Chapter 65

  Who makes you who you are?

  Antilene did not indulge in the comfort of the water. The bath was poorly equipped, good enough to enjoy a deserved moment of relaxation and clean herself from sweat and dirt. The soap rubbing against the skin almost gave the impression of cleaning everything thoroughly.

  She stood up after some minutes, took her clothes and started to dress. There was a past time when some handymaiden would have helped her, and there was an even more remote time when she alone would have tended to her care.

  "Ahhhh…" She sighed, before getting ready to set off, leaving the room Draudillon had arranged for her. Not before checking if there were any messages for her.

  A small scroll, with nothing written on it. She looked out the window; the sun had just risen, telling her it was time to check in with her siblings. When no contact came, the half-elf knew that she would not hear from Evasha that day either.

  Was there cause for concern? The last time she had spoken to Agravaine was no more than two days ago, and it had been nothing more than routine updates. It wasn't like her to be so apprehensive.

  "Good morning, Lady Fouche."

  The door behind her was not yet closed when a familiar voice made her forget everything else.

  "Good morning to you, Optics."

  The worker was waiting for her, as if she needed a watchman for every move. Strangely, he wore no armor, only a pure cotton tunic, yellow with orange stripes. His sword, however, remained in plain sight.

  The first sunbeams illuminated the corridors with a faint fiery glow. Some burnt-out candles had not yet been replaced by the servants, and an atmosphere of torpor lingered with pleasant insistence.

  "Shouldn't you be near the queen?"

  "She has been with General Aderbaal since the early morning. It was up to her request that I came to see you."

  He didn't even pretend to hold back the yawn that came. His conception of gallantry was particularly bizarre, yet Antilene was amused by it. The current members of the Black Scripture could learn something from his nonchalance around her.

  "Honestly, I don't understand why someone would send an escort to a monster like you... No offense."

  "No offense taken. Do you want to take back what you just said?"

  Draudillon had confided to her that she couldn't decide whether Optics's brazenness was refreshing or irritating. Antilene believed that the man had insured his life against some fatal accident, perhaps a particularly gruesome death, and had every intention of cashing in on it, one day or another. Whether he was alive or deceased was irrelevant.

  "If you'll allow me, Lady Fouche, I intend to do so immediately. Forgive my rudeness."

  "You are forgiven…" Some people liked to play with danger, but Optics wasn't like them. It was his weird way to show that there could be something more than a simple business partnership between them, and for that Antilene found herself immensely grateful. "Don't you fear death?"

  "I fear it as much as I need it," he replied, letting his carefree attitude dissolve with a light breath, not unlike what would be needed to extinguish a lit match. "There are worse things than that..."

  Antilene had no trouble capturing what he had buried, in a depth that even he was wary of probing. The intimacy of the past was not to be disturbed, except by an overt invitation. Yet the problem with curiosity was that it prevailed even over common sense.

  "What happened to you?"

  The half-elf had done her research. Or rather, the prime minister Magone had done it for her. Optics had entered his current profession at least ten years ago, after a brilliant career as an adventurer. No one knew why. There had been no disputes with the crown authorities, nor with the temple of any religion. He had no debts that could justify an unusual craving for money. His vices were few. Women and wine. Something that the life of an adamantine adventurer guaranteed in better quality than one on the fringes of the law.

  He was a slave to nothing but himself.

  "Who knows?"

  Once, Antilene had overheard Windstride's bad habit of starting with a tearjerker story to justify her less than ideal behavior toward her victims. These stories were baseless, based more on clichés thrown together to create the idea that specific events had shaped her into who she was.

  In the little time they had spent together, the worker had certainly not given the impression of being corrupt to that extent.

  "Can't you be serious for once?"

  "My lady, you are weird... Much weirder than me..."

  "Is that a compliment?"

  "An observation. You have a talent for fighting and killing that cannot be explained by common logic. Yet, outside the battlefield, you are... naive. You don't know how to behave around others, alternating bluntness where it is not required with threats where they are superfluous. The way you speak, the way you look at life... It is more akin to someone who has grown up surrounded by stories, not men. But stories lie as much as men, only in a different way."

  The sincerity of that remark took her aback.

  "I'm not as naive as you think."

  "Indeed... And that's perhaps even worse."

  Optics, who had let something slip, closed himself off in his stronghold of fake smiles and winks. Continuing down that path would have been useless, and at that point they had almost reached the central square, from where they would have had to go back up to the main building.

  "Changing the subject... Was the other day's haul enough as a down payment? Did you find anything interesting?"

  He shrugged and made the gentlemanly gesture of opening the door leading to the internal garden.

  "That's a lot of stuff for one man... I asked some friends to sort out the magical items and materials that could be salvaged from the corpses... In any case, we're still a long way from what I was promised..."

  Counting only the equipment of the king of the wolfmen, there would be enough to feed an entire family for a couple of generations, even selling at a discount. How much did Optics actually believe he would receive in return for his service?

  "Let me know if there's anything interesting..." Antilene had made sure she hadn't missed anything valuable, but the devil hid in the details.

  "I will..." There was a great commotion outside, and Optics' words were lost in the noise. Until the day before, when they arrived, silence reigned supreme. But now it had been banished, making way for a much more welcome ruler.

  People came and went, gathering around a small group. A clamor disturbed the quiet that had been established just moments before, and choruses and songs of jubilation rose up.

  "What's going on?" Antilene asked a stable boy who was tending to some beasts that were struggling to find space in the now crowded courtyard.

  "Don't you know, my lady?" The young man looked at her in amazement, without stopping what he was doing. "The Crystal Tear is back, and many are anxious to hear the bad news they bring."

  Crystal Tear, the only group of adamantium-ranked adventurers in the Draconic Kingdom, was one of the spearheads against the demihuman offensive. Even Antilene had heard stories about their leader, Cerabrate, and his great skills with the sword and as commander. To not talk about the aura of bravery and legend that surrounded him.

  Tales told of a young man raised in a monastery of followers of the Earth God, trained to banish all forms of blasphemy and monstrosity, and tales told of a young man with nothing to his name but a sword, a shield, and little else, rising as a champion of all that was holy until he became lord of it.

  From the poisonous cockatrices of the east that ravaged the fields and the farmers alike, to the twenty-handed apes of the rocky mountains who discouraged travelers to embark on long journeys, the stories told of a man who faced hardships and dangers to serve a community that loved him as much as he loved them.

  Many called him the last hero of the Draconic Kingdom. Even if half of what was claimed was accurate, it was still an apt appellation.

  "Doesn't look to me that the people here are in a state of distress," Antilene noted, catching the last breath of fresh air before being submerged by the stench of sweat and crowded bodies. "The mere presence of that guy must have lifted their spirits. Optics, what do you think?"

  But Optics stunned her by doing something unexpected and unusual since they had met. He remained silent. His brow furrowed, a bead of sweat slid down his skin, as his gaze focused on the man at the center of it all.

  Golden armor, shining so brightly that it made the morning sun pale. A white cloak, as pure as the smile he offered to those who approached him. Large, powerful hands, which were shaken by soldiers and servants alike, without hesitation, without showing the slightest sign of fatigue in repeating the gesture over and over again, endlessly. His eyes showed sincerity, and his words measured the affection and faith he had for his admirers.

  "Friends, I bring good news," he began with a measured but ringing voice that brooked no distractions. "We have managed to repel a horde of undead coming from the south. The beastmen, our tormentors, have retreated in panic and will soon be driven from these lands. I myself, together with my trusted companions," and he pointed to a girl in ranger's gear and a hooded man clutching a cedar staff, "broke into an enemy camp and eradicated one of wretched liches from this world. We are on the threshold of a new era... I ask you to be patient and to help me when the final act begins."

  Despite his encouragement, anyone who paid attention to his companions would have noticed the skepticism that permeated their response to his speech.

  Fortunately, depending on one's point of view, Cerabrate captured the audience's attention, and those who listened to him wanted to find comfort rather than harsh reality.

  "Now, I have a war council with General Aderbaal and the queen. I have learned that our beloved monarch has come here personally to put an end to this madness once and for all." It was at that moment that he noticed Antilene and Optics, a few meters away from him. "I ask you to kindly let me rest so that I may serve you better when the day comes."

  Those who had gathered began to disperse, with the inevitable disorder that accompanied such a crowd. Cerabrate also dismissed the adventurers who were with him before heading toward the half-elf and the worker.

  Optics took a step back.

  Antilene was no expert, but she too was aware of the bad blood that ran between the two professions; so similar and yet so different. An adventurer was essentially a champion of the light, putting his life at risk for a higher ideal. A worker, on the other hand, valued profit above everything else. Some might argue that there was no difference in practice; the swords they sold were made of the same materials, after all, but even the way one approached the world could draw an unbridgeable chasm between two different philosophies .

  And yet, contrary to that preamble, when Cerebrate approached, his facial muscles relaxed instantly, and his arms opened to begin what gave all the impression of a hug.

  Optics avoided the embrace, pulling away with an awkward gesture, uncharacteristic of him.

  The Holy Lord didn't pay any attention, but returned to the assault, placing a hand on his shoulder in a brotherly manner. "Optics, old friend... It's good to see you."

  Antilene had seen the worker manage to remain calm in front of her and the dangers faced during the journey. She had judged his coolness and reasoning ability as an admirable trait, rare even among the upper echelons of the Theocracy.

  If a book couldn't be judged by its cover, it was also true that sometimes expressions didn't lie. Neither did the body.

  His head was pointed downward, and the rest of his body followed that inclination, almost as if he were trying to disappear into the bowels of the earth itself.

  "Cerabrate... I didn't expect to find you here."

  It sounded ridiculous. Where else would an adventurer of that caliber be found if not at the front? The Holy Lord, however, did not care much about it.

  "How long has it been? Ten years? Maybe even more... How time flies..."

  "Crystal Tear has come a long way since then..." Optics remained calm while the other man indulged in memories.

  "Back then, you were barely a boy, coming out of a difficult childhood and taking your first steps into adolescence. Yet the talent you possessed... Unmatched. Everything about you foreshadowed greatness and... extraordinary skills. We were looking for a new cutting edge for our team. We have a few candidates who have been tested, but none of them compare to you, I am sure of them."

  Optics took another step back, but the distance between the two men remained insignificant.

  It was then that Cerabrate noticed Antilene, and bowed gently. "My lady. I don't know what connects you to Optics, but let me sing his praises. He was... thirteen? Fourteen? Yet he mowed down orcs with such grace that it seemed as if the steel was singing, and the blood that covered him made the sunset pale. Since then, he has been called the Scarlet One."

  "Twelve..."

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  The Holy Lord raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

  "... I was twelve when you took me under your wing."

  The Holy Lord scratched his chin, then allowed melancholy to take hold of him. "Of course. How could I forget? Well, many springs have passed for me too."

  "Yet you were ten years my senior," Optics replied, impassive. Nothing about him trembled, but everything about him was in upheaval. "Experienced, with endless adventures behind you. Of orichalcum rank, and already one of the most famous adventurers in the kingdom. Every man wanted to be you, and every woman wanted to lie with you. To me, you were an idol. To me, you were a fantasy. The cold night in the slums passed without nightmares, knowing that your light out there was warming the world. When you accepted me as your disciple, as your companion, nothing made me happier. Before that, I didn't even believe that the word happiness really existed, and that it wasn't just a fantasy."

  They weren't happy memories, though. Antilene understood that with a single glance. Optics remained fixed on Cerabrate, as if by continuing to look at him, he would disappear.

  "I was very young too."

  "You were. But not as young as me..."

  The Holy Lord did not dwell on the venom that seeped through what sounded like an accusation. "How many things you could have accomplished with your talent. How many things we could have accomplished!" He raised his arm to the sky, unable to touch it. "Maybe now we wouldn't be in such an unpleasant situation." He lowered his voice. "For what? To become a worker?"

  "Everyone is what they are. You are a Holy Lord. I am just a worker..."

  Antilene was caught by the impulse to intervene. There was something about Cerabrate that put her in a bad mood, even though there was nothing unpleasant about his attitude.

  "Optics has decided to serve his country in his own way. It may not be perfect, but he's working hard..."

  Cerabrate was taken aback for a moment, but quickly regained his composure. "Yes. Of course. You're right... I don't believe I know you."

  "Lady Fouche is a guest and close confidante of the queen," said Optics, positioning himself between the two of them. His fingers were trembling, but still reached for the sword. "She is here with me on a mission for Her Highness Oriculus."

  Upon hearing his lady's name, the adventurer awoke with excitement. A hint of desire colored his pupils, which sparkled like precious diamonds, while his tone softened and grew mellifluous. "Oh, of course. The half-elf. Does our lady treat you well?"

  "I can't complain."

  Cerabrate stared at Antilene for too long before looking away and turning back. "When we meet again, we will fight side by side. I have heard a lot of incredible tales about the fight with your disgusting father. What do they call him nowadays? The Nameless King?"

  "Greatly exaggerated. Nothing that could compare with the famous leader of the Crystal Tear."

  He was already far away, but his voice could still be heard.

  "Optics, it was good to see you again."

  "..."

  "Learn to use your tongue. You've never been good at it." With that, the Holy Lord disappeared into the corridors of the fortress.

  An awkward quiet fell, while all around them life resumed its natural rhythm.

  "What was that?"

  Antilene got no answer.

  "If you intend to remain silent..."

  "Lady Fouche," Optics condescended to address her when she was already on the verge of leaving. He had remained still, with no intention of moving. "You asked me if I was afraid of dying. I'm not. I've already died once... What's one more? Or two? Isn't that strange? There are men much weaker than us, but infinitely more frightening. The depths of depravity are deeper than you can fathom."

  The half-elf approached him again and placed an awkward hand on his, which was tucked behind his back. "Go rest. You were right, I don't need an escort. And there are no dead men near me. Only wounded ones..." Optics' wound was the kind that couldn't be healed with magic or respite. The passage of time, too, proved useless. It needed something else, something Antilene couldn't give him, because she was searching for it with intense obsession herself.

  "Thanks... I just need a few minutes alone. Please, start heading out.

  Nazaire would have found the right words to comfort him, the natural gestures to overcome the awkwardness and establish contact. Nazaire was many things, and Antilene was not Nazaire.

  "Whatever happened, I am sure it was not your fault."

  She left him alone, trying to forget what she had seen, unable to do so.

  Antilene found Draudillon without guards, nor anyone else in the room.

  "The war council?"

  The queen was playing with a couple of pawns on the table in front of her, half-heartedly. Crumpled papers and messy piles were scattered on the floor.

  "There was no council. It was just me and General Aderbaal."

  "And it didn't go well?"

  Antilene picked up a document. The Draconic Kingdom's writing was unfamiliar to her, and she had difficulty deciphering what was written. But she recognized many magic formulas and detailed diagrams with drawings of human bodies.

  "They're just meaningless tactics. When your enemies are twice your size, what do you think the best strategy is?"

  The half-elf thought about it. "Cut them in half?"

  "Run away." Draudillon smiled sadly, sipping a glass of wine. It was still morning. "Aren't you drinking with me? I imagine that it would be useless. Your body doesn't know about drunkenness, does it?"

  Antilene shook her head. "Alcohol is poison, and the right poison for me... has not yet been found." Part of her felt a twinge of envy; not being able to get drunk was, after all, an ordinary experience for many people. Maybe it was stupid, but it marked another difference from normality.

  "You're missing out."

  "I can still appreciate the taste..."

  She poured herself a glass.

  The wine was very bitter, perhaps good as an accompaniment to something saltier, but without anything else to stimulate the palate, it left only an unpleasant sourness in the throat.

  "It's good," the half-elf tried to find some words of appreciation, so as not to kill the conversation, but describing the flavors without sounding generic was really difficult.

  "Do you like it?" Draudillon asked her.

  "I've tasted worse."

  "Really? I'd be surprised. It's disgusting." She pronounced that last part emphatically, indulging in a soft chuckle.

  "Why do you drink it then?"

  The queen took a second sip, without waiting for compliments. "It's my favorite. Does that seem strange to you? They call it Dragon's Breath, for it makes your guts twist as if they were on fire. And of course the marketing says that my grandfather himself devised the special fermentation methods..." Looking at her reflection in the empty glass, she adjusted the hair falling over her face. "All nonsense, of course. Have you ever seen a dragon interested in wine? That would be hilarious. My grandfather was crazy about mandrake juice, as absurd as that may sound. He said it helped him think... I can't drink it, though. It gives me a nasty heartburn and tastes too strange, like sucking on roots."

  "Doesn't sound that good…"

  "No, it doesn't. In any case, there are only a few bottles left in stock. Raw materials are scarce, as are laborers. I suppose it's difficult to find better ones…" Draudillon put down the glass before standing up and beginning to pace around the room. The black gown she was wearing gave the impression of someone being in mourning. "Don't you find it ridiculous? Even though I never had any illusions, even though I knew it was all nonsense, I started drinking it simply because, deep down in my heart, I hoped it would bring me closer to him. That maybe, one day, we could sit at the same table and drink it together. And before I knew it, I became addicted to it..."

  Sharing a meal was something all families had in common. A simple routine that meant nothing to those who enjoyed it every day. Once upon a time, the half-elf shared these inspirations.

  "When I was little, my mother was often away on missions... We never had dinner together. Nor did we sit at the same table for breakfast in the morning. Of course, she was never there at lunchtime. Isn't that ridiculous? That woman gave birth to me, but I never saw her perform such a simple and fundamental act as eating. In my memories, she appears as a goddess who has no need to eat or drink."

  Faine, with long black hair, black like Antilene's. Faine, so beautiful she could win any heart. Faine, so strong she could defeat any enemy—or almost any. Faine, who everyone loved and who loved everyone in turn. Faine, so far away. Faine, who was now gone, yet still lived on.

  "How I wish that were true..."

  Draudillon blinked. "I am sorry…"

  "It's okay… It's all in the past now."

  The awkwardness grew as the minutes passed. Antilene opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She saw the queen returning to the table, sliding the now empty glass, which by some strange sleight of hand remained full, with one hand, and placing the pawns scattered all around it in order with the other one.

  "The general?"

  After all, there was one actor missing from this play.

  "I dismissed him. Do you know what he proposed to me? Ah... How I hate that man. And how I hate that he's right."

  "Please explain."

  Draudillon stared at her for what seemed like an eternity. "Aderbaal is a nobleman. Chosen by my greatest detractors."

  The half-elf raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know you had detractors."

  "Who doesn't? The higher you fly, the more people below blame you for their problems... Of course, when you're queen, this has the unfortunate drawback of being true. But you should know that better than I do."

  Let the envy of others influence your decisions? It certainly wasn't a mindset Antilene could understand, but it was true that her experience as a ruler was lacking, and her intention to make up for that lack was equally short.

  "So I gather that the General dislikes you?"

  "On the contrary. Aderbaal is one of my greatest admirers. He belongs to one of the few lineages that can claim descent from the first men who served my grandfather. And the most shocking thing is that his claims are most likely legitimate."

  So he wasn't just a braggart. Antilene was even more confused.

  "What did he offer you?"

  Draudillon didn't have time to utter a syllable before a figure cloaked in red entered the room, answering for her. "Power, my lady. Only the greatest and most ancient power in the world."

  Antilene observed the man who had entered. Cadaverous was the best word to describe him. His sunken eyes sparkled with malice, and his bald skull conveyed very little vitality.

  At first contact, she was almost to attack him, so much he resembled a lich to lead her to make a mistake, before realizing who he was.

  "Khajiit Dale Badantel. Current leader of the followers of Surshana."

  "I'm surprised you know of me, lady Fouche. Such an honor is undeserving for a humble servant like me…"

  Antilene was accustomed with the practices of necromancy and the genius researchers appointed as leader of the new Slaine sect, but this was the first time she had seen him in person. Nevertheless, the medallion around his neck, the symbol of the Theocracy embroidered on his robe, and the less than flattering descriptions of his appearance left no room for doubt.

  "Explain yourself. You... and who is this other woman?"

  Khajiit was not alone. With him was another figure, even more hooded, barely visible. The half-elf's sixth sense went haywire when she saw her. Something that hadn't happened in a long time.

  The peaceful air she carried with her lulled away any desire for unpleasantness. She pointed a finger, white as ivory, at the half-elf. "Lady Fouche. We finally meet."

  Antilene drew Charon's Guidance. "Who are you?"

  Khajiit stepped between them, raising his arms as a gesture of peace. "Let me explain..." The half-elf had already knocked him to the ground and was pointing her scythe at the stranger.

  "I'm not in the mood for games. Draudillon, stay behind me."

  The queen, for which there was not even the opportunity to get fear hold her, obeyed immediately. "Antilene, what...?"

  The half-elf felt something freeze her in place, and an unnatural chill formed a noose around her head, while her free arms were on the verge of boiling. Unconcerned by all this, she only made sure that Draudillon had not been harmed.

  She walked as the world bent to her.

  "Did you think I wouldn't notice a dirty lich? The stench makes me feel nauseous. Badantel, you'll have a lot to explain, but I won't be the one to judge you... Luckily for you." The man couldn't get up, clutching his chest, in pain. "However, I still retain my authority as a member of the Black Scripture, and you are all under arrest until further notice from one of the Cardinals."

  The mysterious woman let Charon's Guidance touch her neck without flinching. "I cast a couple of concealment spells, plus illusions to mask my true presence, as well as a dozen countermeasures that should have kicked in at this very moment."

  The half-elf brushed some dust off her sweater. "Yes, that tingling sensation was coming from you, then? A freezing enchantment to severe my head and a fire spell focused on small, almost imperceptible areas to roast me like chicken. I must congratulate you."

  She had made it sound much easier than it actually was. An elementalist enchantress with that predisposition for two elements, if not more, combined with flawless execution and such precise mana control would have made even the famous imperial wizard pale.

  "I didn't notice anything..." Draudillon whispered, clinging tightly to Antilene's back. "Are you okay?"

  If she had been alone, Antilene would have had no trouble dealing with that unusual female lich, but having to act as a bodyguard made her movements uncertain. In any case, it was a good thing Optics hadn't come, or he would have been killed in the crossfire.

  The current objective was to maintain control of the area and reassure Draudillon.

  "They were concentrated blows, with minimal destructive power. Her goal was to destroy my internal organs… Or test my skills." Aeneas aside, every other member of the Black Scripture would have died on the spot without even realizing it. Antilene shuddered. "Are you the leader of the Five Fingers?"

  The woman lowered her hood, revealing a face, hair, eyes, and lips that were completely white, immaculate in their purity. "I'm afraid I must disappoint you. I am nothing but a pawn. The ones you call the Five Fingers are my masters."

  "Fine. That means you'll tell me everything I want to know."

  No suspicious movements. Underestimating your enemy was for beginners, but Antilene was sure that the difference between her and the lich was considerable.

  'It's just like that day,' she had already disposed of a Night Lich with ease, and the difficulty would be no different. But this time there was something strange.

  This undead wasn't like the others. And it wasn't just a matter of offensive capabilities.

  The distinction between sexes for natural undead made little sense, and was often a mere exercise in style. But this was undoubtedly a woman, and she had very little of a corpse's appearance about her. Khajiit himself was much more likely to be undead.

  Yet Antilene's inquisitorial skills left no room for doubt. This creature of death had been blessed with beauty in life as few others had been.

  "I can't do it..." The sound was mechanical, cold. "This body, these features, have not been mine for a long time. She is looking at you, Lady Fouche. She would do so even now, were it not for my will. A will that will not last long before her control returns."

  "A spell to prevent you from spilling inconvenient information? That won't be a problem..." She wanted to appear confident, but the theory and study required to decipher that level of magic demanded lengthy and costly procedures, and she certainly couldn't lock up an enemy of that caliber somewhere until all was done. "However, I am willing to listen to you if you give me a good reason."

  "Where are the guards?" Draudillon began to shout, trying to attract attention. "They should be here already."

  "No one will come, my lady. Before we entered, this space was completely isolated from the outside world," Khajiit struggled to his feet, heedless of the trickles of blood overflowing from his lips. "But you have nothing to fear. General Aderbaal has already informed you of our plan."

  "... Collecting souls in a catalyst is madness. Not to mention impossible."

  So that was what had left Draudillon so shaken. Antilene reflected on the weight of those words.

  "Both statements are incorrect, Queen of the Draconic Kingdom. If you would let us explain…"

  "Be quiet, Bedantel..."

  The order brought no reply, and none followed. The half-elf returned to the lich woman.

  "Queen Oriculus is not entirely wrong. Gathering souls, as if they were a crop to be set aside... It is a practice that only the old dragon lords were capable of." That was what the Elder Coffin Dragon Lord had done, although the information available to the Theocracy was scarce. "The practitioners of this method are no longer with us. Granted, it is difficult to determine with certainty whether an undead has remained in the grave."

  The pitiful vice of not staying dead was a widespread plague among those beings.

  "You speak the truth, elf. Collecting souls would require an object whose origin could be traced back to before the advent."

  "So?"

  "By now you should know who you're dealing with. They are not alone. Those who were once my companions have also fallen under their shadow. A shadow that is spreading to the place you call home."

  "The Theocracy? Or do you mean...?"

  The lich let Charon's Guidance pierce her chest, surprising Antilene. "The Five Fingers want you. They've been watching you since you were a child, since you eliminated Kunivela..."

  "Let them come. I'll show them what I'm made of."

  "No... You're weak now. It's not good. You need to grow more. They want you to grow more. This is not the theater of your battle."

  It was the first time anyone had dared to call Antilene weak. No, not the first... But this time it left a much more sour taste in her mouth.

  The half-elf didn't need to lie to herself to know that there was no deception or scorn in what she had heard. That harsh truth... was almost a relief.

  "Oh, really? And what would your role be in all this?"

  The lich, now pierced through and through by the central blade of the scythe, began to disappear, like clay melting in an oven. A final echo was carried by an unexpected gust of wind.

  "Come to the flying city... There we will talk as equals."

  It was as if she had never been there. The last sign of her existence was the clothes that covered her, now white as chalk.

  "Are you okay?"

  Antilene turned to Draudillon, still shaken. "That was... A Night Lich. How long has she been here, plotting in my kingdom?"

  "Don't blame yourself. No one could have foreseen this..." And, to be honest, her presence here was the result of a distant past, but one that belonged to the half-elf. "No matter how much we try to delude ourselves, every action we take has consequences that accumulate like an avalanche."

  At the time, her beliefs had her acting like a perfect heroine. The worst part of her conceit was how it crept in as righteousness.

  "The advent... The shattering that changed the world forever. My grandfather spoke of it with hatred..."

  For Antilene, however, it was the primary reason. The seed from which it all grew.

  "Six hundred years ago, Six Gods brought hope to a desperate humanity... Five hundred years ago, Eight Kings brought ruin to the world..."

  And she was the result of all this, as were the Five Fingers and Draudillon. The mechanisms that drove today's events had been set in motion back then, leading them towards a destiny that did not even try to delude them into thinking they had a choice.

  "Where do you think you're going?"

  Khajiit had tried to sneak towards the exit, foolishly believing he hadn't been noticed. "Just getting some air, my lady." If he had a plan before, it was evident that it hadn't worked out.

  Or maybe he too had been deceived and left there like the lowest of the low.

  "Some air?" Antilene smiled at him. "Excellent idea. Let me accompany you."

  They had much to share, after all.