Ch.25

I cannot read any more.

The words seemed to be coming out of Fir's mouth‌—or maybe Elestra's. She held the book before him, staring at his face as he struggled to focus. It didn't seem to matter anymore whether or not this was the real one‌—and he didn't really know if it mattered‌—as long as they didn't have to continue on with this.

This‌—whatever this was‌—wasn't his fault.

He hadn't intended for them to end up here, in the tower. Not at all.

They wouldn't die‌—not when they were so close. But he could do something different. Instead of waiting until someone else died‌—someone he loved. Someone like Evander. He couldn't watch that happen‌—he wouldn't.

So‌—yes. He'd tell them.

The prophecy .‌.‌. what if he wasn't supposed to kill Evander? He knew almost nothing about what the prophecy actually meant‌—he had only interpreted a few parts of it through his own experience, but it was important to him, and that was all he really cared about‌—how it made him feel, rather than the details.

And maybe they were right‌—maybe death did come for those who'd lived on too long. That made sense. At least now, he would spare the others the pain of living a lifetime on the wrong side of fate‌—even though it wasn't going to save him or the others.

Elaric, Evander, Ardis .‌.‌. Fir blinked hard. You can't come back with us. I don't want to lose you again. Just give me one night‌—just until tomorrow. Please .‌.‌.

The pain inside him‌—inside his chest, where he felt the old scar burning anew‌—was almost unbearable. He sat up, struggling to stay conscious .‌.‌. pushing himself back against the ground, then slowly rolling onto his side. He tried not to wince as he opened his eyes‌—trying to breathe deeply through his nose, trying to clear his mind.

And then he saw the strange woman before him, staring at him from a distance of about ten feet away. She stood at the edge of the ring‌—wearing black, like the rest of them, and she didn't move.

Fir blinked. "Where is she .‌.‌."

"In the hut," Elestra answered. The words seemed to come out of her mouth‌—rather, Fir heard them clearly in his mind‌—as if it were coming from him. It felt as though they had just shared thoughts.

He pushed himself up, lifting his hand to rub at his chest. The pain wasn't so bad, now‌—not as bad as it had been‌—and he took comfort in that fact. Still, he was afraid to look down, for fear the wound might reopen, and he stopped himself, covering it with the palm of his left hand instead. He didn't want to think about the girl in the hut right now.

He sighed, taking a step closer, making his way toward the doorway of the hut where the stranger had walked away. But he paused there‌—holding himself up on his hands, moving back into the ring of ash, all while keeping his eyes fixed on the entrance‌—waiting for the woman to return.

Because she was here, he knew. He could sense her. Maybe the goddess had sent her to him‌—to make sure this story would end well‌—

.‌.‌. to save Evander.

***

"He's telling the truth. I'm certain of it." The old woman nodded. "I feel it." Then she turned to the daedric prince‌—who hadn't said a word since their meeting. "This book‌—what's inside?"

The creature lifted his head. "Death."

Her brow furrowed. "Why .‌.‌. why do you want it?"

Elestra spoke up then, her voice soft but steady. "Because there's something we need to stop. Something that will cause thousands of people to die, if we don't try to change things." She turned toward Fir, placing one hand gently on his arm. "Look‌—the daedra gave me your name, and I've seen what you can do. Maybe this book‌—it has the power to save us from whatever's going to happen in the morning‌—if we can figure out how to use it."

"Yes," the daedric prince whispered. "And I know exactly how to save our people—but only if you kill Evander."

Fir stared at him. He didn't want to say it, not yet‌—but he was going to have to eventually.

But why .‌.‌. ?

Why would he give them the magic that would change everything‌—without getting anything in return? Why would Fir ever consider that as an option‌?

Was the daedric prince a liar‌? A traitor‌?

No .‌.‌. there was no other explanation.

His blood ran cold when he realized the answer. Evander didn't want him to give them the book because he didn't trust Fir .‌.‌.

"Let me help you," Elestra pleaded. "Please."

He could tell she genuinely meant what she'd said‌—that she wanted to be part of whatever happened next. It made her beautiful in an entirely new way to see, but more than that, she reminded Fir of Evander, because she didn't seem to want any other outcome.

It also terrified Fir, for a whole different reason.

So instead, he smiled sadly at her. "I'm sorry. I can't."

The daedric prince bowed his head. Then, he smiled in return.

"There are others‌—the ones who read the prophecy‌—who will come for you tomorrow. They will accept your sacrifice."

Fir nodded. Then, he glanced back down at the book in Elaric's hands.

"Let me take a closer look at that prophecy. I don't think that's what it says .‌.‌. ."

***

Elestra tried to keep the look of surprise off her face as she watched the daedric prince leave with the old woman from the council‌—as she watched them walk away, toward the far side of the village. Fir followed behind, leaving Evander alone inside the hut.

The two women disappeared into a small hut built alongside the tower. And soon after that, Elestra heard the faint sounds of voices speaking. But they quickly quieted, until only one was left .‌.‌. and she thought she knew what it was. The daedric prince must have put them to sleep, while the rest of the town slept soundly around them.

Still, it was unnerving, having Elaric gone this late at night‌—especially since Elestra had just learned that the man she'd been talking to for almost three years was actually a daedric prince, who commanded the lives of thousands .‌.‌.

Then again, Evander knew all about the daedra prince's identity .‌.‌. and yet .‌.‌. he hadn't tried to tell her. In fact, he didn't seem to know at all .‌.‌.

But that must have been because Evander trusted him.

The young woman sat on the ground outside of the ring of ash, resting her head against the cold stone of the wall‌—still holding the book in front of her. She kept reading‌—trying to make sense of what she might learn inside, hoping to figure out how the prophecy could be wrong.

Fir .‌.‌. where are you?

She glanced up, expecting to see Fir coming toward her. Instead, she saw Fir coming away from the door, walking toward the center of the village, toward the witch who still stood outside of the hut. He stopped, standing beside her for a moment as if they were enjoying some time together in the crisp air. Then, he moved over to sit down on the ground beside her, brushing a lock of hair from his eyes.

And then she heard the sound of a horn blowing, far off in the distance.