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It was an easy task for him, this kind of scribbling. A thoughtful task that hardly required thought, anymore. Countless years of paperwork had turned this type of thing into a mindless habit for him, even when the subject matter was this important.

Wars were always like this for him. Writing up letters, orders, reports, invoices, filling out forms, creating entirely new forms for others to fill out.

He enjoyed it all, of course, though for different reasons than he used to.

In his youth, he loved it for the meticulous precision that it afforded. The detail-oriented approach to problem solving. Much could be revealed with a bit of attentive bookkeeping.

But these days, he instead found it peaceful. Having done it so much for so long, attention wasn't particularly necessary, anymore. Even when using it for problem solving, incredibly enough.

Problems during war were rhythmic. Patterned. Familiar and recognizable. Jackson knew what to look for. And even in the rare instances when some new issue appeared, the numbers often made for quite the trail of breadcrumbs to follow. Always simple enough.

And that was the greatest headache for schemers like Jercash. Not an insurmountable problem, of course, but still quite the burden, nonetheless. Jercash knew how Jackson operated. He knew that Jackson would see right through his plans unless he offered up all sorts of feints and misleading numbers.

But Jackson, in turn, knew how Jercash operated, too. Old tricks wouldn't work. Strange shipping manifests? A curious weather report? A mysterious sighting? Odd rumors?

All bogus.

The greater trends were the key. The movement of people, for example. Or the lack thereof, even.

A sudden influx of rural townsfolk into the big city. A sudden absence of movement across state lines. A border guard's report could tell quite a story.

Which was what he was working on. He'd already sent out orders to alter the hourly check-ins with new details. The guards were not going to be happy with the extra nuisance, but the ones who didn't comply would earn themselves a visit from an inspection team.

Or more, if there were other red flags.

Such as in the eastern Intarian states of Lino, Brent, and Cairil. Jackson had already routed Jercash's forces from that little tri-state region once before, so there should've been no more red flags, but apparently, Jercash was under the impression that Jackson wouldn't think to check there a second time.

Page 4149

Avar's apparent eagerness was only making Jackson even more reluctant to go meet Sermung.

Even though a part of him was already en route. Technically.

He had a wisp nearby. A burning shadow--a primitive aspect of his own consciousness. It was moving closer to observe, and Jackson was not telling it to stop.

There wasn't much point, he supposed. Even if he didn't make contact at all, Sermung would seek him out soon enough. Avar was going to get the meeting he wanted, one way or another.

Better to remain focused on the task at hand. The many tasks, actually.

The situation here in Intar was a mess, of course, thanks to Jercash. Playing constant mind games. Trying to sow seeds of madness all over the country.

It had been a back-and-forth with him, these past few weeks. Jackson may not have been at his best recently, but that still hadn't stopped him from being able to thwart the Knife's incessant attempts at psychological warfare.

Hyozen, Jackson's reaper, had even remarked on multiple occasions that taking a reduced role on the frontline was actually the ideal way to fight Jercash. It made it easier to look at the bigger picture, rather than getting caught up in individual battles.

As if Jackson actually needed such a reminder. The reaper was just trying to find any excuse to comfort him, no doubt.

In truth, Jackson knew that he had his subordinates to thank. When he told them to do something, they sure as hell got it done. In fact, they seemed even more motivated than usual, which was a bit odd. Wasn't seeing their leader in such a sorry state supposed to be demoralizing?

Not for Reeves, Bohann, or Judith, apparently.

Perhaps their concern for him made them feel like they needed to step up. They did all have good hearts, didn't they? Good heads on their shoulders, too. If nothing else, he could at least take solace in the pride of watching them flourish.

Heh. Or perhaps they can tell that nothing is truly wrong with you. Perhaps they can tell that you are, in fact, more powerful than ever before.

Jackson ignored the argument. He was in the middle of an important missive. Thankfully, the many distractions on his mind were not slowing down the movement of his pen at all.

Page 4148 -- CCCXXVIII.

There was something quite hostile behind those words, Hector sensed. The other man's aura was all but announcing that he wanted to use the Ceese against him.

To slime him back, almost certainly.

Hector could think of worse fates, though. He was more concerned with trying to achieve his objective here. Even if everything Garovel had said was true, he still didn't want to just give up.

That man over there needed help. And even if Hector didn't know how to provide it, he intended to keep trying until he figured it out.


Chapter Three Hundred Twenty-Eight: 'The burdens of Stars...'
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He could hardly believe his senses. There'd been so many threads to follow. So many things to juggle. But now, he was thoroughly distracted. That was no good thing. He kept having to resist the impulse to drop everything he was doing and go meet up with the High Commander for the first time in years.

Or was it decades? Surely not. The older he got, the more difficult it became to gauge how quickly time was passing. He'd already lost track of his own age, and he was only in the mid-three hundred range.

Jackson felt like he was finally beginning to understand what it must have been like for Sermung all this time.

Carrying so much weight. Feeling stretched across the horizon of time. Wondering how much of himself was still... himself.

And more than ever, he wondered if Sermung had ever dealt with a problem like Avar.

These so-called "Primordials." Jackson had heard about them plenty of times over the centuries, of course, but it was occurring to him now that Sermung had never discussed them with him. Despite having so many opportunities to.

And despite the fact that--as Avar's memories were now informing him--these Primordials had certainly tried to parley with Sermung over the years.

But he is unapproachable, don't you see? Quite literally, if he so desires.

All who make contact with him either forget him... or die. Their vision, blocked. Their wills, suppressed.

Jackson bristled internally. He disliked carrying an actual conversation with Avar, but now he was simply too curious not to ask. If all of that was true, then why do you remember him, Avar?

Only because you do. We are already as one, despite your endless protestations.

Jackson clenched his jaw, not appreciating that answer very much.

Through you, we might finally be able to open a direct dialogue with him. Don't you see?

Shut up.