The cell they were placed in next was not nearly as impressive, nor spacious. They had been scrutinized well upon their entry, elven guards adorned from head to toe in gleaming, silver plate eyeing them warily, distrustfully. A few heckled Gloomfire, though to his credit the dragon ignored them entirely. A few bowed out of respect for their procession’s head, to which she nodded with a smile in return, others inclining their head slightly. Egwyren was well-liked, from what he could tell. She was probably the closest thing to elven royalty he could think of, judging from their societal structure. She hadn’t mentioned a king, and there were these Lords of Morning and the Grove-Tenders, which—to be fair—were not mutually exclusive in theory. And what was Pevarin, in all of this? Obviously now he was the Apostate of the Dawn, an impressive sounding title for what amounted to just saying, “No, you’re wrong,” and taking some of the boys with him to Peratha. What had he been before that?

Egwyren took them to another tree, though this time when she opened the tree-door-hole it led to an elevator. They rose in the air atop a pillar of wood, exiting out along a great branch. The cages this time were suspended in the air by very...uninspiring looking twigs.

“I’m not getting in that,” he said, his feet refusing to carry him to an obvious death, and the elf turned back to look at him curiously.

“Are you afraid of heights?”

“No. I’m afraid of poorly constructed containment cells suspended above open air at a height that would most assuredly lead to death.”

“Show them your strength, Hero,” said Gloomfire, folding his arms disapprovingly at Zach’s reluctance, “I will catch you if you fall, if you are worried. You need only empower me to do so.”

“I think I will be too busy screaming for dear life to remember that,” he said dryly. Zach did relent, eventually letting himself be led into the rickety cage. The way it shook at the wind’s beckoning did nothing to alleviate the anxiety he was already feeling. There weren’t any other prisoners besides he and Gloomfire, and after she left them without so much as a farewell, they were alone in the open air, swaying under the careful eye of two guards back where the tree-door-hole of this level. Those things seemed very resilient. He had the feeling if he did an explosion the size of that town they had cratered, he would perhaps scratch a few pieces of the wood.

“So,” he said, feeling awkward and trapped. Which he was. He was very much both of those things. “Wanna tell me anything that could help me against Lucinder.”

“No.”

“Ok.”

Right, back to the drawing board. What did one talk about with a magical creature that was hundreds of years old and would kill you given the chance? Not a very good conversation partner, all things considered.

“You ever been in love?”

“I have sired hundreds of children, but love was never a passion of mine. I seek the thrill of battle, the glory of victory over an opponent worthy of my full power.”

“Yeah, same. Well, I don’t have any kids. I’ve never even had sex,” he said, starting to get more comfortable.

“It pales in comparison to the elation that can only be found when clasping the broken husk of a defeated rival.”

Zach formed a claw and tried to imagine clasping a dead husk the way Gloomfire described. He failed to see how that would feel better than putting pee-pee in vee-vee.

“Why did you accept Lucinder as your master? Don’t dragons, like, I don’t know--don’t you see yourselves superior to us? Why let a human dictate your actions?”

Gloomfire shrugged as if he had just been asked to explain why the wind blew and the seas were large, “We are partners, yet someone must make the final decision. His strength surpasses mine, thus he is the master. Such is the way of things. It has worked well for many years, and I have no issue with it.”

“If you were to surpass him in strength,” Zach said, musing aloud, “what would happen then?”

Gloomfire snorted, a small burst of smoke shooting out in front of him, “I would supplant him and force him to swear fealty to me, and if he refused, I would slay him upon the spot.”

“Didn’t you say your partnership works well? You’d switch that quickly?” Zach asked, shocked and more than a little confused.

“It is nothing personal. I have served many masters, and have had many serve me. I rather enjoy Lucinder, for all his faults. When he dies it will be difficult to find someone worthy of myself again.” He eyed Zach appraisingly, “Or perhaps it will be simple.”

It was quiet for some time after that, the wind his only companion as Gloomfire seemed to slip into slumber. He hoped Egan and Selara were alright. They didn’t have the potential of being deemed the Hero of Peratha to bail them out, and if he was guessing correctly they would have been teleported with Pevarin, which meant their situation was far more perilous than his. Selara. He had almost forgotten her entirely because of Egwyren. Was he some horny teenager who couldn’t control himself long enough to remain loyal. Wait, he wasn’t even going out with Selara anyways. What did it matter? Still, he felt shame at letting his affection wander. That was stupid. It...it wasn’t like she liked him back, could ever like him back. What was he to her? A stranger, a Hero, a dream. He would come and pass and disappear from her life. It was better this way.

But better for who? He knew the real answer. He was terrified. And that angered him. He had just fought a dragon, and almost won, and felt nothing but exhilaration the entire time. Maybe this was what he was meant for all along. Action, adventure, fighting. Or maybe he was meant for more. He didn’t know. He just didn’t know what he wanted. Well, he thought with a weak laugh as the winds lulled him to sleep, the gentle swaying a silent lullaby. Food would be nice. Maybe he’d dream of that.

****

He was back within the void again, his footing supported by the endless mass of nothingness. It was strange to think that he had no idea whether or not his next step would plunge him into an eternal freefall, but it was a dream, after all. If he fell, he would just wake back up. He hoped. Remembering the last dream, he wondered what this one was supposed to show him. Both that and this dream were incredibly lucid, visceral experiences. Was this the Sly One trying to tell him something? He stopped, turning his neck above. At least to what he thought was above, it was difficult to tell with nothing providing a frame of reference. He might well be standing upside down for all he knew.

“Well, Sly One, or R, whoever you are. What is this? What are you trying to tell me? Or warn me of?” he asked, remembering the being at the end, whose gaze had frozen him in his soul. The meaning of the dream was clear to him now. Whoever had lain at the end of the trail, surrounded by the bodies of those he loved and knew, was searching for him. And when he found him, he intended to make that nightmare reality, and more. Why did these kinds of events have to be so vague? Wouldn’t it be simpler to just tell him what the hell he was supposed to do?

There was no answer. He sighed, waving his hand in irritation at the empty sky above. “Fine, fine. I’ll play your damn game,” he grumbled. No trail appeared, no voices, no faces, nothing. Just an endless black stream and him. Was it just him? He looked about, wondering if he truly was alone in the dark. The void seemed to flicker and stretch in spots, giving the appearance of movement. Or was it actually, truly, movement? The longer he walked, the more he saw the shadows dancing in the black. It wasn’t real. It was just prolonged acclimation which induced his brain to scout the world around him for possible threats, manifesting things that simply were not there. He could tell himself that, but that didn’t help when he stopped and saw...something rise, feel its gaze thick upon him, then dissolve into nothing. Maybe he should try to wa-

Soundlessly, a hand flashed in front of his face before encircling around his throat, and a body rose from the murk below, and he rose with it as it extricated itself from the tenebrous ocean below, waves rippling out as it formed in its totality. Breath simply would not come, his windpipe constricting under the increasing pressure from the entity’s grasp.

And then it was gone.

He smashed into the ground as if he had been thrown instead of dropped, and his heart pounded in his head as he wheezed and coughed, struggling to draw air. He started to rise, but something clutched the back of his shirt tight and he was flung into the air, flailing about as he soared, but he never dropped, he only seemed to rise higher and higher, but it was impossible to tell. There was no sense of definition, nothing to reference. Maybe that was the counterplay. He willed himself to find solidarity, willed himself to stand, and immediately he stopped flying, stumbling instead before he righted himself. What more could he do? Even with this new mastery, he wasn’t sure he could prevent an attack he couldn’t see coming. Maybe...magic?

He embraced the arcane, the familiar humming of power calming him somewhat, but nothing appeared in the void around him. A flash, a dot in the night, that was all the warning he had, and he sparked a massive explosion, blasting himself away from the outstretched hands before it slipped back into the waters below. He formed a wall to stand on, his body first running parallel to the ground below, but somehow orientation followed him like a locked camera, and soon enough he was standing upright again.

“What the fuck?” he muttered aloud, expecting to feel dizzy, but nothing happened. Not even the physical feedback made sense here. Another flash, another flaring of his hands, and he dodged, only this time something slammed into him from above, sending him crashing towards the ocean, but he willed for there to be no ground, and he continued to fall. Whirling, he faced his attacker, a massive raven with no eyes that shrieked soundlessly, drilling its beak at him. Ignoring the force of gravity, he put both of his hands in front of him, blasting the bird in its face, and it squawked soundlessly before letting him go, and he imagined the ground below him in the same instant he fired a slowing jet beneath, performing a tight flip and landing on his feet again.

He didn’t sweat or pant as he readied himself for another attack, unaware he was even smiling. “Come on, motherfucker,” he growled, “Next time, you’re mine.”

A multi-colored harpoon shot towards him, and he maneuvered out of its path, but it curved, latching onto him, and he was dragged into the air by unseen hands. The other end of the line began to bend towards him, and he realized whoever held him tightly was walking forward towards him. A hooded figure who had to have been draped in black held Selara and his mother by their throats in its hands.

“Choose,” it said uncaringly, slamming him to the ground when he didn’t respond, then raising him in the air again. It was a dream. It’s just a dream. He told himself, but their eyes were so real, their faces, everything. Of course they were. It was how he remembered them. Only his mother was wearing something he had never seen before, and Selara was dressed in a fine silk gown the color of pearl, her hair done prettily. “Choose, or I will kill them both.” He squeezed tighter, both of their faces starting to turn a color no face should, their eyes pleading with him.

It was just a dream.

“Mom,” he said, the words dragged from his mouth. He couldn’t watch it anymore. He just couldn’t. They both disappeared as if they had never been, and the thing pulled him closer, no longer bothering to move. Its face which had been shrouded in darkness gained definition in the endless abyss. Directly in front of it, it threw back its hood. Zach expected the Emperor, Lucinder, the Dawn-Shatterer, or perhaps a general of the United Empire he had yet to encounter.

“Dad?” he said, stunned as the figure revealed itself. His father smiled cruelly, unlike he had ever seen him do. His father rarely smiled, after all. “Not real,” he mumbled, tears streaming down his face, his head throbbing with pain. “Not real. Not real. Not real.” It leaned closer to him and he shut his eyes,

“You will fail. In the end, for all the same reasons as before. Over, and over.”

“No,” he whispered back, the tears sliding down his face, warming his cheek, “No, I’m-”

“Let me show you the truth of things,” it said, turning him around, a scene before him. He remembered it all too well. It was him, staring at his computer desk. No one was home. He knew that. He turned it off, unplugged it, and wrapped it neatly. He took the note he had written and placed it carefully on top of his keyboard, such that it would not fall. Zach surveyed the room one last time, smiling proudly at the job he had done. At least this one last thing was right. His family was out on vacation. They wouldn’t be back until it was well and properly over. It wasn’t a solemn march. In fact, he almost felt something close to joy, the closest he had been to feeling anything in a long, long time.

He passed the kitchen, the bathroom, and the living room one final time, bidding farewell to them all. He had worried he might hesitate, but he opened the garage door without pause. His car was there, ready, waiting for him. He walked to it, the garage door still closed, and got inside. Then, with one deep breath, he turned it on, and waited. He played no music. He simply waited.

“Please,” he begged, “No more.”

“Watch,” it said indifferently.

His eyes felt heavy. So heavy. He started breathing hard, his eyes struggling against the flood of chemicals in his body that was pressuring them downward. He reached for the door, but this time, something stopped him. This was wrong. But right. This was how it was supposed to be.

Zach was captivated, unable to look away. A part of him had always wanted to know. His hand fell limply to his side, and his eyes closed. His breathing slowed, the car humming quietly, unaware of what was happening. His breathing continued to slow, his body unmoving until finally, it stopped. And the car continued to run. And he never breathed again.

The figure let him go, and he dropped to the ground on his knees, staring into the chasm below.

“It will end like this. It always will.”

“No,” he said, a little more firmly. “I won’t let it. I’m tired of fighting myself. I won’t do it anymore,” he said, rising. “I will never let this come to pass. Until the end, I will fight for myself. Until the end.”

His father stared at him, unblinking. If it had actually been his father, it might have given him pause, but this was only an illusion. It didn’t frighten him. “You are...more resilient than I anticipated,” it said. “But I have you now. It is only a matter of time.”

“Who are you?” he demanded, “Are you...are you him? The Emperor, or whatever you’re called? What do you want with me? I’m from Earth, just like you. We’re being manipulated by this Sly One. Can’t you see that? We don’t need to fight—we can, we can...” he said, unsure of what could convince him. “Look, it doesn’t have to be this way.”

“Until the end, Hero. Until the end.”

And the dream ended.

******

Zach awoke at midday the next day, groggily and with a headache. It would be nice to get something to drink. His throat was starting to feel scratched and dusty; nothing having graced it in a good long while. Gloomfire was possibly awake, his legs crossed and eyes closed, but he seemed to be focusing on something. If he was asleep, he didn’t want to wake him. He motioned at the guards, but they ignored him for the first few attempts. Still, he was persistent, and eventually one of them walked over reluctantly.

“What is it, Etelendi?” the guard asked curtly. There was that again.

“Well, I’m thirsty. May I have something to drink? Also, what does Etelendi mean?”

“Outlander. And you will be provided refreshment when you are called for judgment, Etelendi.” Great. Now he was back to being an Outlander.

“Thanks,” he grumbled, and the guard nodded before performing an about face, returning to his post. Not as good as the Marines back home, from what remembered of his short time in ROTC, but they weren’t bad.

Something shook his cage slightly, a small thud announcing the presence of something new, and he turned his head to the floor of the cage, a small waterskin lying there. He raised his head, Gloomfire nodding at him.

“I’ve stored enough of my power to conjure some water for us. It is important we retain as much strength as we can. Drink, Hero.”

Zach reached for it gratefully and took a deep pull of water, the liquid crisp and cool as if taken fresh from a stream. He drank only half, preparing to throw it back over to Gloomfire, though he was not sure if he would have the same accuracy. The dragon shook his head pre-emptively, then said, “I am fine. I have already slaked my thirst and sated my hunger. This form is useful in that regard. It does not require much to satisfy the basic needs of the body.”

“Do you know much about what is to come?” he asked, then realized how he had just formed the question. I’m going to turn into a bloody Shakespeare character if I stay in this world much longer. Wait, bloody?

The dragon nodded. “I have borne witness to one of these deliberations before. Though it has been long, I doubt the proceedings have changed. Elves are famed for their rigidity.”

Zach glanced at the two guards, and though they eyed the waterskin distastefully, they made no move to accost them or take away his drink. He took another deep pull in case they reconsidered that. “So what’s it like?”

“They will explain the charges and circumstances that have necessitated the trial before we arrive, assign one Lord to oversee the proceedings at random, and half of the council will argue for you, the other against.”

Interesting. “That seems...fair. Too fair. What’s the catch?”

Gloomfire stroked his beard, musing to himself, “There is no catch, per se. Elves are a righteous, self-effacing lot. They pride themselves on being paragons of justice. But, should those defending you feel you are unworthy, you will find your counsel wanting.”

“So I’m trying to convince the people defending me to defend me as much as I am the other side?”

“In essence, yes,” replied Gloomfire.

“Is there a chance that the council has changed from the last time you saw one of these trials? I don’t know what you would consider a long time, relatively speaking.”

The dragon waved a hand unconcernedly, “Incumbency is well-held. Unless they have died, they will not be replaced.” the dragon’s eyes flickered yellow for a moment as a pulse of anger flashed through him “We will see if Elarome still retains his seat.”

“I don’t get it,” he said, not getting it. “So you’ve witnessed one of these, which means you had to have been trusted by the elves before, or else you were simply the object of said trial. What happened? How did you end up working for the bad guys?”

Gloomfire craned his neck, “Bad guys, you say? Well, that is a matter of opinion.”

“You acknowledge that I am the Hero, yes?” Zach asked, laying the trap.

“Yes.”

“So...if you’re going against the chosen Hero of prophecy, the one about saving the world, wouldn’t that put you on the wrong side of that?” he asked carefully.

“Not necessarily,” said Gloomfire calmly, “I believe you are misled due to your naivete.” He had no idea how a French word had made its way to this world. Perhaps it was the work of the Emperor? Maybe he was French. He supposed thinking that he was American was a bit self-centered.

“Ok,” he said, warming up. He loved a good debate. Arguing with people and convincing them they were wrong was one of the best feelings in the world. You just had to beat them with facts and logic. “Let me guess—long ago, you helped fight back the Dawn-Shatterer with the Emperor, fighting for good, and when he took control of everything and turned it into the United Empire, you said would aid him in return for power, right?”

“In short, yes.”

“Ok, well, your loyalties are misaligned then. You believe you are fighting for the one who shall bring about peace the most effectively, but he has instead led to worldwide chaos and dissent. Look at the Final Breath, for example, they-”

Gloomfire held up a hand, and Zach trailed off. “I do not mean to interrupt you, but I believe you are operating under false information. Who told you that the world is drowning in chaos?”

“Pevarin and the others, but they-”

“Yes, rebels. Of course they would tell you this.”

“And you have no biases?” he challenged, bristling.

“I do. But I do not lie, Hero. The United Empire has brought stability of a kind your race has not seen before in their young existence.”

“What is the point in living under a stable hand if it crushes you all the same?” said Zach, thinking of what Egan had told him.

“I do not deny that in some kingdoms, life has not been kind to its denizens. But are you foolish enough to believe that would not occur under a different ruler with a different name with different soldiers and a different army?”

“I...” he said, stunned. Gloomfire was not wrong. Zach need only quickly scroll through his recollection of history to see that there was no such thing as true peace. Inequality always existed. It was an affliction of the human race, no matter the era, no matter the ruler, no matter the people.

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The dragon took his silence for agreement, nodding again, “You see the worst of it because we are far from where his influence is the greatest, but he cannot control everything, despite his power. He leaves the management of such things to his generals.”

“Then you are fine serving a master who has let his lands fall into such disrepair?”

“It is not my concern what a human decides is best for other humans. As long as the Dawn-Shatterer remains defeated, and his minions not allowed to run free, I have performed my duty.”

He was losing ground quickly. Gloomfire was intelligent, but also simply uncaring for the plight of humanity. “And the lands nearest to the Emperor are so well managed?”

The dragon’s cage swayed slightly, the man rising to pace about, unconcerned and somehow stable despite the way it hitched into the air. “I believe so. I offer this line of reasoning as proof. He has instilled a system of transit that is admirable considering your race’s lack of flight. They are called, ‘locomotives’, as I have come to learn. Fascinating machines, operating through the power of combustion, which was previously unattainable without magic, but he has managed it. This has improved food distribution significantly, and in addition, I have heard that a new profession has arisen, for the art of sanitation. There are those whose sole duty is to maintain the cleanliness of cities and towns, and by decree, he has forbidden the depositing of excrement in any place but specially designated areas named ‘Bath Rooms”, and begun installing ‘Bath Houses” in strategically well-trafficked areas. The royal clerks have witnessed an unprecedented decrease in the number of deaths related to disease and illness within these areas, and the average citizen lives much longer as well.”

Zach was speechless. That was nothing short of almost exactly the kind of thing he would work towards if he was made ruler of this world. He was tempted to use social inequality as an argument again, but it would have no effect.

“And the rebels are just wrong, then? They’re wrong about you and your master killing them, oppressing them?”

Gloomfire shrugged, “I do not deny that their feelings are borne of fancy and flight. They may even be justified. What I do know is that Lucinder conducts regular inspections and reviews of those within his employ. If they committed an offense that was deemed beyond reprieve, they are purged..”

“My friend spoke of an entire town—men, women, children, and all being put to the sword. Eradicated. Where does that fall under breaches of duty?”

“Ah,” said the dragon, recognition in his voice, “yes, I remember that. Unfortunate. That was not the instructed protocol. If I recall correctly, that officer was internally tried, quietly, and ruled as “heinously dishonorable”. He was summarily executed by hanging for his crimes, as well as any others that aided in enforcing that illegal order.”

“But, my friend’s lover...” he trailed off weakly. This was not what he expected. Not at all.

“As I said, Hero. Some things will always happen. Lucinder does not give quarter to those who disobey or that he discovers have broken the oaths of the United Empire. In fact, with the pressure the Final Breath exerts, these things are simply more likely to happen, as he must focus his efforts on dissolving the rabble, which is not an easy task.”

Gloomfire had to be the most persuasive liar of all time. Had to be. It was alarming how much sense he made, but it couldn’t be true. He knew Egan, knew Selara. They were good people. They would fight for good. The dragon, however, moved first.

“Have your friends told you of how they typically operate?” he asked curiously.

He remained silent. He had a feeling he did not want to know, but Gloomfire pressed on regardless.

“They do not take prisoners, ever, unless to interrogate them, and I have heard the process ends in death for the unfortunate soul to fall into their hands. Total annihilation, that is what they are known for. They take no chances. I have always respected them for that.”

He remembered early on, the mood that had come over Selara, the way she had implied that they would not stealthily slip by the blockade, but kill everyone there. But that was because of what he assumed Lucinder had done to her early in her life. She was an orphan, and probably had her entire town destroyed by the United Empire. Were people supposed to forgive what happened because they were promised it wouldn’t happen again? Some things were not solved by a mere apology.

“Selara-”

Gloomfire laughed aloud, “I was wondering when you would bring up the girl. Has she told you anything of her past?”

“No, but-”

“Has she told you the name of her father?” asked Gloomfire, smiling victoriously.

With dread, he forced himself to ask the question. “No. Who is he?”

“The Flame-Shear of Peratha, Lord Lucinder of House Galesin.”

Zach almost groaned aloud. He wanted off of this ride. Luckily, he was saved, the tree-door opening, Egwyren stepping out, the guards walking forward, splitting off to each cage. She was dressed far differently this time, wearing a regal-looking soft-gold dress with a crest of white leaves around the collar, her hair shining in the sun. Her skin was somehow even more flawless than before. He wasn’t even aware that elves needed make-up, but thank God for that.

“The Lords of Morning are ready for you now, Master Zachary, Lord Gloomfire,” she said formally, evenly. The doors to their cages swung open suddenly, and the elves turned sideways, affording them the opportunity to step out. Gloomfire hopped gracefully, which Zach was not sure he could emulate with the thing swaying back and forth so precipitously.

“Um, could you like,” he started, almost stumbling right out to his death before he hung onto the bars for dear life, “could you just-just help me get out, please?”

The guard stared at him blankly, as if disbelieving what he was hearing, then sighed heavily, offering a hand. Zach reached for it, missing the first few times, the elf reaching a bit further out towards him.

“No, just-take my hand. Grab it. No, not like that,” the elf said, he and Zach playing chicken with their hands in the air.

‘I-I’m trying!” he said, making the mistake of looking down.

“This way. Just stop being so cowardly!” the guard said, irritated.

‘Sorry. Sorry. I’m--fuck it.” he said, jumping out of the cage towards the guard, who caught him, holding him tight in his arms. Zach looked up at his hero, the elf looking down at him with nothing short of pure scorn, “Um, thanks, man.”

The elf shoved him towards the door. “Move.”

Gloomfire did not look at him, body rigid. Likely he was embarrassed at having been made the magic-gimp of someone so fucking cringe. Egwyren seemed like she had something in her throat, covering her mouth with a fist and slightly bent over, body heaving silently.

Oh, nope, she was just laughing at him, probably. Yeah that’s...yeah, it’s...yeah.

They proceeded to the elevator, turning about, the guard giving him one last hateful look before the door closed and they began their descent. Gloomfire was on the other side of Pevarin’s daughter, placing himself carefully so that he was not in eyesight of Zach. This was painful. So, so painful.

“So, you never did answer my question, Lady Egwyren,” he said, trying to break the silence. She turned her head towards him slowly, raising an eyebrow. “My friends,” he prompted, “The two humans. Are they safe?”

“For now, yes. They will be present at the trial. You will be representing them as well as yourself.”

She was very vague in how she worded that. “And your father?”

Her face went Stone-Cold Steve Austin, “That is a separate trial, for a separate crime.”

“So he won’t be there?” he said, disregarding her discomfort.

“No. He has no business in this matter.” Ouch. That seemed as if she was talking about more than just the trial.

“How old were you when he left?” he asked gently. She regarded him coldly, and Gloomfire slowly leaned forward into sight, his eyes seeming to say, “Bruh, the fuck?.”.

“I was young, for my kind. Just a child.”

He didn’t really know where else to take the conversation. Zach was interested in the history there, as it might lend clues as to what Pevarin’s true goals were. He just couldn’t figure out why he had betrayed them to Lucinder. There were so many threads he had to keep track of. An in-game journal really would be handy right about now. They reached the bottom, and the other two turned, catching Zach off-guard as a hole opened in the tree to their left, and they began walking with him hurriedly covering the distance. It seemed as if they were in the main hub now, the area much like a very expansive garden. Walkways of fine, glossy marble delineated the path through the abundant flowers and forms of nature. A pond lay in the distance, animals drinking contentedly from it, tables and chairs made of leaves and branches at random points, to his eyes. Elves of all sizes and types sat around him and walked with purpose towards their destination. The paths led off to distant buildings and other areas as well, but it seemed their path was clearly straight ahead.

A large statue made of leaves stood ahead, the path forming a circle around it, an elf wielding a bow aimed towards something unseen. He didn’t recognize the elf, obviously, but he seemed important, which was also obvious.

Gloomfire growled slightly, exhaling smoke again, and that closed his mouth as he prepared to inquire as to his identity. “Lord Elarome, I take it,” he said, nodding at the bush.

“Yes,” she replied simply, not elaborating further. Yeah, asking about her dad probably wasn’t a good way to get her talking.

They reached their destination, a large patio crafted from what seemed to be some kind of silvery glass, outlined with a thin strip of gold. Depending on the angle, it seemed translucent, then solid and opaque. Another pond stood behind it, a long crescent moon-shaped table stretched along the boundaries, the presumed Lords of Morning seated perfectly equidistantly from each other. There were 9 by his count, each looking much the same to his eye, not to be Elfist. The middle of the area was a slightly raised platform, spacious and occupied by two chairs, the backs facing towards them. He watched the other two, making sure they stopped before he stopped. First impressions were important. He was determined not to look a fool for once.

It was silent for long moments, some coughing could be heard, but that was it besides the background ambiance of nature around them.

One elf rose, seated directly in front of the two chairs. Zach presumed he was the head of this hearing, from what Gloomfire had described. He looked around for Egan and Selara, but they were nowhere to be found. Perhaps they were still being brought, and that’s why things were taking so long to begin? Gloomfire quivered angrily beside him, and again, that answered the question as to the identity of the standing elf. He didn’t look much like the bush, though.

“We will begin the proceedings now. The accused will be represented by Lady Dalmelyn, Lord Suresong, Lady Whisperleaf, and Lady Silverlight. The prosecution is headed by both Lords of Puremoon, Lady Teriala, and Lady Cireslyn. I, Lord Elarome, will oversee this hearing and use the judgment of both parties to make my decision, which will decide the fate of the four souls under scrutiny.” He nodded towards Egwyren, and motioned with his arm towards the seats. “The accused may now take their seats to hear the charges brought against them.”

Zach and Gloomfire began walking towards their seats, and he could feel the gaze of all present upon him. Pevarin’s daughter strode behind them, not more than a few steps away. He took his seat without stumbling, thankfully, though it did screech loudly as he took his seat. Not much he could do about though. An elegant moment passed as they were seated, Egwyren moving in front of them.

Elarome still stood, his eyes now upon her, “Lady Egwyren Whisperleaf, you stand before me as the witness to the crimes perpetrated by these two individuals and their two companions. Do you swear under the Crystal Grove that your testimony is pure and true?”

“Yes,” she said strongly, clearly for all assembled to hear. “I swear.”

He nodded perfunctorily, “As you are an accredited witness, your testimony is sufficient to charge these two with their crimes, their sentences yet to be determined. However, do you also swear that the boy has claimed himself to be the Hero of Peratha, and that his reasoning was credible to your knowledge?”

“Yes, I swear.”

“Then this is no longer a matter of determining the sentence, but of determining the validity of his claim. Should the accused's claim be accepted, all charges will be dropped, and the sentencing discarded. Should this panel find his claims insubstantial, we will determine their fate here and now. Lady Egwyren,” he said, gesturing with one hand towards something unseen, “you may take your seat at the boundary.”

She nodded regally, walking off towards her assigned spot. This was significantly more formal than he had expected. There wasn’t even an audience. Did they really need all this wind-up?

He leaned over to Gloomfire and began to whisper, but Elarome’s eyes focused on him sharply, and he said, “The accused will not speak unless they are addressed. Please remain silent, Master Zachary.”

He shut his lips, feeling very much like a chastened child. Technically, he was, compared to them, which didn’t make him feel any better. Another short, rather elegant silence lapsed, and Elarome took his seat, clasping his hands and leaning forward.

“Master Zachary, please rise.”

He did as he was told, stepping forward somewhat and re-centering so that he was aligned with the gap between his chair and Gloomfire’s. He liked to keep things symmetrical.

“Please, tell us as to how you came to arrive in Kwinelyn.”

He blinked, unsure of where to begin. “Do you want me to begin from specifically the events preceding my arrival, or a general overview of my time in Peratha?”

One of the Lords snorted, one of the brothers...Puremoon? He thought that sounded right. Elarome seemed nonplussed however as if it was a natural question. Which it was. Fuck that guy.

“You may begin from when you exited the Gateway, Master Zachary.”

“Oh please,” the other Puremoon lord said, sounding exasperated, “I’d rather this not take any longer than it needs. The boy cannot possibly be the Hero, Elarome. Look at him, he’s-” one of the Ladies, Teriala he remembered, laid a warning hand upon Puremoon’s, giving him a frown and a look of disapproval. He folded his arms, leaning back in his chair like a petulant child, “Everyone’s thinking it.”, he grumbled.

“Please, Master Zachary. You may begin.”

He quite liked this Elarome guy. Gloomfire was wrong to hate him so. He seemed like an honorable dude. Clearing his throat, he began from the beginning, telling them of the events at the Gateway and Riverton, how he came to gain his brand, the trip to Glorena, and his fight with Gloomfire. He left out certain parts of course, but just the Sparknotes would suffice. The patio was silent for more than one elegant moment after he finished his tale. It wasn’t much, he had to admit, though it had certainly felt like much more when he was living it.

“I do not think the boy is lying, or at least, he does not strike me as one with enough guile to fool us,” said Lady Whisperleaf. Maybe Pevarin’s wife would be the one to bail him out. He was glad to have her on his side. “Show us the brand, child.”

He complied readily, opening his shirt and turning his chest so that all could see. Many leaned forward, straining to see it, some gasping at the sign. Elarome regarded it grimly, warily. “This does not bode well,” said Lady Cireslyn, of the prosecution, “First the surge in Abyssal Fiends, now news that the Sly One is active once again?”

“The Sly One is always active, sister,” said Lady Dalmelyn, of his defense, “His machinations are devious and eternal. We must tread carefully here. This is part of his plan, but why?”

“I do not accept that,” said the Puremoon brother closest to him. His eyebrows were thicker, so he figured Thickmoon and Thinmoon might be better to differentiate between them. “The Sly One works under the surface. This boy is obviously a distraction from the real threat. He would like us to focus on this instead of the looming encroachment of the corruption. We have no time to waste on the child. Dispose of him quickly while there is still time in the day for us to speak of Perselion. He is accompanied by the Dread-Flame, Trin’ga’helya’sorenal,” and Lady Teriala frowned disapprovingly at him again. Did he just curse in elvish? Others around the table, even his brother, seemed embarrassed as if he did things like this all the time. He mouthed the words back again, trying to memorize them.

“Be that as it may, he has provided sufficient reasoning for his choice of companionship. If his story is to be believed,” said Lord Elarome neutrally.

“I am curious as to how the boy claims to have taken control of the Pareseli’erath’s magic. That is impossible,” said Lady Cireslyn, frowning.

“You need only look through the plane of the arcane, to see he speaks the truth. He holds a Control Funnel over Lord Rykaren. That lends his story much credence.”

‘I was wondering if I was seeing that correctly,” said Lord Suresong of the defense, passively. He did seem more interested now that matters had turned to Zach’s magical affinity.

“So he can make a simple Control Funnel,” said Lord Thinmoon, “what of it? It does not mean his story of being teleported here by accident is true. Need I remind you we have a known enemy of Elkind amidst us? One with specific enmity towards one of our members?” Thickmoon nodded solemnly in agreement, while the other two ladies of the prosecution seemed displeased to be working alongside them.

“I am curious as to how such a collision of power resulted in so specific an interaction,” said Lord Elarome, stroking his chin, leaning back in his chair. “Lord Rykaren Es’Rundar, rise.”

Voices clamored in exclamation at Elarome’s order. Gloomfire rose slowly, walking forward.

“It is good to see you again, my former Second. How have you fared?”

Shock flooded Zach’s senses. They used to be partners?

“I am well. Less well, upon learning of your survival,” said Gloomfire, his voice heated.

“Ah yes, well,” said Elarome, smiling, “Some things never change, eh? I always had a knack for cheating death.”

“Enough of the pleasantries, Elarome. Ask me your question and let us be done with this farce.”

“You need not be so bitter, old friend. You won the battle. I was defeated. The children hear otherwise,” he said, shrugging indifferently, “but it is good for morale. I have never qualified the tales.”

“You wish to know of how the Hero sent us here,” he began, ignoring the comment, much to Elarome’s delight, “It is my theory that the collision of both of our reserves caused a significant feedback loop. Unable to bond with me, it struggled to return, but the flow of the boy’s magic was too powerful, thus sending it into an infinite cascade, disturbing the plane to such a degree that it tore a rift in reality itself, sending us here.”

“And what is your theory as to why the boy’s power chose this location?” he asked seriously.

“That, I cannot say,” said Gloomfire, unsure.

“Speak, Rykaren. Your judgment is rarely incorrect.”

“I believe it is the work of the Sly One,” he said quietly. “But that would be an ill portent indeed.”

The patio fell silent, and Lord Elarome nodded, “You may take your seat, Lord Rykaren.” Gloomfire nodded curtly and returned to his seat, Zach beginning to sweat somewhat.

“As I said,” Lord Thickmoon began shakily, “the boy must be destroyed. We cannot risk him stumbling into a victory for the God of Shadows.”

Even his defense seemed shaken by Gloomfire’s theory. Was this god so dangerous?

“Perhaps,” said Lord Elarome. “But we shall see. Do we feel that sufficient evidence has been given to make a decision?”

This was not good. The room was leaning towards his execution right now. He had to do something. Avoiding disfavor was paramount, however, so he settled for a classic. He raised his hand, Elarome turning from surveying the other Lords to settling on him, a small smile slipping onto his face.

“Yes, Master Zachary? What is it you would like to say?”

“Um, couldn’t you guys, just, guide me? Wouldn’t that be better than destroying me? I mean, I almost defeated Gloomfire. And I didn’t even know how to use magic until the other day.”

“We have little time to spare training the potential doom of our world, Hero,” said Thickmoon derisively. Zach was used to bullying, so the elf’s words affected him not. He looked off into the distance, seeing the corruption in the sky itself. He could feel it, even now. Was there a reason for that? Maybe this was part of the main story questline.

He looked at Ladies Teriala and Cireslyn. They seemed reasonable. “I can help. Teach me how to control my power, help me understand it, and I will cleanse the corruption of the Dawn-Shatterer. I think that’s why I’m here.”

“My, he’s a smooth one,’ murmured Cireslyn, her eyes doing a little more than just looking at him, and he quickly looked away from her gaze, and she gave a sultry laugh. Turning to his defense panel, he looked them over each in turn. They were still judging him, wanting to trust him, he was surprised to realize. He had them in execute range, he just needed to time his CDs here and burst hard.

“I was raised to be respectful, courteous, polite. I want to help. I...,” he said, the words there, but still so far away, “I just want to feel useful. To feel like I’m here for a purpose.” It wasn’t what he wanted to say, but he just didn’t have the time to find the right words.

Lady Whisperleaf smiled at him, and so did Suresong, but the other two of his defense still seemed unsure. He had nothing else though. All he could do was be himself and hope, at this point. Zach nodded respectfully toward Lord Elarome and returned to his seat, marking the end of his turn.

Elarome folded his hands in front of him, tapping an index finger against the table, then rose. The rest of the room followed suit, but Gloomfire remained seated, so he stayed put. “How does the defense vote?” he asked strongly, gravely.

Two of them remained standing, Suresong and Whisperleaf. The other two gave him a pitying look but sat down all the same. That wasn’t great.

Elarome turned the other way, and asked again, “How votes the prosecution?”

Three sat, the brothers Puremoon and Lady Teriala. Surprisingly, all three seemed remorseful about their decision. “I do not doubt your sincerity, child,” said Thickmoon, the other two nodding in agreement, “but you seem too naïve, and that is dangerous. The Sly One exploits such weaknesses. We have lived long lives. We have seen what damage weakness can cause.”

Five against, and three for. He was done. Gloomfire looked at him meaningfully. He had hoped it wouldn’t come down to this.

“Those still standing, you may take your seats,” he said, and they obeyed in short order. “This panel of Lords has determined that you are not, in fact, the Hero of Peratha, Master Zachary. As your kind is forbidden entry into Kwinelyn, we must serve you the appropriate penalty, which is typically execution. Our kind holds a sacred reverence for all life, but we cannot risk knowledge of our lands making it back into malicious hands. However, are there any who disagree with the severity of the sentencing?”

Nearly all of the council stood, much to his surprise. Even the Puremoons. Only Suresong remained seated, though it seemed because he was lost in thought more than anything.

“I-”

“You callous fools always did believe yourselves generous,” said a familiar voice, and he saw Elarome’s face darken before he whirled, Pevarin standing at the entrance, his daughter staring at him in shock.

“What is the meaning of this?” barked Lord Elarome, the kindness gone from his voice, “Who set you free?”

“You forget that there were many who supported me, but feared retribution for speaking out, Elarome. It was easy to find friends that wished to make things right. But that is beside the point, for I see you have moved to sentencing, but I have not cast my vote yet.”

“You blaspheme even now, Tysendiel?” said Lord Elarome, outraged.

“I was never removed from office. I chose to leave, but never resigned. You forget a Lord of Morning must be formally discharged before his seat may be seen as vacant. You installed that code yourself, did you not?”

Elarome’s face went so red Zach feared his head might take off from his body, but he took a deep, calming breath, and said, “You are correct. However,” he said smugly, “this would imbalance the panels.”

“Then instate someone. I don’t care. We can call a recess and you can nominate whoever you find worthy,” said Pevarin, waving an unconcerned hand. “That is fine with me.”

“There is no need. I have a suitable candidate right here in this room. Lady Egwyren Whisperleaf, please rise and come forward.”

The room went silent, overcome by the turn of events. Pevarin suddenly seemed far less confident, watching his daughter approach the stage and moving aside. She came to stand just in front of Zach, her back alarmingly bare, the curves of her body uncomfortably well-defined.

“Do you swear to uphold the oaths of the Crystal Grove, to always decide in favor of the greatest possible benefit of Kwinelyn, and strive against the will of the Dawn-Shatterer, until the rivers run dry and the forests sleep forevermore?”

“I do,” she said simply, just as she usually did. She could have been agreeing to go for a walk.

“Then I name you Lady Whisperleaf of the Morning. May your service bring about a new era of peace for all of Kwinelyn,” said Lord Elarome hastily. It was a short ceremony. He supposed it usually was not this way, but impromptu was the name of the game right now. “Lady Whisperleaf the Second, please stand with the prosecution. Lord Terathon,” he said, grinding his teeth at the last, “stand with the defense.”

They went to their respective sides, Pevarin going to stand beside his former consort. The woman remained regally impassive to her credit, though he could see the storm of emotions flashing behind her mask of serenity.

“Once again, all rise,” he said, and the rest of the room came to their feet. “Defense, cast your lot again.”

The same votes occurred, with Pevarin added in this time. Three for, two against.

“And the prosecution, make your choice now.”

Two stood, and three sat. He was shocked to see Egwyren standing, and she gave him a quick smile. Five for, and five against. An even split. “I’ll be damned,” he said to himself quietly.

Lord Elarome’s face was stone, and just as unreadable. “As the votes have resulted in an even decision, I will now cast the final vote.” He looked directly at Zach, his eyes holding centuries of wisdom, centuries of death, of witnessing the fall of kingdoms and tyrants, of seeing his people suffer and struggle. That weight was held with a gravity he could only imagine. Zach knew the man would choose only what was right for his people.

“The last man to be named the Hero of Peratha defeated the Dawn-Shatterer, but knowingly placed us in charge of safeguarding its remains. For this, we have suffered, our land corrupted and ruined under the pressure of its rotten core. I know what your kind thinks of us. You think us cowards, hypocrites. Self-righteous, indifferent to the plights of the world. But consider this. When we begged—and we did beg—for the Emperor to aid us from the burden he bestowed upon us, we were met with silence. He knew this was going to happen. He intends for our destruction, for a reason we’ve not the slightest clue. You stand here, a young man holding power that is inestimable. And we know not what you might do with that power. You seem a courteous young man, as you said, but there is danger in inexperience, Zachary. How can we be certain you will not cause more harm than good? You are a pawn—no, a queen piece in a chess game none of us can hope to understand. If given the opportunity, your power would be used to devastate the world. Convince me, Zachary.”

He thought. He thought and thought. But nothing came. There was no magic answer. Anything he could hope to say just did not sound convincing enough. He was fucked. He might as well start pouring magic into Gloomfire right now. But he realized something. He had been given a chance. For some reason, these people saw something within. They saw something good. He was never able to see anything good about himself. Yet for some reason he still, to this day, could not fathom, people always saw potential in him. They saw something he couldn’t. He had made the decision to fight for himself, but he was quick to abandon that in favor of giving up. Maybe he was going about things the wrong way. Maybe he should try to find out what everyone saw in him first.

So he opened his mouth, for once.