Kaz, as I’ve come to suspect with great and mounting unease, is the unseen hand behind this act and that one as well, no deed too small, no affair too remote for him to have meddled in it. He did this, yes, and by the gods, he did that too. It has come to my attention and not without considerable dread that Kaz has been uttering things. Things. He speaks of this. He murmurs about that. Whispered insinuations and declarations alike, all dripping from his ever scheming tongue. He experiments, this Kaz, fiddling with notions, probing possibilities, dabbling in affairs that are none of his concern. He tries this, then without warning pivots to that, as if the world were his private theater for unending rehearsal. Mark my words, he’s creating things, strange insidious things. One moment he crafts this infernal device, the next he conjures that abominable construct. His hand is in every blueprint, every contraption, every cursed invention. Desire runs rampant in his heart if he even has one. He covets this trinket, that position, that secret, that crown. His appetite is endless. He wants, and when Kaz wants, Kaz acts.
Oh he takes, alright. He is the midnight thief of stability itself. He pilfers this heirloom, he absconds with that relic. What has he not stolen? My patience? My peace? My very sense of reality? His eyes, ever watching. He sees this, he sees that. Nothing escapes his gaze. He was there, I swear it. Behind the curtain, in the reflection of the goblet, just out of sight. He saw everything. Always watching. Initiator and executor both, a one man cabal. Kaz sparks this chaos, and just when you think it’s dissipated, he concludes that as well, wrapping it up with a bow of menace. Start to finish, it’s him, it’s always him. Feigning humility, he asks, oh but make no mistake, each question is a thread pulled from a greater web. He inquires about this, he pleads for that, and suddenly everything is unraveling, unraveling.
A contradiction in flesh. He fixes this, and yet, lo, that lies broken in his wake. His remedies are riddles, his repairs a ruse. For every wound he seals, another bleeds anew. Kaz the healer? Kaz the harbinger. What began as idle talk, Kaz did this they’d say, grew like mold behind the walls. Then it was Kaz did that, and suddenly every conversation, every correspondence bore his name like a curse. A plague. First this, then that, where does it end. I cannot walk the halls, I cannot read the papers, I cannot dream without hearing it. Kaz this, they mutter. Kaz that, they shout. Is there nothing untouched by his meddling? Is there no domain where his shadow does not fall? He erects a palace by morning and by evening lays siege to it himself. Build and destroy, the eternal cycle of a mind unbound by reason. It’s theater, madness, a performance of power played across the whole of society.
Ah yes, the puppeteer at the center of it all. He pulls this string, then that, and people, real people, they dance, oblivious to the force animating their every move. Are we not but marionettes in his grand spectacle? Every single time. He cannot act without consequence. He meddles here, and devastation follows there. His touch, it is not golden, it is corrosive. Kaz is not a man, he is an agent of entropy clothed in mortal flesh. And oh how he persists. Day bleeds into night, yet Kaz does not stop. He cannot stop. The machinations continue, unchecked, eternal. Imagine it, truly imagine it, a force with neither sleep nor restraint. A Kaz that never ends. I sent men to the east, he’d already passed through. I sent riders west, they’d just missed him. His name precedes him, trails behind him, engulfs him. Omnipresent, omnidirectional, a phantom sprinting through the annals of our lives.
He disappears, we breathe, then he returns. Kaz with the comeback. Kaz with the encore. He is the uninvited guest at every feast, the cold wind behind every door left ajar. He takes a single step, the ground quakes. He speaks a word, and courtiers fall to silence. The natural order bends around his movements. How does one fight such influence? How does one oppose such presence? No map can contain his footprints. No ledger can track his trail. He was here. He was. There too. And beyond. The man, if he even is a man, is everywhere. I tell you now, and may the gods have mercy, Kaz is real and Kaz is near.
