An Inheritance of Fire

“Are you worried about Nyx?” Viria asked.

Selerim paused for a moment, then continued. “She’ll be fine.” Despite that answer, mention of his absent Wyrd caused his forgotten tension to return. Not paranoia, necessarily, but wariness. The wonder he’d felt upon laying eyes on the elven forest was still present, but barely.

Once most of it passed, he found himself unsettled by the sheer scale of the forest. Up close, it seemed even greater than the darkness he previously thought all-encompassing. Selerim’s eyes wandered to Viria.

She’d taken the lead. Despite only seeing her back, the subtle joy he saw before was still present, although the fervor accompanying it had since faded.

Selerim stopped. “Hey…” Before he could give conscious meaning to the random thought, his vision flickered. Viria stopped and turned just up ahead, but his eyes were fixed on something past her.

“I see them,” he said grimly. Three figures stood shoulder to shoulder ahead. According to Viria, there were no roads this far out– which left little doubt the trio was there for them.

Selerim strode next to Viria. The three strangers were dressed in similar garb– mottled brown-and-green with dark grey and black added.

“They’re scouts,” Viria said quietly as he came to a stand beside her. “There probably isn’t anyone else nearby.”

He nodded. “What do you want to do?”

Underneath her hood, Viria bit her lip. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t think they’ll just ignore us,” he said.

“I know.”

“So? He asked gently. “What do you want to do? They’re your people.”

“...” She was silent for a moment, then sighed. “Let me talk to them.”

Selerim stayed just a step behind as they resumed pace, and the three figures slowly came into focus.

The largest of their group stood at the center. He was the only one with his hood down, revealing hair that was more grey than color. He reminded Selerim of Corvus– they wore the same easy, casual half-smile, as if vague amusement was his natural state.

The moment they stepped within ten paces, he raised one hand. “I’ll have to ask you to stop there.” His voice was low, and his tone affable, but it was clear he wasn’t truly asking.

Every one of Viria’s steps felt like they carried her across the length of their entire journey so far. The three before her were elves; of that, there was no doubt. Even ignoring their surroundings, they were dressed in patrol outfits.

In some ways, their kinship made things harder. The only other elf she’d seen in nearly two years was Vane, and he was always in disguise. She glanced back, finding some semblance of comfort in Selerim’s close presence. He stood hardly a pace back.

Viria forced her pace to remain steady.

One step.

Two.

Three.

Fo–

The center elf raised his hand. “I’ll have to ask you to stop there.” Scars decorated his raised hand, and though his voice was calm, it carried a hint of warning. “I see your companion there has a weapon.” His eyes seemed to linger on Selerim’s sword.

Viria reached for the lessons that Vane taught her all those years ago. They felt like memories from another lifetime.

A happier one.

She took a deep breath, scouring away the murk as she bowed her head. “As do you and yours.” It was true. The scarred elf carried three knives on his belt. Two were the mottled colors of the forest. The third, strangely enough, was metal. The others had a sword at their waist and a bow on their backs.

Viria slowly raised her hands. “May I?” When the old elf nodded, she pulled her hood down with trembling fingers.

“So one of you seems to be an elf. And the other?” He gestured to Selerim.

She turned to the side and nodded. Selerim slowly raised his hands just as she’d done and lowered his hood.

“A hollow,” the old elf said, surprised. “What are your names?”

“I’m Viria. He is Selerim.” The hollow remained completely still.

“And I am Valandor. Why are you here?”

“He’s… guiding me.”

Valandor raised an eyebrow at that. “To where? And from where?” He asked mildly. “We’re quite a ways away from any outposts or villages– and none would accept convoys. Do you mean to say you crossed Umbra unscathed? And with so few supplies?”

Viria’s chest tightened. “Believe me,” she said, her voice raw. “It wasn’t unscathed.”

The old elf’s expression softened slightly. “I’m sorry for assuming. But you must understand, this is rather odd.” He paused for a moment. “Where are you trying to go?”

“To the Elder Glades.”

Valandor chuckled. “Is that so?” He asked. “You’re going in the wrong direction. These are the Northwest outskirts. You’re heading southeast.”

“Thank you for informing us,” Viria said smoothly. “We’ll be sure to adjust our path.”

Valandor smiled wryly. “I can’t just let you pass,” he started gently. “You may be an elf, but your companion is not. Even were it just you, we couldn’t simply let you be.”

“So what do you propose?” Viria asked slowly.

“Allow us to temporarily disarm your companion and search you both. We can even guide you afterward. No harm will come to either of you. You have my word.”

She hesitated. Their offer of guidance was clearly a guise, but it was still the easiest way forward. And, in truth, their help would be welcome– for a time, at least. But Selerim’s weapon was important to him.

Viria turned back to Selerim. He nodded once before answering the unspoken question. “I said I’d follow your lead.” His voice was quiet.

“So we have an agreement?” Valandor’s voice cut between them.

“We do.”

“One at a time, please. Your friend first.” He raised his voice to address Selerim. “I see that your weapon has no scabbard. Could you please hold the blade between your palms and step over to me?” Valandor smiled warmly. “No funny business. So long as neither of you try anything, neither will we.”

Selerim nodded and drew his sword. The two hooded figures behind Valandor shifted their posture uncertainly as he flipped the weapon, pinching the blade between his fingers before clasping its midpoint in both palms.

The scarred elf gestured him forward.

The sword’s handle swung rigidly as Selerim closed the distance. It would’ve been a comical sight, if not for the tension in the air.

“May I?” Valandor asked as the hollow approached. He nodded, and the grizzled elf stooped down to grasp the wavering hilt. As he straightened, he removed a pair of bone knives from Selerim’s waist.

“Are there any weapons in your pack?”

Selerim shook his head.

“Drop it and raise your arms.”

As he followed instructions, a thought jolted Viria. The bracelet. If an outsider was caught with it… She breathed a sigh of relief as Valandor’s hands passed over Selerim’s wrists.

“... -ze -r”

Her ears caught fragments of a whisper, but no more. Before she could say anything, Valandor stepped to Selerim’s side and gestured with both hands. “Switch places with her, please.”

Viria’s heart pounded as she approached Valandor.

“Raise your arms.”

She did so.

The old elf stepped in front of her and paused. “I’m going to search you,” he said gently. “I have to touch you– but I take no pleasure in this. Do you understand?”

Viria nodded. Unlike with Selerim, he started at her hands– and hardly made it any further. He clasped her wrist in both hands and wrenched her arm upwards. The elderwood bracelet glinted in the light as her sleeve fell.

“I thought I’d lost it.” Valandor’s voice was harsh now. “Wh–” He made it no further.

Three things happened near-simultaneously.

Something breezed by Viria’s cheek.

A blur of color rushed by the corner of her vision.

The two behind Valandor drew their swords.

What followed was a flurry of movement so intense she couldn’t have possibly kept up– but Viria’s eyes caught everything.

Valandor raised his arm as something hurtled towards his face; a small round stone, Viria realized. He grimaced as it bounced off– and the next moment, Selerim was on him.

The hollow started low to the ground, twisting his body as he rose to drive his fist into Valandor’s stomach, who blocked it with his free hand.

Instead of stepping back or striking with his other hand, Selerim carried through and crashed into the grizzled elf. His shoulder struck just above the elf’s stomach– and send him skidding back.

Valandor grinned as he halted, bending over slightly to cradle his abdomen. “I thought we said no funny business.”

Selerim stayed silent as he straightened, sword held in one hand. The hollow’s lips were drawn into a fierce snarl; a far cry from the cool, indifferent fighter Viria had become used to.

The two hooded figures stepped up beside Valandor, who raised one hand. “Stop.” He straightened as they turned to him, their incredulity obvious even with their faces hidden.

“But he attacked you!” The first one– a female, apparently, protested.

Valandor shook his head. “It would seem I startled them– and understandably so. Besides,” he smiled wryly. “I’m fairly certain that boy could defeat us all bare-handed.”

“I’m sorry for startling you,” the old elf continued. “It wasn’t my intention. But I must ask why each of you carries something so prized.”

Selerim brought his other hand up below his second. Before he could say– or worse, do– anything, Viria placed one hand on his shoulder. “Wait.” She tightened her focus as she stepped in front of him. Vane prepared her for this, years ago. Neither ever thought she would need it.

“You know what these are?” Viria asked, lifting her arm.

Valandor nodded.

“Then you should know who I am,” she said softly.

“I told you!” The elf who protested before spoke up. “I told you I recognized her!”

“...” Recognition flitted over Valandor’s face a moment later.

“You’re the exile,” he said softly. “The one who tried to kill her sister and then vanished.” He paused for a moment. “Why are you back? Would it not be better to remain hidden until your sentence concludes?” His eyes flicked to the side. “And what of your uncle? I don’t…”

Viria’s heart tightened at the mention of Vane.

“Someone killed him,” she spat out. Her voice was equal parts vitriol, grief, and hatred.

Shock rippled across Valandor’s face, and when he spoke, his voice was steely. “That’s a bold claim,” he warned. “It’s not too late to take it back.”

That was too much for his companion, who threw her hood back.

“Valandor!” She cried out in shock. “You can’t just–”

He cut her off. “Quiet, Variel.” The commanding tone in his voice left no room to argue. “Are you sure?” He asked again. If you do this, there’s no going back.”

Viria nodded.

“Very well,” Valandor said seriously. “We’ll see you to the Elder Glades. But first,” he pointed past her. “Could you calm your friend down?”

Variel watched Valandor stir the pot. He used his left hand, now, after that brief exchange with the stranger. The day’s events felt surreal. Two years on patrol without the slightest whisper– and now this.

She didn’t know which was more shocking.

The elf lay asleep, back turned to the group’s small fire. The hollow, for his part, sat in front of her protectively. His sword– a glossy blue, almost crystalline weapon was tucked haphazardly beneath his shoulder; he seemed not to care for the weapon’s edge. His lavender eyes were fixed on Valandor, unblinking.

The scarred elf seemed completely unaware. He awkwardly cradled a small bowl in one hand. “For your friend, when she wakes,” he explained, ladling stew into it. “She didn’t eat.”

The hollow remained motionless.

Valandor smiled. “Not very trusting, are you? Are you going to remain silent until we part ways? We’ll have to take the long route.”

The boy’s gaze turned into a glare. “You attacked her,” he said in a low voice. They were the first words he’d spoken all night.

“I said no harm would come to either of you.”

“Your actions said differently,” the hollow said icily.

Valandor laughed. “That’s true, isn’t it?” He bowed his head slightly. “Then allow me to apologize for threatening someone you care about.”

He seemed taken aback at that.

Variel couldn’t believe her ears. “Why are you apologizing?!” She asked incredulously.

“Variel…” Valandor closed his eyes, but she pressed forward.

“You gave him your word! He insulted you!”

“Quiet.” Her mouth snapped shut.

As Valandor opened his eyes, he looked more tired than she’d ever seen. “Judging the rest of the world by our views is a foolish endeavor,” he said wearily. He addressed the hollow again. “Do you have a question? You seem curious about something.”

To Variel’s surprise, the hollow nodded and gestured to the old elf’s waist. “Your knife. I thought elves were allergic.”

Valandor nodded. “We are.”

“So–”

“Why do I carry it?”

The hollow nodded.

“You said your name was Selerim, right?”

Another nod.

“Selerim, then. You saw my scars.” Valandor raised his hand. The pale, layered scars that covered his hand glistened orange. Variel perked her ears; she’d always been curious, but too hesitant to ask. The layers were too rhythmic and even to be natural, but the shapes were blotted and irregular.

A third nod.

“What do you think they are?”

“They’re not…” Selerim hesitated. “From magic?”

Valandor chuckled. If I had any magical talent, I wouldn’t let myself get stuck out here like Vyrna.” He jabbed the other elf with his elbow. Vyrna just rolled his eyes.

“Then what?”

“I was in the war.” Valandor paused. “You don’t seem surprised.”

“... I had a feeling.”

He grinned. “A feeling, eh? In any case, you’re right.” Valandor drew the metal dagger from his waist. “Us elves are allergic to metal. Not fatally so; but it burns. If we touch it for too long, it corrodes our skin.”

He cupped the knife’s blade in one palm. “But we can overcome it, given enough time. Of course, few ever do, given how painful it is.”

“But you did?”

Valandor’s expression turned grim. “Not voluntarily,” he said darkly. “During the war, humans used metal to torture us. They wrapped barbed wire all the way from my fingers to my shoulder. The more we struggled, the further it dug into our flesh.” His fingers curled. “Eventually, though, it stopped working. But by then we couldn’t feel anything anyway.”

“That doesn’t explain the knife,” Selerim said quietly.

“No it doesn’t,” Valendor agreed. He replaced the knife at his waist.

“Those of us who lived through our capture carry a metal knife with us. It’s our way of remembering those who didn't.”

His answer shocked Variel. It was obvious he’d participated, but he’d never spoken of it. And she’d never seen another elf carrying a metal knife.

The hollow was silent for a moment.

“Do you hate them?” He finally asked in a quiet voice.

Valandor leaned forward, surprise evident on his face. “That’s a heavy question, lad. But who are you talking about? The humans? My captors? My torturers?”

“... All of them.”

Valandor chuckled. “Are you asking for yourself?”

“...”

“I see.”

His expression turned serious as he leaned forward. “I hate my torturers.”

“... Not your captors? Or the humans?”

Valandor shook his head. “I’ve seen enough to know that there are more good humans than bad. When the war ended, a nameless human soldier slew the torturers in front of us.” He paused. “And of course, many of ours did the same. Those reports were buried underneath a mountain of corpses.”

He leaned back. “And now that I’ve answered one of your questions, I expect you to answer one of mine.”

Selerim’s head snapped around, but Valandor just smiled.

“... Fine,” the hollow muttered.

“Why are you here with her?” Valandor gestured to Viria. “I’ve seen more of your kind than most. You don’t leave Umbra often.”

“... Someone asked me to guard her.”

“Someone? Who?”

“I answered your question,” the hollow said flatly.

Valandor laughed. “So you did. I won’t expect an answer to this, then. That scar on her hand– did she make an Oath? To you?”

Selerim’s glare was answer enough.

“I see. Do you understand what that means, or who she truly is?"

The hollow shook his head.

“I pity you,” Valandor laughed.

“Valandor…” Variel started. He raised a hand to tide her off. “I’m much too old to care,” he said. “But your words are true enough. It’s not my story to tell.”

The first thing Viria remembered when she woke was Valandor’s words. I pity you. Though they stung, there was truth in them.

Vane was dead.

Selerim was far from his family.

She opened her eyes. Spotted sunlight greeted her through the branches, far above where she could see. Though once so vibrant, it now seemed dead and cold. Was it all really worth it?

Sitting up, she saw Selerim rummaging through his pack. The other three were nowhere to be seen. Selerim raised his head as she moved. He nodded in greeting. “Good morning.”

“Hey…” Her throat closed.

Noticing her inner turmoil, the hollow knelt in front of her. “What is it?” He asked, holding a hand to her forehead. “Are you sick again?”

His worry made Viria feel all the worse.

“What… What did my uncle tell you?”

Selerim’s expression softened. “You heard us last night.”

Viria nodded mutely. “I… I know he told you bits and pieces. But what specific–”

“Viria.” He cut her off. “It doesn’t matter.”

She stared at him, dumbfounded.

“What? But…”

“I’m not stupid,” he said gently. “I know you’re not telling me something. But I trust you. Tell me when you’re ready.”

Out of his words, three of them cut Viria to the core. I trust you. Shocked to hear it– and from him, of all people. Unbidden, tears began to fall from her eyes.

Alarm spread over Selerim’s face. “Are you sick?” He asked again.

Viria shook her head, unable to get the words out. She was truly crying now; tears streamed down her face, but nothing she did stemmed the flow. Selerim stayed there, confused, until they stopped.

Viria tried– and failed– to hide her embarrassment as she wiped her eyes. “It’s nothing. Just…” She took a shuddering breath.

“... Thank you.”