An Inheritance of Fire

Viria retrieved her sword from where it lay on the ground.

“That’s enough for today.”

“… Why?”

Valandor sighed. “You know why. You’re distracted.”

She bit her lip, aware that he spoke the truth. “Sorry.”

He shook his head. “There’s nothing to apologize for. You’ve been pushing yourself hard as-is. A break is long overdue.”

Viria blinked. “A break.”

The scarred elf nodded. “A break.

“… I don’t want to take a break.”

“Too bad,” he snorted. “Resting is an important part of training. Order me all you want, but we go no further today.”

Viria bristled, but she knew Valandor was right. Just holding her uncle’s sword made her arms ache. “What are we supposed to do today, then?”

A slight smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “I have something in mind. Here, walk with me.”

She obliged, falling into stride alongside the older elf. Their training took place in the same area he’d sparred with Selerim all that time ago; a wooden barracks of sorts. Viria’s gaze, as it always did, wandered to the scars on Valandor’s arm.

He promised to share his stories, but so far, the vast majority of their time together was spent training. The other, smaller portion, was spent dealing with the hollows- although the number of convoys had lessened over the past few weeks.

That was worrying.

“… Will you tell the story of your scars?” Viria asked softly.

Valandor’s stride paused for the briefest of moments. “That’s a heavy topic… and one I thought I already shared. With you and the boy.”

“You said you would share your stories,” she pointed out. “And you did… but only partially, it seemed. If I’m mistaken, then I apologize.”

“No,” Valandor said after a pause, “you’re not.” He grimaced, rubbing his scarred arm with his hand. “The fault lies with me. It’s obvious you’d be most curious about these.” He paused. “So? What do you want to know?”

“… Why did they go to such extremes?”

The scarred elf’s stride stopped at that. “Do you think our measures were any less extreme?”

“I…” Viria trailed off. “No. I suppose not.” She’d seen the darkness of their people firsthand.

Valandor nodded and resumed walking. “Good. And to answer your question, I had information they wanted.”

“And…” she hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to continue. “Did you give it to them?”

The scarred elf laughed. It was a cold, mirthless sound. “Of course I did. That, and more. Past a certain point, you’ll say anything to make the pain stop.”

“… I see.”

“No. You don’t.” Valandor’s voice was filled with a heavy fatigue that made Viria’s heart ache.

“My apologies.”

“None needed. You asked, I answered.”

“But your scars…” she trailed off. “If you gave them the information, why are they so… deep?” Viria knew of her people’s allergy to metal, of course— she’d felt it on more than one occasion. But his scars were clearly the result of prolonged exposure.

When Valandor spoke again, his voice was deadly quiet. “We were enemy combatants. There was no reason to stop.”

“But…” She bit her lip, realizing the futility of the words on her tongue.

Did you think our measures were any less extreme?

“All things considered, I was one of the lucky ones. I was captured alongside a group. The others went mad from the pain.”

“And when it ended…”

“Aye. The humans freed us— and slew their own torturers. As did our own.”

Something about that statement bothered Viria, but it took her a moment to figure out what. “That’s… a contradiction, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

Viria struggled to find the right words. “Your words pain the humans as… callous. Uncaring. Just as you paint our own people,” she quickly added. “But that they slew their own… it says otherwise, does it not?”

“Ah.” Understanding dawned on Valandor’s weathered features. “Perhaps. Everyone has their own theory.”

“… And what is yours?”

A moment of silence.

And then—

“I think there’s a limit.”

“A limit?”

“A limit,” he repeated with a nod. “A limit to how much you can accept.” The grizzled elf sighed. “War is… dark. That’s no secret. The lines between right and wrong blur. But… not completely. After a certain point wrong is clearly wrong.”

“And you believe those who slew the torturers—”

“Yes. And it’s supported by the fact that none tried to stop them.” Valandor paused. “My memory of those times are hazy,” he said quietly, “but I remember the contempt in the human soldier’s eyes.”

Silence fell as they continued onwards.

“… Thank you for telling me.”

He nodded wordlessly.

As they approached the barracks, another figure came into view. It took Viria a moment to recognize her— Variel. One of the elves that found them when she first returned.

“You remember her?”

Viria nodded. “Her name is Variel.”

“Just so.”

“… Why is she here?”

“Because you need more people in your life.”

That was an unexpected answer. “What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said.” Valandor’s voice turned gentle. “I’ve spent more time with you than anyone else since your return. I would have to be blind and ignorant not to recognize your isolation.”

Viria frowned. “Time is precious. I would rather spend it—”

“Enough.” The grizzled cut her off, though his voice remained gentle. Consoling. “You have a goal. I respect it. Admire it, even. But you’re going to burn yourself out. Our lives may be defined by large, grand moments, but it’s the days in between that give them meaning.” He paused. “Your lessons are progressing smoothly. A break is past due.”

She sighed.

“… Alright.” There was no arguing with the old elf. And— deep down— Viria knew he was right. The isolation and loneliness was one of the many reasons she sought to fill every second of her time.

“… And thank you,” she added softly.

Valandor smiled knowingly.

“… But are you sure this is alright?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m…” Viria trailed off, unsure how to refer to herself. She wasn’t an exile— not anymore.

… Or was she?

The furtive glances had died since Veile’s public announcement, but people still talked. Valandor was one thing; he was simply too old to care.

But Variel was still young by comparison— and still subject to the whims of her superiors.

“… My position is complicated,” Viria finally said. “I don’t want to bring her any harm.”

Valandor laughed. It was different from his previous one, genuine and full of warmth.

“What?” She asked, somewhat irritated.

“Nothing,” he chuckled. “But your selflessness is refreshing. I hope you manage to hold onto it.”

Viria hadn’t the faintest clue how to respond to that. Before she could say anything more—

“Variel!”

— Valandor called out to the other elf.

Her head whipped around, and her expression lit up when she spotted the two of them. “Valandor! And Viria!”

Before Viria could say anything in response, Variel rushed forward, pulling her into a tight hug. “I was there that day, too. I’m sorry you had to go through all of that.”

Viria tried— and failed— to extricate herself from the other elf’s grasp. “You have nothing to apologize for,” she said softly. “And my name’s not Viria anymore. It’s—”

“Lila.” Variel pulled away with a nod. “I thought… you might prefer your previous one.”

Viria shook her head. “Lila is a good name,” she said gently, “and it means something to me.”

“Lila it is. So?” Variel asked, turning towards Valandor. “Why did you call me here today?”

The grizzled elf audibly groaned. “You’ve been asking me about her every morning since I accepted the post.”

“Oh. I guess that’s true.”

“She’s been curious about you since we first met,” Valandor explained, seeing Viria’s confused expression. “This is just… how she is.” His next words were addressed to Variel. “I was going to spend the day in the city with her. I thought you might like to join.”

“Yes!” Variel nodded emphatically. “Yes please!”

The old elf laughed again. “And there you have it,” he said gently. “No need to worry.”

Despite the waves of pain that rolled through her body, Veile’s steps were light. The reason for that was simple: she was happier than she’d been in a long, long time.

Not happier than the day she reunited with Viria, of course— not even close— but this was certainly the second.

She’d waited a long time for this day, after all.

“Veile!” Vayla shouted her name the as she strode through the doors. Mara, as always, followed close behind. “What is this madness?” He held a piece of paper in his hand; as did Vireldis and Voralei.

“Whatever do you mean?” Veile asked innocently as she took a seat.

“You know damn well what I mean,” Vayla snarled. “What is this?!”

“Ah.” Veile smiled. “I see my proposal has finally made its way into your hands. Might I ask for your thoughts?”

“Thoughts?!” Vayla snarled. “This is treason!” Vireldis and Voralei, each on either side of him, nodded in agreement.

Veile tried— and failed— to hold her laughter. It was a crazed sound, so maniacal and sudden that it surprised even herself. She laughed even harder at the expression of the other three Grovetenders; a mixture of surprise, worry— and fear.

“… This is no laughing matter,” Vireldis said coldly, once the laughter stopped.

“No,” Veile agreed, “it’s not.”

“… Then why the laughter?”

She burst out laughing again, and this time, it took longer for it to cease. “I’m sorry,” Veile said, wiping the tears from her eyes. “But it’s just… so funny.” She half-suppressed another giggle.

“What is?”

“You want to talk about committing treason when all three of you have done just that.”

The attendants behind each of them began to move.

“Mara.”

The sound of her magic played thrice, and they all fell dead. Elven blood pooled on the ground; their corpses islands in the sea of crimson.

“What is the meaning—”

Veile sighed. “Enough. Unless you’d like to lose your lives, as well.”

That quieted them.

“Did you think me blissfully unaware of your plans?”

“… What plans?”

“Enough. I know allllll about the plans you’ve made with those people behind our backs. Really, now, did you think I would just allow you free reign?”

Silence fell. “Good. And as for your question: is it treason? Perhaps. But the tension between our two peoples has gone on long enough. And, really, did you think yourselves the only ones they spoke with? The human kingdom is doing the same.”

“Then—”

“Yes,” Veile nodded. “You’ve splendidly fallen into their trap.” She had to force herself to keep from laughing at their expressions of shock. “And if that’s not enough, you’ve committed countless atrocities against the hollows…” She sighed. “Really, I should have each and every one of you publicly executed.”

“… But you won’t,” Vireldis said slowly.

“Correct,” she agreed. “I won’t. But not for the reason you think.”

“… Then why?”

“I want the three of you to die knowing the depths of your foolishness,” Veile answered coolly. “And I want the three of you to know that this all could have been avoided, had you left my sister and I alone. You will die afraid and powerless; not a moment before. That is my sentence.”

She stood, pushing her chair back. Mara appeared at her side amidst the sound of shattering glass. Not a single one of the others moved to stop her as she made for the door.

“Wait.” A calm voice called out to Veile. She knew who it was without even looking— Voralei.

That was unsurprising. He had always been the calmest of the three.

“If what you say is true, then surely you know what lies ahead.” A note of desperation entered his voice. “Surely you won’t judge our entire species for the actions of us three.”

Veile sighed.

It was too little, too late.

And the words themselves were insincere; a desperate attempt to grasp onto what little was left. But…

“I won’t,” she agreed. “That will be my sister’s role. And,” Veile added, her voice filled with a savage sort of pleasure. “If anyone even remotely affiliated with you comes within three steps of you, the people will have their execution. I promise you that.”

“... Are you sure about this?” Mara asked as the doors shut behind them.

“Quite. Truthfully, I care not for them nor our people. Viria is the only thing that matters to me.”

“... I see.” There was hurt in Mara’s voice.

“I care for you, Mara,” Veile added quietly. “But–”

“I know.” She shook her head. “I understand.”

“... Thank you.”