An Inheritance of Fire

Nalos wasn’t sure what to expect as he burst through the door. Voja’s message was as cryptic as it was brief: just four short words.

I have your son.

The burning question, of course, was why. Why was his son here, in this part of life that he’d tried to desperately to hide?

“Where’s Ilen?” He demanded.

Voja raised one eyebrow. “Is that how you speak to your superior?”

Nalos growled. “Don’t,” he warned. This was one of two things he would defend to the death.

The golden-haired Warden sighed and pointed to the side.

Following that with his eyes, Nalos found Ilen seated in a backless chair pressed up against the wall. His green eyes were mired with guilt and… something else. Something difficult to comprehend.

More alarming, however, was the blood on his right arm; tepid red swallowed his pale flesh, leaving only a few white streaks peeking through.

“What happened? Are you hurt?” The words came rushing out as Nalos knelt before his son.

The guilt in his son’s eyes was replaced with surprise. Ilen shook his head.

“What happened?”

The guilt returned, and Ilen turned his face down. For the briefest of moments, Nalos was tempted to use his Sigil, but—

“He almost killed another student,”

— Voja interjected.

Nalos felt his world begin to spin. “What?” He asked, “but—”

“He awakened his Sigil.”

His eyes widened.

“Ilen.” Nalos pulled his cloak off and balled it up, using it to wipe the blood away. Much to his relief, there were no visible injuries. “Can you wait outside for a moment?”

His son nodded once, then pushed off the chair. The door shut behind him with a click.

“I’m not entirely sure how you view this,” Voja sald calmly as he reached for a stack of paper. “But I played no part in it. I simply received the report and decided to act.”

“… What happened?”

The paper shuffled as he grabbed a number of sheets off the top.

“As I said. His Sigil awakened. He nearly killed another student.”

“Then I need to—”

The Warden shook his head. “I’ve already taken the necessary measures.” He paused, and when he looked up at Voja, his golden eyes were flinty. “Your son is a mage now,” he said flatly. “And one with a bright future ahead of him. You and I are both aware of the privileges that come with such a position.”

“That’s…”

Even if Nalos was aware, he’d hoped to keep his children away from such things.

“And for the time being, I’ll suppress any reports that emerge. You should use this time to settle things as a family.”

That made him hesitate. In some ways, it was in Voja’s best interest to keep Ilen and Sarin safe— but only to a point.

“You’re curious,” the golden-eyed Warden said.

Nalos nodded. It was hard to deny.

Voja placed the papers back down and leaned back in his chair, a look of consideration on his face.

“You’ve heard the rumor of my background.”

“… Which one?” There were too many to count.

“Which one do you think is most apt, given what you just witnessed?”

It took Nalos a moment to comprehend the meaning behind that question. “You mean—”

Voja nodded.

“… How many people know?”

The Warden raised an eyebrow at that. “An odd question. Who knows? Anybody with half an ear for the sort of thing. As for the number of people who believe it… I can think of three— the third being my brother.”

“You have a brother?”

Another nod. “You’ll meet him soon enough.”

“Then—”

“No.” Voja cut him off. His voice was flat. “He and I have chosen two different paths.”

Nalos struggled to comprehend this revelation. He’d been aware of it, of course, but never given it a second thought. It was ludicrous.

And— apparently— the truth.

“Did Ilen awaken because of…?” He trailed off, unwilling to finish the sentence.

Voja snorted. “Hard to say. To my knowledge, your children, myself, and my brother are the only half-breeds remaining in the whole world. Most were left for dead. My brother and I were fortunate enough to be blessed by magic.”

Nalos felt a surge of anger; he bit it back. He’d heard of— even seen— some of the half-breeds left after the war.

Most had been corpses, ravaged by the darkness of Umbra.

And the ones that were still alive didn’t last long. Not for physical injury; they simply lacked the will to live.

After all, they were the product of violence.

Not love.

“From what I understand, their mother was a powerful mage in her own right. That almost certainly plays a larger role. And while my brother has a useful Sigil, he is rather… lacking, in other areas.”

“… I see.” The whole thing was surprisingly easy to accept— likely because of his children. “And his Sigil? What…?”

“I was not there to witness it,” Voja shrugged. “But those who did claim he summoned some sort of wooden weapon. It seems the world has a sense of humor.”

Nalos closed his eyes.

“… What’s going to happen now?” Being a mage brought certain privileges— magic was a valuable resource— but given Ilen’s outward appearance…

“Nothing,” the Warden answered flatly. “I was prepared to protect your children from the very beginning. This matters little.”

The Spellweaver shook his head, and then, struck by a sudden thought—

“Is this all just some revenge plot?”

— blurted out a question.

Voja raised an eyebrow at that. “Do you think me the type to fixate on something so frivolous?”

“… No.” At least, not entirely.

“It may be a reason, but it’s far from the only one. And in any case, I’ve already attained revenge.”

Nalos’ blood ran cold.

“Yes.” The Warden, said, having noticed his reaction. “I executed my own father— and the rest of his family.” He paused, tilting his head. Do you think me mad?”

Nalos hesitated— and then shook his head. “No.” He found himself unable to muster more than a whisper. “I’ve seen what people are capable of.” He was struck by another thought. “And what of your mother?”

Voja seemed to shiver at that, and when he spoke, his voice was raw. “Dead. Slain by my father’s own hands.” His words, quiet as they were, held a clear warning.

Nalos of course, heeded it— partially. “Then why?” He voiced the question that had been eating at him.

… there was too much blood on his hands to ignore. Innocent blood, different from the ocean he’d spilled during the war.

Voja’s golden eyes flickered as they fixed on him. Silence fell, and just as Nalos thought he wouldn't receive an answer—

“It’s necessary.”

— one came.

Just not the one he’d expected.

“Necessary?”

The Warden nodded, and when he spoke, his voice sounded tired. “The world itself is poison. If we remain separated, then all that waits is a slow, agonizing death.”

It took Nalos a moment to understand. He was a soldier, not a thinker.

“Then why kill the hollows?”

“I would tell you if I knew. They gave me an offer: I accepted. That’s all there is to it.”

“… So easily?”

“There’s no reason to think that I’m the only person they contacted.”

That was true.

“I made a calculated decision,” Voja continued, “but such things are rarely certain. At the very least, however, I’m certain they contacted the elves.”

“… And not the dwarves?”

He snorted. “Have you ever met a dwarf?”

“No.”

“If you had, you’d know why it’s a baseless worry.”

“… I’ll take your word for it.”

His mind whirled as he tried to make sense of it. Voja’s words had caused some of the pieces to fall into place— but there was still simply too much unknown.

“I don’t understand everything,” Nalos finally admitted, closing his eyes. “But I want a better world for my children.”

Voja smiled wryly. “Our motivation may differ, but our goal is much the same.”

“That’s all I need to hear.” Nalos opened his eyes. “I made my decision long ago.”

Ilen hurriedly pulled his ear away from the door as it trembled; no doubt caused by his father’s footsteps.

He’d hardly been able to hear a thing, but he suspected. The golden-eyed man was familiar in a way that that went beyond both words and emotions. He saw it in the way he held himself.

Detached.

As if he had no place.

There was more to it, but that was even harder to put into words. Ilen felt it the moment he came out of his haze: an odd sort of kinship, despite the fact they never exchanged words before.

By the time his father exited the door, Ilen had calmed his heartbeat and taken a seat on the floor with his back against the wall. He forced himself to flinch as the door swung open.

“Ilen.”

His father knelt down, a look of concern on his face. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

Ilen nodded silently. Despite the blood, there was no pain, and no injury.

Although the same couldn’t be said for Corian.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, unable to look his father in the eye.

“For what?” Nalos asked, bewildered.

“For getting in trouble.”

“I thought the other boy started it.”

“He did, but…” Ilen hesitated. “I don’t want to make trouble for you. I’m sorry.” He saw his father’s face crumple at that. Before he could say anything to express his guilt—

“Don’t be silly.”

— his father’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him close. “I’ll never be upset that you stood up for yourself. I promise.”

Nalos stood, sweeping his son up in both of his arms and placing Ilen on his shoulders. “I…” he trailed off. “I know it’s hard to explain,” he finally said. “But I’m doing all of this for you.”

Ilen placed his arms on top of his father’s head, just as he’d done so many times in the past. “I know,” he whispered. “But I miss you. So does Saris.”

“… I know,” his father echoed. “I’ve taken some time off. I’ll be home for a good while, now.”

As Ilen nodded, the day’s chaos washed over him in the form of fatigue. And before long, he found himself drifting off into the darkness.

Selerim’s heart skipped a beat as the village wall came into view. For a moment, he mistook it for the one that surrounded Cress— until realizing it was made entirely out of stone.

“Is that it?” He asked, pointing ahead.

“… You can see that far?” Suli asked curiously.

Selerim cursed himself silently.

“… I have good eyesight.”

“I’ll say.” She turned back to the front. They stood alongside the first of the three carriages. “But you’re right. Probably. The merchants said we would arrive today.”

The remainder of their journey had passed without issue. Their first skirmish proved to be their last. Selerim’s training had also slowed; but that was due to conscious choice, rather than lack of opportunity.

Any time not spent keeping watch was spent around the campfire, listening to the others— and occasionally chiming in.

Tasha’s words had proven true. On more than one occasion, he’d walked away from a question. Not once had the others spoken of it, much less held it against him. And Selerim found he enjoyed their company.

Out of all of them, however, he was most curious about Suli. His experience with mages was fraught with anger grief, but she seemed different from Vanis, or even Viria. She walked with an easy confidence, despite the fact she’d not participated in their skirmish.

Then again, there had been no real need.

“How long will we be here?”

“Just one night. Resources are valuable. We can’t stay put for long.”

“If they’re valuable, why are there villages this far?”

“For the same reason,” she answered. “The big cities have carved away most of the easily accessible stone, metals, and other natural resources… especially after the war. Even Reavers stay away from those areas now.”

If Suli was bothered by his apparent lack of knowledge, she hid it well. That was another thing he’d come to appreciate about the small group: though they were clearly curious, they seemed to respect his desire for privacy.

Just as Tasha said.

It took them some time to reach the wall. Selerim saw Suli’s shoulders relax ever so slightly. He took mental note of their distance from the structure. As they approached, Selerim realized the wall was newly built— or at the very least, recently repaired.

Its body was still bright; untouched by the elements. Or Reavers. There was no gate; instead, a portion of the wall simply fell away as they approached. It was thinner and shorter than the one that surrounded the city.

Selerim was half-worried that whoever greeted them would make a fuss about his mask, but that worry proved a senseless one.

The village itself was smaller than Cress, and built from the same seamless stone that formed the wall. The dark of Umbra fell away as they crossed; not to the same extent as in the city, but enough to make him wince.

“… What is that?” Selerim asked once his vision cleared. The stone houses were lined up neatly, creating a grid of well-trodden roads. A different sort of structure stood at what he assumed was the village center. It was a long, thin structure, taller than the building that surrounded it.

Even from here, he could see the blue glow of magic.

“It’s the obelisk,” Suli answered. There was a note of curiosity in her voice. “It traps the essence in an area to make it habitable. You didn’t know?”

“… I lived very far away.”

“I see.” She seemed to accept that answer easily. “The same thing is in the city… just much bigger. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. The small ones are unstable.”

“Unstable?”

“They break often. They’re easy to fix, but it makes life… difficult. Everyone has to wear a Well— and extras are hard to get.” Suli audibly sighed. “It’s another concession. They’re easy enough to make, but closely regulated. Supposedly it significantly cut down on the number of bandits.”

Selerim said nothing.

“Come on,” Suli said, turning to the left. “I know where we’ll be staying.”

He followed at her side. “Have you been here before?”

“We came here when I first joined the group.” She smiled wryly. “I guess we’re alike in that way.

Suli led Selerim to a small inn; not unlike the one he’d stayed at in Vasoria, though smaller. Within a few minutes, he had his own room. Though the others were still strangers, being separated from them still felt odd after so much time together.

Part of him missed it.

Another, larger part of him felt guilty. Deep down, he knew this was the reason for his presence here. He longed for the same companionship he’d had with his friends.

Am I just replacing them? Selerim wondered as he lay on the bed, looking up at the ceiling. The room was smaller, and lacked a desk, but the soft bed was more than adequate.

He knew it was silly.

His friends were dead.

Not gone.

Not separate.

Dead.

And, more importantly, he knew they wouldn’t rue him for this.

“…”

If only that made it easier to bear.