She drinks of the Dyne, and she peers into the infinite, and suddenly, everything becomes clear. The impossible becomes child play, reality itself bending to her touch, full of power and wonder and science.
There is a new god queen, the Undying Heterodyne, and the world looks on, worried, and with more than a slight relief that it was her and not any of her ancestors to gain such power. Still, the thought of a Heterodyne with power to rival Queen Albia is a terrifying thought.
Not, of course, that there is anyone with the strength to stop her, now.
He drinks the Jagerbrau. He’s not the only one to do so, not the only one who swears themself into Agatha’s service, but he is the first.
His body does not change all that much, but then, his father’s experimentations had made him not quite human. His teeth are sharper, his fingers turned into claws, but he does not feel all that different. He knows he is stuck in the first stage of a fugue.He doesn’t feel stuck. He feels like he belongs.
The Jagers will serve the Heterodyne until the end. He stands by her, until the end.
He does not drink the Jagerbrau. Agatha may have increased the rates, but he knows himself better than that.
He does not drink from the dyne. For all that he wishes he could see what Agatha now does, he knows himself better than that.
There is no plan, no scheme. He knows what his life is worth, knows that the time he has is more than enough. He dies. He dies more loved than he ever thought he would be.
The thing that may be him lives on. If it thinks it is a lie, a copy, it never tells.