An Inheritance of Fire

Voja raised the cup to his lips. The tea was bitter, but he savored the nostalgic taste. As he lowered the cup, there was a knock at the door. “Come in.” It swung open, and a lone man pushed his way in.

“Varus.” The doctor’s golden hair was immaculate. “To what do I owe the surprise?”

The golden-eyed doctor took a seat on the other side of Voja’s desk. “Your plan is in motion.” It wasn’t a question or statement; rather, the words were spoken with the indifference of an observer.

Voja raised his cup again, looking at the doctor over the curved white rim. “Why do you say so?” He asked, voice flat.

Varus smiled thinly. “There’s no need to worry. I have never been your equal, and that fact has not changed over the years. No, I simply wanted to be certain that the terms of our agreement remain intact.”

Voja drained the rest of his tea. “That’s not something that either of us can decide.”

“So you say. But then again, you’ve never allowed any chains to bind you for long. I see no reason why self-imposed ones would be any different.”

The Warden sighed. “What do you want, Varus?”

“As I said. To be sure that our agreement remains intact.”

“Why? You’ve never bothered with such matters before now.”

The doctor’s gaze sharpened. “Regardless of what you think, brother, I’ve not forgotten our shared history. You have your plans, and I have mine. Though they may differ in nature, our goals are much the same.” He paused for a moment. “Did you know that I’ve accepted a rather unique patient recently? A hollow who suffers from essence poisoning.” Another pause. “Apparently, their village was destroyed.” Varus’ voice grew dangerous. “I suppose that you played a hand?”

“And if I did?”

He sighed. “What do you expect of me? Even if not for our mutual agreement, I am not your equal. No, Voja, I’ve come for something else.”

“And what is that?”

“To claim them as my people,” the doctor said matter-of-factly. “I am no fool. Eventually, you will find out about them– and when you do, you will have them killed.” He shook his head. “I can’t allow that. The girl is important.”

“And you expect me to allow such a dangerous loose end to exist?”

Varus smiled. “And her family.”

Voja grimaced. “Enough with the theatrics. You know as well as I do that there’s no need for anything further.”

“Like I said. You’ve never been one for chains. I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

“Is that all?” The Warden asked flatly.

“For now.”

“Then leave.”

“Very well.” Varus stood and turned for the door. Just as he was halfway through–

“Varus.” Voja spoke up. “I’ve not forgotten our shared history, either."

“...” The doctor turned back around, wearing a complicated expression. It softened for a brief moment. “I’m glad to hear that.” The door closed behind him, leaving Voja alone again.

The Warden slumped back into his chair. His mind churned, racing to plot out every possible scenario that could arrive. He’d planned for this, at least in part. Did I make a mistake? He’d agonized over the first target for months, ultimately deciding on the most remote. Voja had accepted the fact that there were tradeoffs– and that there was no truly perfect plan.

“Haah.”

The Warden ran a hand across his face with a sigh. You planned as much as possible, he reminded himself. There was always a risk of failure. This complicates things, but there are already multiple fail-safes in place.

“...” Varus’ involvement complicated things, but not impossibly so. And Voja still had a trump card.

“Nalos…”

He’d chosen the Spellweaver for a reason.

All he could do now was trust.

“What do you mean?” Selerim’s low voice carried a note of danger that made Viria flinch. Her hands scrabbled uselessly against the compartment’s interior, but no matter how frantically she searched, there was nothing.

Panic took control as she flung books to the side, then froze, instantly regretting her rough treatment of childhood memories. Viria’s breath came more quickly, now, and each was shorter than the last. “I don’t understand,” she eked out between gasps. “It all– everything was– it was all–”

“Viria.” Selerim’s voice cut through her panic, and his hand touched her shoulder. “Calm down. What’s wrong?”

She took a deep breath and forced her breath to steady. “Everything’s gone.” Her voice was numb with shock. “All of it. There were plans, contacts, letters, memorabilia…” Tears welled up. “It’s all gone.”

“Are there more copies?” The hollow asked.

“No. He said they could get people killed. And there were artifacts. Magical items that can’t be replaced.” Viria let her hands fall still. “Some of them were important.”

“So someone took them,” Selerim said softly.

Viria shook her head. “I know how it looks, but…” she gingerly picked the books up and dusted their covers. “The keys are more secure than they look– I swear. Only my uncle and I knew the patterns.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded. “It was the first thing he made me memorize.”

“Then what now?”

Viria struggled to think. “I know bits and pieces, but not everything. Did he tell you anything? I heard some of what he said to you, just… not much.”

“He gave me a name. Veril. I didn’t mention it because I assumed he would be part of your uncle’s plans. Does it mean anything to you?”

She tried– unsuccessfully– to attach a face to the name. “No. It doesn’t.”

Selerim’s face darkened. “They were here. They’re gone now. Who could have taken them?”

Viria shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. If what Vane said was true, then many people would’ve wanted them.”

“But no one knew the keys– the patterns.”

She nodded.

“Are you sure?”

Another nod.

“But it doesn’t look damaged.”

“It’s not,” she confirmed, running her hands over the shelves to be sure.

“Which means someone opened it.”

“I…” Viria bit her lip. “I guess. I just… don’t know how. But it was rigged. If someone tried to open it without setting the patterns, they’d be destroyed.”

“So someone opened it.”

She nodded silently.

“Do you think Valandor told someone about us?”

Viria thought for a moment. “Do you?”

Selerim hesitated, then shook his head.

“I don’t either. He’s strange, but… I trust him.”

“What do we do then?” Selerim asked softly.”

She thought for a moment. “I think…” Her throat tightened around the words, but she knew it was for the best. “I think you should leave now,” Viria said softly. The hollow was silent as she stood. “If all were well, you’d already be on the way back to your family.”

“I’ll think about it,” he answered quietly. “But I’ll see you back to Valandor and the others first.” Viria’s heart tightened at that, but she forced her voice to remain steady.

“I can reach someone through him.” It would just take longer– and be much more dangerous. She felt Selerim’s eyes on her, but couldn’t bring herself to meet them.

“Alright. Is there something that I can write with?”

Viria thought for a moment. “My uncle’s room on the first floor. It’s to the left. Why?”

“I need to send a message.”

“I…” She trailed off. “Alright. Do you want me to show you where it is?”

“No.” The hollow stepped back towards the stairs. “If there are any keepsakes you want, you should take them,” he said gently. “You may not have another chance.” The pain in Selerim’s voice suggested that he was speaking from experience.

Viria looked back toward the shelves as he disappeared down the steps. After nearly two years away, the memories were overwhelming. The books here formed the foundation of her childhood; nighttime always ended with Vane reading to her at night.

Tears welled up as she imbued essence into her bracelet. Invisible hands reached out, enveloping the shelves’ contents with their countless fingers– and the books vanished. Or, rather, most of them. Around a third remained on the shelves, scattered at random. I’ll have to ask Selerim. There would be enough room left in his.

Just as Viria turned back towards the stairs, her vision flickered. Wh– her panic returned. Rushing over to the railing, she saw Selerim halfway up. His back was turned to her, and his gaze fixed on the door. The hollow held a piece of paper in one hand. “Was that…?” She trailed off, afraid to complete the question.

Selerim nodded. “Nyx.” His voice was tense.

Viria swallowed. “What about Valandor? And Variel and Vyrna? Weren’t they watching?”

“You said you trust him.”

“I do.”

“Are there any Reavers?”

“Not this far out.”

“So there’s more people,” he said flatly. “And they just walked right past the others? Without them noticing?”

Viria winced. “I guess you’re right. You were foolish, she chided herself. Of course no one would help an exile so readily.

“What do you want to do?” Selerim asked softly. “I have no idea what to expect.”

She gripped the other staircase’s railing. “This may be for the better.” His violet eyes followed her down the steps.

“How?”

“I’m older now,” Viria answered quietly. “My uncle didn’t anticipate his death, but most of his plans revolved around my sister and I coming of age.” She hesitated. “It’s easier to silence someone too young to accept their birthright.”

“Are you sure?” Selerim asked.

She nodded. “My name still carries weight.”

“But you’re an exile,” he said softly.

Viria flinched. “Even still.”

“Are you sure?”

“No. But there’s not much else to do. And,” her voice turned forceful. “You should go back, once they find us.” She reached for the doorknob, but one of Selerim’s hands grabbed it first.

“Let me go first.”

Before she could protest, he pushed the door open. Viria saw his body tense as sunlight streamed in through the door, but there was nothing out of place– save for the lack of trees. “Do you see anything?” She craned her neck, then tried to push past him. But–

“Viria.” Selerim raised a hand to stop her. There was a warning note in his voice.

“What? There’s noth–” She trailed off as a figure pushed its way into view. It was followed by another– and then another. Viria’s mouth dried as she counted. There were fifteen in total, led by a tall woman dressed slightly differently. She assumed they were all elves, but only their leader showed their face. The rest were hidden under their hoods.

While her companions wore clothing similar to that of Valandor’s squad, she wore pure green robes, embroidered with simple patterns sewn in dark blue. She held a plain wooden staff in her hands; the instrument was free of even the slightest decoration. The others all had swords and bows.

She stopped ten paces from the doorway.

“I am Vanis. Are you the exile?” Her voice was icy.

Before Viria could answer, Selerim shifted his posture, stepping to the side so that he stood directly in front of her.

“This doesn’t concern you,” the female elf said. “I have orders to arrest her– and permission to use force, if necessary.”

“It’s okay,” Viria said, pushing her way past the hollow. “For what reason?” She asked loudly, addressing the apparent leader. “An exile I may be, but that in itself is no crime.”

The female elf’s eyes flicked to Viria, fixing on her before answering. “For the murder of Vane Varael– your uncle, I’m told.”

Viria felt her heart break.

Selerim’s reaction was more extreme. He pushed his way back in front of her, teeth bared. His sword gleamed in the sunlight as he pulled it free. Uncertainty ripped through the hooded figures at the sight. Vanis looked at him for a moment, then hefted her staff casually.

“As I said.” A blue glow enveloped her body. “I’ve been given permission to use force, if necessary.” Her gaze flicked back to Viria. “I suggest you stop your friend,” she said icily. “You may have some magical talent, but you are not my equal.”

Viria saw Selerim’s body tense at the sight of magic. Afraid that the hollow would hurl himself at them, she reached out and gently brushed one hand against his back. “Selerim,” she said softly. “Don’t.”

She pushed past the hollow as he turned around, stopping to address the female elf. “He’s my guest.”

The robed elf’s eyes narrowed. “You are an exile,” she said grimly. “Your blood still has meaning, but you understand what that means in this current predicament, correct?”

“Yes. But he’ll be leaving soon.” Viria tried– unsuccessfully– to keep her voice from wavering. “Why have I been accused?”

“Someone spotted you– without your uncle– and felt compelled to report it, given your… history.”

Viria clenched her fists. “Was it Valandor?” Even if she hadn’t known the old elf for long, the idea of his betrayal was still saddening. To her relief, Vanis shook her head. “His name wasn’t on the report.”

“A Reaver killed Vane,” Selerim interjected from behind. “She had nothing to do with it.”

Vanis’ eyes moved back to him. “It seems you’ve been busy during your exile. If you,” she pointed to the hollow, “claim to have witnessed the victim’s demise, then you’ll have to come with us– and we’ll need to disarm you. No harm will come to you or your belongings. I give you my word.”

His face twisted. “No,” he spat. “I don’t trust you. Not you, or your words.” Shocked whispers spread through the gathered elves. Viria saw Vanis’ face flush in anger, but cut the mage off before she could respond.

“He’s my guest,” she repeated quietly. “And he’s ignorant of our ways.” For just a moment, she saw the other elf’s icy facade crack. “Fine,” the mage growled. “But if he’s your guest, see that he refrains from further insults.” Vanis whirled around. “Please follow me.”

“Wh–”

“Wait. Please. You need to listen, alright? You’re my guest, right? You heard me say that?”

Selerim nodded, confused.

“You have to be careful. Don’t insult anyone– and don’t get into any fights.” The words tumbled out of Viria’s mouth. “If you do–”

“Viria.” His voice, quiet and calm, lent her some semblance of comfort. “What does it mean?”

She took a deep breath. “When foreigners visit– usually it’s for trading– someone takes responsibility. It sounds strange, but it’s important. You’re my guest, so it’s my word on the line. My name.”

A small piece of her hoped the hollow wouldn't catch on–

“You’re an exile though.”

– but that hope was soon dashed.

“What happens if I mess up?” Selerim asked quietly.

Viria laughed. It was a hollow, mirthless sound. “Then I die.” Saying it out loud made it feel that much more real.