An Inheritance of Fire

Their first days in Vasoria passed slowly, owing mostly to Selerim. Not him, specifically, but his eyes. Though the worst seemed firmly behind the hollow, it grew noticeably brighter as their steps carried them further into the forest. And even if he said nothing, Viria knew it frustrated him.

It wasn’t all bad, though. The forest’s grandiosity lasted a single day, but there was a mysticism to it that went beyond physical appearance. Selerim, of course, never acknowledged it, but he didn’t need to. Viria already saw him pause to take everything in more than once. Still, she thought. It would be nice for him to say something.

“How are your eyes?” She asked.

Selerim lay on his back, unblinking as he stared up at the night sky. “They still sting,” he said, not moving his gaze. “I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

Viria sighed. “You’ve said that every night so far,” she started gently. “Stop pushing yourself so hard. If adjusting takes you a few days, so be it.” She saw the struggle play out over Selerim’s face, but he ultimately nodded.

“Good.” She rocked back on her haunches. “What about Nyx?” The Reaver was curled up on his chest, like the night before.

“She’s fine,” Selerim sat up straight as he responded. His Wyrd stirred, then lowered her head again as he ran one hand over her feathered head. “She would tell me if something was wrong.” The duskwing ruffled her feathers soundlessly.

Viria felt a twinge of jealousy. Their trust in one another was obvious. “Was it this bad last time?” She asked.

The hollow shrugged. “I don’t know. It was a while ago. I don’t think so, though. I think I was just dizzy for a day or two.”

“Hmm. I wonder why.”

Another shrug. Selerim adjusted his position as he glanced out into the darkness. “Any idea where we are?”

Viria shook her head hopelessly. “If we traveled in a straight line, we should be in the north, but…”

“I doubt we traveled in a straight line.”

“Me too.” She hugged her knees. “And I don’t know everything. Even if I can read the trails, I might not know where we are.”

“What are your villages like?”

“Um…” Viria took a moment to think. “They’re… different. You said you’ve been to the human city, right? Was there a wall?”

The hollow nodded.

“I see.” She retrieved her sword with a thought. “We call the whole forest ‘Vasoria’, but as I said, not all of it is populated. There’s just too much. We have cities and villages, just like humans.” She dredged a rough circle in the ground.

“I thought you said space was important?”

“It’s for the next generation,” Viria answered. “Population grows exponentially.” Her gaze swept across the Grove. “Someday, everything here will be home to an elf.”

“And after that?”

“We’ll grow more.”

“How often do your people…” the hollow trailed off. “Plant more?”

Viria smiled sadly. “Both of us will be long dead by then.”

“That’s unfortunate.” Selerim looked up at the surrounding forest. “I would’ve liked to see it.”

“Me too.”

Silence settled around them, broken by Selerim a moment later. “You were saying?” He gestured to her sword. “I interrupted you.”

Viria felt her face flush. Clearing her throat to hide her embarrassment, she dragged the weapon across the ground again. “Do you know what tree rings are?” She asked in a low voice, drawing spaced rings in the imperfect circle.

Selerim nodded. “The adults showed us when they built the village wall.”

“Did they tell you what they mean?”

“You can tell how old a tree is.”

“Correct.” Viria drew one last ring. “You can think of Vasoria like a tree.” She tapped the center of her drawing. “Our oldest cities are closest to the center. The newer ones are further out.”

Selerim looked out at the darkness. “It could take us a while to find something, then,” he said quietly.

Viria followed his gaze. I wonder what it looks like to him in the dark.

“Yeah.”

Sleep came for them soon enough.

When Viria woke the next morning, Selerim was gone. She– briefly– wondered where he was, but set to packing their camp. It took only a few moments; the process itself consisted of storing their bedding and remaining firewood. By the time she finished, the hollow was still nowhere to be seen.

Where did he go?

Just as she stood to look for him, sunlight broke. The trees forced it to spill forth erratically: bright and full in some places and mired with shadow in others. Light and dark rained down, forming shimmering lakes that pooled and dissolved across the forest floor.

It’s still beautiful, Viria thought. She took a deep breath and sat back down. After nearly two years in the dark, it still felt surreal sometimes. Home. She was home.

“You’re awake.”

Selerim’s voice, even and calm, startled her. Turning, she saw him just off to the side. His sword hung from his hip, as always. Nyx was nowhere in sight. “Where were you? And where’s Nyx?” Viria turned back to the camp to make sure she hadn’t missed the Reaver.

“We were doing a few exercises. I wanted to make sure she was fine before having her scout again.”

“Scout?” Viria asked, confused. “But there aren’t any Reavers–”

The hollow cut her off. “I’m not worried about Reavers.” It took a moment for his words to sink in.

“You’re worried about other elves.” Her chest tightened. To her relief, Selerim shook his head.

“No. But we look suspicious.”

Viria began to protest, but stopped short. “You’re right,” she sighed. On their own, neither of them was too far out of the ordinary, but a hollow traveling with an elf– and an exiled one, at that– was sure to attract attention.

“Still, I don’t think anyone would attack us for no reason.”

Selerim leaned over to pick up his pack– the one thing he still insisted on carrying himself. “I believe you,” he said earnestly. “I just don’t want to be surprised.”

“Alright.”

“All this time on patrol, and you’re not bored to death?” Variel teased. “Maybe those war stories were exaggerated.” Valandor smiled good-naturedly as he stirred the ladle.

“There are worse things than peace and quiet,” he said calmly. At nearly thrice her age, the grizzled elf still bore his battle scars. The most obvious were on his right hand; jagged lines that carved his flesh into countless layers.

“And is that why you’re here?” Variel snickered. “Peace and quiet?”

Valandor’s smile widened. “Someone has to make sure the next generation doesn’t make our mistakes.”

She sighed. “And there you go again.”

Valandor chuckled. “You’ll understand someday.”

“Somehow, I don’t think I will.”

“I hope you will.” There was a sincerity in his voice that made Variel uncomfortable.

Valandor didn’t seem to notice. Scooping himself a small portion of stew, he tasted it, then grinned. “Vyrna!” He shouted to the third elf, who stood off to the side, staring into the distance. A faint blue haze shrouded his form.

Vyrna turned at his name. He hardly looked any different than the rest of their kind, but he was like no other elf Variel met before. He was absentminded where others were aloof, and indifferent where they bordered on fanaticism.

“Are we the only patrol in this section of the forest?” Vyrna’s voice was wispy and faint; nearly swallowed by Vasoria’s silence.

“Yes. Why?” Valandor’s lighthearted demeanor vanished, replaced by a grim insistence.

The glow surrounding Vyrna disappeared as he shook his head. “There’s someone in the northeast outskirts.”

“You’re sure?”

He nodded. “I checked three times, just to be certain.”

“Just one?”

“Just one.”

“Someone?”

“Not a Reaver. It’s too slow.”

“Anything else nearby?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Valandor closed his eyes and crossed his arms, apparently lost in thought.

“What do you think it is?” Variel asked in a hushed tone. “If it’s an enemy…” She trailed off as the older elf shook his head.

“Don’t conjure malice where there is none,” he said firmly. Variel felt her face flush but stayed quiet as Valandor continued. “If it’s an enemy, why are they alone?”

“Then what is it?” Vyrna asked pointedly. “Even if the forest is safe, most travel in groups. And you said we’re supposed to be alone.”

Valandor nodded. “How far?”

The blue hue returned as Vyrna closed his eyes. “A few days,” he said after a moment. “No more than a week. The nearest settlement is further than that.”

Valandor nodded again.

Variel leaned forward, trying to read his expression. “What are we going to do?” She asked, barely able to contain her excitement.

The old elf smiled and placed one hand on her head. “We’re going to ask who they are,” he said simply.

“Uuugh!” Variel buried her face in her hands. “Seriously?”

He ruffled her hair. “Yes, seriously. Why do you think I’m here?” He chuckled. “It’s exactly for reasons like this.” Valandor’s voice suddenly grew very, very tired. “If we left everything to hot-blooded young elves like you, we’d still be in the midst of war.”

Variel batted his hand away, annoyed. “So that’s it? We’re just going to talk?”

“No.”

“No?” She leaned forward as some of her previous excitement returned. “What else are we going to do?”

Valandor’s smile returned as he handed her a bowl. “We’re going to eat first.”

“Up to here?” Viria asked, gently tapping Selerim’s taut hair. He nodded, and she dragged the bone knife in her hand across his hair. It had a strange texture; somehow coarse and smooth at the same time. The bulk of his off-white hair fell to the ground, shorn clean off.

“Thanks.” Selerim shook his head experimentally. “It was getting too long.” His hair, previously reaching past his shoulders, now stopped just above his ears.

“You’re welcome.”

His eyes flicked up as she returned the knife. “Do you want yours shorter, too?” He asked.

Viria ran one hand through her hair, suddenly conscious of the fact she’d hardly cared for it since leaving Cress. She cut it once after it burned unevenly, but no more– and it showed. It was matted with dirt, and some areas were ragged and clumped.

“It’s alright,” she finally said.

“Are you sure? I see you fussing with it.”

Viria hesitated. “Do you even know how to cut someone’s hair?” She asked curiously. “I know you did it before, but it’s not the same.”

“I used to cut my sister’s hair.” Selerim smiled faintly at the mention of his family. “She always complained, but never let my mother do it. I think she liked spending time together like that.” There was a hint of longing in his voice that made Viria’s voice ache.

“Go ahead.” She acquiesced. They changed positions; Viria sat while Selerim stood behind her. There was a hint of awkwardness between them as he glossed his fingers through her hair, but it faded soon after.

Selerim wasn’t clumsy, but he was clearly out of practice. “Sorry.” He apologized quietly as his fingers caught on a knot, making her groan.

“It’s fine.”

Time slowed to a crawl as he trimmed her hair. By the time he finished, Viria was half-asleep, lulled by the sunlight and warmth. She felt her hair drop back down as Selerim stepped back.

“I cut away the knots and matting. It's not too much shorter.”

“Thank you.”

Viria stood, then froze as her vision… disappeared for the briefest of moments. It wasn’t like blinking– instead, the world seemed to turn off for a split second.

“Did you…?” She turned to Selerim with a question already half-asked. She never finished it. A change washed over Selerim’s face; the same that occurred whenever conflict was ahead. “What is it?” Viria asked in a hushed tone.

“That was Nyx.”

The hollow’s voice was calm, but his head swept from side to side, trying to find something in the treeline. “Are you sure there aren’t any Reavers?”

Viria forced herself to keep calm despite her pounding heart. “Yes,” she said. “There may be one or two strays, but finding them would be… hard.” She could practically see the thoughts whirling through his mind.

“Are you sure it was Nyx? Why didn’t she…” she fumbled for the word. “Say anything?”

“She doesn’t want to alert them.”

Viria’s alarm rose. “So they’re close by? Did she see anything?”

Selerim shrugged. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “What about you? I can’t see as far in the light.”

She scanned the treeline, but no matter how she strained her eyes, there was nothing– just trees, light, and shadow. “No.” The hollow’s eyes followed hers. “What do you want to do?” Viria asked.

He shrugged. “Keep moving,” he said reluctantly. “They might not even know we’re here.” Selerim paused. “Nyx will stay away for now, but if I ask, she’ll lead us to them. If it is your people, what do you want to do?”

An icy fist gripped Viria’s heart. “I don’t want them to find us,” she whispered, looking down.

“Then we’ll avoid them.”

“Really?” The elf looked back up. “It’ll be slower, though. Your family…”

The hollow shook his head. “This is more important right now.”

Viria bit her lip. “Alright.”

“Vyrna, you idiot,” Variel hissed. “There’s two of them.” She curled her lips into a wicked smile. “Or did you not weave your Sigil properly?”

“Shut up, Variel.” The other elf glared at her. “I checked three times, and I kept checking on the way here. Do you really think that I messed up so many times in a row?!”

Valandor sighed. “Quiet.” If it was his normal, gentle tone, they would have paid him no mind. But neither were ready for the brusque, commanding tone that cracked from his lips. Both of their heads whipped around, their expressions chagrined.

“Don’t.” He held up a hand in warning. His voice was cold, now; a stark contrast to the commanding fire it held before. “I don’t care whether you two get along, but neither of your jobs requires liking the other. If you can’t stay in control, I’ll see you expelled and court-martialed. Is that clear?”

They both nodded silently.

“Good.”

With another sigh, Valandor looked back towards their mark. Or, marks, rather. It was strange enough to see two strangers wandering Vasoria. Their ages and garb made it all the more so. The shorter of the two– a girl, he assumed, from their stride– wore a crude cloak.

The other wore a large pack on their back and carried a sword. He assumed they were a guard of some sort, but that raised more questions than it answered.

How did they make it through Umbra unscathed? Valandor wondered. If their magic was that great, Vyrna would have noticed them– and there would be other signs.

Past that obvious question, though, the way the taller one walked bothered Valandor. Even with so much distance between them, their rhythmic cadence was plain to see, and their head never kept still, leaving nothing unseen.

“So what is it?” Variel asked, impatient.

Valandor let out a long sigh. “We’re going to ask them why they’re here,” he said finally. “And if peaceful, we may guide them to their destination.”

“If they’re not peaceful?”

“... Then we do our jobs.”