Аннотация: Saren meets Naylus at the Eden Prime spaceport and thinks he has killed him.
The wind rustled softly, whipping up sand and fine gray dust from the spaceport slabs, and a fire crackled: a small modular house was burning down nearby. The Ruler, wrapped in scarlet discharges of energy, hummed habitually, looming like a black shadow in the sky. The passive influence of the Reaper weighed on the mind, causing aching pain in the temples. A familiar one. It was familiar, as was the constant invisible presence of the ancient being with whom chance had brought him eighteen years ago.
The tall Turian closed his glowing eyes, twitched his mandibles in mute irritation: the dry air tickled his throat, the artificial lung, as always, did not provide enough oxygen and it was difficult to breathe. The old, never-healing wounds from the implants rejected by the body ached steadily, the familiar tickle of regeneration: nanites worked, patching up a failing organism. Saren paced around the small spaceport, waiting for the Geth to finish their work and leave this planet. One more step towards his goal, which remains illusory. No matter what he did, everything depended not on him, but on the creature hanging in the air, which he had long ago mistaken for an ordinary, albeit ancient ship.
His hands clenched into fists.
Once again, there were doubts about the correctness of the choice made. Subjugating and branding a traitor for the promise of an ancient being who has claimed more lives than he can imagine.
Is it worth it?
He shook his head irritably, dismissing his doubts.
Freedom, reputation, honor, life... decay, a meager price to pay for the chance of survival for his kind.
"Saren?"
A confused voice, full of immense amazement, came from behind. A native voice, familiar to the last overtone and shade of intonation. A voice that he couldn't, shouldn't, hear here! Saren turned slowly, feeling his breath catch in his throat.
"Nihlus."
A name that sounded like a sentence. His thoughts raced through his mind like an alarmed flock, his heart began to pound sharply, and his hands trembled slightly.
Nihlus. What are you doing here? Why... HOW did you end up on this planet? Why now? Why didn't you come at least a couple of hours later? Why did you come to Eden Prime?
"WHY?"
"WHY NOW?!!"
Fear gripped his soul, icy breath rushing down his spine. The fear is not for himself - he is already doomed. Fear for the one he had been trying to protect from the ancient creature's attention for years, ever since a young kinsman had stood next to him and automatically been hit.
*He's a threat.* - a heavy, oppressive thought.
The Lord. The fear intensified, the fingers clenched into fists and unclenched again. The emotions subsided. A moment of weakness that did not pass by the attention of an ancient being.
* He's dangerous to you.* a cold voice, penetrating to the depths of the soul, in which the order was clearly read.
Yes, it is dangerous! He raised him himself, taught him himself. He forged a promising teenager from the Council Spectr, an excellent warrior. Self...
"This is not your mission." The student's voice cut through his nerves. "What are you doing here?"
The weapon in his strong hand lowered trustfully, staring at the spaceport slabs.
Saren approached his friend, gazing intently into the bright green eyes, looking questioningly, demanding and... with trust. Complete. Absolutely. Without implying even a shadow of doubt about who it was given to.
As always.
The pressure on his mind increased.
* Destroy the threat.* It would be better if Nihlus hated him... He should have raised him differently...
The bloody light of sunset slowly darkened in his eyes, turning a heavy crimson. His head went blank. Saren gritted his teeth, resisting the order that was hitting his mind.
Go away, Nihlus! Remember WHAT I told you the last time we met!
REMEMBER!
"The council decided that you should... A little help would be nice." a blatant, demonstrative lie easily slipped off the tongue.
Saren put his hand on his shoulder, tightly squeezed his trembling fingers on the armor.
Think, Kraik! Think!
I lied to you, looking into your eyes! Won't you understand? I taught you! I've been hammering the cruel laws of this world into your hot-tempered head! I've told you so many times - think! Doubt it! DON'T BELIEVE IT! Don't trust anyone. Even for me.
Especially for me!
Saren moved away from the student, froze in place, trying to regain his clarity of thought and overcome his increasing submission. In the reflection on the sheet of metal, he saw the back of a student who turned trustfully, quickly scanning the surroundings in search of a threat.
You're looking in the wrong place...
The hands dropped by themselves. He doesn't doubt it. It didn't even occur to him that a mentor he trusted more than himself might pose a threat.
"I didn't expect to find Geth here." honest, sincere words. "The situation has become more complicated."
Nihlus... You can't even imagine HOW complicated it has just become.
Saren tried to calm his treacherous trembling. The student got distracted talking to someone who got in touch at such an inopportune moment.
He knew what he had to do. The roar of the Lord's voice reverberated in his mind, and under this roar, hopes and illusions that had been cherished for so long crumbled to dust.
* He will lead you to fall. He's a threat. He will disrupt our plans. He's a nuisance. The interference MUST be removed.*
The student's figure froze, as if he was petrified.
"I understood." a dry, cracked voice.
Understood. You realized too late, Nihlus... A familiar shudder went through his body, and his vision went dark. Student... No, his BROTHER started to turn around. Gradually. It was as if he didn't believe what he had just learned.
"Don't worry." The words of the Lord came out of his throat against his will.
The hand rose, overcoming the desperate resistance of the owner.
"I'm in control of everything."
Shot. Shot. Shot.
He watched with unseeing eyes as the body of the one who had trusted him infinitely fell with a split chest onto the gray dusty slabs. Someone who was more than a friend and a student to him... who was like a brother to him.
Memories that he could not forget appeared before his eyes: his older brother, talking to him on the line moments before his death.
Twenty-six years ago, on his orders, he killed his older brother, who was subordinate to the artifact... Right now... A croaking, hoarse, half-crazed laugh escaped from his throat.
Saren came up, literally collapsed on one knee next to a dying student, a friend... his brother.
"Saren..."
A quiet, squawking, blood-choking voice, confused, full of misunderstanding and surprise...
Emotions churned, breaking the imposed control: hatred, rage, anger, and a sharp pain that drowned out everything, knocking sparks out of his eyes. His hand darted to the massive black-and-red pistol, darkening invitingly on the light plate, and his fingers tightened on the comfortable handle.
"I'm sorry, brother..." The words never came out of his cramped throat, which made only a rattle.
The arm rose abruptly, in jerky, convulsive jerks, through force, breaking the resistance, just like a couple of moments ago. The heavy, massive pistol seemed to take on an incommensurable weight, pulling the hand down to the ground. The voice of the Lord was rumbling in his head, demanding to come to his senses, commanding, forcing him to obey, his body was losing its sensitivity, refusing to obey the orders of his mind. The gun rose to the required height, the cold muzzle touched the warm skin under his chin. The finger twitched, pressing on the pliable plate, choosing a free course, and... stopped.
The Turian was petrified for a split second, froze in the middle of the movement, and then, with a sharp reflex movement, hung the pistol on his hip grip, turned around and, without turning around, walked away to the train. Wherever the Lord's will led him.
The steady hum was a painful throb in his head: the Reaper was flying away from the planet. There was an emptiness in his soul, a hollow silence in his mind. He didn't think, he forbade himself to think.
I just sat in an armchair, covering his eyes with his palm, and in his mind's eye the memory played over and over again: his sworn brother falling on the gray slabs of a human spaceport with a mortal wound in his chest, an astonished, disbelieving voice spitting out the name of the question with blood: "Saren"... and in the green eyes - all the same trust and misunderstanding. The trust he betrayed...
The Lord was suspiciously silent. There was no usual heavy pressure on the mind. It was as if he had been left alone.
The fingers twitched convulsively.
They usually talked after each mission. Long. Analyzing the mistakes made, agreeing on further plans for the near future. The Reaper never refused to talk to him, sometimes answering unasked questions, reacting sensitively to the slightest change in his condition. He calmed, convinced, and gave me confidence in my choice. But not now. The Lord was silent now.