killing her.
She stared up at him, as though waiting for the ax to fall. “So Dekarios, once Gale of Waterdeep… are you going to kill me?” Her voice was far weaker, lacking its booming power. Despite her fierceness, there was hurt behind her eyes, a wound he remembered creating. It was the hurt of trust broken. She was a pessimistic goddess, and her current form was a product of a series of betrayals, often by the people she entrusted with power. Karsus, Cyric, and now him.
Gale hesitated.
The gods looked on, waiting, every one of them silent. History was about to be made. Gale met Tav’s eyes. Tav did not condemn him, but she was fearful. He did not know if she was afraid for him, or afraid because of him.
“I won’t kill you,” Gale said. “That was the mistake Karsus made, a decision fueled by greed. Instead, I will allow you a small measure of the Weave, with the bulk of the control resting with me. I doubt killing you would be necessary.”
“The Weave will never answer to you,” Mystra said, her tone vehement. “You may have influenced it with Netherese tools, but it will all come undone with time. You are not suited for the position of governing all magic. It will overwhelm you.”
Gale’s hand tightened on the scepter. He could feel each flow of magic within Toril, requesting his permission. He was responsible for each spell manifesting. It would be impossible for a mortal mind to keep up with, and his divine one nearly buckled under the attention it took. With a deep breath, he divided his mind, allowing a portion of it to focus only on the interactions. Somewhere in the Sunset Mountains, a dwarf used a magical item to blast a hole in a wall, and he allowed it. In Blackstaff Academy, several students called on magic to cast their first prestidigitation spell, and he was the power they drew on. The requests for magic faded to the back of his mind. It was still distracting, but it wouldn’t drive him mad.
“It’s quite a task, but I think I’m up to it,” Gale said.
Mystra laughed without humor. “Perhaps for now. I can only hope you are crushed by the weight of magic before it is subsumed into the Karsus Weave and slowly destroyed. It is a stomach with no bottom, waiting to devour magic for its own use. Either you will end, or the world will.”
His face tightened. “I have no need for your doomed outlook. This fight is over. Accept your defeat.”
Shouting broke out from within the crowd. Some jeered at him, denouncing his claim, while others were silent with fear. Tempus laughed with Beshaba, the goddess of misfortune. The armored god of war seemed to drink in the discord, and he savored it with a sigh. Selûne sat in silence, a hand covering her mouth as she looked down at the disgraced Mystra.
Lathander was the most outspoken, his armor radiating light as he got to his feet. “You expect us just to allow this to happen? This was not a fair fight! The world cannot be put into jeopardy over this!”
“Few rules were made for our duel,” Gale said calmly, “and the ones that were given never forbade the use of magical items.”
“We will side with the new god of magic,” Beshaba said with a malicious grin. “Any who wish to take away his title will answer to the goddess of misfortune and the god of war.”
Despite the anger hurled at him, Gale was unthreatened. With the Weave, as well as the Regalia of Karsus, none of the gods could stand up to him, at least not alone. Gale had risen above all of them to become even more powerful than Mystra. Only the combined might of the heavens could possibly hope to topple him.
“What will be done with Mystra?” Selûne asked.
Gale looked down at the shivering Mystra and felt the slightest twinge of guilt. A lifetime of revering her power, only to reduce her within a single day. There was something satisfying about seeing her brought low after years of her lecturing and chiding him, but seeing her weak didn’t soothe the wounds she caused.
“She cannot be permitted to harm herself,” Gale said. “Her death was Karsus’s undoing. She will be kept as my permanent guest and watched at all times.”
This caused a ripple of shock and outrage to go through the crowd.
Azuth appeared beside Mystra, shielding her from view, his white eyebrows hanging low over his eyes. “Do you truly mean to imprison the goddess of magic?” He phrased the question as though the very idea was mad.
“I’m afraid she gave me no choice. I cannot allow her to exist as a threat to me any longer. Step aside, or I will test my new capabilities on you.”
“Enough!” Lathander shouted. Everyone turned their attention to the shining god. A deep line formed between his eyebrows. “We will not start a war here, not now, not like this. The passions of everyone here are running high, but we can’t cast the mortal world into darkness because of our disputes. Some semblance of balance must be maintained.”
“You can’t permit him to capture Mystra!” Azuth shouted, waving his hands. “I won’t allow it!”
“Indeed.” Lathander put a hand to his chin. “I would propose that Mystra be confined to her own realm while things settle. If Dekarios wishes to keep an eye on her, there’s little anyone can do to stop him. But keeping her within his realm, locked away… I can’t stand by and watch it happen. Allow her the dignity of residing in her own home.”
“Very well, but I will be keeping a close watch.” Gale felt cold as he met Mystra’s eyes, a strange mix of sadness and triumph intermingling within him. He held up his hands, drawing the attention of the crowd. “I will be holding a feast in my honor within my tower in three day’s time. My allies are welcome to celebrate with me. My enemies will not be in attendance. I suggest you discover which one you are, and quickly.”
He left Mystra there on the ground, turning away from the pity that threatened his resolve.
……..
A room within his tower was expanded for guests, becoming a banquet hall. The expansion of his power took some getting used to, as it was far easier to create whatever he wanted with little more than thought. It took discipline to reign in his varying thoughts, the simple act of idea generation creating curtains of gold, piles of steaming food, and a ceiling that was adorned with extravagant constellations of light.
Meanwhile, the constant nagging of Toril sat in the back of his mind, constantly begging for more magic. The small passing of time had done little to help him adjust. He was the dam that magic passed through, and the world was always hungry. Gale’s head pulsed with the effort of keeping the flow of magic from the forefront of his mind.
Tav peeked into the room. She was far more cautious now, and when she saw him, she gave him a tight smile.
“How are things going?” she asked, crossing the wide room to join him. “I haven’t seen you in a while. I worried…”
“Worried? What is there to be worried about? I won.”
“Yes, of course,” she said carefully. Her eyes flickered to the Crown of Karsus sitting on his head. “You’re still wearing it. Is that simply for decoration?”
“I wish it was. Unfortunately, I’ve felt my grip on the Weave slip now and again. Nothing serious, just a subtle slide toward Mystra, but with the crown, I can pull it back.”
Tav nodded slowly. “I admire your decision to spare Mystra… but can you keep this up forever?”
“In all honesty, I’m not sure.” It was something he would only admit to Tav. No one else could know how he struggled to contain the Weave. It would give fuel to his enemies. “I hesitate to kill her, and for more than just sentimental reasons. Destroying the goddess of magic is unlike killing any of the other gods; the Weave is tied to her very being. If she is harmed, it wouldn’t free the Weave. It would destroy it. I’ve only harvested the bulk of her power.”
“Was it ever possible to become the true god of magic?”
“If Ao deems it so, perhaps. Which he may, given time, if I prove myself to be worthy of safeguarding the Weave. Stranger things have happened. I doubt he will ignore my request.” He winced, his stomach twisting. In the Eastern Heartlands, a Red Wizard of Thay laughed as she outstretched her hands, raising an army of dead from a massacred village. He allowed the abuse to happen, having no choice but to allow the magic to flow.
“Are you all right?” Tav asked.
He put a hand to his head. “It will take some time to adjust, but I’ll find my footing. There’s so much I wasn’t aware of. It’s both exhilarating and terrifying.”
“You would tell me if it was too much, right?” Tav asked. “You would trust me enough to tell me the truth?”
Gale sighed, releasing his head, and placed his hands on Tav’s shoulders. She jumped at the touch, and he pressed more lightly, realizing too late that his divine presence must give off more energy than ever.
“Please, try to enjoy yourself,” he said. “I’ve achieved a great deal, and I intend to celebrate. It would mean the world to me if you would take part in the revelry with me. Your help was essential.”
Her face turned pink as she stared. The change transfixed him. She was likely even more drawn to him now that he carried the might of the Weave. Of course she would be. He didn’t blame her. The power he wielded was an intoxicating thing.
“I’ll try,” she said quietly.
……..
The amount of petty, cruel deities within the crowd of celebrators was alarming to Tav. Tempus, Beshaba, Talos graced the tower. There were neutral deities among them, such as Waukeen in her golden dress, and even Oghma, the god of knowledge, but she felt the absence of deities like Lathander or Selûne. The atmosphere of the room was tense until Gale got their attention.
“Thank you all for showing your allegiance,” he said. “Though we may hold different beliefs and serve varying domains, we have united in our desire for a new age of magic. I will bring about an age with prosperity unseen since the days of Netheril. I look forward to the exciting possibilities.”
The gods either cheered or clapped politely, with the most enthusiastic among them being Talos and Tempus, both gods that enjoyed chaos and conflict.
As the gods feasted, Tav stayed near Gale. She felt like his fearful shadow in the face of the divine. Most of the gods paid her little attention, as though she were below their notice. It was only when Tav dropped her guard, straying from Gale’s side only for a moment, that a hand gripped her arm.
Tav gasped, facing an attractive woman with blonde hair, her body wrapped in leather and pierced with metal. The woman’s face was blank, and she picked apart Tav’s frightened expression like tweezers with a wound.
“I know you,” she said. She smiled without feeling. “I worked for your father, for a time. Though I can no longer sense Bhaal’s touch upon you.”
“Let me go,” Tav said.
Her grip tightened, her nails digging into her, and when Tav refused to wince, the woman’s eyes glinted with interest. “You really are something. I still remember that performance you gave for my follower all those years ago. Your screams are truly exquisite.”
“Let her go, Loviatar,” Gale said beside her, his presence announced by an electric hum to the air.
She released her, and Tav tried not to sigh in relief. “Dekarios, once archmage, now god. You were companions once, yes? Has this mortal become a new pet of yours? She seems to cling to you. The desperation is adorable.”
So, that’s what the gods think of me. Loviatar didn’t even offer her the dignity of a devoted follower. Tav was an amusem*nt—something to be toyed with and discarded.
His face became a hard mask, revealing nothing. “She is my Chosen. I wouldn’t expect you to understand. Your followers end up as a bloody pulp sooner or later.”
“Ah, Chosen. My mistake.” Loviatar waved a hand. “Sometimes I forget how sentimental the rest of the gods can be toward their mortals. No offense was intended.” She narrowed her eyes at Tav. “Bhaal has been declining ever since your victory in Baldur’s Gate. It’s sad to watch, really. He used to be so powerful. I’m sure he thinks of you daily, seething with hatred.”
Tav had seen no trace of Bhaal or his followers for decades, but even still, she feared he would come back to haunt her one day. Loviatar summoned a familiar aching fear, a ghost of pain that was stuffed behind her rib cage.
Gale stepped in front of Tav. “That’s enough. There’s no need to speak of Bhaal. He is insignificant now.”
“I… think I’m going to step out,” Tav said, tugging at his robes to catch his attention. “I’ve had enough of the gods for one day.”
Lines formed on the sides of his mouth. “All right. This celebration won't last much longer. Some of my guests have overstayed their welcome.”
Tav nodded, then rushed past the crowd to a balcony. Ivy covered the outside of the tower, and far above, the sky galloped into an artificial night, the sun rushing past twilight until the stars winked at her. She breathed in the outside air, finding it pleasantly cool.
She sat on a stone bench, then rubbed her temples. As she gazed at the sky, she saw the stars fluctuate, turning violet. Flowers appeared across the landscape, then disappeared, turning to thorns. Sparks appeared out of thin air and floated beside her. Even the magic in Elysium could sense the change of ownership. If the signs of it could be seen in the realm of the gods, she could only imagine what was happening on Toril.
The past few days, when Tav played her violin, she noticed a difference within her. The usual well of magic she drew upon felt unstable somehow. It would stop and start, sputtering, and sometimes it would even give too much. She turned her music stand into a potted plant by mistake after playing a ballad.
This is everything he’s ever wanted, but is it best for the realms? Their peace was tenuous. If anything, the weight of the Weave seemed to be bearing down on him, threatening his sanity. Tav thought of Mystra’s warning. Even with all her frustration with the goddess of magic, seeing her humiliated and stripped of power was difficult to watch.
There was some consolation. Her plan worked. Gale was safe, at least for the time being.
But Tav was trapped.
It was unlikely Gale would ever relinquish the crown to Raphael, seeing as how he needed it to maintain his hold on the Weave. It seemed she would remain in Elysium indefinitely to keep her soul, keeping company with her god.
Tav sighed, covering her face, taking comfort in the darkness of her palms.
She expected being around him would become easier with time. If Tav could not have him as a lover, her hope was she could turn her devotion into the more pious love of a follower, if her emotions could be tamed. However, her feelings refused to behave.
After acquiring the Weave, he was more distant than ever. It was torture when all Tav wanted was to draw closer. She wanted to believe the Gale she knew was somewhere inside, just under the surface, but continuing to search was wearing her thin.
Tav’s shoulders bowed. I have to let him go. Things will never be the same. He reaches ever higher, gaining more power, while I am unchanged. The gulf between us only widens.
A sound of rustling vines drew her attention. She had barely a moment to turn and look before a knife was at her throat.
“Hello dear,” Korilla said, her voice crooning in her ear. “The little bird has been stuck in her cage, but the bars could not keep me out forever. I've been watching very closely, and you were only too kind to give me a chance to strike.”
Tav’s reaction was immediate, her violent instincts kicking in from years of being on her guard. She gripped Korilla’s arm, but before she could send a magical shock through her body, Korilla flicked her wrist, a burst of magic flowing from her.
Tav’s eyelids drooped. The last thing she saw before she collapsed into Korilla’s arms was a satisfied smile.
