Aletheia recognized Elysia now. The shape of her face. The color of her hair. Her figure, and the way she walked. It had been seven years since Aletheia last saw her mentor, but she had no doubt that this was Astera’s sister.

Yet the recollection stirred something else in her. Memories she did not know she had. Distant and dream-like images flashed behind her eyes. She saw Elysia at the banks of a river, holding her bow beneath a twinkling purple magelight. She saw her with a sword drawn, fencing with a dummy made of straw. She saw herself sprinting through the forest with this elf behind her; and when she looked down, she didn’t see her own body, but that of a very different woman. Someone tall and strong and beautiful and decidedly inhuman.

Except there was a problem.

“Astera didn’t have a sister,” Aletheia said. “She said—she told me family was killed by orcs. Her whole village.”

“Raids are common,” said Deror. “She told the truth. But not all were scoured from the land.”

“I was captured in an attack more than a decade ago,” Elysia said. “She must have thought I was killed, or she would have come after me.”

Eris scoffed. “You did not know your sister well.”

Elysia glared at her. “What does that mean?”

“Can someone cast a damn translation spell already?” Dorian almost shouted in Kathar. “For the Archon’s sake, surely it’s safe to use magic here?”

Aletheia had to imagine it was. She quickly used Wisdom of the Sages, letting it fall over all of them to ensure easier communication. It was trivial; all of Seneria had radiated mana since their arrival, and this place was among the strongest so far. Restraining her urges to use magic for minor effects had been challenging—a test of her willpower and temperance, like ignoring a banquet set out for her for days on end while she herself starved.

Just one simple spell helped satiate her.

Eris looked back on Elysia with contempt. Aletheia knew exactly what she was thinking—she had hated Astera, and not without cause—and watched as she held her tongue, finding words less likely to offend their hosts.

“Only that she was regarded for neither astuteness nor devotion to family in the time I knew her,” Eris said through her teeth.

The robed conjurer had been working silently since his arrival. Now he brought plates with fresh, steaming food to the party. Aletheia could smell the mana, rich and sweet, as she took hold of a cup of rice.

It was intoxicating. Conjuring food and drink wasn’t complicated, but it took a huge expenditure of mana. These elves did not seem to care.

That was one way to survive in a place like Seneria.

While they ate, Aletheia explained the fate of Astera for what she hoped would be the last time: her own death, the defeat of the Vampire of Arqa, and Astera’s sacrifice that brought her back.

“She gave her Essence for me,” Aletheia said. “And it killed her. I’m sorry.”

The two elves looked on silently. Their faces were impossible to read as she spoke. Whether they were bored or rapt, judgmental or concerned, Aletheia couldn’t say. It was unnerving. Like being before a mentor as a young child again.

“That is a fantastic tale,” Deror said. He paused after every other word, lending the next deep, bassy weight. It seemed a bit melodramatic.

“It’s true,” Aletheia said. “I promise.”

Elysia’s face twisted to certain anger. Her brow fell and narrowed as her white eyes glared at Aletheia.

“It’s true,” she growled. “My homing spell led directly to her. Not to Astera. To her. And I can tell—looking at her—she is Astera. She’s telling the truth.” But this didn’t seem to soothe her, because she shook her head and snarled, “Why would she sacrifice herself for a mortal? For a human?”

“Because she loved me,” Aletheia said simply.

The ever-calm Deror finished eating and set aside his plate. He interceded then, as though breaking up a fight:

“I believe I do believe you, young Aletheia. When I look upon you, I see what Elysia does. I see Astera.” He scratched his beard. Aletheia found something about a bearded elf to be deeply disturbing and couldn’t stop a frown from forming on her lips. “There will be more to discuss on this front. But it is not for the ears of your companions.”

“You are right. We have other concerns,” Eris said. “Will you or will you not grant us safe passage through the Shadowed Lands?”

Now Deror considered her. “I do enjoy new stories. There are so few of them, in a stale old place like Waterrest. Would you not tell me of precisely what has brought you here?”

Eris sighed. Then, as Aletheia did, she explained—hastily, and with some anger—the saga of the Shadow Man, starting at the Tower of Keraz.

Deror nodded all the while. When she was finished, he at last said, “I have indeed heard of such magic, to give life to the lifeless. Prince Trito was right. The Mortalists will know more.” He nodded. “I would wish no harm to come to this boy. He is not partial to the concerns of my people against Trito’s. I will tell my Huntresses to guide you to the City’s gates. But first, as a gesture of your good will, there is something I need in return. Something which only you may give me.”

“You would not be the first to say so,” Eris sneered. “Pronounce your desire. Do not make me wait. Such anticipation will make me ill, truly.”

He smiled. “Near our village of Waterrest, there is a cache that we have long sought to open. It is accessible only to those of an ancient bloodline, that which has been extinguished from Seneria for many millennia.” A gesture toward her. “You. Mortal men. They are rare in these lands. If you would do us the favor of unlocking this cache, we will do you what you ask in return. No harm will be done to you by our hands.”

Stolen novel; please report.

“Somehow I doubt this is as simple as it sounds,” Eris said.

“It will be simple. And easy,” he said. “That I promise. Do you agree to these terms?”

“What if we don’t?” Aletheia said.

“I should hope that I don’t need to find out,” Deror said.

Aletheia glanced to Eris. Eris glanced to her. They both glanced to Trito. Trito shrugged.

“Very well,” Eris said. “We will do as you ask.”

Elysia led them through a winding path and over a bridge that spanned the river.

“Who was that man?” Aletheia asked. “Deror? Is he a chieftain?”

Trito whispered to her as they walked, “He is an Elder. The oldest and wisest of his village.”

“Is he as old as you?”

“No.”

“He has a beard!” Corvo said. “Elves don’t have beards. Maybe he was a dwarf.”

“Not all dwarves have beards,” Trito said. “And not all elves are without them.”

“He was a powerful mage. His façade of a bumbling and kind old ealdorman is a sophomoric trick,” Eris said. “He will not fool me.”

“It was no façade. Deror is honest and humble. We needn’t fear him.”

“Do all elves know each other?” Dorian asked. “Or are we just lucky to meet so many old friends?”

“If you lived for a millennium, and you never forgot a face, it would seem you knew most other humans also. Especially when you returned home.”

At the end of the path they found steps in the forest leading down, into a building built like a crypt or a basement below the earth.

It was bright as anywhere else, lit by enchanted lights. Beds, blankets, and tables were strewn about a wide room. Though the air outside was cold, and the structure had no door, the moment their feet found its first steps, Aletheia felt herself become warm and comfortable.

“We don’t often have guests,” Elysia said. “These are our barracks for the Huntresses. If you need to sleep, you may do it here.”

“Thank you,” Trito said.

Elysia made no response. Instead she turned to leave.

“Wait,” Dorian said. “A whole barracks for Huntresses? Is it normal for the women of the elves to be warriors?”

She stopped. She did not look at him as she replied, “Isn’t it among mortals? You bring two female warriors with you.”

“They exist. But they’re not normal.”

Elysia shook her head and resumed her ascent. “The concerns of your people are not those of mine.”

Then she was gone.

“You must understand that Seneria is far more dangerous than anywhere humans still live,” Trito said to him. “All elves are called to action.”

“But who watches after the young?” Dorian asked.

“There are few elven children. None are born accidentally. It requires a great expenditure of our Essence to bring new life into the world. Villages such as this have a single instructor, and that is all that is required. Maintenance for these elves is simple. A home needn’t be kept by a wife. Dinner cooks itself. The house is never dirty. Magic makes men and women equal, because except in matters of sex, they are equal.”

Dorian seemed unsettled by this idea, but he said nothing else as he found a bed and set down his backpack.

“Then there are some things not even mana can change,” Eris said.

They intended to sleep for a night, then see to Deror’s task and resume on their way. Yet as they prepared, Aletheia had one thought that she couldn’t shake. At first she hesitated, but finally she asked, from silence, drawing everyone’s attention to her:

“You were a prince? Or a duke?”

Trito was smoking his pipe while sharpening his spear. He looked to Aletheia.

“And a traitor, it seems,” Eris said.

The spear was set aside. He nodded. “I was a duke of Seneria. Long ago. And a son of the Regizar.”

Eris shouted, “What?”

Her voice was so loud that Corvo, on the bed, shot upright, gasping; Dorian frowned, and Aletheia snorted.

But her attention returned to Trito soon, because she understood Eris’ surprise. Aletheia had assumed Trito was nothing but a lost adventurer, an old explorer. Not anyone important. Not a prince. It was almost impossible to imagine.

“My father is the Regizar—the king of Esenia,” he replied. “As a young man, I was made a duke.”

“That is—there is no Regizar,” Eris said. “There has not been a king in Esenia in—an eternity. You are mistaken.”

“There is a Regizar, though if he is still fit to be called king, I cannot say.” Trito smiled and puffed again on his pipe. “Yet he was a king when I was born.”

Now Aletheia frowned. “But that would make you—” it sounded impossible. “That would make you three thousand years old.”

“I do not believe you,” Eris said. “You are not telling the truth. Not even elves can live for so long. You would wither and die and drain your Essence long before such a time came to its conclusion.”

“What I say is the truth. It lingers in my memory in ways I wish it would not,” Trito said. “I do not use magic and have never been mortally wounded; thus I do not age. I will become an orc someday, still, and perhaps soon, and I may be killed in my adventure; but not yet.”

When Aletheia met Astera, she had been twelve—and Astera had been in her seventies. That had seemed ancient. It was ancient, for a human. But now Trito claimed to be something else. Almost like he wasn’t a person at all, but a force of nature. Something as old as mountains and nations.

“Does that mean you were born before the Fall?” she asked.

“I was,” he said. “And I was born a human.” He had been watching her, but now his eyes seemed to stare past her—to not see her at all. “But remembering such times is painful, and very slow. To answer your first question, I was once a close ally of the elves of the Shadowed Lands, and a lieutenant of the Regizar. I spent lifetimes at war. Yet I saw the horror that immortality wrought on Esenia, and I came to see the evil of magic. It is a perverse power that corrupts all it touches in the end—even me. I swore to never use it again, and found a group of like-minded elves in the ruins of the City. We became known as the Mortalists. Our goal is simple: we desire nothing but to reverse the Fall. We will return the world back to how it was before the Magisters and the discovery of the Aether.”

“But doesn’t that include elves?” Aletheia asked. “Wouldn’t—wouldn’t you have to kill yourself?”

One final puff, and the pipe was put aside. “All elves were once human, or their ancestors were. We were transformed in the moments before the Fall. You will hear men and women in villages like these contest this fact, for their kind use their magic too quickly and do not live to the age I have reached; but I assure you, it is true. There may be a way to return us to how we were meant to be. And if not—then yes. We will kill ourselves, to save the world.”

“And you would kill us,” Eris said. “Magicians. Would you not? Are we not perversions, too?”

“Yes,” he replied simply. “Someday. If there proves no other option.” He stood and made for the stairs. “I regard you as allies. I try to conceal nothing. I hope the truth does not concern you. As for why they call me traitor—I only do what I think is right. I have fought for and against the people of this village. I am grateful they have decided not to inflict that conflict upon you, and your son.”

He seemed to want to say something else, but then he departed, vanishing up the staircase.

“Wait!” Eris said. “There are—if this is true, I have questions you must answer. You cannot go yet. Not now, not after—there are—”

But he was already gone.

Eris huffed and sat back down on the bed beside Corvo. For a moment Aletheia saw in her the same look she’d often had as an impotent and confused teenager struggling with powers far greater than herself.

She folded her arms and shook her head. The party was left in stunned silence.

“Do you reckon that’s all true?” Dorian said. “Sounds like a crock, to be honest. I’d bet he was born sixty years ago in a barn, just like me.”

“No,” Eris said. She sounded afraid as she took hold of Corvo’s hand. “It is true. He was not lying.” She looked to Aletheia. “Where did you find him?”

Aletheia shook her head. “I didn’t. He found me. I was—in an inn. Of course. And he said he wanted to help.”

“Then he’s not telling us something,” Dorian said. “A dwarf or a halfling is one thing, but elves are—how can you make dealings with a man who claims to be three thousand years old? It doesn’t make sense.”

“We will make sense of it,” Eris said. “It will take extraordinary people to deal with the Shadow Man, and Trito is extraordinary. There is no one better suited for the task.”

“I wonder if he ever met Pyraz,” Aletheia said.

Eris shook her head distantly. “Strange to think it is possible. With how our adventure has so far progressed, I would not be surprised if we learn more very soon. For now….” She kissed Corvo on the head. “We may not sleep so safely or comfortably for many more nights to come. Let us find rest while we can.”