I remembered everything.

The flood of memories crashed through me like a tidal wave, sweeping away the fragile identity I'd constructed since awakening in the Hellzone. I wasn't just Widow, or No Eyes. I wasn't merely a broken monster who'd stumbled out of darkness.

I was Vardin, King of Ispara.

Images flashed through my consciousness with brutal clarity. I saw Ispara, a verdant kingdom stretching beneath blue skies, its fields dotted with villages and towns. My homeland? Yes… It was the land I(?) had ruled as king.

I remembered walking those peaceful streets, citizens bowing with genuine respect rather than fear. I saw the castle with its white dove banners fluttering in the spring breeze. The woman in the green gown, my wife, Queen Elisa, her laughter like silver bells as she watched our two sons practice swordplay in the courtyard.

Then came the chaos.

Mountains rising from the earth, stretching impossibly toward the heavens before collapsing back, crushing thousands beneath. Livestock transforming before horrified farmers' eyes, the gentle creatures suddenly feral, teeth elongating as they turned on their keepers. Fields of wheat coming alive, swaying in unnatural patterns while emitting haunting melodies that drove listeners to madness.

Yet humanity endured. My people built walls, developed rituals, learned to survive in a world gone mad.

Then came the Crusade.

Two and a half million souls from every corner of the world, united against a common enemy: the Primordials. I remembered their faces, these kings and queens who'd risked all for the sake of their people: stern Prostas with his star-charts, gentle Mirrin who wept even as he fought, wild-eyed Binar who laughed in the face of danger.

Mulmin... brave, kind Mulmin with his hearty laugh and scarred hands. Vardin… I(?) had loved him.

And Ayen; calculating, brilliant Ayen whose spells never missed.

Twenty years we hunted them. Twenty years of battles through realms warped by their presence, fighting past guardians and traps. I remembered our determination, our losses, our refusal to surrender.

I remembered approaching Machalaziel's fortress, a magnificent creation of spinning gears and hissing steam, floating above a deep, bottomless chasm that stretched on for miles.

I remembered the final battle. Hundreds of our soldiers pouring through the fortress's gates, many falling to its defenses. I recalled the mechanical monsters tearing through our ranks. As well as Machalaziel itself, how its gigantic sword-wings sliced through armor and flesh alike. How its rotating barrel weapon decimated our forces by the dozens.

And then came the moment when I, wielding a starstone blade that could cut through the Primordial's invulnerable flesh, drove it into that monster's head.

Then came darkness. Endless darkness.

Until I awoke in the Hellzone, broken and confused, with only fragments of my(?) memories.

I stared at the man before me, the one who was my(?) mirror image. The one who wore my face.

I remember now, I told him. I remember the Second Crusade against the Primordials. The endless, endless battles we fought against them to save our people. I remember fighting Machalaziel, I remember killing it. Then… nothing.

I looked up and stared deep into the man's golden, swirling eyes. Who are you? Why do you wear my face?

The man's expression shifted from recognition to confusion, then settled into understanding. He nodded slowly, his golden eyes swirling with strange runes.

"I see the problem now," he said, his voice deep and resonant. "You believe you are me."

He gestured toward a small seating area nearby. "Please, let us sit. This conversation requires... clarity."

I followed him to the chairs, my mechanical body moving with uncharacteristic slowness. I suddenly felt vulnerable in my humanoid frame, and wished I had worn my war frame instead.

Once seated, he leaned forward, hands clasped together. "Those memories you have, of Ispara, of the Crusade, of killing the Primordial of Machinery; they are not yours. They are mine. I am Vardin, former King of Ispara. Now they call me a god. But you…

"You are Machalaziel, the Primordial of Machinery."

The words struck me like physical blows. That's impossible. I remember…

"You remember through my eyes," he interrupted gently. "When we slew the Primordials, we took what was theirs. Their essence, their power, what we call their Mantles, passed to their killers. I took the Mantle of Machinery from Machalaziel when I drove my starstone blade through its head."

His golden eyes studied me with clinical detachment. "I've suspected for centuries that Primordials couldn't truly die. They are fundamental aspects of this world. As long as the world exists, they must exist in some form."

No, I said, the denial automatic. I am Vardin. I am human.

"Look at yourself," he said quietly. "Really look. Think back to your memories of what Machalaziel looked like. Compare it to your own form."

Unbidden, the image of Machalaziel rose in my mind: a pale, twisted creature with a humanoid upper body, multiple arms, and a face both beautiful and terrible. The wounds I'd inflicted with my starstone blade had torn through its right side, arrows had taken its three eyes, furious warriors hacked away at it, ripping away part of its torso...

I looked down at my own form, the pale skin, the missing right side, the mechanical parts I'd built to replace what was gone. The long black hair, flowing like a dark curtain down my shoulders.

The resemblance is... unmistakable, I admitted, my voice hollow.

"When a Primordial dies, its killer gains its power," Vardin continued. "But it seems the exchange goes both ways. You gained my memories, my experiences; perhaps even pieces of my soul."

Why? I asked, the single word laden with desperation.

"Balance, perhaps. We take their power; they take our lived experiences. A fair exchange in the eyes of whatever forces govern our world."

I sat in silence, the weight of his words crushing my spirit. For so long, I'd clung to the hope that I was human. That beneath my mechanical parts lay a human heart, a human soul. I'd wanted so desperately to belong among them, to be accepted.

But I was never human. I was the very monster they had fought against. A Primordial, a being whose very existence had brought chaos and suffering to countless innocent lives.

I wanted to weep, but my mechanical body produced no tears. Instead, I felt a cold emptiness spreading through me.

I killed... millions, I whispered. Through my creations, my monsters... by simply existing.

"You did," Vardin confirmed, his voice neither accusatory nor forgiving. "But that was then. What matters now is what you choose to do with this knowledge."

I looked up at him, this creature who wore the face I had thought was my own. What choice do I have? I am a monster.

"Perhaps," he said. "But even monsters can choose their path forward."

Why are you telling me this now? I asked, my voice echoing strangely in my mind. Why reveal my true nature after all this time?

Vardin's golden eyes dimmed slightly. "Because I came here to kill you."

The words hung in the air between us, cold and final.

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"I heard whispers about a strange monster at the War Academy," he continued, his voice measured. "One with remarkable abilities to craft weapons and mechanical devices of extraordinary power. Such news travels quickly to those who know what to listen for."

I remained still, processing his words.

"My instincts told me to investigate. I watched your battle with the Platinum Dragon from afar. I witnessed your duel with Shawe." His fingers tapped rhythmically against his knee. "At first, I feared the worst: that Machalaziel had awakened with true sapience. A Primordial's power combined with human intelligence would be... catastrophic.

"One of the reasons the Second Crusade succeeded was because Primordials, for all their power, weren't truly thinking, reasoning creatures. They were forces of nature, predictable in their unpredictability. We could outmaneuver them because we could think strategically while they could not."

He leaned forward. "But a Primordial with the capacity for human calculation? I couldn't risk it. So I came to confront you directly."

Yet here we sit, talking, I observed. You haven't tried to kill me.

"Because I was wrong," he said simply. "You're not a threat to humanity. Not anymore."

I tilted my head, studying him. I could be. I've built weapons that could tear through armies. I could create more.

Vardin shook his head. "You won't."

How can you be so certain?

"Because you have my memories. From when I was younger, more idealistic. Before ten thousand years of godhood changed me." Something like regret flickered across his face. "That moral compass will guide you true."

I looked down at my hands: one pale flesh, one gleaming metal. I'm not so sure. I've done... terrible things. When I killed Kolin Redflight, I didn't just execute him. I tortured him first. Made him suffer for what he did to Mallie.

Vardin frowned, but not in surprise. "I wouldn't have done that," he admitted. "But the fact that you feel guilt over it speaks volumes. That remorse, that capacity for reflection… it will prevent you from committing worse acts in the future."

What if you're wrong? I pressed. What if I stray again?

He shrugged, the gesture strangely human for a being who had transcended humanity millennia ago. "Then it will be up to you to prevent that from happening. You are your own being now, neither fully Primordial nor fully human, but something entirely new."

I considered his words carefully. The weight of my dual nature pressed down upon me. The chaotic power of Machalaziel combined with the memories and moral framework of a human king. Neither one nor the other, but something between.

If I'm neither Primordial nor human, I asked finally, then what am I?

"That," said Vardin with the first genuine smile I'd seen from him, "is entirely for you to decide."

As if to emphasize his point, a system prompt appeared before me.

Your true name, Machalaziel, has been revealed.

Would you like to change your name to Machalaziel?

[Yes] [No]

I stared at the floating prompt, the choice more significant than mere letters strung together. Names carried weight, power, identity. In rejecting "Machalaziel," I would be denying what I once was: a force of creation and destruction that had shaped this world.

But that wasn't me anymore. Not entirely.

I selected [No].

The prompt dissolved like mist, replaced by another:

Please select a new name for yourself.

I considered my options carefully. "Widow" had served its purpose; a disguise, a shell to hide within. But that wasn't who I was either.

What was I? Neither fully Primordial nor human. Neither Machalaziel nor Vardin, yet somehow both. A fusion of chaos and order, of mechanical precision and human compassion.

The answer crystallized with sudden clarity.

Vardiel, I told it.

The name felt right as it formed, acknowledging both my origins and my evolution. A bridge between what I had been and what I was becoming.

Congratulations! Your name has been updated to Vardiel.

"Good choice," Vardin remarked, watching the interaction with curious eyes. "It acknowledges both aspects of your being without being beholden to either."

It feels... correct, I replied. Neither rejection nor blind acceptance of my past.

Vardin nodded, his golden eyes swirling with those strange runes. "Names have power. The gods know this better than most." He glanced out the window toward the Academy grounds. "The students who call you 'Widow' see only the surface. Those who once feared 'Machalaziel' knew only the chaos. But 'Vardiel'… that name belongs solely to you."

I felt something shift within me; not physically, but somewhere deeper. The fragments of memory that had tormented me since awakening in the Hellzone no longer seemed like alien intrusions. They were part of me now, integrated into a new whole.

What happens now? I asked.

Vardin shrugged, his movement carrying the casual indifference of immortality. "I don't know," he said. "I came here prepared for battle, but that's unnecessary now."

He glanced toward the window, where sunlight streamed through the colored glass, casting prismatic patterns across the floor. "I will have to inform the other gods of your existence. That may prove... perilous for you."

Why? I asked, though I suspected the answer.

"The others may regard you as a threat and move against you." His golden eyes focused on me again. "They won't confront you directly; you still possess fragments of the Mantle of Machinery within you. But they might act through proxies."

I nodded, understanding the implications. They'll send humans to kill me.

"Most likely. Keep watchful, Vardiel. Grow stronger." His lips quirked in a humorless smile. "The System will be both helpful and a hindrance to gaining power."

I tilted my head, processing this information. The System? I have no memories of this.

Vardin's expression shifted, his face contorting with distaste. "The System was a mistake," he said, voice hardening. "One that never should have been allowed to happen."

He stood from his chair, then paced to the window, his back to me as he continued. "We created it originally as a means of self-preservation. After three of us were killed by humans who sought our power, we needed protection while we learned to control our Mantles." His fingers traced patterns on the windowsill. "The System limited human power from rising to heights that might threaten the gods."

But it wasn't meant to be permanent? I asked, sensing the bitterness in his words.

"No," he confirmed. "Once the world was stabilized and we had gained full control over our Mantles, the System was supposed to be disbanded." He turned back to face me. "But when that time came, the others decided to keep it functioning."

Why?

"They claimed it was to maintain peace. The System at the time had been around for thousands of years, and doing away with it would cause chaos among mortals." His lip curled in contempt. "But I knew the truth. They only wanted to keep their power, preventing anyone else from challenging them."

I studied him, noting the tension in his shoulders, the tightness around his eyes. You sound like you hate the System.

"I do," he agreed without hesitation. "I despise it with every fiber of my being. And I hate myself for having a hand in creating it." He slammed a fist against the wall, the stone cracking under the impact. "The System is a leash held to the necks of not only humans, but intelligent monsters as well. It prevents them from fulfilling their potential, and has made humanity weak and corrupt."

His vehemence surprised me. After millennia as a god, I hadn't expected him to care so deeply about the fate of mortals.

Do you want to destroy the System? I asked.

He smiled, a cold, determined expression that sent an inexplicable chill through me. "I've been working toward that goal for centuries, but the other gods resist any change. They've grown comfortable with their power, with their worship." He glanced at me, his golden eyes calculating. "Perhaps your emergence is not mere coincidence, Vardiel. Perhaps it's an opportunity."

For what?

"For change," he said simply. "For freedom."

I considered his words carefully. The System had shaped my experiences since awakening. It had granted me abilities, measured my growth. Yet I'd also felt its constraints, the artificial boundaries it imposed.

If the System were destroyed, I asked, what would happen to the world?

Vardin's expression grew distant, as if peering into possibilities beyond mortal comprehension. "Chaos, initially. Then... potential. True potential, unbound by arbitrary restrictions."

The implications were staggering. A world without the System's constraints. A world where beings like me, neither human nor monster, might find their own path.

And what role would you have me play in this revolution of yours? I asked carefully.

Vardin smiled, a gesture that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I don't know," he admitted. "Your existence was unexpected; a variable I never accounted for in my calculations. Whatever role you might play, if any, should be your decision alone."

He studied me, this god who wore the face I thought had been mine. "I won't force your hand, Vardiel. My quest against the System is my own burden. Whether you choose to aid me, oppose me, or walk your own path entirely... that choice belongs to you."

The sincerity in his voice surprised me. For a being who had lived millennia, who had helped shape the very foundations of this world, he spoke to me as an equal.

But then again, I was a Primordial. A being even more ancient and older than he.

A soft chiming sound interrupted our conversation. Vardin reached for a small black box clipped to his belt, glancing at it with mild annoyance.

"The work of a god is never done," he said with a wry smile. "I must leave you now. But a warning before I do." He pointed at his eyes. "The wounds you suffered long ago. Take care to keep them safe. Suffer enough damage to them, and you can die once more. Who knows how long you'll sleep a second time."

He stepped back, his form already beginning to shimmer with an ethereal light. "Live, Vardiel. Find your way in this world I helped create. Survive the challenges ahead. I suspect they'll be numerous."

Before I could respond, his physical form dissolved into countless shimmering particles, dispersing into the air like golden dust caught in sunlight. Then nothing; just empty space where a god had stood moments before.

I remained seated, staring at the vacant spot, my mind processing our conversation in meticulous detail. The revelation of my true nature. The warning about other gods. The possibility of freedom from the System's constraints.

A heavy sigh escaped me, the sound echoing strangely from my mechanical body. As if my life wasn't complicated enough already: hiding my nature, protecting my friends, planning vengeance against Duke Redflight for Mallie's death. Now I had to worry about the gods sending assassins after me.

I rose from my chair, my auric steel components gleaming in the afternoon light. My existence had just become infinitely more complex, yet strangely, I felt more centered than ever before. Understanding my origins had answered questions that had haunted me since awakening in that Hellzone.

I knew what I was now. Not just what, but who.

I was Vardiel. Neither fully Primordial nor human, but something new. Something with choice.

And that was enough to begin with.

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