An Inheritance of Fire

“They’re treating me differently,” Viria mused. “I wonder why.” It was true enough, even if she couldn’t quite explain it. Though still standoffish, they– Vanis included– no longer treated her with disdain or outright hostility. As if they were afraid of crossing some visible line.

Not there there was one.

She was an exile after all.

“Because I threatened them.”

“I see.”

It took her a moment to realize what he’d just said. “Wait.” Viria said, stopping completely in her tracks. “You did what?!”

Selerim turned back to face her. “I threatened them,” he repeated matter-of-factly. “And I struck one. I think I broke a few of his ribs.”

Viria looked past him. Vanis and her companions had turned at the outburst; they all looked away from her gaze and resumed their pace. Sure enough, one of them was hunched over in pain. Viria followed suit a moment later, hardly even able to feel the ground beneath her feet.

“What did you do?!” She hissed, spurred on by a mixture of fear and anxiety. “I told you. My word has no meaning here. I–”

“I know.” Selerim fell into pace as she passed him.

“Then why? I thought–”

“You asked me about that piece of paper yesterday,” he said softly.

“I did, but… What does that have to do with anything?”

“It was a letter. I gave it to Nyx. If anything happens to us, she’ll take it to another village.”

“You mean–”

The hollow nodded.

“Why?”

Selerim fell silent. Just as Viria was about to repeat her question, he continued. “This isn’t just about you. You’re smarter than me. That doesn’t mean I’m stupid. You said you recognized her.” There was no small amount of venom in his voice as he pointed to Vanis’ back. “And she blamed you for his death. What do you think is going to happen once we arrive? If Vanis is as powerful as you say, then…” He didn’t finish the thought.

Viria took a deep breath. “I deserve whatever happens,” she said bitterly.

“Says who?”

The two-word question caught her off guard. “Everyone,” she said after a moment, gesturing to the group of elves ahead. “And with so many voices, who am I to disagree?”

“... I won’t pretend to know what happened between you and your sister,” Selerim started slowly. “And I won’t ask you to tell me, either.” His lavender eyes fixed on hers. “But your uncle died trying to save you. Accepting the blame for his death belittles his sacrifice– his actions.” There wasn’t a trace of blame or guilt in his voice.

Viria stopped again, clenching the hem of her cloak with both hands. The forest floor blurred as she bowed her head. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” she cried. Her tears darkened the earth as they fell.

“Everything he left me is gone. All his plans. Letters, too. Little pieces of him that– that I’ll never get back. I feel like I failed him. Because I have. The only thing left for me to do is die.” She could practically feel the noose tighten around her throat. “And maybe then I’ll finally have some peace.”

“... Do you want to die?”

Viria shook her head. “Of course not. But this is the culmination of my life, however brief. What else is there for me to do but give in? My sister hates me– as she should. My uncle is dead.” Her throat constricted. “It’s not like I have much left to live for.”

Selerim fell silent. When he spoke again, there was a trace of anger in his voice. It grew with every word that passed his lips. “So… what? You’ll leave me to watch you die? To burn down your home afterward? You swore you’d help. I didn’t bury my friends and follow you here just to watch you die.”

Viria’s scarred hand burned. She curled it into a fist. “I made an Oath,” she said vehemently. “I intend to keep it. But,” her voice fell, “what would you have me do? I have not the means to aid you.”

“Then… at least don’t make me watch you die. Please.” The hollow’s last word was delivered in such a broken tone that Viria stopped walking. Selerim followed suit.

I care about you. He’d said as much. Was it fair– for her to give up when his friends– his home– hadn’t been given that choice? No. She took a deep breath, then resumed her stride. He did the same.

“What would you have me do?” She asked softly.

“...” Selerim fell silent yet again. “Just… fight back. Please. I can’t bear the thought of losing another friend.”

Friend. That word gave Viria pause. “Friends.” The word sounded foreign on her tongue. Is… is that what we are?” She asked tentatively.

A look of confusion flitted across the hollow’s face. “What else would we be?”

Viria smiled, then shook your head. “No, you’re right,” she whispered, continuing her pace. “We’re friends. Then as your friend,” she whirled around, bowing down slightly and clasping both hands behind her back. “I promise I’ll do everything in my power to make it through this. But I can offer little else.”

Selerim’s pale violet eyes searched her face. “Alright,” he said, resuming his own stride. “I’m going to hold you to it.”

Viria nodded, but kept her head down, eyes to the ground. She felt better, now, but also guilty. She was one one girl. One powerless, helpless girl.

What could she possibly do?

Fight back.

But how?

“Your mother also has blue eyes,” Saris said thoughtfully, kicking her legs as she bit into a sandwich.

Gwyn nodded and took a bite of her own. She’d worried about introducing Saris to her mother, but Linua had just accepted it– maybe a bit too easily. “We all do. Sometimes they get darker after we Feast. Or lighter.” Her heart tightened. Selerim would have had both his ceremony and Feast by now– and she had missed them.

If he’s even alive.

The unbidden thought cracked across Gwyn’s thoughts, making her flinch. She put her sandwich down, appetite lost, and reached for the piece of charred wood in her pocket. She’d started carrying it ever since her mother brought it back, but her hope continued to fade with each passing day.

“Hey,” Saris said gently, reaching out to grasp one of Gwyn’s hands in her own for a moment. “It’s alright. Cry if you need to.”

Gwyn nodded, but forced the tears back. She needed to be strong. For herself, and for her mother. “I’m okay,” she said, pulling the slab of wood out and turning it in her hands. It still gave her some measure of comfort.

“That symbol,” Saris said. “What does it mean?”

Despite herself, Gwyn laughed. She’d long become accustomed to the other girl's undying, almost fervent curiosity. “My father died when I was little. I… I don’t really remember him,” she admitted. “But I saw what it did to my mother and brother. In some ways, though, his death made us… closer. Stronger. All we had was each other, after all.”

Gwyn ran her hands across the carved symbol. She imagined Selerim’s hands etching it into the wood. “That’s what the symbol means. My father’s death split us– but in some ways, it brought us together.” Her throat tightened.

“I’m sorry,” Saris said, her voice uncharacteristically quiet. “I didn’t realize.”

“It’s fine. It feels nice to talk about it.” Gwyn knew she could always speak to her mother, but it was difficult, sometimes. Especially about this.

“Will you tell me about your brother?” Saris asked. “If you don’t want to–”

“No, it’s fine.” Gwyn shook her head. “He’s… quiet. Sometimes annoyingly so. But he’s always watching. Looking out for me. And he’s strong.”

“You said he was a hunter.”

She nodded. “He started earlier than anyone else. It took a while, but… eventually, even the adults had trouble sparring with him.” Gwyn smiled, recalling the few occasions she’d watched Selerim spar. “And he always made me feel safe. I feel… vulnerable. Without him.” She sighed. “Sorry.”

Saris shook her head. “I asked.” The red-eyed girl finished her sandwich and hugged her knees to her chest. “I was just… curious. My brother– he loves me. I know he does– but he won’t tell me anything.”

Gwyn could hear the tears in her voice.

“And I don’t understand why. He just keeps getting further and further away. I don’t even know if my dad realizes it. And he’s changing, too.” Saris’ arms trembled. “I hate it.”

Gwyn took a moment to think, trying to find the right words. “I think I get it,” she said gently. “My brother feels distant, too, sometimes. And sometimes it’s hard to understand my mother, but… I know they love me. Care about me. And that’s what matters.”

Saris tilted her head up ever so slightly as if considering her words. “Ugh!” With a cry of exasperation, she flopped backward onto the bed. “I guess you’re right. Thanks.”

Gwyn smiled and lay down beside her. Just as she was about to say something more, there was a knock at the door. “Come in!”

The door swung open to reveal her mother. “Gwyn, are yo– Oh.” She paused. “Hi, Saris. Did you come through the window again?”

Saris sat straight up, grinning gleefully. “Yep!”

Linua laughed. “You seem awfully proud of that.”

The red-eyed girl puffed her chest out in response.

“Sorry, but I’ll have to steal Gwyn from you. We have some important things to do today. Come back any time, alright?”

“Okay!” Saris pushed herself off the bed and made straight for the window. “I need to get going anyway. Bye, Gwyn! Gwyn’s mom!” And she was gone.

“She’s the exact opposite of you,” Linua said slowly.

Gwyn laughed. It was true. She’d thought the same many times before. “What?” She asked, noticing a strange look on her mother’s face.

“Nothing. Get ready.”

“That’s all of them.”

“No survivors?”

“No survivors.”

Nalos felt his heart grow heavy at the confirmation. The village in front of him lay in ruins. He knew not how many bodies lay scattered across the rubble; nor how many were humans. Or hollows.

“... Why are we doing this?” The mercenary asked.

Nalos turned to face him, hefting his staff in one hand. His name was Jarl; though he had some magical talent, it had done little more than consign him to a brutal life. His arms and hands were scarred; some were ruptures– however slight– but most were made by blade, tooth, or claw.

“I wish I knew.”

And he swung his staff. The spell unfolded as it rushed up the length– and then rushed out. The effect was immediate. Blood spurted as Jarl was cut diagonally, three times in total, stretching from his right shoulder to his left hip.

Nalos groaned as essence rushed back into his body. Jarl– what was left of him– fell to the ground landing in a pool of blood with a slick, wet thud. Nalos forced himself to look.

I can’t afford to wait.

He’d seen many things during the war. Awful, brutal, and bloody things. Participated in some of those events, even– but only ever out of necessity. It changed him into another person entirely. Someone he’d locked up once the war ended.

But never forgotten.

Not even once.

That person was still there, just below the surface. And Nalos needed to become him again. So he opened the door ever so slightly– only for it to be flung open.

It all came rushing back at once. The blood he’d spilled, the cruelty he’d seen. It washed over him, dulling the warmth, happiness, and ease that Saris and Ilen had given him. The thought of his children brought guilt with it.

I’m sorry, Saris. Ilen. I hope you can forgive me someday.

With a sigh, Nalos looked away from the bloody mess that had once been Jarl. The sight of his wet, glistening blood no longer bothered him. Reaching into the folds of his robe, the Spellweaver pulled out a small, round object. A gatestone. There was a flash of blue light, and then he was gone.