Part three and the last of the KouDranathou series. It is set in Kentytii and has spoilers for the Drao series (which is unnamed as of yet). This was written as an experiment in an alternate POV from the main one (Drao's) and how the Kenverites viewed their ordeal. It is rather old, so the writing is not the best!

The Ravan was the Leader.

The Ravan was the Leader!

Impossible! KetEreto wanted to shout. The Ravan is a spirit, a thing! It cannot be the Leader! It cannot be the one that led us! But there was no denying it. Anyone could recognize the strange patterns covering the Leader's face. Anyone could recognize the Leader's tall form, unique hair style, way of speech, and quiet authority. Anyone could recognize the features so similar to his own. Anyone. Even when one believed the Ravan was a myth. "H—You—Leader?"

The Leader, once Ravan, shook his head. "Once, but no longer. You, KetEreto, are the Leader now."

KetEreto gaped. How—how could—how could this be? He had so many questions he couldn't think straight. Why did the Leader make him the Leader? How was it—he—the Ravan? What was the Ravan? He strangled the quill in his hand, the fragile shaft snapping. "W—why?" he choked out.

The Leader gestured around them. "For generations, the Leader was the Ravan, and passed his wings to the Weft. I am no exception. But I know of the world outside the Ravan's darkness and I do not wish it to continue." The Leader looked at him, his eyes flashing blue again.

"So long as my line keeps the Highest Spire, the possibility of another Ravan remains. I do not want the Ravan's death to rise again, so I will break the line. I will set to rest the Ravan's wings. You are the Leader now. Your line will lead Kentytii onto a better path."

A flash of red filled KetEreto's vision and heat gusted into his lungs. "No!" He slammed his fist onto the desk, making the parchments on it jump. "No Leader—No Leader steps down from his power!" Why would he? What sane person would give all that up? It couldn't be right. There must be some other reason. Some other plan. Leaders just—do not just step down!

The Leader half smiled, as if he found KetEreto's outburst amusing. Well, it was not. Leaders were above emotion! Above amusement! "And I am no Leader, KetEreto. Not anymore."

"No," KetEreto snarled through gritted teeth. "You ARE the Leader!" He swept a hand out, jabbing a finger at the Leader, vermillion clouding his vision. "YOU are worth more than me! YOU are in the right line! YOU are the rightful Leader!"

The corner of the Leader's mouth twitched upwards. Instead of responding, he reached up with one hand and rubbed at the markings on his face, black paint smudging and flaking away.

KetEreto, like the rest of Kentytii had always wondered why their strange Leader painted patterns onto his face. Why they never saw him without them; how the paint sometimes glowed in the darkness along with his eyes. But he, along with the rest of Kentytii, always thought it was just the way Leaders were; mysterious. Emotionless. Power literally shining through his eyes, able to make paint glow at will.

But as the Leader lowered his hand, fingers smeared black, face fully revealing three vertical scars across the left side of his face, KetEreto knew that it was not the way of the Leader. Not the way of a Leader at all, but the Traitor.

"YOU!" He snatched his sword and lunged over the desk, aiming for that—that—man's heart. His blade never made it there. Just like the first time KetEreto met this man, he never saw the movement—or the weapon—that cut his sword in half. Nor did he see the blow that sent the last of his sword out of his hands or the movement that left him pinned to his desk, nose to nose with the Traitor.

KetEreto jerked away, a red storm swirling around him. The scars! It was him, it was the Traitor. The Traitor that betrayed them to SecondHome—to Rivier. The Traitor that must die. "You! You are the Traitor! You betrayed us!"

The Traitor held him firmly, eyes glittering in the setting sun's light. "I am the one you call a Traitor," he said softly, firmly. "I did betray Kentytii. I do not want to hide it any longer, so I cannot be the Leader, KetEreto. You are now the Leader, I have said so. Kentytii has said so."

KetEreto heaved for breath, glaring at the three vertical scars slicing through the Traitor's left eyebrow and eye. The scars that said to all the world, 'this is the Traitor. Kill him.' And he wanted to follow its command. He wanted to kill the Traitor. But it was not simple as that. It was not black and white. The Traitor was not just the Traitor. He was the Leader. He was the Ravan.

How was that possible? How did he have three such different identities? How could one person be the Ravan, a deadly myth, the Traitor, the one everyone wanted to kill, and the Leader, the one who was not dead and apparently helped him, KetEreto, to win against the Rivierians. It was simply—simply—he could not wrap his head around it all.

He pulled at his arms, and the—Traitor? Ravan? Leader?—let him go. He stumbled away from the desk, nearly tripping over the heavy carved chair. Ravan. Traitor. Leader. Ravan, Traitor, Leader! How could—how did—He shook his head, snarling under his breath and fisting his fingers in his hair. "Who— who are you?" His voice cracked and he growled at himself for showing such weakness.

"KouDranathou."

KetEreto whipped around, eyes flashing. "You have another identity?" How many were there? What was next? Was he going to find out that this person was once a Jigglosakt? A Riverian? Getho! Maybe even a filthy SecondHomer! Anything was possible. Anything!

The—whoever he was—smiled ruefully. "That is just my name, not a title."

"Leaders do not—" KetEreto cut himself off with a sharp shake of his head. This—KouDranathou—was not the Leader. Not the Ravan. But he was the Traitor. The pressure burning in his lungs lessened a little. KouDranathou was something. Something solid he knew. Even if it was the Traitor of Kentytii. "Why are—why have you only told me this now?"

It had been months since their first encounter. Months and KouDranathou had let him believe that he was the Ravan. Why now? Why did he reveal all this now? He narrowed his eyes. Why now? Because he, KetEreto, was officially the Leader now. Because he was in no danger of dying so KouDranathou could leave safely. It made sense. Terrible sense. But it didn't make him any less furious.

For months he thought it was only the Ravan! Months! He even got around to somewhat liking the Ravan, as much as one could like a spirit—or a man pretending to be a spirit—that brought death wherever it went. The Ravan personality had been strange at times, almost friendly, but at least it stayed in the realms of possibility. But now...the Leader, the Traitor. He did not know what to think. No, he had too much to think. All too much.

KouDranathou scrutinised his face. "I believe you know why." He bent, scooping up the discarded cloak from the floor, neatly folding it over his arm. The empty eyes of the Ravan's mask gazed at him darkly, hanging limply from its dark fabric.

KetEreto suppressed a shudder and directed a glare at KouDranathou. "No, I do not," he retorted sharply, lifting his chin and straightening his posture. "I believed you were the Ravan, but you were not. I believed you were the Leader, but you are not, instead the Traitor every Kenverite is supposed to kill! I do not know at all who you are or what you want!"

KouDranathou dipped his head, having the audacity to look sheepish. "My apologies, KetEreto, I have not been fair to you. I have grown fond of you during my time as the Ravan, but you must know that I could not reveal myself sooner.

"You would not have trusted me and would not have followed my advice. But that is little reason to keep myself from you for so long. You have my sincere apologies."

KetEreto nearly choked. Apologies? No self-respecting Kenverite—He snorted inwardly. Obviously KouDranathou was not self-respecting. Otherwise, he would not have been here, revealing one secret identity at a time. He spun on his heels and stiffly walked towards the large windows, seething.

He hated this feeling—this lack of biting words to throw back. This boiling in his blood that he could not lash out with. He hated how KouDranathou had stripped every sense he had about himself just like that. He hated how KouDranathou had so easily disarmed him. He hated how he dared not attack again for fear his arm would be the next thing cut in half. He hated how he was floundering. Hated how helpless he felt. How helpless he was.

KetEreto sighed harshly, staring out at the darkening sky. The sun had dipped below the clouds now, illuminating them from below like a giant jigglosatk under a fluffy blanket. "I do not understand you," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone.

KouDranathou glided up beside him, silent as ever. "Many do not," he replied quietly. "Sometimes not even myself."

KetEreto glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes. KouDranathou was staring out the windows, an almost wistful expression softening his usually stiff features. And that was when he knew. Not just sensed or guessed, but knew that KouDranathou was not like anyone else in Kentytii.

Yes, he already knew that—the Kenverite had three different identities, each as important and vital to Kentytii as they were dangerous—but KouDranathou was...fundamentally different. Different in a way that set him apart in everything he did. The way he spoke, the way he moved, the way he now gazed into the twilight as if it held all the answers in the world and he had learned all he needed from it. It was different. Strange. Aggravating.

What did KouDranathou have that he, KetEreto, Leader over Kentytii, did not? What knowledge did he possess that gave him such peace? Because that was what was in KouDranathou's eyes; demeanour; actions. It was peace. Utter certainty. The knowledge that whatever he did, wherever he went, it was...something.

Something. A long time ago, KetEreto had overheard his daughter talking to his wife. "Everyone acts like they're missing something, Meshe. And they can't find it, no matter what they do or where they look. What's that something?" And his wife had no answer. He had no answer. He did not know what that something was. But the one beside him? The one with so many identies? The one with blue eyes? He knew. He had found the something and he was content.

KetEreto glared out at the emerging stars. Was it there KouDranathou got his answers? Was it among the stars—the souls—he harvested and hung in the sky? Or was it in the watery night in which the moons reigned? How often had he looked at the night, searching their depths? How did he know? What had told him?

KetEreto broke out of his thoughts when KouDranathou moved forwards, striding to the wall of windows. He placed a hand on one of the glass planes, running his fingers along the edge of the glass and the frame that held it there. "I have stayed long enough," KouDranathou announced, breaking the silence, glowing gaze seizing his own.

KetEreto scowled. "That is not a door," he growled, tearing his gaze from KouDranathou's face. He did not want to stare at those eyes. He did not want to see the evidence of the something. He also did not want to see him plummet to his death, like he had not when he was the Ravan and jumping seemingly out of every window it—he—came across.

"No, it is not," KouDranathou pleasantly agreed. "However, it is much faster than taking the stairs."

"Much faster to death than the stairs." Unless he tripped and fell down the whole thousand and ten of them. KetEreto brightened a little at that thought. Especially if he were the one to push him down. Now that would be satisfying.

KouDranathou smiled in amusement. He smiled! Actually, fully, genuinely smiled! What kind of Kenverite was he? KetEreto snorted inwardly. He did not want to know the answer. "Do you really believe that I will die?"

"No." KetEreto smoothed his elegantly tailored shirt. "I do not. It would be too easy of a way for you to die."

KouDranathou barked a laugh, a sound so foreign to his ears he nearly flinched. Drat that man! Leaders do not flinch! "KetEreto," he said, voice light and full of amusement. "I did not know you had humour."

KetEreto snorted, narrowing his eyes. "Likewise."

KouDranathou chuckled, turning away from the glass and facing him fully. He sobered—though a twinkle of amusement still flashed in his eyes—baring his neck. "Leader," he intoned, "it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

KetEreto stared at him. Had the former Leader just bared his neck at him?

KouDranathou tilted his head slightly like the bird he had once resembled. "May we see one another again?"

May we see one another again. See one another. Again. Sometime in the future. Face to face meeting. Again. And he was asking for his permission. His permission! Was he not the Leader? The true, rightful Leader? A throb started at KetEreto's temples. This was too much. All too much. He needed to lie down. To think. To try to sort all of this out. He sighed, shaking his head. "You will drop by whenever you deem fit. Then we shall meet, if that is what you wish."

KouDranathou gazed at him for a few beats before nodding. "Until then, KetEreto, Leader." He turned and swiped his fingers across the corner of the glass and frame. With a click, the glass swung open like a door with a howling whoosh. KouDranathou looked over his shoulder at him, smiling, then stepped through the opening.

KetEreto peered cautiously through the opening but KouDranathou was already gone, swallowed up by the clouds. He leaned back, shutting the window. The Ravan, the Leader, the Traitor, gone. Just like that. Gone without a trace. Gone with the something. Gone. Not dead, but gone. Absent.

He turned away from the windows gazing at the luxurious room before him. It was hard to imagine the Leader living here, ordering around Kentytii with all his authority. It was equally difficult to imagine the Ravan gliding along the edges in the shadow, his glowing eyes the only part of him visible.

It was definitely impossible to picture the Traitor reclining on the elegant chairs, peacefully unnoticed by the Shadows. But it was not hard to picture KouDranathou standing by the windows, gazing thoughtfully at the sky, listening to words no one else could hear, gaining knowledge no one else had.

Leader, Ravan, Traitor, KouDranathou. All had been here. All he had seen. But it felt as if they had never been here. Never had touched the room with physical fingers. It was almost as if his presence was as elusive as the something. KetEreto sighed, pushing the matter out of his mind. He was done with thinking for the moment. "FIRST SHADOW?" he yelled into the stillness.

A figure dressed in elegant oranges and blacks emerged. "Yes, Leader?"

"Bring me dinner with Kentytii's best wine."

The First Shadow bared his neck. "Yes, Leader. Right away." He turned and hurried off.

KetEreto ran a hand through his hair and started for the dining room. Getting drunk so soon after being declared the Leader was probably not the best idea, but no one had to know. Plus, he had always wanted to find out what the best wine there was to have.

It was not something fancy he, previously an Obzadax, could acquire and he disliked knowing that there was more fanciness he could not get. Luckily for him, he was the Leader and no fanciness could be denied of him. He allowed himself a small smile. There were perks to being the new Leader.