Ehrir arose from the cold, dark pit for a second time and found himself in the Changeling’s body again. But his surroundings were different. Very, very different.

The landscape in front of him was familiar. A dead-looking forest engulfed in silence. There wasn’t a single leaf upon the trees nor any sign of life besides himself and the plants. And Arleon, too.

The middle-aged man had changed since the last memory Ehrir observed, although not by much. His face was the same and the scars on his neck and throat didn’t look even a little bit more healed. But his hair was all grey now and a lot longer, while his moustache was shaved off entirely. The elegant and noble clothes from the previous vision were gone. He wore a simple coat and a cloak as black as his eyes. There was some unknown kind of grief written on his face… Ehrir wanted to ask him why that is, but he didn’t have any kind of control over the memory.

The two men walked without exchanging a word for some time. They were wearing only a little bit of baggage with themselves. It was a strange scene for Ehrir – the contrast between it and the liveliness and magnificence of the city from before was stunning. This forest was a part of the Outer Fantasy. The Undone One could just feel it.

But it wasn’t just a speck of his own realm. It was a very particular place. Ehrir could recognize it like he had seen it yesterday.

It was the forest where he awakened for the first time.

“Arleon, you’ve all aged up now… I guess things are still calm in the Inner Fantasy, eh?” spoke the Changeling. He sounded different.

“They indeed are, lord.” The man’s voice now sounded better than last time. There wasn’t the strange raspy feeling to it.

“Oh, don’t call me that. You are not my subordinate anymore. Everything you’ve done… It’s not thanks to me. For you I should be just Farnaraen. Not ‘master’ and definitely not ‘lord’.”

“If you say so”, answered Arleon unconfidently and returned to silence.

He spoke again after a couple of minutes.

“You haven’t changed at all… Farnaraen.” The name was pronounced with heavy respect, but Ehrir could sense the level of fear lurking behind it.

The Changeling started giggling for some unknown reason, but his laugh quickly turned into a painful coughing. Ehrir could feel its unpleasant sensation barely.

“Oh, don’t lie to me…” uttered the sorcerer after a while. “I’m just a remnant of my past self.”

After these words the Changeling looked down on his own body. Ehrir would start trembling at the sight if he could. The bones beneath his skin were clearly visible under the simple fur shirt he wore. His arms were thin and pale, covered in wrinkles. How could this man be a Changeling? Ehrir felt immense confusion. The picture of a Changeling created in his mind was of an eternally young and powerful man. The appearance of his creator contradicted it to the core.

“I have to extend my life soon, Arleon… Otherwise I won’t last even half a year.” Farnaraen sighed deeply. “I’ve neglected it for so long. I can sense my soul barely clinging onto this dying piece of flesh. And it isn’t enjoyable. I tried to stay away from civilization and from the whole of mankind for dozens of years. It’s only normal for my body to demand the ritual.

“I know…” mumbled Arleon quietly.

The Changeling shook his head.

“No, you don’t. Don’t get me wrong – you’ve been through great hardships too, but… Do you know why I isolated myself? I could’ve easily returned to the Inner Fantasy, but I chose not to. I even tried to stay away from everyone… Do you have any idea why I did all of this?” Although it sounded weaker than in the previous memory, Farnaraen’s voice still held some might and it showed.

“No, lor… I don’t, I mean.”

“Then let me make it clear for you”, said the Changeling with a grim tone. “I’m afraid, Arleon. After all that happened so many years ago. You and I both saw how easily peace can crumble and be replaced by war and destruction. I have experienced it dozens of times before, but this… it somehow changed me. I’m afraid that my surroundings can be devastated by the mere presence of any other people. Perhaps I’m too old for these kinds of things. Maybe this is my curse, the curse of us all – we have the ability to live forever, yet most of us die by their own hand… When I was younger I wondered why. I think I’ve got the answer now.” The last words were uttered with a voice full of regret and some undefined sadness.

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The two continued onwards quietly for some time. Ehrir thought that this will occupy the whole remainder of the memory. Then Arleon spoke.

“But then… What is the answer?” The middle-aged man had a spark of curiosity in his black eyes, but he was obviously still uncomfortable with asking this question.

“Well, dear Arleon, I think that sometimes you just start demanding your own death in one way or another. When the years – or centuries – weigh down your shoulders too much life itself becomes monotonous and meaningless. I have seen everything worth seeing in this life and felt every emotion there is. You’ll probably think the same as me after millennia or two. And then you’ll want to die just as me right now. Because this kind of existence isn’t worth anything anymore… I would’ve thrown myself down a mountain cliff long time ago if it wasn’t for the scenes I saw in the Lake of the Broken Chains.”

Arleon’s expression instantly became worried and he visibly paled.

“I thought that all the visions had already happened…” he mumbled.

“They haven’t, sadly. But they’ll do soon. And I have to be there. I aim to change them. To manipulate the course of history. It’s a heavy task, but there is no one else who is able to perform it rightly… Ah, here we are.”

While the two men were talking they reached an opening in the woods. Ehrir felt an indescribable sensation when he recognized it. The dry, lifeless meadow was the just the same as he remembered. But there were no corpses and the smell of decay didn’t permeate the air.

“I intend for my next ritual to be held here, my friend.” Farnaraen smiled and rose his hand up. Above his palm flames emerged and quickly formed a glowing shape. The Brand.

It was matching with the ones upon Ehrir’s palms down to every little detail and curve. It danced above the Changeling’s palm and emanated bright crimson light. The flames it was made out of looked strange, unnatural and somehow… cold. The Undone One couldn’t even express the bizarreness they brought to his dull senses.

“This is the first time I summon my Brand in the last fifteen years”, said Farnaraen bitterly. “I’d prefer to never see this filth again, but it is necessary.”

Arleon was watching the sorcerer with respectful, but baffled gaze.

“How long are we gonna stay here? And why exactly this place?” he asked.

“I saw this meadow back in the Lake… It took me quite a few years of exploration to find it, but I’m sure it is the right location. I must make the ritual here. Don’t ask me why, I just know it. About the longevity of our deed… I don’t know. You should watch the road, though. I need about forty people. I could use more, but it’d be a waste of lives for now. Threaten the ones you find, if you have to. Then bring ‘em here.” Farnaraen’s voice was confident and demanding, as if he was ordering the middle-aged man. Although the Changeling remarked that he was no longer Arleon’s master, Ehrir didn’t feel such a vibe from this scene. It was clear as day who held the leader’s position here.

The grey-haired man just nodded after every word and dared to speak only when his ‘lord’ stopped.

“How many years would you think forty people can give you?”

The Changeling shrugged his shoulders.

“Two, maybe three. It’s been getting lower and lower through the last two centuries.”

Arleon didn’t utter anything in return, but only looked around harshly. Ehrir could tell that the meadow (and the forest, and probably even the whole Outer Fantasy) wasn’t to his liking.

“I will do what you expect from me, Farnaraen”, he finally said. “Shall we travel to the south after the ritual?”

“Yes”, spoke the Changeling with a smirk. “And – albeit I don’t want it – the world shall hear the name of Farnaraen the Thirdborn yet again.”

After this statement came silence. Except for the wind. It blew quietly and soon brought the world’s darkening. The memory had ended and Ehrir was even more confused now. In truth, he was full to the brim with different emotions. Anger (how could the Changeling think of him and other humans as mere fuel for his life?) rose within him, along with contempt, shock and disgust. He didn’t even notice the pit opening around because of the storm of intense emotions burning in his chest. The darkness swallowed him quietly, but it quickly turned into greyness and then into eye-piercing white light.

***

Ehrir woke up and inhaled deeply. Ostrias’ room was now fully lit by the morning sunrays, but it hadn’t changed one bit otherwise. The old man and his master were still resting in their chairs, although Sevrian had a worried look and the Ashen Gaze was breathing sharply and intensively. His face was covered in sweat.

“Ah… damn it…” cussed Ostrias. He added a few more curses, each one fiercer than the last. “How could he be alive?”

“Who, master? The man that was with the sorcerer?” asked Ehrir.

“No… They were both sorcerers. They were both Changelings, in fact. But the one I’m searching for is the companion of your creator… Arleon.”

The Undone One was left more or less stunned by Ostrias’ proclamation. Arleon was the man that the Ashen Gaze was after? He was the powerful Changeling that took important role in the Inner Fantasy’s politics? But he was full of fear and obedience before Ehrir’s creator…

“Young friend, the first scene we saw wasn’t from recent years…” Ostrias began speaking. His grin was gone. “I know the city where it took place. It was destroyed almost three hundred years ago in an event that shook the whole south. The Lake of the Broken Chains that your creator talked about is one of the few artifacts able to show the future – or vague hints of it, perhaps – but it was also lost at that time. The crisis in which it was annihilated is probably the event that this Changeling saw. In these years both I and Arleon were relatively young for our kind of people. But your creator… he was the sole master of Arleon and was far older than me…” the Ashen Gaze stopped for a second as if not knowing what to say. “Three centuries ago he was a legendary figure, although his appearance and goals were unknown to most people. All mages I know thought that he died during the crisis at that time, but… we were obviously wrong. Even now his legacy is affecting the Inner Fantasy indirectly…” Sevrian’s master swallowed. “He was said to be more than four thousand years old… Farnaraen, the third Changeling to ever arise!”