An Inheritance of Fire

Viria reveled in the response of essence as it flowed around her. She held fast with her mind, carefully sculpting it into her desired shape: three needle-shaped blades, each as long as she was tall.

It was a long, arduous process, made all the worse by her aching body. Her training with Valandor had turned into a nearly daily occurrence, mostly due to her own insistence. Every moment of inactivity was one spent impatiently, desperately waiting for the next distraction.

That was one of the many reasons she looked forward to these sessions with Veile. Time with her sister— and an opportunity to learn. Such sessions, though inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, had helped tremendously. Control came easier, now, though real magic still eluded her. That was the reason for this new direction.

Viria had chosen, after careful consideration, to emulate Vanis’ magic. In spite of her deliberation, the reason behind such a choice was very simple: she had nothing else to go off of. Vane taught her what little he knew, but he himself always claimed to be a poor excuse of a mage.

She’d briefly considered Selerim’s magic, but discarded that idea just as quickly. Even after bearing witness to his power— on more than one occasion, at that— she still lacked even the most basic understanding.

In retrospect, that wasn’t terribly surprising. The hollows were shrouded in mystery, after all.

Viria forced her thoughts away from him and back towards the task at hand. Even like this, in its “complete” form, she knew it was no more than a fragile imitation. Vanis’ magic was forged by her Sigil, tempered by an understanding that she lacked.

Hers, in comparison, was shoddy; realized through brute force rather than knowledge— but still more than she’d ever been capable of before.

Veile’s eyes glowed with a multi-hued luminescence as she stepped forward, causing the world of blue to ripple. “Your control is improving,” she murmured, reaching out to touch one of the hovering constructs with her scarred hand.

Her touch echoed across the spell and into Viria’s mind.

“You chose Vanis’ magic as a base.”

Viria nodded, unwilling to risk breaking the spell.

“A wise choice,” Veile said with a nod, her lips curving into a small smile. “Though one that carries painful memories with it.”

Those words brought them rushing back. Viria had watched Vanis reduce Selerim to nothing more than chunks of flesh— just before he’d burned her in half.

Her spell shattered as they burned bright against her psyche; crowding out every other thought. Shards of shimmer blue spun in every direction.

“It suits you,” Veile said quietly. Her eyes seemed even brighter in the sudden absence of light. “But take care not to use control. Bonds of power are fragile ones, indeed.”

The blue in Viria’s vision cleared bit by bit. “You shouldn’t touch it,” she said uncertainly.

“Why not?”

“I…” She trailed off, unable to provide an answer.

“I’m fine. See?” Veile asked, holding her scarred hand up. Despite the deep, deep black of her scars, there was clearly no damage.

When she remained silent, Veile reached out to take Viria’s hand in her own. “Ria.” In spite of the terrible scars, her skin was perfectly smooth— and warmer than her own.

Viria shivered as Veile’s fingers laced through her own.

“I’m fine.”

She forced herself to accept that. “What now?” This was a turning point— that was clear enough, but not one with a clear path forward.

“Now we practice,” Veile answered simply. “Did you think the road to mastery was such a simple one?”

Viria tried to be content with that. She really did. But—

“You’re not satisfied, are you?”

— her dissatisfaction must’ve been obvious. She considered denying it, but decided against it. There was no point.

“No,” she said finally. “I’m not.”

“Why not?”

“I…” Viria fell silent, struggling to put her thoughts into words. “It’s not enough.” Her voice rose as she continued, fueled by the frustration and desperation that dyed her days. “Vanis cut Selerim into pieces—” her voice cracked.

“— just before he seared her in two. What use is this against… that?”

Veile snorted indelicately, freeing her hand as she stepped away. “Vanis was one of the strongest mages in our nation,” she said coolly. “And Selerim is… a special case.”

“Even so,” Viria muttered, unable to keep tears from welling. She wiped them away as soon as they fell, embarrassed by her lack of control. “I promised to help him.” Her scarred palm burned fiercely; she balled it into a fist. “How am I supposed to do that when this is my limit?”

Veile looked at her incredulously— and then laughed. It was a bright, joyous sound, full of warmth and mirth— things that Viria’s life had been sorely lacking.

“What?”

It took her Veile a moment to quiet. “Forgive me,” she said, still giggling as she moved to dry her own tears. “I always forget.”

“Forget what?”

Veile finally calmed herself. “Your sense of scale is off.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Vanis possessed the sort of strength that everyone in our nation covets. And Selerim slew her without receiving so much as a scratch.” She paused. “In a manner of speaking, of course. Did you think reaching their level would require so little time?”

“I…” Viria trailed off. Her impatience seemed unfounded in the face of Veile’s words. “No, she answered. But time…” she closed her eyes, suddenly sure of the certainty in her words. “Time seems to be something we have precious little of.”

Veile’s lingering smile turned sad. “Your words are true enough,” she answered slowly. “No one ever truly has enough time left.”

“Then why?” Viria asked as her frustration boiled over again— only to fall silent as she saw, for the first time since their reunion, a hint of anger in her sister’s eyes.

“Because I know you’re already well aware of the consequences.” Those words, delivered with a harshness uncharacteristic of Veile, cut her to the core.

Because they were true.

Twice, now, she’d nearly killed someone she cared about. First Veile— and then Selerim. Magic was dangerous.

Uncontrolled magic, even more so.

Veile, seeing the hurt in her eyes, pulled Viria into a hug. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, voice raw with emotion. “That was unfair.”

Viria took a deep breath before returning the gesture. “It’s okay.”

And it was.

Sisters they were, but estranged ones, having spent most of their childhoods apart. Viria decided long ago that if Veile were to offer forgiveness, she would accept it without question.

Deciding how to act around her sister was difficult enough for her— it was difficult to imagine how Veile did.

Was she angry? Scared?

She promised otherwise, but emotions were complicated things, and nigh impossible to bend to one’s will.

They stood there for a while longer, until Veile finally pulled away, leaving Viria feeling cold— and alone. Her multi-hued gaze softened, now free of the anger present just moments ago. Fatigue and weariness had taken its place.

“This is about Vane, isn’t it?”

Viria flinched at her uncle’s name, but said nothing. She looked down, where his sword was stored safely in the bracelet around her wrist— and nodded once. Her sister’s words rang true.

The training with Valandor was a welcome distraction, but also a way to connect with her late uncle. Magic— if she ever mastered it— was another way to do so. And that, more than anything, was something Viria desperately craved.

“It takes time…” Veile said softly, dashing the last of her hopes—

“… but you’re right. The future waits for no one.”

— only to raise them again a moment later.

“Then…?”

But Veile shook her head. “I offered to be your teacher,” she said gently, “and I intend to play that role to its conclusion. But part of teaching is knowing your student’s limits. What did Vane teach you?”

Viria thought back. “Very little,” she answered slowly. In truth, she’d learned more about magic during this brief time than all his lessons combined.

Her sister nodded expectantly. “His talents always lay elsewhere.” Veile raised one hand, palm upturned as she spoke. A small globe of light appeared atop it. It took the form of rushing water, then running wind, clumped earth, and then burning fire.

Viria watched enviously. Small as it was, that was true magic— control over the world itself. By comparison, hers was little more than a trick of the light.

“Water, wind, earth, and fire. Those are the most common form that magic takes over its wide variety of implementations. But there are other forms… like lightning.”

As Veile spoke, electricity arced to life between her fingertips. It froze as she caught it; then dissolved into so many motes of light.

“But these are much less common, and usually stem from an individuals Sigil.” She paused, giving Viria time to process her words. “Why do you think that is?”

It took her a moment to find the right answer.

“… Simplicity.”

“Very good.” A hint of pride welled as Veile nodded, but Viria doused it just as quickly.

“Wind cuts, water wets, earth protects, and fire burns. A gross oversimplification, to be sure, but a useful one. You remember before, when I told you that magic is an extension of our will?”

She nodded.

“Exerting that will requires an understanding— the end result is magic.”

“… And I don’t have understanding,” Viria said quietly, remembering the rest of her words. “Because you do.”

Veile nodded yet again. “Two halves of a whole,” she said with a smile. “Each incomplete without the other.”

“But… it’s not enough.” Viria forced herself to remain in control this time.

“Enough for what?”

She found herself at a loss in the face of that question— but only for a moment.

“… To stay in control.” Even without her Oath to Selerim, Viria would have sought power. Her life up to this point had been decided by others.

No more.

“Very few of us are in control of our lives.” Veile’s eyes took on a faraway look, and when she spoke again, her voice was sad. And then those things were gone. “Regardless, I understand your plight.”

Viria winced. She knew better than to be so careless with her words.

“What form of magic, then, are you most comfortable?” That was the easiest question she’d asked thus far.

“Fire.”

Veile nodded. “Then let’s start there.” A warning note crept into her tone. “Show me. But don’t push yourself.”

Despite the ease with which she’d answered, Viria found herself confused by that— but only for a moment.

Understanding.

With that single word in mind, she raised her hand as Veile had done, weaving essence into—

Viria stopped short.

What was she supposed to do? Their lessons until now were focused on something completely different.

Fire was… vicious.

With that in mind, she wove the first strand.

It was vicious. Hungry. It consumed not just to sate itself, but to grow further— and feed more.

A lick of flame lapped across her palm band then winked out. Viria closed her eyes, picturing its viciousness as it swallowed Cress.

But there was more to it than that.

It gave light and warmth. Her journey through Umbra was an arduous one; spent mired in the shadows that shrouded the land. Their shared moments, the ones of genuine warmth and care, had all occurred by the campfire.

When she opened her eyes, a small ember burned bright in her palm. It was a small thing, hardly enough to be called fire, and its orange body flickered weakly.

So Viria fed it.

That was a mistake.

It flared up, wresting control away from her as it fed greedily— and then winked out as Veile’s hand closed over it.

“Be careful, Ria,” she admonished quietly. “You’re more powerful than you know. But,” she stepped away again. “That concludes our lesson for tonight. I’ll have Mara escort you back.” Her lips curved into a smile, larger and more genuine than those before it.

“I look forward to our next meeting.”

Viria, though taken aback by the abrupt conclusion, smiled back. They would act like sisters next time, if nothing else.

The moment the other two elves disappeared, Veile stumbled. Waves of pain wracked her body, forcing her down—

Until Mara’s hand caught her, holding her steady.

“Viria…” Veile choked out her sister’s name.

Mara’s hair jumped as she nodded. “Safe.”

“Good.” Veile relaxed.

“… The pain is getting worse.” It wasn’t a question.

“That’s good. It means it’s working.”

Mara fell silent.

Veile took a dark, twisted pleasure in that. For all Mara’s care and concern, her priorities lay elsewhere. They stayed there in silence for a while longer until she found the strength to stand.

“We should head back.” Completely spent, Veile hadn’t the strength to keep the pain from her voice.

“Veile…”

Mara’s barely-audible whisper stopped her short. When Veile turned back to face her attendant, she saw a look of pained understanding on her face.

“You’re scared, aren’t you?”

Those four words threatened to shatter Veile’s resolve. They carried tidings of the future with them.

“… I am.” Her words trembled; she clenched the hem of her dress. It was pure green; the symbol of a Grovetender.

She’d always hated that color.

“But so what? So are thousands of others.”

“You’re not thousands of others.”

“You’re right. I’m not. I’m a Grovetender. I have a duty—”

“That’s not what I meant,” Mara interjected. “Those thousands of others aren’t in front of me right now. You are.” And with that, she opened her arms uncertainly.

Veile looked at her for a moment— and then laughed. “Mara… of all the reasons I found you, this was not one of them.”

Mara furrowed her brow. “I know I’m not good at this sort of thing,” she said brusquely, “but you won’t listen to me otherwise.”

“Because there’s no point!” Veile shouted, unable to keep her anger at bay. “It changes nothing!”

“It changes nothing,” she repeated, emotionally spent. “I might as well spare you the pain.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Mara said calmly, completely unbothered by the outburst. “You need to cry. So cry.”

Her words carried tidings of the future; Veile shut them out, not wanting to threaten the sanctity of this moment. “Are you sure?” She asked, her voice broken.

Mara nodded silently.

Veile took one tentative step, then another— and Mara’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her close. She felt warm and solid.

Completely different from herself.

As Mara’s warmth enveloped her, Veile felt herself relax.

And then the tears came. She’d kept this side of her hidden for so long, but there was no denying it.

Deep down, she was still a child.

And one with a broken body.

Before long, she found herself taken by the dark of sleep. That was no refuge from the pain. In some ways, it made it worse. The pain was dull and tepid, swallowing her whole; a grim contrast to the sharp pain of waking hours.

When Veile woke, her head was on Mara’s lap— just as it had been so many times before. The pain was worse, now, but her body felt lighter.

“Mara,” she whispered.

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

Silence fell, only to be broken by Veile.

“Mara,” she whispered again, more quietly than before.

“Hm?”

“I’ve made my choice,” Veile said softly. “And I made it willingly. There’s no reason to feel guilty.”

“Hmm…” Mara ran one hand through her hair as she hummed. “I always will.”

“Why? I was the one who offered.”

She smiled sadly. “At the end of the day, I’m using you for my own gain. That’s reason enough to feel guilt.”

“… Alright.”

Veile closed her eyes—

“… Why go to all this trouble?”

— only to reopen them as Mara asked a question of her own. But this one was answered easily enough.

“… I want my sister to have the right to choose, just as I have,” Veile answered quietly. The answer was for herself just as much as it was for Mara. “And no matter her choice, I will die content.”