An Inheritance of Fire

Selerim's teeth sank into his lower lip, drawing a trickle of blood as he tied off the bandage around his shoulder. This was his third time replacing it, and already the red was peeking through the white layers. Worse than the pain, though, were the memories that the action brought with it. Senri had bandaged him just like this not so long ago.

And now she was dead.

Just a body to be buried.

Selerim’s stomach lurched as he pulled Saya’s dagger from Verad’s torso. Even after doing so twice before, the sensation of pulling a blade from his best friend’s dead body nearly made him vomit. And there were still three more. By the time Selerim finished, his eyes were heavy with half-formed tears, and his hands were covered in cold, dead blood. But it was tending to Saya that broke him. Killed by her own weapon, the long, curved dagger was buried so deep that the blade’s tip stuck out of her back. Selerim wrapped his fingers around the handle– and pulled.

The wet sound of tearing flesh filled the air as the curved blade slid free, and the grisly sensation of the blade’s path found its way up Selerim’s fingertips. He shuddered. It was something he’d felt hundreds of times before, but now it pushed its way to the front of his mind, crowding out all other thoughts.

“Ugh!”

Pain lanced up Selerim’s arm as the dagger struck bone, jolting his poorly bandaged wound. The weapon drew a thread of half-clotted blood as it ricocheted out of Saya’s body, spattering onto Selerim’s face and filling his mouth with a metallic taste. He gagged, then retched, and a putrid mixture of blood and bile spilled onto the ruined floor of Corvus’ home. He straightened, wiping his mouth as he fought the urge to vomit again. Selerim gathered both of Saya’s weapons and knelt at her side. He lifted her, gingerly cradling her body in both arms. Her skin was cold to the touch; a grim contrast to the fire she’d shown every day before. He laid her behind the house, next to her weapons, then did the same with Verad.

Senri’s blood-slicked hair stained Selerim’s skin crimson as he gathered her in his arms. He’d never once thought of her as small, but in death’s cold embrace, she seemed impossibly so. He stayed there for a long while, trying to reconcile the warm person he’d known in life with the lifeless body he held. Finally, he carried Senri out back and laid her next to Saya. Three shallow graves lay just behind them. They were crudely made; hastily cut with Verad’s sword.

The sight made Selerim’s heart ache. The four of them had always been together, but now, he was the only one left. A future without them felt so intrinsically wrong– and yet, that future was the only one in front of him, immaterial but absolute. He put Senri down to rest first, crossing her arms over her chest and gently closing her eyes. He did the same with Saya, and then Verad. They would have looked peaceful, if not for their wounds.

With a deep, weary breath, he set to filling their graves. It was easy, at first. The anger and grief was dull, just barely kept at bay by denial. But every bit of earth he heaped onto their graves stole from that fragile shelter. Rage and sorrow seeped through the cracks as it crumbled. It started as a trickle, at first. Soon enough, it was a torrent of smoldering hatred undercut by a deluge of anguish; burning in one breath before drowning in the next.

Senri’s warmth.

The way she smiled under the night sky.

Verad and Saya’s bickering.

All the time they’d spent together.

Laughing.

Training.

Hunting.

The happiness of those moments was gone, left to rot in the world’s indifferent embrace. What little remained was engulfed by a murky sense of loss. The unshed tears from before flowed free now, darkening the disturbed earth where they landed. Selerim reached for Senri’s spear through blurred vision. Forged from a single piece, the haft alone stood taller than him. It had a thick, heavy head, hammered into a keen edge and painstakingly shaped into a vicious point. The heel ended in a cone-shaped tip of its own, and despite years of use, its smooth surface was unblemished. Just holding it brought memories rushing back. All of them were tainted by the weight of her death.

Selerim stood, using the spear to steady himself. He turned it once in his hands, and after a moment’s hesitation, thrust it downwards. It cut through the loose soil of Senri’s grave with ease. There was a sense of finality that came with the act. It grew as he did the same with Saya’s daggers, then stilled as he stopped in front of Verad’s grave.

Selerim’s hand crept towards his waist, where his friend’s sword hung. “I’ll return it. I promise,” he whispered. In truth, he was more comfortable with Senri’s spear, but he couldn’t bring himself to take it. Carrying the sword was already nearly too much. It was Verad’s, meant to be taken with him for whatever came next. For now, though, there was no choice. Not unless he wanted to search the dead.

A memory of fire came roaring back at the thought. Pale red flame billowing, burning his home and loved ones… Selerim squeezed his eyes shut. It did nothing to quell the image of his razed home– or the sight of his friend’s graves.

Selerim clasped his hands together as he knelt. “May you fi–” Selerim choked on his words as the stillness of the moment settled over him, suddenly oppressive in its silence. Cress, for all the life it once held, was quiet. There were no footsteps, no laughter, no sound of striking metal.

“I’ll avenge you.” The promise, hardly even a whisper, shattered the sanctity of the moment. And with it, the last vestiges of Selerim’s spirit. The tears returned, now mingling with anger, hatred, and grief as they spilled forth from his broken psyche. His sense of self dimmed as the tide of raw emotion engulfed it, seeping into his being so completely that he couldn’t separate the two. As it receded and Selerim’s vision cleared, he realized he’d fallen. The sight of his own bloody hands, half-clenched in the loose soil of Verad’s grave, jarred him. What do I do now? Even as Selerim asked himself the question, he knew the answer. I have to find mom and Gwyn.

They would be waiting for the convoy. When it didn’t arrive, they’d insist on traveling back. He was certain of it. But this time, there would be no one protecting them. He had to find them first. “Nyx,” Selerim whispered. The duskwing responded to his call as he stood. She was tense. Her dusky feathers tickled trembled against his neck as she spread her wings, and despite her silence, Selerim understood his Wyrd’s implicit warning. “Easy, girl.”

She swayed on his shoulder as he turned around. Standing there, back to the ruined remains of Cress, was the man he’d nearly killed. Lila’s father. He had the same black hair as his daughter, but his eyes were brown to her crimson. His uncertainty was reflected by the hand on his sword. The silence stretched between them until Selerim broke it.

“What do you want?”

Vane looked Viria up and down, searching for injury. She shook her head. “I’m not hurt.” Her face was pale, still, but she seemed unharmed. He’d carried her away from Corvus’ home, taking refuge in one of the many partially destroyed homes. Even with its roof half-destroyed, this one was in better shape than others; a testament to the violence of the night before. “Are you sure?” He asked. She nodded mutely, face frozen in shock. Vabe pulled her close. “You’re alright. Just take deep breaths.” She nodded again, and her narrow shoulders rose and fell. “What if they really were here for us?” Her voice was barely audible.

In truth, it was one of Vane’s own fears. But who? Why? And most importantly, how? The location of their exile was a closely guarded secret, entrusted to only a choice few. He shook his head. “They weren't. This was… something else.” Viria lowered her head. “Then why?” Her small voice was filled with guilt. Vane bit his lip, unsure how to answer. They’d chosen this village for its isolation. There was hardly a reason to visit, never mind burn it to the ground. And the brutality he’d seen…

But if it was true, and their presence was the reason for Cress’ destruction? Vane’s heart skipped a beat as he recalled the suffocating anger he’d felt. His home was destroyed. He has every right to be angry. “We’ll figure it out. Alright?” She nodded yet again. “What do we do now?” Vane considered the question. Their exile wasn’t over yet, but if someone really had tried to kill them… he sighed. “We go back home.” Viria visibly flinched at the idea, but remained quiet. “Hey,” Vane dropped to one knee. “ I know it’s complicated, but Vasoria is your home. Remember that. Alright?” His niece nodded.

“I need to go after him. Will you be okay?” Even as he spoke, Vane’s stomach turned. Do we really have the right to ask him for anything? The answer was clearly no, but there was hardly another option. Viria nodded again.

“I’ll be back soon.” Vane gripped his sword as he stood. He’d not seen the boy after their skirmish, but that was little cause for relief. Without magic, I lose ten out of ten times. And that was without the power he’d witnessed the night before. The thought of the blaze made him shiver. What was that? Magic was the obvious answer, but that was impossible. Vane shook his head. Unimportant. They needed his help regardless. The door fell off its hinges as Vane pushed it. He winced as the sound carried through the silence.

It was odd, though. He’d seen bodies last night. Some had been burned. Some beaten. Others dismembered grotesquely. And now, as he walked through the ruined village? Not one in sight. He was grateful, in a way. Viria would be spared those scars, at least.Vane’s turbulent thoughts ground to a halt as he stopped in front of Corvus’ home. The once-majestic abode was burned and broken. Its walls were charred beyond recognition, their previous silver luster hidden under a layer of uneven black.

The sight saddened him. Even if he had no real attachment to this place, it had been his home for nearly two years. Seeing it like this was painful. Vane grimaced. If even he, an outsider, felt like this, what was going through the sole survivor’s head? He buried the thought as he stepped in, bracing himself. The bodies he’d seen before were gone. All that remained in their place was a pool of half-dried blood. The boy was nowhere to be seen. Did he go out back?

A somber sight greeted Vane as he opened the door. With the village wall gone, the mountain range encompassed all else. It swallowed the horizon as it reached skyward; a bridge of placid grey amidst the yawning dark that joined the earth to the sky above. The boy– Selerim, was it? Stood with his back to Vane. his figure was a splash of color against the impassive grey.

He looked tiny amongst the imposing peaks. Their jagged, looming outcrops curled around his still form, as if reaching for him. Three graves had been dug and filled in just past him. They’d clearly been made in haste. Their sides were irregular, and differed in length. A spear protruded from one, and a pair of curved daggers from another. The last was undisturbed. Did he use his hands? There were no tools nearly.

Vane started towards him, only to stop after a single step. The hollow’s hands were clasped together, and his head was bowed in respect. There was a near-tangible reverence to the moment; a sincere longing that couldn’t be put into words. Vane understood the sentiment, if not the gesture. It was something he was all too familiar with.

And something he had no right to witness. Just as he was about to turn away, the boy fell to his knees. Vane resumed his approach, quickening his pace. Is it blood loss? He’d vanished after Viria wounded him. Without basic care, he could bleed to death. Vane only made it five more steps.

The hollow stood just as suddenly as he’d fallen. The darkness around him swirled and gathered before falling away to reveal a Reaver perched on his shoulder. His Wyrd, no doubt. Vane took a step back as the Reaver’s eyes locked onto him, instinctively reaching for his weapon. Its winge, cloaked in night, were raised in a silent warning.

“Easy, girl.” The boy’s soft voice carried through the silence. He reached up a hand to calm his Wyrd as he stood. Vane stiffened under the weight of his lavender gaze. The grief and anger were still there, but the hatred was gone. And with it, the promise of violence.

“What do you want?” The villager’s voice was even, but his calm was betrayed by the hand on his sword. “We need your help.” To Vane’s surprise, he nodded in response. “I’m going to Sinalia. You can come with me.” It was the logical course of action. The human kingdom was closest, and would still take a month– or longer– to reach. The other nations were further still. Vane shook his head. “We can’t.”

The boy’s gaze hardened as he shifted his posture. On his shoulder, the Reaver lowered its body ever so slilghtly. “Who are you?” He finally asked. “Corvus wouldn’t have let you stay if you were criminals. So why can’t you go back? You’re human.” Vane hesitated, but only for a moment. The hollow deserved honesty, not empty words and half-truths.

Vane felt the spell break as he tapped his bracelet. The flow of essence was violently disrupted as shards of shattered magic tore through him. He felt no different, but the hollow’s expression twisted. Into shock, first, then blatant hostility.

“You’re elves.” His voice was mired with disbelief. Vane nodded. “Did Corvus know?” Another nod. An uncomfortable silence settled between them. Until, finally, the boy spat out a single derision-filled word. “Fine.” Vane blinked. “You’ll help us?”

“Corvus accepted you into his home. I can’t just leave you here.”

“... Thank you.”

“Just be ready to leave tomorrow.”

Vane nodded. There was no reason to argue; the sooner they left, the better.

Selerim felt Nyx shudder as the elf disappeared into Corvus’ home. He coaxed her onto his hand and looked into her eyes. “What is it?” He asked softly. The Reaver shivered. She was scared. But of what? Not the elf that had just elf– he posed no threat. The daughter? She had wounded him. She could have killed him. Why didn’t she? Selerim looked back. Guilt welled at the sight of the crude, lopsided graves he’d dug. They deserved better.

“Let’s go,” he whispered, voice dampened by raw emotion. He held Nyx close as he stepped back into the charred home and the ruined roads of Cress. Selerim’s footsteps echoed throughout the bleak landscape. Every beat was a deafening reminder of the silence. His faint hope– that someone else had survived– dwindled with every ruined building he passed.

Each represented someone taken by death. Sita, Varen, Vela… the list went on. There were no bodies. He’d seen the raiders, dead and alive, turn to ash, just as he’d seen villagers lying dead, but there were no bodies. Last night’s dream pushed its way forward. He shoved it back with a silent snarl. It was just a dream.

By the time Selerim reached his destination, his heart was heavy; laden with memories of the past. The sight of his home, built by his parents, only made it heavier. Half of it was collapsed in on itself, and the remaining half was charred. “Watch me,” he whispered. The dark swept up in response, and when it fell, Nyx was gone. Selerim pushed his way in, wincing as the splintered wood dug into his skin.

The interior was worse off than the outside. He’d expected as much, but it was still heartbreaking. All the love, care, and effort they’d poured into it lay beyond a thick layer of ash hand rubble. His bedroom was buried under the fallen roof, and with it, all of his belongings. Including his sketchbook. Selerim briefly considered searching for it, but quickly discarded the notion. It couldn’t possibly have survived the raging fire.

Gwyn’s room had fared much better. Though charred beyond use, her bed frame was still standing, and the walls still seemed solid. He collapsed in the nearest corner, half from exhaustion, half from guilt. His family would panic when the convoy failed to arrive. I’m sorry. If the raiders were here for them…

Selerim’s head swam as he struggled to recall Corvus’ instructions. Nyx, he thought. Nyx will know the way. That was his last thought before fatigue swept over him. He let it take control, slumping onto his shoulder. His injured shoulder. The realization jolted Selerim awake, and he tensed his body in anticipation of the pain. It never came. Straightening, he hurriedly reached to unwrap the bandage. If the wound got infected, he’d have to find disinfectant…

But his fingers found nothing. Not the bandage, not the wound, none of the blood that should have been present. Looking down, Selerim saw only smooth, unbroken skin. The gaping wound had completely closed. He looked towards his other arm. He’d been stabbed. While not a terrible wound, it wouldn’t have healed overnight– and yet, it too was gone. Selerim gritted his teeth and tied another bandage in place. It was a good thing. There was no point in worrying about it– and no point in letting the outsiders know.

With a sigh, Selerim adjusted his body, resting his head and shoulder on the wall. Nyx would watch as he slept, and wake him if anything approached. He let fatigue take control once more, grateful for the blissful ignorance of sleep.