An Inheritance of Fire

“You can’t be serious!”

Nalos stood as he shouted, toppling his chair. He regretted his actions immediately– even if he considered Voja a friend, he was still a Warden– and one with a reputation for being ruthless with those under his command.

Like temperamental Spellweavers who shouted at their superiors. To his credit, though, the golden-haired man only raised an eyebrow at the outburst.

“Why can’t I be?”

“Because it’s a suicide mission!”

A mask of impassivity slipped over Voja’s face. “Perhaps,” he responded quietly. For a moment, Nalos seriously considered hurling himself at the other man. But only for a moment. Righting the chair, he settled for slamming his fist on the desk as he sat back down. “There aren’t even maps for those areas! And who knows how many Reavers we’ll have to go through?!” The mask slipped, and a wry smile spread over Voja’s lips. “That’s why you’re opposed?”

“What do you mean?”

“Not the lives that I’m ordering-” he stressed the word “-you to take?”

“You’ve always had your reasons.”

“And that’s enough for you?”

Nalos stopped to think. “I don’t get it,” he admitted after a moment. “Why risk antagonizing them? Don’t we need them?”

“Like you said, I always have my reasons.”

The temptation returned. Stifling it, Nalos lowered his voice. “Why me?” Voja fell quiet at the question, and for a moment, the Spellweaver thought his question would go unanswered. “I need someone that I can trust,” The Warden said flatly. Out of all the answers that Nalos had expected– considered– that one certainly hadn’t even made the list. He slumped back in his chair, stunned, as he considered the words.

“Fine,” he muttered, raising his head to glare at the other man. “But after this, I want in.” A quizzical look passed over Voja’s face, but Nalos pressed on. “I’m not stupid. I know that you’re working on something behind the scenes.” He smiled. “You always have your reasons, right?”

The Warden’s golden eyes flickered as he considered Nalos, looking him over from head to toe. “Fine,” he voiced his agreement. “Return safely first.” Nalos leaned forward, grinning in satisfaction. “Then I accept.”Voja smiled– really smiled– for the first time. “It is an order, you know.”

“Maybe, but I think the Court would take my side on this one. Besides…” Nalos trailed off. “For some reason, I think you’d prefer to keep this quiet.” The other man’s face darkened. As he stood, Nalos feared he’d gone too far. But Voja only nodded stiffly– a silent admission of guilt.

The Warden slid a piece of paper over to Nalos, tapping to draw his attention. “Report to this location in two days at noon. If you fail to check in, the battalion will leave without you, and you will receive no payment. While you will receive a set of equipment, we recommend procuring extra provisions for yourself. Lastly, the provided gatestone has been anchored to the Court hall of origin, and its routing will not be accepted until sufficient time has passed. Any attempt to circumvent this failsafe this will result in the device’s destruction. Once the lock has been deactivated, payment will be credited to the account of your choice, regardless of whether you return.” Spiel finished, Voja leaned back in his chair. “Any questions?”

Nalos shook his head as he looked down the list. “Then you’re dismissed.” As Nalos opened the door, the golden-eyed Warden asked one last question.

“Why?”

Nalos stopped halfway through the door. “What do you mean?”

“You know what.”

For a moment, the Spellweaver stood there. He considered answering– voicing the reason for his decade of loyalty– but decided against it. Instead, he met Voja’s piercing gaze with his own. “You know why.”

And left the room without so much as a glance back.

“I’m ho– oof!” As soon as Nalos opened the door, Saris slammed into him, wrapping her thin arms around him and cutting off his greeting. “Hey, be careful!” He admonished gently, tousling her hair. “You’re not so small anymore.” Ilen, for his part, only offered a weary smile.

“Where’s Alana?” He asked, looking around for the caretaker. “She left already,” Ilen answered quietly. “I told Saris to go to bed, but she insisted on waiting for you.” Nalos felt a tinge of sadness at the implicit accusation in his son’s words– even if he couldn’t blame him.

“I’ll put her to bed right now, then. Wait a few minutes for me?” Ilen nodded in response before taking a seat by the dinner table. Nalos swooped Saris up in his arms. She laughed in excitement all the way to her bed, where she pouted her lips in protest. “Do I really have to go to bed?”

Nalos laughed and pulled the blanket up to her neck. “Yes, you do, darling. Growing girls need their sleep.” Leaning in close, he pressed his forehead to hers, making his daughter laugh. “I promise I’ll tell you every story I have when I get back, alright?” With that, he tapped the glowstone on her nightstand, plunging her room into darkness before joining Ilen at the table.

“You have to leave again, don’t you?” The young boy asked. “How’d you know?” Ilen shrugged. “I just do.” Nalos sat there for a moment, considering his words. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, grasping both of his son’s hands. Ilen shrugged again. “It’s okay. I get it. You have to work to take care of us.” He took a deep breath. “It’s just… she misses mom.” He took a breath. “And I do too,” he admitted.Nalos smiled sadly. “I know. You’ll see her again. I promise. We promise.”

Ilen nodded. The young boy’s understanding cut his father to the core. Everything that happened had given him a maturity beyond his age– and Nalos hated it. But for now… it was better like this. “You know what to do if I’m gone for longer than three months?” The green-haired boy nodded.

“Tell me.”

Ilen sighed, but began reciting the instructions. “Go to the Royal Court’s hall. Tell the attendant that the bagpipe-playing bartender went to feed lumber to the dwarves. After that, stay at home and wait for someone to come find us. Tell Alana that her services are no longer needed, and that her severance will be doubled.”

“What’s the password?”

“I’m ready to visit the Crownless King’s Forest.”

Nalos nodded. “I’m sorry,” he apologized again. They both knew the words were meaningless, but Ilen just nodded. “Is everything okay?” Nalos asked, noticing the apprehension in his shoulders.

“Hey, come on, talk to me,” he prodded gently as the silence stretched between them. Ilen hesitated, looking back towards his sister’s room before he responded. “She looks human. I don’t.” Nalos could all but feel his heart break at those words. Not just because of the sentiments being expressed by a 12-year old boy, but because he knew it was true.

It was ironic, in a way. Saris, with her platinum-blonde hair, red eyes, and slightly darker skin, took after him. Personality-wise, too; even now, as a child, she was stubborn and headstrong. Ilen, on the other hand, had taken after his mother. His son had pale green hair, the same red eyes as his sister, and a near-white complexion.

If it were just the hair, he could’ve passed it off as dye– that was popular amongst the nobles– but no matter how long Ilen grew it out, he’d never be able to hide his ears. Long and pointed, they were proof of his elven blood, and something that Nalos knew his son took great pride in– and something that made him a target.

Standing, the Spellweaver gathered Ilen in his arms, whispering another empty apology as he pulled his son close. Even if it was better like this, he hated it. Nalos wanted to tell his son everything– how everything he was doing was for them, but he knew he couldn’t.

After all, no matter how mature Ilen was, Nalos couldn’t possibly make a 15-year old understand why he was doing it. And more than that, he couldn’t possibly place that burden on either of them.

Even as he fled, Auvun knew his life was over. Sooner or later, the poison would take his life– and when it did, there would be no rebirth. Not this time. For a being that had lived millennia, it was a terrifying thought. The wound on his side burned as he flew. Every beat of his fiery wings drove the poison further and further into his body. He could feel it suffocate the flames that flowed through his veins, threatening to steal his consciousness at any moment. Pushing past the pain, the firebird wrought every drop of strength from his body, pushing himself as far away from his would-be captors as he could. Still, the poison had taken its toll. He would have to land soon. Land– and sleep. But for now, he could continue.