Aletheia waited for the others to wake on the branch of a tree. She sat there and stared down at the forest, watching the movement of the grass in the wind. Elves came and went beneath her, and curious birds fluttered to her sides.

More unfamiliar memories assaulted her whenever she closed her eyes. She wished they would stop, but they didn’t; since the end of her discussion with Deror, which had dragged on for many hours, she had been trapped within waves of them, seeing glimpses of this place decades before she was born.

She even began seeing herself. As a girl. Through Astera’s eyes.

When the moon finally set and her party rose, she jumped back down to the ground and retreated to her bed. Dorian noticed her coming down the steps.

“Where were you?” he asked. “Exploring the village?”

“Something like that,” she said.

She collapsed, exhausted, onto the elven mattress. It seemed to envelope her back and sides like a pool of feathers. Nothing had ever been so comfortable before.

Her eyes closed. Some time later Dorian asked if she wanted breakfast, but she said nothing. Corvo visited her once, jumping on her, but she barely reacted, and he left for food soon enough.

It wasn’t until she heard Eris’ voice that she opened her eyes.

“You are not moping over your death again, I hope.”

Aletheia couldn’t hold back her smile. She shook her head. It was a characteristic introduction, yet she didn’t mind; Eris was precisely the person she wanted to talk to. The person she needed to talk to.

“Not exactly,” she said. Corvo was nearby on the ground with Dorian, eating, and her voice hushed to a whisper. “I need to talk to you. In private. Urgently.”

“What is it?” Eris whispered in return.

“You—won’t understand until I explain it. Please. I don’t want Corvo or Dorian to hear.”

Dorian glanced up at them. “What was that?”

Eris tapped Aletheia’s shoulder to get her to stand. “Nothing,” she said. “Keep Corvo here for a moment while we discuss a matter in private above.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Do as you are told, and you may find out soon. Come.”

She led Aletheia up the stairs and back into the dark forest. Dorian said nothing further, but Corvo whined quietly.

“Don’t worry,” Aletheia said. “We’ll be right back.”

They walked to the water together, until they found the exact same place the Shadow Man had met her the previous night.

Aletheia sighed and collapsed to the banks. Whether it was exasperation or exhaustion, she wasn’t sure.

“What if you could become an elf?” she asked suddenly. The words escaped her lips like a prisoner running from his execution. She couldn’t help it. She had to seize the first opportunity she found.

Eris laughed, almost scoffing, but she became serious when she saw that Aletheia was not joking.

“Become an elf?”

Aletheia swallowed. “Yes. What if—what if you could cast a spell? And that would be it? You would do it, wouldn’t you?”

“Why would you ask such a thing?”

“Just answer. Please.”

“It is not possible.”

“What if it was? Would you do it?”

Eris was silent. She never looked away from Aletheia. Her face showed nothing, except idle malice, but that was normal.

Then her features softened, and she shook her head.

“No,” she whispered. As though it were a dirty word. As though it was an admission. “No. I would not.”

“You wouldn’t?” Aletheia said.

She had been counting on Eris saying yes. Of course Eris would say yes. A human magician was nothing compared to an elf. She was weaker, slower, shorter-lived, and less potent in magic. Eris would kill—had killed—to be all those things, and more.

But she said no.

Aletheia was so surprised by the answer that she was almost dazed. She frowned and looked to her reflection in the water.

Her hair looked ridiculous.

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“You wouldn’t,” she said again.

“No. I would not.”

“But—why not? I thought—when we met—you wanted to be an elf. You always told Astera that—she had wasted her birth. Didn’t you?”

“I did,” Eris said. “But my mind has changed.”

“Why?”

Her jaw clenched. Again it was like she was making a painful admission, uttering a truth she dared not face.

“I do not intend to outlive my son,” she said.

Aletheia understood instantly. And she nodded, but she didn’t accept the answer yet. “But—what if he hadn’t been born yet? What about when you were nineteen? Would you have done it then?”

In an unfamiliar gesture, Eris sat down in the sand at Aletheia side. They were very near each other, and they both looked out at the water as its currents sparkled with wisping lights beneath the branches.

“Yes, perhaps. No—not perhaps. I would have. But I would not have, knowing how things are now.”

“But then Corvo would have been an elf, too.”

“I never would have assented to Corvo at nineteen, and he would not have been born. And an elf cannot bear a child by accident. It—” She shook her head. “I do not like those thoughts. You know this. They are too painful, and too familiar, to bear. There was a time when I would have wished for such a thing, but no longer. I am comfortable as a human. ‘Tis all I shall ever know regardless. Why do you ask such questions?”

Aletheia gave a very long sigh. Where to start?

But she did start. She explained everything, and more beyond:

“They think Astera’s sacrifice changed me. Forever. That my Essence isn’t mine anymore. And if they take me to Ewsos, they think they could transform me. I would—ascend. I guess. And I would be an elf. My body would be replaced with just my Essence.”

“Just your Essence,” Eris repeated. “An Essence tainted with an elf’s spirit?”

“Yes.”

“But you would not be yourself. Perhaps the elf may look something like you, but she would not be Aletheia. You realize this?”

“Yes. They told me that. They say—I would be both. I’d be me, and Astera. At the same time. That I would die, but I’d also stay alive. And that would be that.”

Eris’ face twisted into an ugly scowl. “You must not agree to this.”

Such directness was exactly what Aletheia had wanted, and she sighed again in relief. The decision seemed impossible. She needed someone else to make it for her—that was how she felt.

But she still wasn’t quite sure.

“Why not?”

“Are you an idiot?”

Aletheia thought this was rhetorical, but it seemed a genuine question, and she had no choice but to shrug. “I don’t know.”

“You must be, if you cannot see ‘why not’. Foremost: Astera sacrificed herself for you. To thus waste her sacrifice in a harebrained attempt to resurrect her in return would render the sacrifice empty. I do not believe that she would want this, and nor do I believe she deserves it: without her sacrifice for you, she is nothing but the murderer of a child, a selfish, vapid, useless immortal who valued herself above the vows she had made. If she did not die for your sake, she would not have deserved to live. Therefore you cannot bring her back.”

“Since when did you care about selfishness?”

“I am many things, and selfish is among them. But I have never harmed a child, not even before my son was born. And I would not have made promises to one I loved that I could not keep. It is one thing to deceive an enemy or a stranger, but quite another to injure or kill a ward. Moreover, she was an imbecile, self-righteous, and precisely as intelligent as—this toad. That one, there, upon the lily pad. Perhaps even less so. I hated her, and I will not let you kill yourself for her sake.”

“But I wouldn’t die. I would still be me. I’d just—be more, too.”

“I have shared my Essence with a demon before, Aletheia. It is not an experience that can be recommended. This is your body. You control it. You do not owe it to anyone, least of all her.” Eris reached out and took Aletheia’s hand. “Please. I know that I am—a bad woman. I know you have many reasons not to do as I say. But you have asked for my advice, and I must give it honestly: do not do this. For me. And for Corvo. We cannot lose you.”

Aletheia had to look down at the ground. This hadn’t been what she had expected. She thought Eris would tell her to do it. She thought—but she agreed. With everything. She had loved Astera as a girl, but Eris was right about her, and about her sacrifice. It meant nothing if she was allowed to come back; and if it meant nothing, then how could Aletheia ever have forgiven her?

Elysia wanted her sister back, as much as she could; Deror wanted his villager returned; but neither of them cared what Astera herself had wanted. And that was death for a terrible sin.

But Aletheia had still been tempted. No longer herself: an awkward, plain, clumsy human girl, but instead an effortlessly beautiful, infinitely graceful elf. Then she could do anything. She could be like Trito. She wouldn’t need magic to help people.

And she would never need to die again. At least not for a very long time.

“I’m already sharing my body with her,” she whispered. “I see her memories. I think her thoughts, sometimes. I think. I—think she was a lesbian.” She laughed at the thought. “Would it be any different?”

“You share your spirit with her,” Eris said. “But your body is still yours. And so is your mind. And it always will be. That will change if you do as these elves say. And do not forget Trito’s warnings: they are capricious and enigmatic creatures of very long lives. They care not what happens to you; they only want their own back. You are a mayfly to them. Your interests are not in theirs.”

“You’re right.”

“I know I am right. I am always right. And: what if they are wrong? What if this procedure they suggest kills you? What then?”

“Then… I’d be dead.” She shrugged. But she tightened her grip on Eris’ hand, and suddenly she lurched toward her and embraced her. She hugged her around the waist, bringing her face to her neck, and held her that way. “You’re right. Thank you. You—you’re right.”

At first Eris squirmed away, almost cringing, but after a moment she relented. And they hugged.

“You—are welcome. Must we do this in public?”

“Yes.”

“Very well.” Finally Aletheia pulled away, and Eris added, “It is—not as bad as I expected. But we should not plan to do it again.”

“Maybe next year,” Aletheia said, smiling.

“…we will see.” She shifted her legs. “All right, we have left Corvo for long enough, I think. We must see to this Elder’s business, and quickly.”

Aletheia considered mentioning the Shadow Man, but she didn’t know what there was to say. Yet as they stood, another thought came to her.

“I think you’re right,” she said. “About Astera. Her sacrifice doesn’t mean anything if she isn’t really dead. I don’t think she wants this. Do you think… there might be a way to get rid of her?”

Eris thought this over. “No. It may be possible, but I do not know how. Only… if we subdued your Essence. But that would rob you of your magic.”

“You mean a manashunt?”

“Yes. It would not last forever, but it would make you mundane, and Astera would vanish from your thoughts. But you cannot be entertaining the idea of giving up your magic?”

Now that was an interesting idea. Aletheia knew the story, that when Eris was young she had lost her powers after consuming a manashunt while possessed by a demon, but the thought of doing something like that to herself had never occurred to her.

Now it did. And it would not leave her mind anytime soon.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I guess I am.”