Valamir awoke on the floor of the Labyrinth Entrance.

Wordlessly getting up, he saw Rolynd sitting absentmindedly with his back against the polished metal wall in front of him, knees bent.

“Remember our contract, King. I’ll be coming for my pound of flesh if this doesn’t work.”

Rolynd wordlessly regarded him with a bored look.

Valamir turned away, inspecting his surroundings.

“ADAM. Show yourself! What is my trial?” the elf shouted.

At once, a painfully bright image of golden light seared itself into Valamir’s mind, like the picture of a memory. A voice accompanied the agony, which caused the elf to groan involuntarily. “The Hermit: Valamir, Slayer of Holophytes. The trial has already begun.”

The sound of ADAM’s voice bore the strangest quality. Was it the voice of a friend, or foe? Divine, or demonic? Bored, or beguiled?

How had ADAM spoken directly into Valamir’s mind? Did he have the power to surpass Universal Law? Valamir cast such distracting thoughts aside. “Do not waste my time, Golden One,” he demanded.

“Worry not, for fate is inescapable. I know your heart, great lord. And for the disease of the proud, there is no cure. Prove me wrong, outlive your pride.” Said the voice.

“What does that mean?” asked Valamir.

But ADAM spoke no longer.

“Answer me!” Valamir shouted to no avail.

Rolynd regarded him with apathy from the ground below.

The enraged Valamir turned to Rolynd.

“What of you? What is your trial?” he spat.

“I don’t know,” Rolynd replied. “He said he would grant me a wish, but I suspect it is a ruse.”

“Typical.” Said Valamir bitterly. “Those with all the opportunities squander them. You won’t ever see me in your position.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Said Rolynd simply. It had to be sarcasm, but the King’s words were spoken with such apathy that Valamir had to second-guess himself for a moment.

“Well, I doubt I’ll make much progress stuck with the likes of you. Remember, your city belongs to me.”

“Yes. Look forward to it.”

Valamir turned away and reached with his right hand into empty space. It disappeared momentarily, reappearing with produced magical reagents. This was advanced magic known as ‘magical inventory’. Valamir was among the few who knew how to use it.

Magical inventory allowed Valamir to have an entire warehouse of goods and a museum of artefacts on him at any time. It stored any number of items in a pocket reality, able to be called forth by the caster. In many ways, Effie leveraged her ability as a Chimaera in the same way.

With a flick of his wrist sending reagents smashing into the ground, Valamir was returned to his private chambers in an instant, floating in the skies some distance outside Al Dherjza.

He walked crossly over to an enchanted glass wine cabinet and selected a bottle with a pink ribbon tied around it, grabbing it between thumb and forefinger. With his pinky, the vampire snatched a crystal goblet in a smooth manner that betrayed years of habit.

Glassware in hand, the undead elf took a few steps across the gold-trimmed, red emberplume rug, to flop into his favourite chair of black widow velvet. There he set the goblet upon a small golden table. The bottle contained pixie blood. A gift from the Red King of the Tempest Archipelago.

The vampire-elf preferred the sweeter taste of pixie blood over any other variety. One was better off not thinking about how many tiny, finger-sized pixies had been bled dry to fill an entire bottle of the size that now sat upon the table beside the apathetic Valamir.

“Outlive my pride, what does that even mean?” the ancient being muttered to himself petulantly.

The elf was immortal from the perspective of natural causes. Both as an elf and especially a vampire. He didn’t even need to drink blood to prolong his extraordinary lifespan, though it was good for his spirits.

Valamir was just running his mind over these facts yet again when his train of thought was interrupted as he poured a serving of his treasured pixie blood; the bottle seemed a bit emptier than he remembered.

Now, while he did enjoy pixie blood, he wasn’t one to recklessly indulge like this, not at his age. Valamir considered himself a bit too refined for that.

The door to the lord’s chambers flew open.

“Who dares-?” began Valamir indignantly.

“Hello.” Said Valamir, striding into the room. He shut the door behind him telekinetically with a refined flick of a wrist. He too held a crystal goblet. “Do you mind handing me that? I seem to have run dry.”

The Valamir sitting in the black velvet chair was momentarily stunned.

There were two of them. Two Valamirs, that is. One from the Labyrinth and the other one that had so nonchalantly walked in.

The seated Valamir handed the newcomer the requested bottle with a single raised eyebrow.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

“Are you, me?” he asked.

“Yes. Or perhaps more accurately, you are me. I’ve been waiting for you.” Said the other Valamir. He sent his rings out to surround the seat his copy was resting on, casting a spell which effortlessly created a copy for him to sit on.

“What?”

“Was I always such an idiot? You see, Some days ago, I challenged ADAM’s trial, and so was granted a wish. Now, I thought, what should I wish for? It was quite simple. Although ADAM naturally will now allow one to wish for more wishes, I found a loophole. I simply wished for another ‘me’ that had yet to use his wish.” explained the ‘original’ Valamir, now enjoying a goblet of pixie blood just as his copy did.

“Now why the hell would you do that?”

“Why, to be honest with myself,” The original paused to chuckle at his clever wordplay. “I could not decide on what exactly to wish for. ADAM only gives exactly three days of contemplation to his wishers. Rather than squander my wish, I thought it most prudent to find a way to preserve it. Besides, I am the greatest asset to myself, am I not? As I’m sure you know, I’m the only one I can trust. Worst case scenario, you can just repeat my wish, and we’ll soon have an army of ourselves.”

“I... I suppose you’re quite right.” Said the copy. He took a sip from his cup. The sweet liquid on his tongue was significantly less comforting than before. Was the original expecting them to share everything? The idea was clearly unsustainable. Just what was the original truly planning?

To ‘outlive his pride’, ADAM’s advice was beginning to make some sense.

“So, what will you spend your wish on?” the original Valamir asked. Swirling the blood in his goblet as he spoke expectantly.

“I shall need to pass my trial first.” The copy said.

“What?” the original asked.

“Now who is the idiot?” the copy asked. “From my perspective, I entered the Labyrinth, only to be put here. Did you not specify when you wished, that I should have passed my trial?”

The original continued to swirl his bloody wine, now with an obvious scowl on his brow. He was silent.

“Now what use are you to me now? If you succeed in your trial, you’ll just be sent back to your world to make your wish.”

“At least you’ve managed to teach me what not to wish for.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Now it was the copy’s turn to scowl and nurse his drink. Both Valamirs had fallen deep into thought.

“…Perhaps this is not so bad. ADAM has shown us that different worlds exist, and has given us the means to travel between them. When you pass your trial, you could wish yourself into my world. Together, we would be unstoppable.” said the original.

Though intrigued, the copy appeared quite offended by his brother’s notion. “You speak as if the trial is so easy to overcome.” He said. And what makes you think I’d want to live out the rest of my days here, when I could have an entire world to myself? He thought.

“What is your trial, exactly?”

"I haven't quite figured that out yet." The copy said. He decided it would be in his best interests to avoid mentioning the clue that ADAM had left him. He suspected that it would only cause conflict between them. One might interpret the words 'outlive your pride' to mean 'outlive your clone', and right now, Valamir was only interested in finishing his pixie blood, not engaging in some duel to the death.

"What was your trial like?" The copy asked his clone.

"Ah, that old thing. ADAM put me in a world where the dwarves were about to commit another genocide, this time against the humans rather than the orcs. I had to stop them all by myself. It was quite the challenge."

"I can imagine."

"Mmm, yes. Perhaps you can."

"Did you learn anything interesting in the process of saving the humans?"

"Yes. They can be rather ungrateful."

"I'll toast to that."

The two vampires refilled their beverages and clinked their goblets together. It seemed that they rather enjoyed each other's company.

"Favorite Horacian poet?" The copy asked

"Dangiel Spirex." The original replied.

"Has to be Dangiel Spirex." The copy said at the same time.

"Wonderful. His Lamentation of the Fungi is still my favourite thing to listen to." Said the original.

"Perfect. Put it on for us, won't you?"

"Only because you'd probably break my new Electrophoretic Player. I just acquired it last week from our contact in Electrin Academy."

The original walked over to a small table on the other side of the room and began fiddling with a dinner-plate-sized device.

"His blood was disappointingly salty though." The copy said, as the original worked.

"Ugh." His copy grimaced. "Don't remind me."

"The man needed to drink more water... What's taking so long? Can't even figure out your new toy?"

"Shut it. Blasted dwarves and their newtuskled technology... There."

Eventually, music began playing from it.

The original settled back into his chair with another sip of blood-wine.

"Favorite ex-wife?" The original asked.

"Odessa."

"Odessa." The original agreed. Again, they had given their answer simultaneously.

"Gods below, she had such a temper." The copy remarked.

"Made it that much more satisfying to watch her crumble to her base desires."

The two lords chuckled for a moment, then broke into a sigh afterwards.

"Shame she had to die."

"I was just thinking that. She just had too much of an ego."

"Your think that she would just be happy being married to the most powerful elf on Apolaphia."

"Stupid."

They each finished what was in their goblets. About to refill their glasses, the original saw that there wasn't enough for both of them.

Meanwhile, the copy was looking about the room, not realizing the current predicament

"You know what? That suggestion about wishing myself into this realm isn't sounding so bad all of a sudden. Maybe we will get along after all."

"Who knows." The original said.

"Well, I'm curious to see what the other Lords make of us. Do they know about your wish? Perhaps we should play a prank on Miretrix. The little snob will probably be so surprised that she has a little tizzy, and then pretend she knew all along after we make fun of her for it."

"Great idea. Have a plan?"

"I have some ideas. What about you?"

"You invite her to dinner, and I'll turn up with her new girlfriend."

"New girlfriend? Who? Since when?"

"You meet her later. Don't worry."

The copy got to his feet.

"Well then, I'll be off to see her." He said.

"See you later." The original replied, making to pour himself the last of the pixie blood.

As the copy walked past his doppelganger, he drew a long, magical needle from his inside his thigh; it was the perfect hidden weapon that used Universal Law to mask its presence. A single touch from the tip would drain the life from its target.

This is my chance!

The copy struck down at the other version of himself, and yet at once, unexpectedly met his eyes - reflected in the gleam of the bottled blood.

There was no room to evade, the copy could taste victory, sweet as a pixie on his tongue. ADAM's wish would be his.

But his strike passed through empty air.

The other Valamir had deactivated the spell which had copied the black velvet chair on the other side of the emberplume rug. As a result, he had fallen back onto the polished blackstone floor.

The copy meanwhile, lurched forwards, off balance. The original seized the opportunity to yank his would-be murderer's leg, causing the already off-balance elf to fall to the floor heavily.

Without letting his other self react, the original seized the opportunity to take his own hidden weapon and plunge it into the other elf's thigh.

"AUGHHHHHH!" The copy cried in agony.

"You stupid prick. Didn't you expect me to do that? Why would I need you around? For help? Don't make me laugh."

"Why...? What about... your wish?" The copy asked in confusion, the life draining from his face. His entire leg, where the needle had entered, had already withered to the point of unrecognition.

"ADAM's arse, there really are inferior versions of me. I already used my wish; I wished for the ability to summon whatever experience I want... I just can't believe my doppelganger would drink my favourite bloody wine."

But there was no reply, for the copy had become a lifeless husk.