“I’ve always failed in everything I ever did,” he began strongly. What a great opening line. “I failed the people I love. I failed the people I wanted to love but couldn’t, because...because I’ve never loved myself. And I’ve always, always, always, despised myself for that. For all of it,” he continued. The room was silent, the atmosphere heavy. And well it should be. “I failed in my world. I wish that wasn’t true, more than anything, but I did. I...I’ve never tried, before. I always was too scared to. Too scared to see that I wouldn’t live up to these enormous expectations I had for myself. I’m scared now too, just like you guys.” Maybe this was the wrong thing to say—it certainly wouldn’t inspire any confidence. “I’m tired. I’m so tired of hating myself. I want to do better this time. Maybe this is selfish of me to say, but maybe this is another chance for me. And if it is,” he said, realizing that there was a part of him that did dare to hope, that did want to escape from this perpetual cycle of sorrow and apathy, “then I swear to whatever gods there are, however many there are, to your Crystal Grove and the Sly One and all of them, I don’t care who hears, so long as they do hear.”

Footsteps sounded behind them, and Egan and Selara were there, out of breath, but there. They looked at him, Selara locking eyes with him. She was beautiful. There was no way. But he didn’t know everything. He didn’t break eye contact with her, his face solemn, and he said, “I want to do better this time. So I will. Count on it.” It wasn’t a perfect speech. He could have said some things better. Count on it? That was cringe, but it was him. Confident yet awkward, sometimes cool and edgy and sometimes just a fucking idiot, but sincere, genuine.

He could live with that.

Elarome was quiet, considering. Minutes seemed to pass, and Zach looked out to the pond, seeing a heron strutting across slowly, its head bobbing as it moved. Weird fucking bird, man.

“Your words are powerful for one so young,” began Elarome, giving him a sad smile, “I wish they were enough to convince me. I have too many people counting on me, young Zachary, for me to be swayed by the tugging of heartstrings. I need reason, I need reality. Something concrete.”

Zach’s heart fell, but he was proud at least. He had tried. He had never done that before. Honestly, putting in real effort, really trying, made the failure not sting at all. He had done what he could.

“But...these are not ordinary times. My judgment is poor it seems, reviewing the past. I have made many mistakes,” he said softly, and Zach noticed Pevarin’s eyebrows raise in shock, “I believe for much of my life I have ruled believing wisdom is safety, consistency. Making the choice that risks the least. But, I am coming around to the idea that perhaps this is not always true. Very well, young Zachary. Show me that aggression is wisdom as well. If you wish to aid us in cleansing our land, of pushing back against the tide, then I will not refuse you. Show me that you are what the prophecies spoke of. Let us both do better this time,” he finished, smiling and Zach could not help but share it, grinning wide.

He turned to Gloomfire, who seemed disappointed, “Guess no fight today.”

“I suppose,” he said, sighing, “but well done. We would have not survived against nine elven lords. Living is preferable to death.” he finished wryly.

“The trial of Master Zachary and Lord Rykaren Es’Rundar is concluded. May the Crystal Grove bless all present—may the winds follow your steps and the spirits watch over you.” he intoned, and the air became relaxed, some of the elven lords stretching languidly.

“I’ve always found humans to be either insufferably violent or insufferably hopeful,” said Lord Thickmoon, shaking his head. “Either one is revolting in its own way.”

“I don’t know,” said Lady Ciriselyn, eyeing Zach once again hungrily, “I find him quite alluring.”

“Ok,” he said hurriedly, “uh, are we good to go? I mean, where are we going anyways? What’s the plan?”

“You will be summoned for consultation later. The hour grows late, and there is one more matter that must be attended to today. Leave us,” he announced loudly. “I must have words with Tysendiel, alone.”

Zach nodded towards Pevarin, and waved shyly towards Egwyren, praying Selara didn’t notice. He then nodded to Gloomfire and turned about, walking to his friends. He reached out a hand to Egan, but the man pulled him into an embrace, Selara joining in, and they stood there for a moment, enjoying the reunion. I forgot what this was like, he thought to himself. It seemed like it had been so long since he had friends that weren’t just voices from across the void.

“I thought-I...I’m glad you guys are OK,” he said, the words for once not so hard to find. “Just a little Elven imprisonment. Nothin’ a few days rest won’t fix,” said Egan casually, smiling. Egan stepped back, winking at him, Selara moving in close. She reached up a hand towards his face tentatively at first, then brushed his cheek warmly, almost marveling at him. For him? Really? He expected her to realize what she was doing, blush, and withdraw her hands hastily. But she didn’t.

“You were amazing,” she said, her eyes sparkling, “from beginning to end. How-how do you do it?” She was amazed. By him? It didn't make sense to him, but he supposed that really didn't matter. It didn't need to make sense for him to enjoy it. He could just let things be, and figure it out later.

Smirking, feeling a surge of confidence, he said, “I’m the Hero of Peratha, remember? It’s what I do.”

She laughed, her hand still on his face, and said, “I suppose you are. Well, my Lord Hero—what's next?”

“Lord Zach, for you. Everyone else calls me Hero. If you’re lucky, I might even let you drop the ‘lord’.”

She looked down guiltily, letting her hand slip, “I...there are things I need to tell you, Zachary.".

He shook his head. “It can wait. They promised us refreshments. I think we should cash in on that. I’m starving."

She sighed, and looked at Pevarin, biting her lip in concern. “You’re right. We should eat. It’s good to keep our strength up. Things could change without warning,” she returned her gaze to him, then flicked his forehead, “You didn’t tell me you could use Flame magic.”

“I had just found out,” he said dryly, “I didn’t have time to tell you in between being impaled by the dragon and blowing that town half to smithereens.” Zach felt a surge of panic, “Wait, the children. Are they all right?”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“Yes, yes,” she said, patting his chest with her hand, “The elves took them off somewhere. They don’t harm children.”

He could cross that off of his list. He wasn’t quite sure what to do about them. It was his fault they had lost their town, their family, and now were in a land far from their home. And unfortunately, saving Kwinelyn took precedence over them. One thing at a time, he supposed.

“Egan, you up for some grub?” he asked, Egan kicking the ground off to the side. He looked up, stretching and yawning.

“Sounds right heavenly to me, Zach. Not sure I’m a big fan of Elven food, though. Ate a homemade Kwinelyn dish that old Pev made, once. It was all vegetables, no meat.”

Zach resonated with that within his soul, grimacing upon hearing the news. Hopefully, they had more variation than that. He turned back to look at Gloomfire, wondering what the man was doing, and wished he hadn’t. The dragon was standing not a hair away from Elarome, one of Pevarin’s daggers at his throat. The elven lord seemed amused, while Pevarin was anything but. “I think this is hardly the time for this, Rykaren.”

“None of your greasy words, you slime,” said Gloomfire, his voice stone, “I will have the victory you robbed me of.”

“Oh?” he said unconcernedly, casually, “with what do you have to force me into accepting your challenge?”

Rykaren frowned as if Elarome had asked him why the water was wet, “Your honor.”

“Oh my dear man, you seem to mistake me for the same elf you once knew,” said the Lord of Morning, “My honor no longer belongs to me. I have a duty to my people to remain alive. I cannot accept a challenge in which needless risk is invited.”

“I better go handle that,” said Zach, looking at his friends apologetically, “he’s kind of my responsibility, in a way.”

“Want us to come with you?” asked Egan, and Zach shook his head.

Selara’s eyes touched the dragon with a blaze of anger, and fear. “Don’t trust him Zachary,” she said, gripping his shoulder tight, “He may speak of things like honor, valor, and glory, but he’s as evil as the worst of them.”

“Ask the girl who her father is,”

“Selara,” he started hesitantly, “Gloomfire said-well, I don’t really know how else to say it—he said you’re the daughter of Lucinder. Is that true?”

“No,” she said without hesitation, her voice crackling with heat, “no, I am not that tyrant’s child. I told you, he tells lies,” she finished, though there was an unmistakable layer of worry in her eyes. Some parts were true.

“Not completely, he doesn’t,” he said, not breaking eye contact, “what did he mean, then? You can tell me, Selara."

She bit her lip and then sighed regretfully, but also as if she was glad to be rid of the weight she was carrying. He could relate. “I...there are many things about me you still do not know. I was not always a good person, Zachary. I-I wish-” she broke off, cursing under her breath. Her eyes had begun to mist, and she looked away. He placed a hand on her shoulder gently, and she moved her head slowly to face him.

The words were there within his soul. All the people along his journey, his dark path towards the light, had lent them to him. He wasn’t ready to speak them to himself, but he could speak them to her. “I won’t tell you to forget the past, but I will tell you this. You are not that person anymore. Not unless you let yourself be. Keep it with you, toss it behind, burn it all—it doesn’t matter. Do whatever you have to. But push forward, no matter how difficult it is. Do better. Be better.”

He looked towards Egan, and the man nodded, saying, “You’ve earned the chance to forgive yourself, Selara. I think we all have. Doesn’t mean we can’t still look for penance wherever it is, and I know we will,” he chuckled, then said, “Grace willing, I know we will.”

Her eyes steadied, the familiar fire he knew blazing within, “I want to, Zachary. I just don’t know how.”

“Me neither,” he said, smiling, “but I’m trying. And you know what? It’s not as bad as I thought it would be.” He turned, readying himself. “Wish me luck.” He strode forward without waiting for their response. “Gloomy, buddy!” he yelled out, the dragon glancing at him in irritation.

“What is it, Hero? I’ve not the time for any of your nonsense.”

“I see you and the good Lord Elarome are having a disagreement,” he said, placing a hand on top of Pevarin’s arm, glancing at the man with a look to make him relax. The rebellious elf did so reluctantly, still eyeing Gloomfire distrustfully. “And I think I actually have a solution you might like, knowing you.”

They all turned to him curiously, Elarome smiling at him, “Go on,” growled the dragon.

“Elarome cannot fight you for the dispute you two had however long ago. It would be irresponsible for him to do so. So, how about he chooses a champion of equal or better strength instead? Your account will be settled, and you can choose the penalty for the loser.”

“Death.”

“Yeah, no, I figured that was what you were going for, but maybe you might think otherwise after this next part,” he said. He looked at Elarome and said, “I would volunteer to be your champion, my lord.”

“You...cannot,” said Gloomfire regretfully, “you hold dominion over my magic.”

“I couldn’t pass it to another just for our match?” he asked, not directing the question to anyone in particular.

“There exists none capable of controlling Gloomfire by themselves. A Control Funnel is typically used for enchanted items and naturally occurring magic. Living creatures are possible to control in such a fashion, but not if they have direct influence over their own power. That is what makes your hold over Rykaren so astonishing.”

“You said ‘by themselves’, though. Why not just gather the necessary amount to do so?” he asked, frowning.

“It’s fraught with risk,” he said, looking at the dragon with hard eyes, “he could burn them out of their ability to use magic, or reverse the connection and control them. I cannot ask my people to do this for a dragon’s pride.”

Zach studied the situation detachedly, putting a fist to his chin in thought. That meant he would have to keep hold of Gloomfire’s power in a match unless for whatever reason he could just let it go. He felt as if he could trust the dragon to remain honorable for the purpose of a duel, but if he lost somehow, or if something else unforeseen occurred, he would be endangering everyone there. Fighting the dragon would also drain him needlessly, now that he thought about it. He needed to complete this part of the campaign quickly. The dreams were still difficult to decipher, but the message was clear—he was on a timetable. Someone was looking for him, whether it was this Emperor or another entity. All while the Sly One operated in the shadows. He needed to be faster than anyone could predict. Decisive. That’s what he needed to be.

“I’ll release my hold over him, then. Just for the battle. Retaking control over you will be part of my prize for winning. And when I win, you will become my Second, Rykaren,” he said, facing the dragon.

“I cannot become another’s Second while mine still draws breath,” he said, uncertain in the face of this new development. “Even if you won, I could not serve you until Lucinder is dead.”

“That shouldn’t be much of a problem, considering he’ll be the next stop afterward.”

“Afterward?” said Gloomfire, eyes narrowing, “Have you not promised yourself to the elves?”

“Oh, totally,” said Zach, smiling, “we’re going to help them first, then have our little duel.”

The dragon laughed, though not out of amusement, “You expect me to wait for however long that will take on a promise? And what if you perish?”

“Then you should do your best to keep me alive,” he said, but then thought a little deeper. Addressing the room again, he asked, “Is there some sort of covenant we can make? A pact, a blood bond? Something like that?”

“An Arcane Covenant. Yes, you could do that, but I must warn you, Hero,” said Lord Elarome, “If you renege upon such an oath, it will take your life.”

‘A good thing I’m an honest guy, then,” he said, trying to stop the quiver in his voice, “Let’s do it.” He looked around at the three men, none making a move. There was more to this than a spell and some words, he had a feeling. “What am I missing here?”

“It is not man, elf, or dragon that can create such a covenant,” said Pevarin, his words deliberate, “but the God of Paths, Jisaiyer.”

Zach felt a chill sweep through him, “That...that wouldn’t happen to be the Sly One, would it?”

“No,” Elarome answered, “Worse. It is his brother, the king of gods.”

Zach groaned inside. Out of the frying pan, into the fire. He thought with resignation.