An Inheritance of Fire

Viria’s steps echoed dully throughout the ornate hall. It was all grown from elderwood. Fine murals, carved down to the smallest detail, decorated their walls. Each had been painstakingly crafted by mages across generations. They were older than her by a matter of millennia; and even if damaged, they would regrow.

It had been one of Vane’s wishes to see her walk through these halls again, but that was meaningless now.

He was dead, after all.

She sighed, looking back at the guard out of the corner of her eye. He was different from the one yesterday, though they shared the same green hair and eyes as most other elves. His head turned towards hers ever so slightly, then snapped back to the front.

His behavior was no real surprise. In truth, between them, she was the one that stood out. She was the exile, after all. Her presence in these halls was tantamount to sacrilege– and proof of Veile’s new position.

Viria came to a halt. An elegantly adorned door stood in the wall. Though carved from the same wood as everything else, it was silver-hued, and decorated by golden gildings– a rare decoration for any elf.

Behind that door was Veile. Her sister-turned-Grovetender. Viria turned to face the guard completely, now. His eyes fixed uncertainly on hers as she did so. “I’m going to see my sister,” she said briskly– then pushed through the door.

The guard, of course, deigned not to follow.

Viria’s breath inadvertently caught as she laid eyes on her sister. Part of it was at the sight of Veile’s eyes. Another at the rush of emotions that followed. She clenched her eyes shut. There were so many things left unsaid between them– and so little time to say them. She’s my sister, Viria reminded herself. That’s all that matters.

Veile’s head perked up as Viria entered the room, a smile breaking out as she recognized the newcomer. Viria tentatively smiled back, and for the briefest of moments, they were just two sisters.

And reality reared its ugly head once more, shattering that fragile illusion.

“How have the past few months treated you?,” Veile asked, still smiling.

Viria groaned, recalling the months of lessons. Many were repeats of ones she’s received in the past. “They were no more fun than the first time… though I understand the necessity, of course.” Viria paused. “Are you sure that you want my help?” She asked uncertainly. “I may be your sister, but…”

“Ria.” Veile cut her off, standing up and making her way around the desk. She grasped both of Viria’s hands in her own, pulling her close so that both their arms were trapped between their bodies.

“I don’t care what anyone else says,” she whispered. “You’re my sister. I trust you. And that’s all that matters. Understand?”

Viria nodded. Those words were easy enough to believe– but they mattered little in the face of the larger issue. “It’s not a matter of trust,” she said quietly. “I’m still an exile. The mere fact that I’m your sister erodes your position.”

Veile shook her head. “Normally you’d be right,” she murmured. “But our decidedly… public reconciliation has skewed public sentiment in our favor. As was intended.”

Viria’s chest tightened. She’d long suspected the events of their reunion were carefully constructed– they were too convoluted to believe otherwise– but hearing it confirmed, and by her sister no less, was still shocking. It also raised another question: how did Veile know so much?

“And if all goes well, your status as an exile will be no obstacle.” Veile pulled away at that. “But for now, I need your help. Your answer from before. Does it still stand?”

Viria nodded. “Of course.”

Her sister smiled again. “Wonderful.” Veile snapped her fingers, and a sheaf of paper appeared in her hand. She handed them to Viria.

“These are the details of your assignment. If all goes well, I intend to have you act as my representative in all such matters.”

Viria took the papers with no small amount of trepidation. Ignorant as she was, there was no mistaking it. This was a turning point: once she set foot into their people’s strange politics, there was no escaping it. She clenched her other hand into a fist. So what? Her whole life had been defined by such politics.

“Also,” Veile said as she reseated herself behind the desk. “Your guard. I’ve finally found a long-term one that suits you. I think you’ll quite like who I decided on. He’ll lead you from here.” And with that, her attention returned to the papers scattered haphazardly across her desk.

Viria felt a twinge of… anger? Blame? Some nameless emotion that rested somewhere between the two. Veile promised to make time for her– but so far seemed occupied by her duties as Grovetender.

She buried it, turning back towards the door. The wellbeing of their country took priority.

… No matter how much it had wronged her.

“Viria.”

The sound of her full name, spoken in her sister’s voice, made Viria flinch. Before she could turn back, Veile continued.

“I’ve not forgotten my promise to you. There will be time for us– both of us– to say everything on our minds. But for now, my attention must remain here.” There was a hint of desperation in her voice. It caused Viria’s guilt to come rushing back.

I almost killed her. I should be grateful that she even trusts me.

“... I know,” she said quietly– and pushed her way out of the room. The guard from before was nowhere to be seen. In his place was another, older elf. “Valandor!”

Viria peered up at Valandor’s back. The old elf insisted on staying two paces ahead of her. All the guards before him were content to stay at her back and steal furtive glances every so often.

Valandor, on the other hand, had barely offered a brisk greeting before leading her away from the Grovetender’s palace. He wore a military uniform, not unlike the one from their first meeting, but clearly modified.

His cloak, though still primarily brown and green, now had traces of red and orange added to the mix. The sleeve of his military-style jacket was punctured haphazardly, revealing the uniform rows of scars that marred the flesh below.

Viria had nearly thrown her arms around Valandor upon seeing him, but everything that came after was... He represented something or someone. Of that, she was sure, but his new position as her guard only served to increase the questions.

“I can practically hear the questions bouncing around in your skull,” Valandor said suddenly, without even turning around. His voice was gruff, but warm. “We’re going to be spending a lot of time together. It’s best we get everything out of the way.”

“... You didn’t seem interested in conversation, much less questions.”

The grizzled elf’s shoulders shook as he laughed. “Fair enough. My apologies. I have a… troubled history with our people’s politics, but that’s no reason for us to leave unspoken things between us.”

Viria fell silent, taking a moment to process his words. “You claim a troubled history with our people’s politics, yet have– at minimum– accepted the position of my guard. That seems more than a bit contradictory.”

“Some things are more important than ourselves.”

“Such as?”

“Our survival as a species.”

“Is that what's at stake?”

“Maybe not now,” Valandor responded softly. “But in 25 years. Maybe 50. Maybe even 200. I don’t have 25 years left in me, nevermind the rest. I’d rather do what I can before my passing.”

“I take it you’re not the only one who thinks this way.”

“Clever girl. I appreciate a sharp mind, but drop the subtleties.”

“You’re part of… what? Some organization?”

“Not quite an organization. Just a few like-minded individuals.”

“Like Vyke,” Viria said, remembering the similarly scarred elf.

“Like Vyke.”

“Did you all participate in the war?”

“Aye, but I’d advise you not to mention it around them. Not all are as well adjusted as I.”

“And why me?” Viria asked softly. That was the most important question of them all.

“You and that boy are proof that our races can do more than just coexist.”

That boy. She’d carefully avoided any thought of him, but that slight mention was enough to bring everything tumbling back. Selerim. The hollow that escorted her home after his village burned. He’d been many things to her across that journey. An unwilling guide. A protector.

A friend.

But his place was with his family.

Viria looked down at her palms. One was scarred; proof of the Oath she swore to him. Not that it mattered. He was far away now, insulated from their politics by the dark of Umbra. “Stop.” She tried to mimic the confidence of Veile’s commands.

Valandor’s steps halted completely.

“Face me.”

He complied.

“I know you view Selerim as some sort of kindred spirit, but he and I are two very different people,” Viria said coolly, toeing the line between impersonal and icy. “It’s true– a small part of me hopes to meet him again. But the rest of me dreads the day it happens– for it means things have gone terribly wrong. I have no issue with your posting as my guard, but if this is some ploy to reach him, I demand your resignation. Regardless of distance, he is someone dear to me. I’ll not have him dragged into our world against his will.”

“...” Valandor studied her for a long while– and then laughed. “Haha!” It was different from the laughter that came before it; deeper and more genuine. “I see you’ve found your teeth. I thought as much during your trial, but it’s good to have confirmation.” He tilted his head. “What brought on this new fiery attitude?”

She stiffened, caught off guard by the question. It was something she’d wondered about across the past few months. Viria’s willingness to participate in the politics of their people had surprised even herself.

“I’m just…” She searched for the right word.

“... Tired.”

“Of what, girl?”

“... Feeling helpless.”

“Aren’t we all?”

“It’s different,” Viria said calmly. “And you’ve yet to tell me what you're here for. If you’re here for Sel–”

“I’m not,” Valandor cut her off. “Use your brain. I know you’re smart. I’m interested in the bond between the two of you. It’s true that I view the boy as a kindred spirit, but each of you is just as important as the other.” He paused. “Is that all you wanted?”

“No,” Viria said softly, continuing her previous pace. “But that’s good enough. Walk beside me,” she commanded as Valandor moved to do the same. He obliged, staying just a half-pace in order to lead the way.

“Did you apply for this posting?”

“No. Your sister offered it to me. I imagine she expected me to accept, though.” His eyes took on a distant look. “She seems to know quite a bit.”

Viria nodded in agreement. “Then our meeting on the outskirts…?”

“She asked. I accepted,” he said brusquely. “I had to see it with my own eyes.”

She took a moment to consider Valandor’s words. “What are you?” Viria finally asked, looking up at the old elf as the question left her lips. He laughed yet again. It was the same cold, dead sound she’d first heard.

“I’m an elf,” he said flatly. “But the rest of our kind has called me many things. A swordsman. A prisoner. A veteran. A weaponmaster.”

“Which are you?”

“They all mean the same thing. I am a soldier. No more… and no less. But unlike those buried at the heart of our nation, my duty extends past the war.”

“And what is that duty?”

“To protect our home,” Valandor answered simply. “Even if those threats come from our own.”

Viria struggled to make sense of his words. There were gaps in his explanation, filled in by his years of life– but she understood the concepts, if nothing else. “I’m not sure I’m what you’re looking for,” she said after a pause.

“Aye. And I know it.”

“So why?”

“I’m dying.”

She skidded to a halt. Valandor stopped two paces afterwards, then turned around– and chuckled. “No, girl, nothing like that. I’m old. That’s all there is to it.” The grizzled elf closed his eyes as he spoke. “In that sense, we’re all dying. But no, I’m perfectly healthy… aside from my advanced age.”

“Are you sure you suit this posting?” Viria asked, concerned. “Even if my sister offered you this position…”

Valandor snorted. “You haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?”

“You’re untouchable right now. Even with your hollow friend gone. His threats still linger– and the general populace loved seeing your public reconciliation with Veile.” He paused, and when he spoke again, a trace of sarcasm was present. “And there’s that small matter with Vanis.”

Viria flinched at that name. Vanis. The mage who nearly killed her– and Selerim. Her shoulders and legs ached as she recalled being pinned down. She had the scars to prove it. “She tried to kill us,” she said icily. “What happened was just.”

The old elf snorted again. “Be that as it may, her corpse was recovered in two pieces. And if the rumors are to be believed, it was by no blade. I heard her body was charred beyond recognition.”

She shivered, remembering the savagery with which Selerim killed the mage. Her face had been half-melted, and a hole burned into her chest.

Still.

It was hard to feel pity.

“Those are rumors meant to stay in high places,” she said slowly.

“And now you’ve ascertained that I have friends in high places.”

“Should I be worried?”

“Do you think your sister would knowingly assign me if I was a danger to you?”

“... I suppose not.”

“And besides, like I said, it’s no organization. Just a small group. We’ve all aged beyond caring for elven politics. We have too little time for that.”

“So what is it?” Viria asked, frustrated. “Why are you here?”

“I just want to die with a little hope left.” Valandor suddenly sounded very tired. “I’ve been alive for much, much longer than you, child. I lived through the war. I’ve seen the horrors that every person, regardless of race, is capable of. And yet I know that our future lies in one of two places: unity, or ruin.”

She fell silent. There was some truth in his words, she was sure, but…

“Selerim is a hollow,” she said gently. “They don’t need us.”

“True enough,” Valandor said grimly. “But they benefit from our wellbeing– and I’m desperate. That’s all there is to it. Don’t need to think too much about it. And besides, even my limited experience with the boy is part of why your sister offered this position to me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The grizzled elf’s look turned incredulous. “You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“The position your sister gave you.”

“I haven’t had time to check,” Viria protested.

“Then you should do that now. Before we meet them.”

Spurred on by the fear of whoever them was, Viria pulled the papers Veile gave her from the bracelet. “Oh,” she said, suddenly embarrassed. “I see.”