An Inheritance of Fire

“Are you okay?” Selerim asked again, pressing his palm to Viria’s forehead. She shook her head. “Just give me a second.” The elf pulled back and dug her palms into her eyes to dry them, then took a deep, shuddering breath to calm herself. “I’m fine,” she said a moment later. “Sorry.”

Selerim frowned at the unnecessary apology, but before he could say anything, a rough voice called out to him. Turning, he saw Valandor standing across the camp. His companions shuffled around behind him, stowing a handful of items into their packs.

“Are you going to be okay?” He asked Viria. She nodded.

Selerim reached for the thin veil of indifference he kept close. Worn thin by recent events, it slipped over his shoulders and down his side– then fell away the moment Valandor spoke.

“You need to sleep,” the grizzled elf said gruffly. His voice was more forceful than the night before. “One night may be fine, but what about two? Or three? I doubt this journey will be as long– or as arduous as your last– but that doesn’t mean it will be short either. You may not care for us,” he gestured to the others behind him. “But I, on the other hand, am duty-bound to do so.”

Selerim bristled. “I don’t trust you,” he snarled. “And you expect me to–”

Valandor raised a hand. “I’m not asking you to,” he said in a tired voice. “She–” he pointed to Viria– “Claimed someone killed her uncle. We have a duty to see her words brought to light. Anything else is secondary– even our own lives. Do you understand?”

Selerim stared at the elf, then forced himself to relax. Valandor was right– and he suspected the old elf knew it, too. “Alright.”

Valandor nodded once. “Good.” He crossed his arms. “We’ll be traveling together for some time. The girl is one thing, but is there anything we should know about you?”

Selerim thought for a moment, then nodded. Raising one hand, he whistled. The pools of dark scattered across the forest floor leaped up in response, weaving themselves into threads of shadow that coalesced atop his hand.

Nyx stood there, feathers on end, and her wings half-raised.

Valandor just raised an eyebrow. One of his companions– the female elf– whirled to the other. “Vyrna!” She hissed. “You missed a Reaver?”

The third elf rolled his eyes. “You’re welcome to give it a try yourself,” he said sarcastically. “Oh wait– you can’t.” Annoyance crept into his voice. “How am I supposed to know he had a pet Reaver?”

Valandor sighed. “Stop it.” Both of them fell silent.

“I don’t think you’d be able to catch her,” Selerim said slowly, not wanting to startle either of the others– or Nyx. “But I don’t want to risk it.” Nyx vanished again as he let his arm drop.

The scarred elf sighed. “You knew we were here, didn’t you?” His companions stiffened at that.

“...”

Valandor smiled wryly. “Your silence is answer enough.” He paused. “So why talk to us?”

“... I told Viria I would listen to her. You’re her kind. Not mine.”

The grizzled elf tilted his head. “So you’ll trust the words of an exile, but not ours?” He asked lightly. For some reason, the implicit accusation angered Selerim.

“She’s shown me that I can trust her,” he spat out. “What have you done, other than stop us– and attack her?”

“Easy, lad.” Valandor laughed. “I’m not trying to provoke you.”

“But you did.”

“So I see. My apologies.” The elf waved a hand. “You should make sure everything is in order.” He paused before continuing. “We’ll take you to a blaze first. I suspect you’d like the exile to ensure we’re telling the truth?”

Selerim nodded–

“Why do you keep calling her that?”

– and the words tumbled out, unbidden.

Valandor looked at him quizzically. “Because she is an exile.”

“But she has a name.”

“Ah.” Understanding passed the old elf’s face. “No, she doesn’t.” He started softly. “Exiles have their names stripped.”

“What? But…”

“Our words are important to us,” Valandor said softly. “And what is a name but a word given to us?” The grizzled elf must’ve realized Selerim’s confusion. “This is what exile means to us,” he continued. “I doubt you’ll understand.” He waved a hand. “Go tend to your belongings.”

Viria looked up as Selerim knelt before her. “What did he want?” She asked. Her voice still trembled, and her eyes were red, but the tears were gone.

“He told me I need to sleep,” Selerim said. “And–”

“Wait,” Viria interjected, concerned. “You didn’t sleep?”

“No,” Selerim said, frowning. “But–”

“You need to take care of yourself.” Tears began to well in her eyes again. “What am I going to do if something happens to you.”

Selerim felt his chest tighter. “I promised your uncle I’d watch you,” he said gently. “I intend to. Alright?”

She nodded, took a deep breath, and stood.

“What are we waiting for?”

Viria laughed at Selerim’s expression. “What were you expecting?” She teased.

“Not this.”

They stood at the base of one of Vasoria’s trees. It was hardly different from the others spread around it– save for the giant blaze gouged into its trunk.

She laughed again. “We can’t have people missing them.” The blaze– if it could really be called that– was enormous. Not as large as the trunk it was carved on, but the first rectangle was level to the ground, and twice as large as most houses.

The second rectangle stood above it, corners perfectly aligned with those of the first. Two symbols were carved within its borders. One was a simple, imperfect circle, and the other a plain triangle. They were separated by a straight line down the middle.

“Why are they so… big?” Selerim asked. A handful of nearby trees bore similar marks.

Viria laughed again, reminded of the first time they’d set foot in Vasoria. “They need to be. Small ones don’t last as long.” She pointed up to the second rectangle. “See the symbols?”

He nodded.

“They say where either direction would take us. The circle represents the Elder Glades, and the triangle represents the Emerald Groves.” She paused. “Did you use blazes in Umbra?”

“Not often,” the hollow responded. “We have our Wyrds. There are some older ones, but they’re all close to Cress.”

“Why?”

“Something about all the Reavers avoiding the village. You’d have to ask…” his voice tightened. “Corvus.”

Before Viria could say anything, a gruff voice interjected from behind. “Well?” Turning, she Valandor standing there. His companions stood at his back with their hoods down.

She nodded once. “The Elder Glades are to the left.” She paused. “How long will it take to reach?”

Valandor shrugged. “It depends on our paces. The three of us could make it in less than a week. Vyrna alone can make it in two days, depending on how hard he pushes himself. Which, of course, means that it takes him a week.”

The other elf rolled his eyes.

Viria bowed her head slightly. “Thank you for your help,” she said earnestly.

“Do you still have strength left to travel?”

She nodded.

“Then let’s keep going.”

By the time night fell, Viria was exhausted. Not physically, but emotionally. While she simply pulled her and Selerim’s bedding from her bracelet, Valandor and his companions pulled sleeping bags from their packs, laying them flat on the ground.

Next was the firewood.

Selerim gathered a few pieces and retrieved his tinderbox. Two strikes from the firesteel was all it took to stoke the fire. He added another piece of firewood to the blaze and leaned back on his heels.

The firelight gleamed off of his bone-white hair, lending it a warm orange glow. His expression was calm, but inside, she knew his thoughts were racing.

“What are you thinking of?”

“Everything,” he said quietly.

“What do you mean?”

His eyes swept around the darkness that surrounded them. “It’s all just so… different.”

Viria hugged her knees to her chest. “I know what you mean,” she said gently. "I felt out of place, too, back then."

She saw the hesitance on Selerim’s face, but he spoke before she could prompt him.

“What about now?” He asked. “Do you feel out of place in the forest after being gone for so long?” Viria was taken aback at the question.

“... No,” she said, smiling slightly. “I was worried I might, but… it’s just like I remembered.” Her smile faded. “Around them, though…” She gestured to the other three elves. “I feel a bit out of place,” she admitted.

“...”

Selerim looked up at the sky, just as he’d done so many times before. “I see.” For a moment, his expression darkened. It lightened in the next as he rose to a stand. “Are you willing to spar for a bit?” He asked lightly. There was a hint of guilt in his voice.

Viria smiled understandingly. In truth, a distraction would be welcome. “Sure,” she agreed softly. The elderwood sword flickered into her hand as she stood. She saw Valandor’s head turn towards them as she stood, but she forcefully pushed it from her mind.

As bright as Vasoria was, the nights were still dark. They stopped after just seven paces. The firelight scattered weakly across the ground, making their silhouettes flicker as they adjusted their stances.

Viria took a deep breath– and dashed forward. As she swung, Selerim took a step back and raised his sword. It was like striking a wall. Pain lanced up through her fingers and past her wrist. My grip was wrong. She stepped back, disengaging their weapons and adjusting her grip– then stumbled.

Selerim matched her pace, keeping their blades flush before shoving her back.

Viria let her foot scrabble across the forest floor until it found purchase, then rose ever so slightly, letting Selerim push her back into a standing position. He stepped back, giving her a moment to steady.

“Good.” His tone was approving– and then he dashed forward. Instead of striking down, like usual, his sword swept up, arcing towards her throat. Selerim moved slower than before. On purpose, no doubt.

Viria took a step to the side, batting the weapon’s point away as she did so. Selerim’s foot landed by hers as he stepped forward– and pivoted. As his body spun in a wide motion, his sword reached for her neck yet again. Adjusting her grip, she jutted her weapon further out, blade held straight up. Her fingers went numb as their weapon collided.

Selerim’s violet eyes stared into hers for a moment, then broke contact.

They circled each other warily– and then he dashed forward again. They fell into a familiar rhythm.

Step.

Strike.

Block.

Breathe.

Step.

Strike.

Block.

Breathe.

After just a few minutes, Viria was drenched in sweat. Selerim, for his part, was hardly even breathing heavily. Just as she moved to strike–

“Thanks for the show.”

A voice, gruff but gentle, somehow, called out.

They both turned to see Valandor. The old elf’s weathered expression was hidden in the fire’s shadow. He pointed to Viria. “That weapon of yours,” he began softly. “It was your uncle’s, wasn’t it?”

The mention of Vane made Viria’s chest tighten. “Yes,” she confirmed. “It was.”

“I see,” Valandor said softly. “I heard the stories.”

“What do you mean?” Viria asked.

The grizzled elf snorted. “You’re carrying a relic of the past, and you don’t even know it?” His hand dropped. “You know what elderwood is usually used for, right?’

It took Viria a moment to find the right thread. “Magical applications?”

Valandor nodded. “And you never thought it strange that your uncle had a plain, magicless sword made completely out of elderwood?”

“I…” She looked down at the matte sword in her hands. Already, she could see its notched and splintered edge mending. Now that someone pointed it out to her, it was strange. How did I not see it before? She had proof of its use on her wrist.

“I knew your uncle was in the war,” Valandor said quietly. “But I never thought that sword belonged to him.”

Viria bit her lip. “He never told me much about it,” she admitted quietly. “He always said they were stories for another time.

Valandor smiled bitterly. “He was a wise man.” The old elf paused. “Perhaps I owe you an apology. Your uncle was a good man.”

Viria blinked. “You knew him?”

He shook his head “No. I never had the honor. You should carry that–” Valandor gestured to the elderwood blade. “–hidden. Your bracelets are one thing. No one would dare steal them, but that sword is another matter entirely.”

She looked down at the sword. “I had no idea.”

“He didn’t tell you?”

Bile rose in Viria’s throat as the memory of Vane’s cold, lifeless body slumped against hers came rushing back. “There wasn’t time,” she whispered.

“What about your friends?”

Valandor’s head whipped around as Selerim interjected. “No,” he said icily. “And if–”

“Then there won’t be any problems,” the hollow said flatly. The old elf stared at him for a moment longer, then nodded once.

Viria shifted her posture, groaning as her sore muscles protested. With her focus broken, the toll of their spar reared its head.

“Sleep,” Valandor said firmly. “Else your clashing blades will keep us up.”

“Can I talk to her for a moment? Without you nearby?” Valandor’s voice sounded from behind, making Viria jump. “I mean her no harm,” he added as Selerim’s body stiffened.

Viria shook her head. “I’ll be fine.”

The hollow visibly hesitated, then slowed his pace,

“What is it?” She asked.

Valandor looked back before responding. “The point of talking without you is for you to not to hear us,” he said dryly.

After a moment, he turned back to Viria.

“How much does he know?” The grizzled elf asked quietly, without preamble.

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “My uncle told him a little, I think, but I don’t know how much.”

“So why haven’t you told him everything? I imagine you’ve had plenty of time.”

“I…”

“Are you afraid that he’ll abandon you?”

Viria nearly stopped walking.

“You two come from different worlds,” Valandor said quietly. “It doesn’t matter how much he cares about you. He can’t stay– and your fate remains to be determined.”

“I know.”

“So tell him.”