Milliways lake area, October 19th

[watchmakers_son]

Dusk's settling over the lake. It's been much colder lately, but Sylar's aware of it as a distance: objective observation rather than subjective experience.

He wears his coat anyway. It's a comfortable weight, an extra layer of protection over his stomach.

And for once, apparently, the forge is occupied.

"Zuko."

Comments

[watchmakers_son]

"I had a guide as well, when I began."

His eyes are blank, face completely impassive. A second passes before he inclines his head.

"Well," he amends. "In a manner of speaking." Sylar's gaze ticks away, briefly, then returns to Zuko. "They can show you paths that are incorrect, Zuko; ones that don't work. And they'll never realize it.

"It's part of mankind's destiny to evolve: to forge its own path, diverting from ones that have been laid down before. If you're that unhappy with yours..."

He leans in, the last words dropping to a low hiss.

"Then listen, and look around you, and change it."

[princeinexile]

Paths that are incorrect.

It's time for you to look inward, and begin asking yourself the big questions! Who are you, and what do you want?

"It is not that simple," he says, looking away, eyes on some point in the middle distance, seeing someone who is not here.

Leave it behind.

"I don't have that answer yet. Those questions are still -- being asked." He is evolving; Sylar looks upon a person in that delicate state of flux, at the crossroads of destiny.

Does he stay, the perfect nephew, the son-that-was-lost-and-was-returned? Lu Ten's replacement-- never good enough to be the original-- but-- but--

"We'll have to see what happens when the door opens. But for now," he glances over, and then fetches the bucket he'd brought out here to drench himself with, "You have learned what you can. But you need to be stronger. You don't know your own limbs. Maybe practicing with your flesh instead of with your fire might help you. You cannot neglect one strength; you never know when it might fail you."

Or when it might be the least important thing in the world; firebending does nothing when day is black like night, but a pair of swords in skilled hands do not care how bright the sun shines.

[watchmakers_son]

His non-physical strength has served him well enough in the past. Grudgingly, though, Sylar finds he may have to concede Zuko's point: physical strength has its benefits.

Especially when tied into the less common strengths.

Nevertheless, there's a mild, mocking disdain in the upturn to his lips, and the nod he gives Zuko is rather disingenuous. "And I suppose I should wish you luck in finding your own strength," he says. "If you can."

He turns, and begins the walk back to Milliways.

(It's somewhat slower than when he first came outside. He still aches, more than he'd care to admit, from the session.)

[princeinexile]

Zuko's gaze does not sharpen; his arms are strong from the rise and fall of the hammer, and he has learned some nuance and twist to the bending. Watching -- sparring against -- Toph and Katara, in the past, has aided him.

Milliways, in general, has made him stronger.

"Don't forget your end of the bargain," he calls after.

The strength that is genetics and science. He will want those. He will want to understand. But--

Not now. There are other things now; walking back to the forge to put things away, to close it up for the night (till Ryan inevitably musses it up), to find the dogs and to go and to run, and --

--and to think.

Think a lot.