Within the Hall of Mirrors the diplomatic reception was in full swing. Several inhabitants of the Fort mingled with silk-clad Baylarian envoys and a handful of tall, well-muscled individuals in clean yet rugged garb. Polite conversation couched in ‘what do you for work’, ‘I am such-and-such’, and ‘oh what happened at Spires was a true tragedy’ emanated from the disparate gatherings in each part of the hall. Important topics – such as the fact I’d killed tens of Baylarian soldiers – were swerved away from as though they were active explosives. Any true negotiation would take place afterwards, behind closed doors. Tables holding cakes, cheeses, dried meats, fruits, or carafes of wine were interspersed throughout the room for anyone to take and enjoy. The ever-present brazier spat flame in the centre of the room, casting it all in a heat just warm enough to have those with more than one layer tugging at their collars.

Head Maleen stood with Gale as she argued vehemently with a Baylarian for her continued existence, while Kit glared at the bearded man from behind her. Ronnie stood by the finger-food, studiously working their way from one side of the assortment to the other. Beside the giant stood Taja, who, after wearing an expression of extreme discomfort at every stranger’s attempt to talk to him, had decided to follow Ronnie’s lead and feign muteness. Almost an hour earlier, Gast had talked to a single person, stared at the ceiling for ten minutes, and walked away.

All of this was multiplied endlessly by the mirrors that made up the hall’s walls. I tried not to look at them. Occasionally, my eyes would brush over a tall, hollow-cheeked man holding a cup of wine and a too-large sack in the walls and I would remember being at both ends of a murder. My gaze would crawl away, but the knowledge that he was still there would remain. I’d arranged my limp hair so it fell over my eyes, concealing most of the man’s face and obstructing my vision, but even with those blinders firmly in place I was getting to the point where the animal panic was almost impossible to overcome. Why had Gale wanted me here? I needed to leave soon. Deep swallows of wine only bought so much time. Every time I gulped the liquid down, my own face still stared from the pool of black liquid. The alcohol was too thin to conceal it. Bhan would understand me breaking my vow of abstinence, wouldn’t he?

After all, in this room of figures blurred by my faltering vision, full of muted and indistinct sounds, my receded eyes kept falling on Tam. The woman who had, all those years ago, seen a nervous, broken quartermaster and turned her into someone who no longer flinched at shadows. My wife. But the distance between us was too wide to cross.

I wasn’t the woman she remembered. I wasn’t even a woman. Was I even Tully? Yet while my face and all it bore had been eaten in that crater, the memories remained embedded in my soul. Some of them were scar tissue. Seeing Kit was hard enough, sometimes – she looked so much like the creature that birthed her. The Jackal’s apparent death beneath Spires was small consolation. Occasionally, I saw that thing leaning out the corner of my vision, lips cocked to cackle in the same way it had in my nightmares. Knowing the Jackal was dead changed nothing for me if I couldn’t believe it myself.

But some of those memories were far more precious. Like the nights I had spent with General Bina, and the years with Tam and the girls. I had been a bad mother to them. Spending my days dedicated to a dream destined to be broken against Enn’s back instead of nurturing my newborn family. Perhaps that was why it was difficult to face them.

Or perhaps it was the fact that I was a ghost haunting someone else’s body. My wife would never again see Tully when she looked at me. So I at least owed it to her to say goodbye.

I drained the last of my wine and strode over to her. “Tam?” I asked.

She turned to me. The same sun-browned, lightly wrinkled face I remembered. Coupled with eyes reddened by grief and a smile directed towards a stranger. “Vin, weren’t it? You came with Head Maleen?”

I stared at her. On the night we’d met, the city had been so quiet. Wind always a carried a bitter chill atop those precarious bloodtech bridges spanning the distance between Spires, but with my back against the smithy’s chimney its cold had simply been bracing. Like the gusts had only ever wanted to wake me up. Above the two of us, the night stars had seemed wrinkles around the gaze of two great moons. Despite being mere humans cradled by ivory fingers far greater than ourselves, the sky was gentle. That dawn had been brighter than any I’d seen before.

“That’s me,” I told the woman I’d spent that night with. “Vin.”

A small name for a small person.

“Tully wanted for you to know…” I gazed into her eyes – the same charred hazel I remembered. “…That she was sorry for not being better to you.”

Tam covered her mouth with one hand. Her eyelids fluttered like a butterfly’s wings.

“That she wished that instead of catering to the needs of Heltia’s Spires, she had spent more time with you and Hera and little Bina.” A small breath fell from my lips. “And that she loved you all, and wants nothing more than future happiness for all of you; whatever shape it may take.”

It took her a moment to work though that; to gentle the flow of tears streaming down her face. The urge to embrace her took root and I strangled it in the womb.

“Thank you,” Tam finally said, silent tears trailing down her face.

She reached out and held my hands as she was wracked with quiet sorrow. Nothing else in the room mattered.

When her throat opened enough to speak, she gave me a tiny smile and said, “You’re a lot like her, y’know? It’s a hard job, telling me this, but…” She blinked rapidly, voice turning hoarse. “…Never one she shied away from.”

“Yes,” I choked out. “I suppose I am.”

“Thank you.” She slowly released her hands from my gentle grasp. “I’ll go tell the girls.”

I held on for just one moment longer. Then I let go.

“Goodbye, Tam.”

And she walked between the tables and past the brazier and through the sparse crowd until her back vanished down the side of the hall.

I clenched my hands into fists. After a moment, I loosened them to rub the corners of my eyes. The void in my chest grew slightly larger. My body rotated, yet I witnessed nothing in the room but colours, shapes, and sounds. Devoid of all life.

My arms reached down to retrieve the sack I’d dropped earlier. With faltering, unfeeling steps I approached the flames of the brazier. Any shape they fell in was ephemeral: they flinched away from rigidity under an inexorable desire to continue their dance. Mindless of how the act ate away the substance that created them. I thought of the glowing embers that would remain come morning and of the Lizard’s mountainously rotting body; consumed alive by the plague within it yet cursed by the same plague to never die. The fire would need fuel.

Slowly, I deposited my empty cup of wine on a table, then opened the bag and withdrew a wooden figure. Beneath a floppy hat and a network of wrinkles, a man’s lips were peeled back in a broken-toothed grin. Uncle Dirk. His hunting dog – Pat – lay at his feet, chomping through a bowl of noodles. It had taken me four attempts and a dozen hours of work to be satisfied I’d captured some part of the monster-hunter. Dirk had died to a Ravenkin because of me. And I’d embedded him in wood, as if it would change something.

With a flick of the wrist, I tossed him into the fire.

It was for an experiment. A suspicion that crept under my eyelids in the dark hours of night, when all in the Fort were asleep besides me. The figure crackled and blackened underneath the vast heat of capricious flames. Dirk’s face buckled under the pressure.

The figurines I carved were beautiful, in an amateur way. At least they had been to me. Undoubtedly the most precious things I owned. Watching the wood be consumed, I felt almost nothing. As I had when I’d watched Taja be beat by Kit in the duel. When I’d watched the sunrise atop the Fort walls. When I’d heard the cook’s assistant weeping as his mother beat him behind the walls. Little empathy. Little appreciation. Little compassion.

That had been the Ravenblood. Like a Lizardblood’s thick-headedness, or a Dolphinblood’s arrogance, or an Oxblood’s divine rage. The goodness Ma had told me I possessed had been the legacy of the black ichor running through my veins. Most remained still, but what had been taken seemed to have torn something far more important out with it.

I released a light chuckle. An echo emanating from the great hollow within my torso.

With my own emptiness confirmed, I quickly ripped my hand into the brazier and pulled Dirk out, frantically smothering him with my shirt. The fire was quickly snuffed into mere smoke, yet the sculpture had already become a blackened mess. Tears seeped from my eyes and I rubbed them into nothing with the sleeves of my shirt.

“Come on,” I muttered, trying to save what little pieces of him remained, “come on.”

Then I hissed as the immense heat pushed into my hand by the flame trickled past my numb fingertips and into the deeper meat of my hands. With the Foxblood taken from me, every sense except my sixth had deteriorated. Some parts of my hands and feet were entirely without sensation. I’d thought it wouldn’t hurt. As I clutched my hand to my chest, I realised I’d thought wrong.

“Vin, right? I didn’t think you would make it here.”

I whirled to find a beefy woman cocking an eyebrow at my smoking hand – one of the few non-Oxbloods I’d met of a taller height with me. The trained set of her feet and her impressive physique suggested a warrior. Yet those features belied a surprisingly refined voice which frayed at its edges with the beginnings of old age. Despite her greying hair and lined face, she remained just as imposing as a younger woman. Though her eyes and skin carried a far darker tone, she looked a bit how I though Erin might, as an adult.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Though Erin would probably kill me if she ever saw me again.

I shoved my burning hand and the figure it contained into a pocket, plastering a pleasant smile across my face. “You know me?”

The older woman inclined her head in acknowledgment. “I’m Gaia. We haven’t been introduced properly, of course, but we have seen one another.”

My eyes narrowed, then after a long moment searching my memory, widened. She had been one of the cloaked figures within the crater, all those months ago – watching our group as we waited atop the mountains. The one that had fought the Albrights. I reached down for the sword on my waist, only to find it absent. I’d left it in my room.

At my reaction, she quickly raised her arms. “Easy there,” Gaia crooned. “We left you alone, didn’t we?”

“Why are you here?” I demanded.

“Under Gale’s invitation,” the taller woman explained. “He’s worried about you and thought we could help.”

“We? Why would you…” I swore quietly. “You’re a Shrikeblood.”

She gave a pleased smile. “You’re quick on the uptake. But I suppose I should expect nothing less.”

I eyed her. “What in Siik’s long sight were you doing fighting the Albrights?”

The muscular woman gazed down at me and shrugged. “We have different ideas of what the future should look like.”

“And what future do you want?”

Her eyes crinkled around their edges. “I suppose we’ll see.”

“That’s not- “

“I’m only here to introduce myself, Vin. Right now, I believe you’re dealing with far more pressing issues than whatever I’m up to.” She gestured towards my blistering hand with a wry smile. “For what it’s worth, the thing you bear upon your shoulders would break a lesser person. I hope we meet again, but if we don’t…”

I tried to read between her words. ⬛h⬛ w⬛s imp⬛rt⬛nt. ⬛⬛⬛⬛ ⬛⬛ ⬛⬛⬛ S⬛⬛ds. My attempts dissipated into the air. It was there – right on the tip of my tongue. But that information had been shattered into a thousand pieces at the bottom of a hill. Where I’d died for the fourth time.

“Why reveal yourself to me now, Gaia?” I found my mouth asking. “After all these years of secrecy?”

“Who…?” Her eyes widened fractionally. “Seoras.”

I was br⬛k⬛⬛. But enough of me remained to ask questions. “You owe it to me- “

“You knew our objective,” the Shrikeblood quietly mused. “You don’t anymore. Is that possible for a creature like you?”

“Gaia- “

There was a shout from behind me. “O- Vin!”

I turned to find Gale stomping his way through the sparse crowd towards me. “Talks went well?” I asked.

“Maleen has it handled. You need- “

I turned, searching for Gaia, only to find her walking back to her rugged peers. Briefly, I considered going after her. But whatever secrets she held lacked all lustre. Much like the rest of the room.

A hand fumbled for my arm, then wrapped around it. “Vin.”

Pain torqued through my muscles as cloth bandages grated against my exposed muscle. I tried to rip my arm from Gale’s grasp, but despite his smaller frame the Blooded’s strength far outstripped my own.

I turned my eyes on him as agony sharpened my voice. “What?”

Immediately, he released me. “Gods, I am sorry.” His clouded eyes were wide. In the light, one seemed a shade darker than its other blue. “Are you hurt? Do you need someone to clean your wounds? I can let my husband know.”

I groaned, trying to soothe the pain in both arms – one singed and the other scraped raw. “Husband? What?”

“Sorry, I meant Henrik. But- ”

I tried to shake the pain clouding my skull. “What do you want, Gale?”

His hands hovered over my shoulders, trembling with the urge to seize them. The noble quickly lowered them to his side again. “I have done tests. I have conferred with several individuals. I…” He rubbed his eyes. “I suspected this may occur, but I never thought- “

A seed of unease took root within my chest. “What is it?”

“Your body is deteriorating rapidly. Far faster than any other conversion case I have records of. At this rate, you will be dead before the month is done, whether your Ravenblood is removed or not.” Panic edged into his tone. “We need to speed up the extraction process and get Dure’s essence into you as soon as possible.”

My gaze drifted around the room. It settled on the monster in the mirror: dark veins, sallow skin and apathetic eyes staring back. In that moment, I had no more energy for fear. “Yeah. I figured that out myself.”

“You knew?” Gale breathed, then his words narrowed into something far more ferocious. “Stupid child. Why did you not tell me?”

I shrugged, mindless of the fact he wouldn’t be capable of seeing the motion. “There didn’t seem to be a point. It won’t change how this ends.”

The person beside me froze. With loaded caution, the words continued. “And how does this end, Orvi?”

“I won’t take the Lizardblood.”

Both of his hands clenched the air ineffectually. The whites of his eyes stood stark against their pupils. “Why?” he pleaded. “You will die, Orvi.”

“I refuse to trade one set of chains for another.” The words emerged sharply; thick with a rebuke I’d hoped to hide. I sighed, then rubbed my arms. “I already know what it’s like to die. Better than anyone else alive. It’s a small price to pay to be free of divinity.”

I knew the cowardice inherent to that thought; to the things I’d told Gale. But I didn’t feel brave any more. For the most part, I just felt exhausted.

The blind man’s jaw worked impotently. His eyes searched frantically through the empty air, attempting to find me but destined to fail. Whatever words he was attempting to materialise were nowhere to be found.

Eventually, he managed, “I can give the Ravenblood back. If that is what it takes.”

A weak smile settled over my face. “Thank you, but no.”

When I turned to walk away, an arm slithered through the air to grasp my torso. “Don’t do this, Orvi. I…” The Owlblood wrenched his eyes shut, then opened them again. “Your mother died to keep you alive.”

Slowly, I nodded in agreement. “She was a loving parent. She chose to care for me.” The corners of my lips fell. “But do you think she chose to love me? Do you think she made a conscious decision to hold affection for me? Or do you think it simply crept up through her veins, until one day it was there?”

“I- “

“I already know the answer,” I said quietly. “Ma died for the love that was forced upon her by the way her soul was written. Her love for me allowed no other choice but death.”

“You truly believe that? It’s far from the truth, and even if it were…” He released a breath too furious to be called a scoff. “It matters nothing, Orvi! Choice or lack thereof is irrelevant – a sacrifice was made for you, and you are treating that gift as if it means…” He sliced his free hand through the air. “As if it were some accident! Such disrespect for the woman who raised you is unfathomable!”

“Disrespect?” My jaw loosened. I swallowed and rubbed my eyes, gazing at some nothing in the air. “She died because of me. If I can just get rid of the Ravenblood, then…”

My sentence faltered. I didn’t know. Distantly, I recognised that most of the words emerging from my mouth were nonsense. But if I could make my soul a pyre for her memory, then maybe it would mean I was a good son, despite everything I’d done to her.

The brazier’s flames linked their fiery tendrils together, then twirled apart in showers of sparks. Conversation travelled at a low burble, just quiet enough to be indecipherable to me. Glances were thrown towards the pair of us: Gale on the verge of tears, and myself having been hollowed of them.

Why was he so desperate?

Gale’s hand shook where it touched my body. “Orvi- “

The tall, lithe arm of Kit clenched around the noble’s shoulder. She had approached halfway through the conversation – too late to hear anything but Gale’s furious tone. “Who d’you think you’re hissin’ at, Gale?” she snarled, pulling him away from me. “Better put that forked tongue o’ yours twixt yer cheeks, ‘fore it gets sliced off.”

The man’s grip loosened momentarily. That brief lapse gave me the opportunity to pull away from him, snatch the sack of figurines, and quickly begin fleeing from the hall as Kit and Gale’s exchange fell into elevated mutters behind me. My hand slowly caressed the burnt figurine in my pocket, rolling the agony of juvenile blisters rubbing against charred wood through my receded mind. As I did so, my boots slipped over the glass floor beneath. Without conscious thought, my eyes flickered to the dining hall beneath us, where they froze on an insubstantial figure.

Stumbling its way through chairs and tables was the shattered figure of a ghost. It slowly accelerated, until it disappeared out into a stairwell. My gaze clung to where it vanished.

I accelerated my pace as I slid my way through groups of conversation, accidentally jarring my shoulder against a Baylarian dignitary and nearly popping my emaciated arm from its socket. I groaned, but managed to jog out of the hall of mirrors and enter the grand staircase, where the ghost knelt on one of the upper steps. It staggered upright, then sprinted straight for me.

I froze, arms spread to catch it, when it passed straight through my body. I swallowed – wide eyes staring at my chest and seeing no sign of its passing – then turned to run after it. I followed it back through the Hall of Mirrors, where it ducked, staggered, and weaved around pipes that were no longer there – a mismatch to my own movements around obstacles that were. I followed its staggering gait through the hallway afterwards; its bent form scarcely a misstep ahead of a fall. I followed as it mimed opening the door to my own room and rushed inside.

I could not follow it further. By the time I had entered, it had vanished, leaving nothing but a pile of filthy bandages atop the room’s desk.

My body slumped onto the cushioned divan at the centre of the room and stared at the armoire opposite. The sack in my hands drooped from loose fingers with a dull clack. I sat there, and placed a hand over my eyes.

Time passed in a barren fog. Souls flitted through the Fort, rising and flickering. Mine was steadier, but not unchanging.

Eventually, I rose and opened the armoire. Inside lay the quiet blackness of the weapon that had been meant for my mother. My sword, carved from the Raven’s bones. I closed my fingers around its grip then pulled it from its sheath. The blade’s weight yanked my arms downwards and jarred it against the floor, sending it shivering from my hands. It landed quietly against the floorboards.

I stared at it for a short while. Then I bent down, placed both hands around its hilt, and hauled it off the floor. My jaw clenched with exertion as I pointed the sword towards the ceiling. Pain throbbed through my abused arms as muscles quivered against peeling skin. The breath emerging from my mouth transitioned into quiet grunts. The blade’s tip began quivering in a mirror of my body’s shaking.

Suddenly, the exertion caused my arms to give out. The sword clattered to the floor. I slumped down with it, slowly wrapping my trembling hands around my head. My eyes caught on the onyx blade, barely catching the azure light of the room yet still containing enough light to cast my own image back at me.

All the meat had been stripped from the bones of my face. Dark veins wriggled through every thin strip of muscle I still possessed. Faintly necrotised skin clung to what remained. In the blade shivered a skeleton pretending to still have the strength belonging to the flesh stripped away from it. I could see little resemblance to the person I used to be. All that remained were the eyes; pupils trembling as they tried to behold the future.

Death terrified me. Whether someone else’s or my own. Bhan had taught me that spirits would roam the earth upon death, waiting for the touch of divine blood, where they would dwell until a bloodletting primed them for reincarnation. But despite knowing more ghosts than Bhan ever had, I knew in the marrow of my bones that death could only be a vast, depthless chasm that echoed with ravenous intent. Where souls would disappear until the end of time, beyond the sight of mortals or gods. Never to be savoured, or seen, or saved.

Yet at the very least that unending fall must be quiet. Through a wide, expansive pit so great its sides could not be seen. Peaceful, in a way. My skin squeezed the afterlife that was my being until I felt its crush every single day. Fear, anxiety, sorrow, rage, apathy: each buffeted my consciousness without warning, sending me flinching or thrashing against the thing that caused it regardless of fault. Nothing made sense. I was not in control. I was nothing more than a monster, controlled by the nature coursing through it. Every day I continued to live threatened the people around me.

Death terrified me. But what other choice was there?