He fell, slipping, sliding, down, down, towards the lip of a gaping gulf. He tried to dig his fingers into the dirt, but his palms were missing, severed at the wrists, and as if through open tubes he felt himself spill out in swirls, ooze from his eyes, from his pores, forced from his skin.

Three.

They were suddenly three, in a flesh vessel scarcely fit for two.

Finn heard a panicked cry, felt familiar hands reach for him, grip at him, tug him back, and together he and Omri struggled, stood firm, crashed against the other and shoved.

There was a brief moment of respite. Finn flashed back to his body. He lay in the Marsh, trembling, wide-eyed, mouth agape. He felt bruised, torn by opposing tides.

The fire on his forehead began to burn brighter, catching on dry kindling.

It burned hotter, hotter still, and fought to feed.

The other was near, and Omri was far.

Finn’s neck arched back, as if by a rough pull at the scalp, and a thick spume began spewing from his mouth, clogging at his nose, burning at his eyes. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t breathe. He clawed at his face with panic-stricken savagery, and his fingers caught at his eyelids and drew blood. He tasted metal. He tasted air. He swung himself over, coughed, gulped at the heavens. There was the sky in the distance, just beyond the surface. He knew what lay across that threshold, if he could only reach it… He tried, but his bones groaned under an immense pressure, pressed down by the palm of an invisible giant, an ancient, unchallengeable power. He felt himself being ground down into a fine dust.

All the while burning, surging, scorching. And with the awareness of a wick in the midst of an inferno, he knew he could stop feeling this if he turned to Omri. Knew he had to get away. He had to reach for Omri. He was there, Finn felt. Right there, just one step—

Finn, stop, that’s not— hold—

Silence.

Omri’s voice was cut off, a clean cut.

And Finn felt his mind rip in two.

His mouth wrenched open, but it was beyond screams. He was met by another, by no one at all, an army of others, and the mocking echoes of an empty eternity. The air from his lungs was extracted, painfully. The other swallowed shocks of air, pleaded for more. Finn felt his innards shrivel like outstretched fingers brought into a tight fist. He felt his skin flake, peel away in one quick laceration.

Stop this! His life is not yours! You cannot—

And then Finn knew he was dead. A single moment, stretched into that timeless eternal.

I said, he is not YOURS!

Omri crashed against the other. Finn flashed, saw, felt. Gasped. The inferno was all-consuming now. The Marsh was alive with the sound of scatterings as every living creature sought to run from him, run from death, run from decay. Only Omri’s voice stayed steady, reaching him as if from across a chasm. Desperate, Finn chased after it, latched onto it.

No, Finn, for fuck— that’s not— don’t— MANON!

Peace.

It was peaceful down here, Finn had to admit. Soft ribbons of light streamed down, an amber radiance upon his skin. His fingers floated over the swirling soil and supple grass where they swayed in the calming current. He felt content, and may have remained so, wrapped in the warmth of the water’s embrace, if it had not been for the dying man floating above him.

Eyes white as snow, his body rigid, frozen, his face writhed in screams. Only bubbles escaped the man’s mouth.

There were two other men with him, floating above like celestial beings. The second was a small man, fumbling, eyes fearful.

The third was motionless, but the panic in his eyes set off the same in Finn’s chest. He tried to call out, but his throat was dry, a narrow passage of dust. The man turned and swam towards the surface.

Where are you going? Zendar, I’m here! Stay with me, I can’t breathe! I’m drowning!

But he wasn’t drowning. And he could breathe just fine. His lungs burned, but that was because he was running. Rushing through Aonen Keep, towards the looming expanse beyond. The city walls faded around him, melted, blew like leaves in the wind. He shoved people aside, knocking over men, women, and children. They swore after him. But Omri kept running. His lungs kept burning. What else could he do?

Stop this, now! he cried again. A desperate cry, and with each passing moment he knew he was too late. He could no longer feel Finn. He could feel her in his place. She didn’t know what she was doing, she couldn’t know, she wasn’t enough of herself to know. But he had to make her understand, somehow. Stop this, Manon! His life is not yours! You’re killing him! Leave him be!

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The water crushed him like the weight of the world. His mind grew damp, softening with each moment. Finn could do nothing but watch as disjointed images flashed and flowed before his eyes.

He saw the small man—Edrys, Finn recalled—, and the tether, who was drowning in more ways than one. Edrys continued to curse, to work what he knew about such things, struggling to contain, to preserve. Zendar was a faint, shimmering fleck in the distance, high above. He was going the wrong way.

I’m here, I’m down here! I can’t breathe!

Omri was beyond the city walls now, Finn could see, and the wetland shifted under him, slick and treacherous as he raced through it. He jumped a fallen log, nearly lost his balance, continued on.

Finn could see a woman. Her flesh had been eaten away by a decade of decay. He wasn’t sure how he knew that, but she was here, staring back at him, seeing more and more with each moment, not enough to know, but enough to cling desperately to this beat of being.

He couldn’t blame her. Life sought to live.

He saw another man, suddenly, a man he knew, though he was younger than Finn had ever seen him. “Coward,” the Warden sobbed. “Nothing but a coward. I’m nothing but a coward.” He’d been asked to choose, hadn’t chosen. He lay collapsed, cradling the woman. Her eyes were a warm brown, wide and staring, but unseeing. Unmoving. A boy stood nearby, and Finn felt he knew the child. His eyes were red, puffy, tears streaming down his cheeks. An older man, clad in gray, brought in another small boy. White-eyed. Wendell whispered to the new one, who understood. Omri had always been wise beyond his years. He approached the teary-eyed boy. Smiled. Little Finn wiped at his cheek with a sleeve, smiled back.

He felt trodden beneath these memories, stomped by a stampede. It was Edrys, wasn’t it? He wanted Edrys to stop… He reached out a hand and touched the man. He saw Edrys’s eyes widen fearfully.

Stop… it… I can’t breathe… I can’t breathe… Help me…

No, Manon, you cannot do this! Leave him! Leave him NOW!

He was watching the sky. It was nearly over. The Marsh was silent. He didn’t mind. It was peaceful. He listened to the silent roars around him with a childlike curiosity. The sky was so beautiful. He felt himself lifted by it, caressed, embraced. He was just happy to be out of the water. He didn’t want to sink, he wanted to rise.

There was a sudden scurrying at his side. Then, a sharp clawing.

No, no, I don’t like that.

The clawing continued. He turned his head and he saw a weasel-like creature digging at his flesh.

Get away, Finn tried to say. Leave me alone.

Finn, FINN! A cry of relief. Finn, hold on, stay there, I’m almost—

Omri, I don’t like it, make him—

Finn...

His name echoed like dry leaves adrift.

Finn…

Manon, no! LEAVE!

He heard it from all directions, from far away, from beside him, behind him, above. And below.

Finn…

He heard a splash, a resurfacing, saw a figure rushing at him.

Zen…

Again, the name echoed. Zendar staggered as if struck. He stood, face distraught, then fell to a knee. Finn heard him say something, heard his own name again, and another word, layered in disbelief.

Finn reached out a hand. He had to help his son. He had fallen. Was he hurt?

And what of your other son, Manon? You’re not doing him any favors. Be gone, now! Would you kill your youngest?

Finn saw his hand falter. He saw it being brought to his chest, to his face. He saw the world curl, enshroud him, wrapping itself around him like a quilt, he saw himself crawl on his elbows, saw the water draw nearer, nearer still. His reflection. His face. Another’s eyes.

A choke escaped him.

My sons. What am I doing to my sons?

Finn felt something pull from him.

Two.

They were two.

She would willingly step back into shadow. Of course she would. For them. She was no stranger to sacrifice. Twice she had offered up her life for her son. What was one more?

Yet she could not resist turning to face them one final time. She looked down at her youngest. He lay there, brought to the brink above a chasm. Because of her.

She had to leave.

The new one would take care of him.

Yes, Manon, with my life.

Zendar would take care of him, too. She saw her eldest rise again, approach his brother, arms raised fearfully, elbows tight, a distraught look in his eyes.

She had to leave.

Finn will be fine, she wanted to tell him. I’m leaving. Oh, Zen…

There were a thousand things she wished to say. But she would not have the time to say any of them. She did not belong here. And the longer she stayed…

She had to leave.

But—

She’d been a [Seer] before her eyes had gone white, before she’d let them go white.

And once more, one final time, she [Saw] down the stream of years.

Oh, my boys, her heart cried.

There was one thing she needed to say. One thing he would need to hear.

“Your brother will come for you,” she said. “Hold on. Your brother will save you.”