Re-Awakened :I Ascend as an SSS-Ranked Dragon Summoner Chapter 813: God of Jesters

Particles gathered in the dark above a dune line, pink light bleeding into existence one fleck at a time until it resolved into a girl who looked, for all the world, like she’d wandered out of a shopping mall rather than out of nothing at all.

Pink hair. Pink dress trimmed in something that caught the low light like sugar catching sun. Pink boots that had never once touched dirt and clearly had no intention of starting now. And underneath all of it, a smile that arrived the same instant her face did, easy and total, as though smiling were simply the default state of existing and everything else required effort.

Beside her, a second shape gathered more slowly, resolving into a man in a crisp officer’s coat, buttons catching the same dim light.

Consider the strangeness of it, for a moment. The first lady of the Ark, humanity’s quiet symbol of resistance, the woman who stood beside the most powerful man alive and gave his war a human face to love, standing on a dead red world in a solar system that didn’t officially exist on any Earth chart, dressed like she’d stepped out of a birthday party.

"Where to first, First Lady," Hendricks said, straightening his coat with two precise tugs.

Gigarose went still.

The smile stayed exactly where it was, which somehow made the stillness worse.

"Drop the act," she said, and her voice, when it came, arrived quiet enough that he had to lean the smallest fraction toward her to catch every word, quiet in the particular way that made a person’s whole body go tense waiting for the volume to return. "We are not on the Ark, Hendricks. There is no petty little institution here for you to perform your loyalty in front of. No cameras. No generals scribbling in their little notebooks, congratulating themselves on their access to power. Just sand, and you, and me."

"My apologies, my lord," he said, bowing his head. "I’ve worn the part so long I sometimes lose the seam between the mask and whatever’s underneath it."

"That should concern you a great deal more than it apparently does," she said, and something flickered under the words this time, not warmth exactly, closer to the particular fondness a collector felt for a very old, very fragile thing they’d grown used to having around. "But I suppose that’s rather the point of you, isn’t it. A god who forgets he’s a god makes an excellent servant."

"Is that what I am today," Hendricks said. "A servant."

"You’re whatever I decide you are the moment I decide it," Gigarose said, and now the register shifted properly, light again, almost girlish, the earlier chill folding itself away as easily as it had arrived. "Today you’re my escort. Tomorrow you might be a corpse. The day after that, perhaps a king somewhere with excellent taste in architecture. I contain multitudes, Hendricks. So, apparently, do you, though yours are considerably more borrowed than mine."

A disk unfolded beneath them, thin and circular, pale light running along its rim, and Hendricks stepped onto it first, offering a hand she ignored entirely, floating on herself with the casual disregard of someone who had never once needed help with anything in the whole of recorded time.

The disk began to glide forward, low over the dunes.

"You’re doing the thing with your face again," she said, glancing sideways at him.

"What thing, my lord."

"The face where you’re pretending you enjoy this."

"I don’t know what you mean."

"You do the little tightening at the jaw," she said, and reached over and pressed one finger against his cheek, right at the hinge of it, "right there. You did the same thing when you were war minister in that grubby little bronze age kingdom, the one with the excellent wine and the atrocious drainage. You always get that look right before you say something you’ve decided is clever."

"I would never presume to think anything of mine was clever in your presence, my lord."

"There it is again."

He said nothing to that, and the disk carried them on in a long, smooth arc across the dunes, the distant lights of the settlement beginning to flicker into view through the haze ahead.

"Tell me something," she said, settling into a slower, more contemplative register now, the kind she used, he’d learned over centuries, when she was actually thinking rather than simply performing thought for his benefit. "Do you know what I could do to a boy like Noah Eclipse, if I decided today was the day."

"I’ve never asked, my lord."

"You’ve never asked because you’re afraid of the answer," she said. "That’s alright. Most things are. I could take everything he’s ever said, every word that’s ever left that boy’s mouth, and I could hollow it out until his own silence started screaming louder than his voice ever managed. I could smear him thin enough across the stars that his own dragons would forget the shape of him within a generation. I could unmake him so thoroughly that the concept of Noah Eclipse simply stopped being a sentence anyone’s language knew how to finish."

Hendricks kept his eyes forward.

"Why don’t you," he said, careful, the question arriving soft enough that it might have been mistaken for rhetorical if either of them had wanted it to be.

"Because that’s not actually killing him," she said, and her voice dropped again, the quiet register, the dangerous one. "That’s just theater. Loud, satisfying theater, and I’ve indulged in plenty of it across a great many centuries, but it’s not the thing itself. You cannot kill what he’s carrying by ending the vessel. You have to catch the thing at its brightest, its truest, fully unwrapped from whatever mortal shape it’s currently borrowing, and hold it there long enough to finish it properly. Anything less just teaches it a new hiding place."

"You’ve done this before," Hendricks said. "The catching."

"I’ve done everything before," Gigarose said. "That’s rather the tragedy of being me, Hendricks. Nothing is new. Everything is simply a variation I haven’t gotten fully bored of yet."

The disk dipped lower, and she looked out at the growing shape of the settlement with an expression that had drifted somewhere unreadable, somewhere between amusement and appetite.

"You’ve worn a great many faces across a great many years," she said, circling back, lighter again. "Tell me which one you actually liked. Out of everything I’ve let you become."

"Commander Hendricks," he said.

She laughed properly this time, loud, delighted, the sound carrying oddly far across the empty dunes. "This one? Out of everything? You’ve been a king, Hendricks. You’ve been three separate popes, one of them genuinely excellent, if history had bothered to record him properly. You were an admiral in a war fought on an ocean that hasn’t existed for eleven thousand years. And your favorite, out of all of it, is a mid-tier bureaucrat filing casualty reports on a floating tin can full of men who talk entirely too much in meetings."

"There’s a certain quiet dignity to it, my lord."

"There is nothing dignified about General Kross’s meeting minutes."

"I disagree, my lord. I find the structure soothing."

"You find the structure soothing," she repeated, drawing each word out slow, tasting it like something faintly absurd. "This is what I get. This is precisely what I get for sparing the god of jesters and tomfoolery out of an entire dying pantheon, and this is what he does with the mercy. He develops a fondness for committee procedure."

"I contain multitudes, my lord."

"You contain nothing," she said, and this time the warmth left entirely, every trace of it, the sentence arriving flat and absolute and colder than anything that had come before it. "You are a shape. A very old, very worn shape that I let wear a name because it amuses me to watch you get attached to the names. Don’t confuse the affection you feel for a role with anything that actually belongs to you. You are nobody, Hendricks. You have been nobody since the moment I decided to let you keep existing. That is precisely why you are useful to me, and precisely why you will remain useful, so long as you never once forget it."

Hendricks’s jaw tightened, the same small motion she’d teased him for minutes earlier, and this time he made no effort to hide it at all.

"Yes, my lord," he said, and his voice stayed perfectly polished even now, betraying nothing beneath the words themselves. "Of course. Whom am I, if not what you’ve made me."

The warmth returned instantly, a switch flipped back on, and she reached over and patted his arm twice, fond now, almost maternal.

"Good boy," she said.

They floated in silence for a stretch after that, a settlement’s lights climbing brighter through the haze, dark structures rising against the horizon, and Hendricks kept his eyes forward, composure restored, whatever had cracked a moment ago folded neatly back into whatever drawer he kept these things in.

"Do you know why we’re here," she said eventually.

"I assumed you’d tell me when it mattered, my lord."

"It matters now."

"Then I’m listening."

"The Rowes believe I favor them," she said, and something delighted crept back into her voice, the particular delight she reserved for things she found genuinely, richly amusing. "Isn’t that funny. They’ve never once asked themselves why Arthur listens to me. Not truly asked, the way you ask a question you actually want answered rather than one you’re afraid of. They’ve simply accepted it the way you accept water runs downhill. ’Arthur respects her. Therefore we should too’ Never once wondering what exactly it is they’re respecting."

"Ignorance has its uses, my lord."

"It does," she agreed. "It’s kept them breathing this long."

"And will it continue to."

She smiled, wide and delighted, the same expression she’d worn the instant she first resolved out of nothing above the dunes.

"That depends entirely on what I find when we land," she said. "I’ve heard interesting things about this particular world. About what they’ve been keeping underneath it."

Hendricks’s composure held perfectly steady, but something in the set of his shoulders shifted, attentive now in a way it hadn’t been through the whole flight.

"The mining operation," he said.

"The mining operation," she agreed, "is not mining anything, Hendricks. Not in the sense the word usually implies."

"What is it, my lord."

"That’s the interesting part," she said, and her voice went quiet again, thoughtful, genuinely uncertain in a way that felt, somehow, more unsettling than any of her cruelty had. "I don’t fully know yet either. Which is precisely why we’ve come all this way ourselves, instead of simply having someone describe it to me secondhand and calling that knowledge."

The disk slowed as they crossed the outer perimeter, guards below glancing up briefly before returning to their patrols without alarm, as though whatever passed for security here had long ago been told that whatever arrived uninvited was never, under any circumstance, worth raising a hand against.

"They’ll recognize you," Hendricks said.

"They’ll recognize an old friend of Arthur’s," Gigarose said. "Which happens to be close enough to true that I won’t need to lie about a single word of it. That’s always the best kind of deception, Hendricks. The kind that requires no lying at all."

"A lesson you’ve taught me many times, my lord."

"And yet you still call me First Lady the moment my back is turned."

"An isolated incident, my lord."

"We’ll see."

The disk touched down at the settlement’s edge, sand shifting beneath it, and Gigarose stepped off first, boots settling onto the ground without leaving so much as a mark behind her, and looked out at the dark towers rising ahead with an expression that had gone, for the first time since she’d arrived on this world, genuinely, completely still.

"I could kill TWO birds," she said, quiet, almost to herself. "Perhaps more, depending on what’s actually waiting down there."

Hendricks fell into step half a pace behind her, exactly where he always walked, exactly where he had walked across every version of himself she had ever permitted him to become.

"Shall I announce us, my lord," he said, "or would you prefer to simply walk in."

"Announce us," she said. "Let them believe, for one more moment, that they ever had a choice in the matter."

She started forward, unhurried, toward the settlement’s main gate, and Hendricks followed, already composing whatever introduction the moment required, the same practiced ease he’d carried into a thousand rooms across a thousand years, playing whatever part was asked of him, right up until the point it stopped mattering to either of them whether any part of what remained underneath had ever truly been his own.