An Inheritance of Fire

“We’re here.” Valandor’s voice was even more gruff than usual. Viria followed his gaze across the forest floor. A group of people stood among the tangle of light and shadow that fell from above.

Even from here, she could see that their garb was crude; ragged cloaks and leather armor. It was the barest of protection against the rigors of Umbra, but not a single one wore anything more. And though Viria couldn’t see their eyes, she knew they would be blue. They were hollows, after all.

“She really didn’t tell you?”

“Not verbally.”

Valandor snorted. “Some sisterly love.”

“It doesn’t change what we’re here for.”

“What you’re here for,” he corrected. “You’re the one with the details.”

“Details that I hardly read before now.”

“And whose fault is that?”

Viira glared at him in fake outrage, and the old elf raised his hands in mock surrender. Before she could say anything more, the convoy fell silent as they approached, parting to allow a single hollow through.

He alone was dressed differently, but his garments offered even less protection than the leather worn by his brethren. They reminded her of the garments worn by Corvus, the leader of Cress.

“I am Niras. I represent the village of Saala.” His voice, too, reminded her of Corvus. It carried no small amount of pride, care, and genuine love. Unlike Corvus, though, Niras’ voice lacked the permanent jovial undertone. “Who are you? I’ve not seen you before.”

Viria heard Corvus chuckle.

“I am…” She trailed off. What am I supposed to say? “I’ve been tasked with seeing that your people’s needs are met during your stay. Does my name matter?”

The hollow tilted his head. “I suppose not. Some of our number are injured,” he said bluntly.

“I’ll call for a healer–”

“No. Your magic doesn’t work on us. There is no essence in our bodies. Their injuries are not severe, but we carry little in the way of healing. Please bring whatever medical supplies you have.”

“I’ll see that they’re delivered to your lodgings as soon as possible.”

“My thanks.” With that, Niras turned back to his brethren. They dissolved into a flurry of motion; most simply pulled bedding from their packs, but a handful moved to set up tents.

“We have lodging for you,” Viria said, confused.

“Be that as it may, your predecessor made it clear that we were not welcome.” Niras’ voice was matter-of-fact, devoid of any accusation.

“How long have you been traveling?”

“No more than two weeks.”

Viria winced. She knew the rigor of Umbra better than anyone else. “Your people are tired. I’m sure they would appreciate a soft, clean bed, and a warm meal.

Niras’ bright blue eyes fixed onto hers. “Are you offering or insisting?” He asked carefully.

“It’s an offer,” Viria said firmly. “You and yours are free to do as you wish, so long as no harm comes to my people. But,” she paused, “I know that the daytime causes some of your people no small amount of torment.”

“Why the change of heart?” Niras asked softly.

“I’m trying to help. There’s nothing more to it.”

“I’ve seen the distrust and fear that the war bred into your people. We may not have participated, but the ocean of spilled blood reached even us. That is not something so easily forgotten, regardless of race. I respected your predecessor’s wishes because I understood that. So I will ask again: why the change of heart?”

A note of danger crept into his voice. “At first glance, it might seem that you’ve come to terms with the past, but you could just have easily descended into paranoia.”

I see. He’s considering the safety of his people. Despite herself, Viria smiled.

“Did I say something amusing?”

“No,” she shook her head. “Your candid attitude is refreshing. That’s all.” Viria took a breath, and when she spoke again, her voice was icy. “An elf I may be, but I am not like my brethren.” Anger– real anger– crept into her voice. “Believe it or not, I am here to help you. While in Vasoria, you are my guests.”

Valandor stiffened at her side, but she paid him no mind.

“Whether you choose to accept that help is your own decision.”

Niras considered her for a moment longer. There was a glimmer of respect in his eyes, now, but the wariness in his body remained. “Perhaps next time,” he rasped. “It is as you said. My people are tired. They need rest.”

Viria nodded. “Very well. I’ll see that your supplies are replenished, and that our traders are sent here soon.”

“That was stupid,” Valandor said as soon as they were out of earshot.

“What was?” Viria asked, though she already knew what he meant.

“The part where you invited an entire convoy as guests,” he hissed. “You know what that means better than I do. I’m your guard. You may not value your life after so many brushes with death, but keeping you alive is my job. I’d appreciate you not making it so difficult for me.”

“I promise you, I have no death wish. Too many of the dead’s wishes rest on my shoulders.”

“So why?”

The simple question enraged Viria. “Because I find myself more inclined to trust them than my own kind!” She hissed. The world around her erupted with blue light. And though she knew Valandor couldn’t see it, his body tensed.

“My entire childhood was spent in hiding, and the only family I’ve ever known is dead.” Viria’s voice only grew as she continued on. “And then, when I return, I’m taken captive. Nearly executed, imprisoned, and murdered. So forgive me if I find it hard to trust people.”

Valandor smiled slightly at that last line. “Is that what this is about?” He asked gently. “Whether or not you can trust me?”

“I… I don’t know.” She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, the world was normal. “You lied to me,” Viria whispered. “And… I think I can forgive that. No, I can. But you lied to me again.”

“... What do you mean?”

“You’re not just asking to be my guard.”

Valandor fell silent. That was all the answer Viria needed.

“See?” She hissed. “You’re asking me to watch you die. You said it yourself– you don’t have much time left. You ask a high price. You ask me to learn about you, learn to care for you– and then to watch as you perish.”

“...”

Viria laughed in response to his silence. “See?” She laughed yet again. It was a crazed, maniacal sound, just inches away from insanity. “And the worst part is that you know. You know who I am. You know that my uncle was all I had– and you know that he is dead.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “And you know that I watched him die. Did you know, then, that he died in my arms? That I felt the warmth leave his lifeless body? And you ask me to experience that again?”

Valandor’s face turned stony. “Leave the dead out of it, girl. I’ve buried many more that I considered family than you. I can promise you that.”

That tempered Viria’s anger. “Then why?” She asked, emotionally drained. “I may not know you that well, but everything that I do know suggests that you have a reason for asking.”

“I told you. I want to die–”

She cut Valandor off. “Not that. Why ask me to watch you die?”

The grizzled elf’s face softened. “Because I think you need a friend,” he said gently. “Besides your sister, do you really know anyone in this country? Besides your sister?”

“Not really. And those that I do know are more interested in my downfall.”

“Exactly. Your new position isolates you just as it insulates you. I’ll not pretend to know what our country has subjected you to, but tell me. Have you ever been alone? Truly alone?”

“I… No,” Viria admitted. “I haven’t.” It was the truth. Vane was a constant presence, and even after his death, Selerim protected her from the shadows of Umbra. And now? Both of them were gone. One dead– and the other far away.

“That’s what I’m offering you,” Valandor said gently. “Friendship.”

Friends. Those were hard to come by. Viria considered his words for a moment longer, but deep down, she already knew her decision. “Alright,” she said, voice hardly above a whisper.

Valandor smiled sadly, then offered one hand to her. Viria took it tentatively– and then found herself swept into his broad embrace. “You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?” He asked gently.

There was a warmth, a tenderness to his voice that made the last of Viria’s anger melt away.

“It’s alright,” he said softly. “You can cry if you want to. I understand.”

At his words, all the unshed tears that Viria had carried spilled forth. She was powerless to stop them. As she cried, Valandor’s gentle hands pulled her closer.

It was quite some time before either of them pulled away.

Veile evened the sheaf of paper against the desk before binding them and setting them to the side. Each was filled with her own neat handwriting. She dried the quill before laying it atop the papers. As she closed her eyes, a fragment of the future whispered to her– just moments before becoming real.

The sound of shattering glass played as Mara simply appeared in the room, two paces away from her desk.

“Mara,” Veile said, not bothering to open her eyes. “Is it already time?”

“Yes.”

“Very well.” She pushed herself away from the desk and up from the chair– and then stumbled. She would have fallen, if not for Mara’s arms.

“Thank you,” she murmured sluggishly.

“... You’re pushing yourself.”

Veile sighed. “Must we do this again?” She asked, forcing her voice to steady. “My answer will always be the same. I must do as much as possible while I still can.”

“Even so. You’re just a teenager…”

Veile laughed. “True. Yet I’d wager that my peers are still more immature.” Her voice dropped by several octaves. “I appreciate your concern, Mara. I really do. But some things are more important than us.” She straightened, pulling herself from the older elf’s grasp. “You understand that, don’t you?”

There was no response.

Veile smiled. “See? I know you care for me, Mara. And for that, I will always be grateful. But we both know that you have something more important to worry about.” She held out one hand. “Don’t worry. I’ve long since accepted my role. This is for my sister, after all.”

Viria kept her gaze fixed straight ahead, unwilling to look at Valandor. Part of it was out of embarrassment– she’d just spent quite a bit of time crying in his arms, after all– but mostly, it was uncertainty.

Can I watch him die? It wasn’t a question of if, but when. But the scarred elf’s words were true enough. She needed a friend. A confidant– and the list of people who could fill the role of either was exceedingly small.

I guess I don’t have a choice. It was a sobering thought.

“There’s something else you should know,” Valandor said suddenly, interrupting her thoughts.

“And that is?”

“You shouldn’t trust your sister. Not entirely.”

Viria stopped in her tracks. “Choose your next words carefully,” she said slowly. “Veile is the only family I have left– and a Grovetender at that.”

Valandor snorted. “I made it clear that I didn’t trust her when she offered me the post. So either she’s confident in your trust, or she wants you to know. It’s hard to tell what she’s thinking, truth be told.” That last comment was made off-handedly.

“That’s true,” Viria acquiesced, remembering the few interactions they’d shared. “But still. She’s my sister. I trust her– that’s all that matters.”

“You can trust someone and still be wary of them, girl. I suggest you learn that lesson quickly. And it doesn’t take wariness to realize that she's hiding something.”

“She is now Grovetender,” Viria said calmly. “Neither of us are privy to the responsibilities that come with the role.”

Valandor snorted. “You’re smarter than this.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Did you really think the circumstances of your return were normal?”

“I…” Viria trailed off. She knew they weren’t. They were too rushed, too hasty. There had to be something encouraging their brazen behavior, but she hadn’t been able to guess what.

“Your sister started drawing other’s ire some time ago. Rumor is they wanted to use you to control your sister.” He snorted again. “Whole lotta good it did them.”

“I see,” Viria said, considering his words. Vane left behind a multitude of plans, contacts, and information, but Veile took it in her stead. It stood to reason that she had something similar. If she had all that information…

“Ah.” It all clicked into place.

“... That look on your face suggests you figured something out.”

“I did. Think about it– like you said, Selerim’s threats still hang over them. That damages our relationship with the hollows. I’m most suited to repairing that damage.”

“... And your sister was the one who set things into motion, cementing your position.”

Viria nodded.

“Are you sure that you’re not just seeing what you want to see?”

She shrugged. “What else could it be? I’m an exile. I have no claim to her position, and, more importantly, no desire to rule.”

“Even so…”

“Enough,” Viria said forcefully. “This is an exercise in futility. Veile is my sister. And regardless of what our people have said about us, that is an unbreakable bond.”

Valandor smiled. “Finally come to accept that, have you?”

“I…” Viria struggled to form a response. “I nearly killed her. That much is true… and the guilt for that will stay with me for some time. As it should.” She took a deep breath. “But I’ve learned the importance of intent. And Veile… Veile seems to have forgiven me. That is truly all that matters.”

“Then I’ll say no more,” Valandor said gently. “But I would urge you to heed– or at least consider– my words all the same.”

“... I know,” Viria said, suddenly frustrated. “I know she’s hiding something from me. But what am I supposed to do?”