2412 Diori 19, Daleth

The rings stabbed through her tunic far too many times as she walked, but she paid them no mind. Her heart bled with a different kind of wound, anyway. She only heard whispers that the Helinfirth Queen had perished in the recently concluded battle. She had yet to confirm it, but she didn't need to be a necromancer to know it was most probably the case. Anahel gave up most of her reserves and parts of her soul to channel such extreme power from the depths of the plateau.

Which prompted another question in the back of Ezril's gut. Was that compressed magic, with its foreign feel and capability to drain its caster, an example of Maijen? She had to ask Kalael later, but it's more for confirmation than a consultation. It's possible it's not Maijen, but it might as well be.

That's why she sought out Denara's vibrant soul out of the mundane ones in the entire fortress. She took too long in arranging her affairs back in Drodham, so when she arrived, she only had time to watch over the battle in the western flank. Denara, if she was correct, was somewhere in the front lines.

Her boots, with their fur lining out of place with the plain leather builds around her, scratched against the dusty floor. Cobblestones were absent, but with how compact and dry the entire expanse was, she might as well be walking on a path laden with them. She had long shed her thick cloak upon feeling the heat in Penleth or anywhere near the northern regions. The mountains called to her, but sadly, she had her business in the flat lands.

She passed through the inner quadrant, making her way towards a set of gates leading to the fortress' center. Her senses told her Denara was somewhere there. Along the way, she passed huge, white tents waving like flags against the scant night breeze blowing humidity upon them. Nyxis gave her a quick nod when he noticed her whizz by. He then went back to concocting whatever potion he set his mind to.

Further down her path, she strolled past a stack of crates and kegs. Kymalin lounged on the stair-like edges made by the pile while she talked to a group of sprites. Nelnifa Corledia, the first-in-line heir of the Desaran Potentate, waved her arms in wide gestures as she attempted to recount the battle. Arident Sarethol, the Crown Prince of Avalora, as well as Seravel Rovodia, the Heir Apparent of the tyrannical Fire Potentate, laughed along with her, dropping their own versions of the tales. Kymalin smiled and nodded along, occasionally correcting some details.

Ezril slunk into the shadows when one of them sensed her presence. Her daughter looked to be having fun for the first time, and she had friends outside the Temple workers. What's her right to intrude on that? She should let Kymalin breathe. Their last meeting hasn't ended well either.

She'd have to find a better time to tell her daughter that she's finding a way to cure Vaeri. Kymalin needed not go out of the path of her life just to do that. It's Ezril's job as a mother, and she has never been as close. Someday. She'd tell Kymalin someday.

She continued walking, clawing at her turban which began weighing down on her head. Her platinum gray hair tumbled into view as she folded the strip of cloth and laid it over an arm. The guards flanking the gate perked up upon her approach.

"High Priestess," the brownie on the right said, following with a quick bow. "What's the purpose of your visit?"

Ezril jerked her chin at the planks of wood shutting her way into the center quadrant. "I have to see a friend," she said. "Or perhaps, you can point me to where Denara Meranel is."

The guards exchanged glances. The one on the left cocked his head at Ezril. "Who?"

"That'd be me," a new voice interjected. Ezril turned to find Denara's sheared, dark blue hair bobbing near her chin on her approach. The nymph regarded Ezril, the guards, and Ezril again. "What is it?"

"Let's talk," Ezril pushed past her and jerked her chin in a vague direction, away from prying eyes and ears. "I have something to ask you."

Denara exchanged a few bows and words with the guards before stalking after Ezril. "Where are we going?" she prodded. "What do you want to ask me?"

Ezril clasped her hands behind her, craning her neck to the sky. Thousands of stars glinted in their designated constellations. Four moons decorated the inky darkness, with Crozal taking the lead in plunging the night with its crimson rays. No wonder her presence inspired countless superstitions about death and bad luck.

"Your soul intrigues me," Ezril said. If she complained about Airese taking too much to spill information, she should be whining about her inability to get to a point. "What did you do to it?"

Denara massaged her collar, as if Ezril's comment stirred something inside her. Her gesture brought the dark design inked in her skin into the light. It's a design Ezril had never seen before, so she opted not to ask.

"When members of different fallen races bond, I guess it, sort of, cancels the lock placed on us by the Arbotro," Denara replied. "That's what happened to Nyxis and I. He went back to his roots, and I, to mine."

"Which is?" Ezril said, tilting her head to one side.

Denara sank her teeth on her lip. "A sprite," she said. "All of them."

Ezril hummed, counting how many seconds it took for her and Denara to complete one step. Three? Four. Maybe. "What do you think it meant?" she asked again.

A flicker of amusement shone in Denara's eyes. She understood where Ezril led her, then. "I had been alive before the differentiation of the spritean synnavaim," she said. "I think you know what it entails."

"You're old enough to have witnessed the Hundred Years' War," Ezril declared.

It wasn't even a question. Some things about Denara screamed of her belonging to a bygone era. For one, the ex-nymph didn't know what to do with a vial of fairy potion earlier during dinner until Nyxis explained that's how keijuis eat nowadays. That, and Denara referred to the Arbotro Fentimanis as if it's a real, everyday thing and not some figment of the myths and territorial legends.

Ezril took a deep breath, filling her head and her chest with unneeded air. "Do you know Maijenla?" she asked.

Denara replied with a string of gibberish, with the words, sounds, and structure too foregin for Ezril to understand. The sprite probably saw the confusion in Ezril's face because she laughed. "I said ''I still remember how to speak it, but I don't have anyone to speak it with'."

"You're familiar with Maijena magic, then," Ezril said, knowing full well she's saying magic twice. But it's how her brain could cope with such a strange concept, so maybe Denara could forgive that. "And how to channel it."

The sprite spread her hands in front of her. "Ever since the barriers closed us in, I felt slivers of Maije receding," she said. "It's not like it's gone—it's never going to—but I suppose it's...diluted in a way."

Ezril frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Maije used to be hard to cast," Denara answered, tucking her hair behind her ear. They have the same tapered point—one that didn't make it past the back of their heads—but they couldn't have been more different. "Over time, when the barrier locked out all other kinds of magic, the island did its best to survive. It created a strand of Maije that only keijuis could use to facilitate a new cycle of energy. Soon, it became rampant, and Primordial Maije, as I call it now, was pushed somewhere."

"Where do you think it is now?" Ezril ventured,

Denara rolled her shoulders. "I say look for the catacombs, buried during the upheaval at the end of the Hundred Years' War," she said. "Look for places that existed before the races split."

They walked in comfortable silence for a while. Then, another question—one she had been avoiding for so long—thickened in her tongue. "What do you think would happen if I use Primordial Maije to cast a spell?"

Denara skidded to a stop, halting their slow walk. They're in front of Nyxis' tents again. "You would be bypassing the Arbotro's safeguards—one that prevented other species from breaking through the barriers and starting another war," she said. "To channel Maije is to connect directly to the heart."

"Heart?" Ezril said. "What heart?"

The sprite averted her eyes. It's clearly a sore topic, something that triggered a flood of bad memories. "It's...the center of the island," Denara said. "Don't entertain anything more than that. It's going to be your ruin."

Ezril could have searched Denara's soul for the exact memory she referred to, but she refrained. Just because she had the power to do so, didn't mean she should. Souls have their secrets and things they didn't want to talk about, things they would rather forget.

Things they regretted.

"Thank you for your time," Ezril tucked her hands together and gave Denara a small bow. Someone of her status and title shouldn't be seen in public doing it, but in the middle of a war, all lives were even. They have an equal chance of losing it. "It was insightful."

A small smile betrayed gratitude in Denara's expression. "Glad I can help," she said.

They parted ways in front of the central quadrant's gates, and Ezril retired to the tent she had been given per Reeca's orders. It was small—enough to fit her from head to toe when she lay down—but it's fine. She preferred sleeping under the gaze of stars, but none of them would dare place a High Priestess out in the arid air.

Besides, she wouldn't complain. The extra tent gave her enough space to summon Kalael without the fear of being seen.

Said spirit rose from the ground in a column of green smoke before taking the form of her departed bond. "I heard everything," he said with his arms crossed. "And I'm not letting you."

Ezril glared at him. "It's not your call," she said. "Besides, I'm not the one who will do the work. You will. Look for places where Maije could have pooled in."

Kalael blew a breath. "How in Pydmaine's socks are you even planning to do with that information?"

"Vaeri is closer to the afterlife than he is to the land of the living," she replied. It's a truth she had been afraid to face since he succumbed to the dreaded disease. They didn't even have a name for it even now. One thing she was certain of—it couldn't be of keiju origin. She tried everything, and nothing worked. The last resort was to seek out something from beyond the island, and that happened to be Primordial Maije.

"The Land of Wonders is a realm where magic spent from holding up a soul for so long ends up," Ezril said, her legs starting to pace. "A recycling site, more like. And necromancers temporarily halt that process of breaking down these threads by bringing back the form, some strands of the trail, and the shadow. What if by using Maije...I can push the afterlife away from Vaeri, letting him live the rest of his life without fear or worry."

"And risk tainting his legacy?" Kalael argued. "You forget—fate lives within each of us. We cannot separate ourselves from it."

"Then, I will use the afterlife to heal him, to repair his soul from the inside out," Ezril said. "WIth Primordial Maije, I can keep his soul from breaking down while he was still alive."

Kalael whipped towards her, his face for once showing some trace of emotion. A flicker of light flashed in the void of his eyes. "But you will die, reyela," he said. "I can't have that. You have your life to live too."

Ezril reached up and aimed to touch him. Her fingers passed through the ethereal sheet, jostling the wisps of smoke. "I've lived it enough," she said. "Vaeri's hasn't even started, and it's already being taken from him. As a mother, I can't allow that. I'm sure, as his father, you can't either."

The spirit was silent.

She sidled next to him, maintaining a little distance between them to avoid scattering Kalael's essence to the wind. "Tell you what, I'll be with you when I'm done," she said. "And I would have healed Vaeri. It's a win-win situation."

Kalael pursed his lips, swallowing whatever argument bubbled up his green-tinged throat. "It's not a win if you dead."

Ezril could only smile. "Reyela, you, of all people, know," she said. "Death is not the end."