We woke up in the early evening, as the sun slowly approached the horizon.

We packed, discussed our plans, repacked, looked through all the books I’d brought for any last clues, and finally worked up the nerve to stop procrastinating and find Strix.

She was waiting for us in the warehouse, just like she’d said. There were other ghosts too, mostly dock types, but they all seemed drowsy, lethargic. They ignored us, and we made our way over to Strix, who was sitting daintily on a crate.

She clapped her hands, once, then smiled. “So you decided to accept my offer.”

I tilted my eyebrow skeptically. “I decided to hear you out. Acceptance will rely on details. First detail: why me? What makes me the missing piece to your grand scheme of rebellion?”

Finn and Duncan found boxes and loose materials to sit on, but I stayed standing.

Strix shrugged and said, “Well, it isn’t you specifically, any more than it is your friends. The missing piece is a quality the three of you share, and I lack. Can you guess what it is?” She phrased it like a teacher would.

I gave her a look that showed her just how much I appreciated being treated like an errant student, but I obliged her prompt. “We’re alive? You need someone still breathing?”

She nodded. “That’s one half of it. You’re also outsiders; the three of you are the only new things to arrive in this city for three hundred years, discounting a bit of rain. Look around you, friend. Look at these sorry excuses for kindred.”

I looked. More of what I’d seen before; just shades of people reenacting the past. “What am I looking for, Strix? All I see are ghosts playing out memories.”

“Exactly. How much do you know of the death rites? Does your culture practice them?”

I frowned. “Depends on what you mean by that. We venerate the ancestors. Some of us, at least. We have a giant crystal where all the ancestor spirits are led after they rise from their corpses. We have funerals, sometimes. Any of that sound like death rites?”

She shook her head and clicked her tongue. “Sad to see culture fall away, especially something as important as this. The death rites are a ceremony performed for those about to die, to center them and keep their identity and will strong as they shed their flesh. If the rites are not performed before death, the ghost that results shall become but a pale remnant of the life that once burned brightly.

“It’s a function of our magic, the power that makes us kindred. Without these rites to keep us whole, the improper dead become immersed in false realities. All these you see are living in memory, stuck in an impenetrable stasis that has lasted for three centuries. Until now. Until your arrival.”

I wanted to ask a million different questions about the death rites, and about kindred magic, but I needed to stay focused. “So we’re living, and we’re outsiders. How does that change things? The ghosts I’ve met, with the exception of you and the emperor, haven’t broken any stasis.”

Strix grinned again. “Ah, but they have. You made quite the scene in Nero’s hall. The court will forget the details, but they won’t forget that a fiery girl challenged the emperor’s authority. Those guards will bear the trauma of your sorcery. You are something that can’t be easily fit into their preconceptions, their mental image of the city.

“Last night, before your arrival, the guards in Nero’s palace ignored my words. They were almost as insubstantial to me as they are to you. But then, you created an opportunity, one that allowed me to banish two of them. Well, they might not be entirely banished… but I wounded them. And I noticed other guards reacting to that, which is more than I’ve seen in a long, long time. Finally, I can start to influence things again. We can change things.”

She paused and gave me a moment to sink it in before continuing on with her monologue. “Of course, everything isn’t all lilies and wine. Just as I can now interact more solidly with the improper dead, so can our adversary. I have no doubt that Nero will begin sending his forces out on patrol, looking for the girl who defied him. He wasn’t expecting me this time, but next time he will. If he catches you… well, there are ways for a ghost to kill. Especially one as dangerous as our dearly departed emperor.”

The scorn with which she described Nero was intensely personal. I was suddenly very curious about her history, but I suspected it wasn’t the right time to ask.

Instead, I asked, “Okay, so what’s your plan? You said we’re going to… rally the nobility? Raise an army? How?”

“I’ll take care of the fine details, manage the minutiae of this task. You simply need to become a figurehead of rebellion, an icon for all those with a grudge against Nero and resources to levy against him. You need to awaken a fire in these forlorn ghosts, remind them what it really feels like to be alive. We’ll start with a lesser nobleman, Marquis Asellio. If you can convince him, we’ll have something to work with.”

I frowned. “I’m not very convincing without my sword.”

Strix smiled again. She did that a lot. “Not an unusual problem. Don’t worry, Asellio is the most sympathetic to our cause. I pinpointed him as the first step in a rebellion a long time ago. Besides which, I believe I can help you become more convincing. With a bit of practice, yes, but also with a bit of magic.”

That captured my attention. “I like magic. I like magic a great deal. I don’t really think blasting him with agony will do us much good, however.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “Of course not. I’m referring to the second path. You’re unskilled in it?”

“If by ‘unskilled’ you mean ‘never heard of it’, then yes.” I shrugged. “Like you said, our culture hasn’t exactly… survived. The island founders didn’t seem fond of it.”

She tossed her hair dramatically. “Dastardly. Glamour is vital to the success of any decent Lord. Very well, I suppose I shall have to teach you from scratch. You’re both fluent in sorcery, yes? The first path?”

Duncan and I looked at each other. I nodded at Strix. “We can turn anger into pain and shove it at others. Is there more to it?”

Strix chuckled at that. “Not really. It’s a good base; sorcery is much easier to learn than glamour, but there are similar principles between the two. How about the boy, is he trained?”

Finn shook his head. “I can heal people, but I can’t do anything like they can.”

She clicked her tongue. “Ah, an alchemist. Yes, your breed of magic is… mutually exclusive with theirs. I’m afraid I won’t be able to teach you anything, though we may find someone who can. But that’s for another time. As is glamour training. Did you have any more concerns?” She was addressing me once more.

“Uh, yeah. A couple. How did the empire die? How vast was it before it fell?” I hesitated, then asked the question burning a hole in my thoughts: “What do you know about fate?”

For a moment, her expression was guarded, but her careful mask immediately slid back into place. “Big questions, friend. I’ll start simple: the empire didn’t die, it was killed. Killed by kine and killed by our beloved emperor. Before that, it stretched across a dozen worlds, ruling benevolently.”

She tapped her chin a few times and furrowed her brow without looking at anything in particular. “As for fate… it’s not something I’ve paid much mind. There are plenty of charlatan doomsayers in the streets, of course. They were always there, though I imagine they felt quite vindicated when something tragic finally happened. As for other notions of fate… I suppose you will have to find your answers in the library.”

Her smile was charming and placid, but I understood the subtext; Strix wasn’t going to give us an easy way out.

Fine. I’d play her game. “To Marquis Asellio, then.”

“Excellent. He’ll make for good glamour practice, and I can begin teaching you the proper etiquette of the court.” She paused and pursed her lips. “Which reminds me… I never caught your names. Who are you, the three of you?”

I pointed at each of us in turn. “Gwyn, Finn, Duncan. Leader, healer, warrior.”

Strix shook her head. “No, no that won’t do at all. Those names are… well, no offense, but they’re not very imperial. I’ve read names like those in records of the world before the empire, and I’ve heard names like those on the lips of kine, but they’re not proper kindred names. You’ll have to think of better ones if we’re going to foster rebellion. Or I can simply give you new names, if you prefer.”

Again with her deceptive smile. I wasn’t going to give her the pleasure of naming me, so I said, “How’s Valerian sound?”

She actually seemed surprised by that. “Valerian? It… hmm. Yes, yes that will do nicely. Strong history, that name. Some very powerful people had names similar to that one. Welcome to the team, Valerian.” She looked to Finn and Duncan. “And you two? Have any ideas?”

They didn’t, which wasn’t that surprising; we’d heard more fallen names in the past day than in all the years beforehand.

“The boy can be Felix. An unassuming name is good for a healer. And for the girl, Maia. She was a great war hero.” Felix and Maia received their new names without protest, though Finn at least seemed amused.

I quirked an eyebrow. “Do any of us need second and third names like you have? Cause that’ll be a lot to keep track of.”

She shook her head. “Not necessary, but for your companions it might prove useful. Do you only ever use one name back home? How do you track lineage?” Her curiosity felt clinical, almost judgmental.

“We’re all from the chantry. We don’t really have a lineage. But, others just remember it, or write it down.”

“Hmm. Well, imperial lineage is both complicated and simple, like so much of the empire. A particularly successful aristocrat might establish a family name to create advantages for their children. Sometimes those bloodlines cross, and the child is given two line names, such as in my case.

“Of course, not all Lords have lineages. Nero is Nero, and Aurelius was Aurelius. It might pay to connect your bodyguard and doctor to lesser nobility, but framing yourself as simply Valerian will make your opposition to Nero all the more clear.”

With that settled, and with the sun finally dipping out of sight, we left the relative comfort of the warehouse and crept through the streets. On Strix’s urging we avoided any guards we saw, and took a circuitous route to our destination: a lavish mansion in a district of the city called Garden Row.

According to Strix, this was for those nobility with less wealth and standing. Marquis Asellio was quite poor, as evidenced by his only having one mansion to his name. Apparently all the Lords had private estates on the outskirts of the city. Marquises were stuck with opulent houses and iron fences.

We passed many such houses as we entered Garden Row. Strix knew the names of each and every resident, but I could barely remember all her names, let alone all I heard as we walked. But I recognized Vaulk when I heard it.

“Wait, who lived there?” We stopped outside the estate in question, a low-key mansion that incorporated a lot of reds and ridges.

Strix turned to it and repeated, “Laberia Vaulk.” She didn’t seem very impressed with Laberia. “A descendant of your namesake, Lord Valeria. Shame about that bloodline. None of them lived up to her legacy. You’re familiar with Valeria Vaulk, I take it? Some record of her has survived the centuries?”

I shook my head. “Not exactly. We met her, or rather her ghost, on our trip. We woke her up, convinced her we weren’t grave robbers, and she said something about getting her house in order. There was a whole estate on this little island.”

Strix nodded. “Common for nobility from the early days. That manor you saw was built before this city was.” Her tone turned nostalgic. “I visited Lord Valeria, once. Sharp mind, that one. She didn’t let death stop her from being very well-versed in imperial politics. In any case, the Vaulks of the capital are neither powerful enough nor motivated enough to be useful to us.”

That was the end of the conversation, at least for Strix. She turned from the house and kept walking. With one last lingering look at it, I followed.

I woke up in a cell.

I felt numb, but it wasn’t the magical cold of the ghosts. This was familiar. I’d felt it a few days ago, when another ghost ruined my life.

I was in shock.

The cell door was closed, the bars were metallic, and the stone floor was cold. Duncan was in a cell across from me, Finn was in the cell next to mine, and I didn’t see Gavin or Aislin. Stairs leading up, two guards at the top, and no other ghosts in this part of the dungeon.

Who am I?

I should have been thinking about escape, or my friends, or survival, but that was the only question I could focus on.

Seven years. Closing on eight. That’s how long I had been on this path. Seven years where my only goal was claiming the title of chosen one and all the accolades that went with it. Then I fucked it all up. The council, and the temple, and the empire. I wasn’t diplomatic enough. I wasn’t smart enough. I wasn’t strong enough.

The chosen one wouldn’t give up. The hero of prophecy would never accept defeat.

I looked at Duncan. She was still waking up. I’d never looked at her this closely before. Her body language was like a caged animal, which, at the moment, she was. She had nice arms. There was a fire in her eyes. She hadn’t given up.

Just like her to spite us, even here.

Was it? Had she ever done that? Could I trust my memory, when all I’d seen of her in the past week defied that interpretation?

Regardless, I wouldn’t let her outshine me. I shoved down my doubts and took a few breaths to steady myself.

“We need to get out of here,” I said.

She nodded. “How? And what do we do once we’re out?”

A cool, feminine voice interrupted us. “I believe I can answer that.”

A ghost drifted to the space between our cells and turned to smile at me. Her smile was thin, but playful. She had sun bleached hair, fancy eyeliner, and a silky white dress that bared her shoulders. There was a dagger on her belt.

“Hello there. My name is Bellistrix Avicus Augustine, but you may call me Strix. I’m here to help you, provided you help me in turn.”

I raised a cautious eyebrow. “Help you do what?”

Her grin widened. “Why, we’re going to kill the emperor, of course.”

Duncan muttered, “We just tried that. Didn’t go well.”

Strix glanced back at her. “You needn’t lurk in that cell, you know. The doors aren’t locked. Please, let’s have a proper conversation, all together.”

I looked at the door to my cell and hesitantly gave it a push. It creaked open. Duncan and Finn did the same, and then we were all huddled in the hallway facing the grinning ghost.

“We don’t have much time, so we should really get going. I’m sure you’ll all be much more receptive to my offer out in the open air, yes? Dawn is on its way, after all, and I’d hate to be caught out in it.”

Duncan just pointed at the two guards.

I folded my arms and said, “I appreciate the thought, I do. But I’ve got a hundred questions right now, and I’m still aching from getting beaten down by a dozen specters. The biggest, most obvious one: how are we supposed to kill the emperor if we couldn’t kill a single ghost?”

Strix drew her dagger with a flourish and turned on her heel. She walked up the stairs, slit one man’s throat, then plunged her dagger into the other’s back. They both slumped to the floor, groaning, and she turned around to face the three of us once more. “Like that.”

We slowly emerged from the dungeons, glancing around anxiously for more threats. I gave Strix a wary look.

She sheathed her dagger and said, “You can’t kill them, because you’re living. But a ghost can kill a ghost. And this city is just crawling with ghosts. Interested in my offer yet?”

She explained a little of her plan as we crept out of the palace and towards the harbor.

There were dozens of nobles in the city, many of them important enough to have personal militia. If the ghostly nobility could be persuaded to lend their forces to the task, the palace could be assaulted. Nero would be ousted from his throne and the library would be free to access, free to pillage for what we needed.

Of course, that required convincing a bunch of crazy ghosts who hated each other to work together towards a common goal. It would mean spending a lot of time working towards a goal that only indirectly helped us get into the library. And it was founded upon trusting Strix, another imperial ghost with unknown motivations.

We arrived at the ship with minutes to spare.

Strix spared a nervous glance at the horizon, then spread her hands and said, “Well, I’m sure you have lots to discuss amongst yourselves. I’d advise getting a bit of rest too; if you intend to stay here any length of time, you should adjust to the different sleep cycle. I’ll return at evening, or you can find me in that building over there.” She pointed to a nearby warehouse. “Please, do take my offer seriously. We can do great things together, I promise.”

Then she left, and the three of us walked onto the ship and sat in the map room.

It took a few minutes before any of us could speak. It was still all so much to take in. A city of ghosts, a palace filled with threats, and an utter inability to harm said ghosts. All our training, all our preparation, was worthless.

There were more immediate concerns though, and they were easier to think about.

“We have maybe a month of food that isn’t fish, and we won’t accomplish anything nutrient-starved. Options?”

Finn blinked a few times like he was waking up. “Um, right. Well, we can’t go back home. And I doubt any food stores in the city will still be good, even without the concern of mold and insects.”

I nodded. “Raiders have fruit. I hear they’ve managed to get a few farms going on their own little islands. Not much, but something.”

Duncan finally woke up as well and shook her head. “We don’t have anything to trade, and we don’t have the numbers to take it by force.”

I pointed in the general direction of the city. “This city looks way more preserved than any of the places we’ve found before. The salvage here would be more than worth some food, if we put in the effort.” Privately, I had my reservations; it would take days to make the trip, and the raiders might not put the same value on fallen trinkets as the islanders did. But we didn’t have much other choice.

Duncan hesitated, but agreed. “Probably our best bet.”

Finn tried to say something and cut himself off. I waved for him to speak. He slowly managed, “I… I’m just wondering how long we’re actually going to be here. Are we taking that ghost up on her offer?”

Ah. There was the part I didn’t want to think about.

Duncan and Finn both looked at me for an answer. I rested my face on my hands and sighed.

“I don’t know. We… we have to. No matter how crazy her plan sounds, no matter how long it takes, right now she’s my only option. I can’t get into the library. I can’t get past those guards. I can’t stand up to that dead emperor and his army. I need a ghost on my side, and she’s the only one offering.”

The next part terrified me to say, and I fought myself every syllable, but I said it. “I have to do this. But, you don’t. You can go back. They’ll take you in. They’ll forgive you. You don’t have to consign yourself to this fool’s errand. You can take the ship, too. If I open the library I’ll find my own way back.”

“How?” asked Duncan.

I laughed bitterly. “Same way I got into this mess; there’s a Gate in this city, and I’ll bet you anything I can activate it.”

They glanced at each other, communicating nonverbally.

“I’m serious. If you want out, this is your chance. I’m about to help a dead woman overthrow an emperor. That isn’t what you signed up for.”

Duncan looked me dead in the eyes and said, “I signed up to help the chosen one save the kindred, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. You’re not going to scare me off that easily, Gwyn.” She winked at me.

Finn was a little less confident, but his resolve was firm. “I believe in you. I believe in the three of us. If anyone can do it, we can.”

I let out a sigh of relief. “Good. I wasn’t sure I could do this on my own. Okay, we need to start planning. Long days ahead of us. Long nights, rather. I’m not willing to trust everything on this ghost. I think we need to compile all we’ve learned from this little expedition.”

Duncan leaned back and made a thinking face. “Well, we’re starting to learn more about the old empire. Looks like they had more than just a few slaves. They must have conquered whole worlds.” She didn’t look very happy about that. “Whatever killed everyone, it spared the kindred from a kine revolt.”

“Maybe that was the point,” I conjectured.

That disturbed her even worse. “You’re saying they might have done it to themselves? That’s awful!”

I shrugged. “Better to die than be killed, right? I don’t necessarily agree, but I get the logic.”

Finn frowned. “But then, why would so many of them be… unprepared? It looks like almost every kindred in the city died ‘improperly’. I can’t imagine that being intentional.”

I drummed my fingers on the table and pondered that. “You’re right. Maybe it wasn’t a unanimous decision, then. I don’t know. Maybe Strix will have answers, tomorrow. Okay, next issue: our gear is useless. Armor doesn’t slow them, weapons don’t hurt them. Finn doesn’t even have sorcery, so our arsenal is pretty limited.”

Duncan looked at her blade and grimaced. “Hardly seems worth the trouble to even carry them around.”

I nodded. “We probably don’t need to bring much with us at all when we venture into the city. We can always come back here for whatever we’re missing, and it seems the ghosts can’t get onto the boat. This is our safehouse, for now.”

Finn gestured to the maps. “Should we bring any of these?”

“We don’t need any of the nautical ones, but it might be worth it to sketch a map of the city. Though, that’s also something we can ask Strix about.”

Duncan let out a deep breath, then said, “Okay, so, speaking of her, there’s something I’ve been thinking about. We’ve been focusing on the palace library because it’s the only place that would have physical evidence, books that are still whole, right?”

Finn and I nodded.

“Well, what if we don’t need physical evidence? What if we just bring a ghost with us, have someone who lived in the empire vouch for the prophecy?” Her tone was uncertain, but tentatively hopeful.

I leaned forward, steepled my fingers, and worked it over in my head.

Duncan continued, “The lady we met yesterday said something about it being hard for ghosts to cross water, but she didn’t say impossible. It might be easier than taking on an emperor and his military.”

I slowly shook my head. “Maybe, but I don’t think so. The council wanted hard proof, and it would be all too easy for them to dismiss anyone we brought. It would still be our word against theirs. They have ghosts from the fallen empire, lurking in that crystal formation. Besides, Valeria talked about fate like it was a stage trick or an idle curiosity. I doubt the average citizen will think much of it.”

Duncan deflated a little, but sighed and said, “Yeah, probably. It was worth a shot though.”

“Agreed. I’ll bring it up with Strix, she if see has any leads. If she does, we can try to negotiate a deal, a piece of help for a piece of help. For now, best to plan for the worse.”

I glanced at the hallway and saw a few rays of morning light slip in.

“We should get some rest. Tomorrow… or, I guess, tonight… we find the ghost and hear her out.” I managed a half-hearted smile. “Maybe this’ll only take a few days, and we can return home vindicated before the food stores even take a dent.” I didn’t believe that, but it was a nice thought.

We departed for our bunks and slept as the day broke.

I was having lunch with friends (Mal and Sam) when we saw the smoke.

Mal was the charming one, a rail-thin femme with messy black hair and eyes that always sparkled with amusement. She was pale, one of the palest people I’d ever met. It worked for her, though; she always dressed in black, with the occasional purple highlight, and carried around a sunlight-resistant parasol.

She’d just made a witty comment about something banal, and her girlfriend, Sam, was snickering over it. Sam was a tasteful contrast to Mal in nearly all the ways that mattered. Dark, almost mocha-toned skin, with a mane of brown hair and warm eyes. Her signature color was red, usually her red jacket.

I sipped some of my tea as I watched the two of them joke and flirt with each other. They had a natural rhythm that I found comforting, and I was content to let them fill conversational lulls whenever they pleased.

Sam stopped in the middle of a retort to stare off in the distance. I frowned, followed her gaze, and saw smoke on the horizon. Past the lush fields and rolling hills, towards the coast, a plume of smoke marred the scenic vista. Something was burning.

I ran through a list of locations in my head and identified it: “That’s Morgur. There shouldn’t be smoke coming from it, especially not smoke like that. Something’s wrong.”

Mal glanced at the smoke, then at Sam, then at me. “Is there a patrol near it?”

Once, Mal would have known the answer to that question without even thinking about it. Once, she and I had both competed, along with others, for the coveted title of chosen one. But Mal was wiser than me, and one day she decided she didn’t want to be the chosen one. So she left her role as a candidate, and left the chantry entirely. She seemed happy with her choices.

I envied that happiness. Especially when I considered her question. “Yes. Gavin is on patrol there… and Gwyn.”

Sam’s expression turned sympathetic, while Mal rolled her eyes and leaned back. She said, “Ah, great. Well, I’m sure little miss divinity can easily deal with whatever’s going on. Unless, you know, she caused it.” Mal grinned, just a touch.

I shifted in my chair uncomfortably. “I know you don’t like her, but she’s still the chosen one.”

Mal snorted. “Right. Sadly for her, I’m not into fate worship anymore. Or any worship. Besides, someone can be the chosen whoever and still be a dick.”

Sam lightly rested a hand on Mal’s and gave her a look.

Mal sighed. “Sorry, yes, that was insensitive of me. You’re still with the chantry, and I didn’t mean to insult you or your faith. I just have… bad associations with that place. And with her.”

That much I understood. Gwyn was… well, competitive was underselling it. Mal and I were the only two candidates to even come close to Gwyn’s magical skill (by which I mean, the only two to also learn magic), and so she paid us special attention during the years of training and trials.

I waved my hand. “It’s fine. Really. I’m also dealing with some of those associations.” I laughed nervously. “It’s still crazy to think that all the competition is finally over. It was such a relief, hearing that Gwyn was going to be the chosen one, and not me. I mean, I felt guilty about the relief, but not enough to impede my enjoyment of it all finally being over.”

Mal nodded. “Glad you got out of it, Duncan. You deserve better than being saddled with something that really isn’t you.”

“I still don’t think I’ve really sorted through all my feelings on it. A part of me is happy for Gwyn, but another part of me resents her reveling in her victory so much. But, she earned it, right? And I shouldn’t feel so bad about getting exactly what I wanted. Most of what I wanted.” I sighed. “It’s complicated.”

Sam raised the teapot. “More?”

I smiled at her gratefully. “Yes, please. I need the distraction.”

She poured me another cup and I drank it slowly. I tried to focus on our conversation, and the nice weather, and the lovely lunch, but the plume of smoke stayed in my thoughts. I brooded, and I could almost taste the ashen air.

After only a few minutes, Mal took in a deep breath and let it out dramatically. “Alright, go ahead.”

I blinked awake and looked at her.

“You want to go help. I know you, Duncan. If you don’t go now you’ll be obsessing over it all day. Go, help out, do some good work, and avoid Gwyn.” Mal stole one of my miniature sandwiches and said, “I’ll have to eat all your remaining snacks for you, of course, but that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

I laughed and nodded. “Thank you. I’ll make it up to you as soon as I can.”

Mal clicked her tongue and glanced at Sam. “Is it possible for a person to be too nice? There has to be a medical condition for that, right?”

Sam rolled her eyes and waved me goodbye. “Good luck, Duncan. I’m always happy to entertain.”

With that I gathered my things and swept out of their lovely hillside home. I vaulted onto my horse and set off in the direction of the smoke.

The air was nice against my skin as I rode, and the silence gave me space to doubt myself. Did they need my help? Was that arrogant of me to assume, or was I obligated to offer my help even if not needed?

Less importantly, how was I going to avoid Gwyn? Should I?

The day that Gwyn was named chosen one, I wanted to congratulate her. She just seemed so smug, so self-absorbed, that I didn’t bother. Months later, I hadn’t worked up the nerve to say anything. I didn’t want to feel like her rival anymore. I hate being at odds with people, even people who are consistently rude to me.

I suspected I wouldn’t have the courage that day, either. I kept riding.

Halfway to the village I caught sight of another procession, and recognized them as chantry folk. I joined them and saw that they must have also seen the smoke. A wagon with supplies was accompanied by the chantry leader, Morgan, and a few priests.

I gave a nervous, awkward wave to Finn (Gwyn’s only companion) and rode up next to Morgan.

“Going to Morgur? Mind if I help?”

He didn’t, and together our little caravan proceeded to the village. The smoke was starting to die, but there was still mass to it.

We arrived, and witnessed the carnage. Though many of the fires were starting to fade, the village had still been scarred by burning, and a few more fragile buildings had lost walls and fragments of roofing. I didn’t see any villagers dead, thank fate, but there were corpses of raiders scattered about the beach.

Everyone knew their job well, and went to work. The priests set up a medic tent, and those not actively healing helped the villagers and Gavin (Gwyn’s patrol partner for the day) clear rubble and put out the last few fires. I joined in as best I could.

Gwyn didn’t seem particularly motivated to help. I saw her looting one of the raiders, which made me shudder a little. I tried to keep my gaze away from her, though, and I focused on helping out those in need.

Then I slipped up. I looked her way again, as I was helping someone carry something, and at that moment she was looking back at me. Our eyes locked and I froze in terror, buried by the intensity of her gaze. I felt like a mouse being sized up for consumption by a lion.

With an immense expenditure of will, I turned away from her and threw myself into my work, driving all thoughts of Gwyn from my mind and focusing on what I could do to help the people of Morgur. I didn’t see Gwyn again for the rest of the day.

I didn’t see her the next day, either, but that wasn’t much of a surprise. Gwyn was due to appear before the island Council, to petition them for official recognition as chosen one and protector.

There was a nervous energy all throughout the chantry, a mixture of anxiety and excitement cloying the air and dulling sense. That, and the wine. Plenty of wine was passed around that night.

I spent the day on patrol, and in the evening I joined the festivities. Mal and Sam had been invited, but hadn’t showed, so I joined Gavin and Merill. They were brother and sister, and two of the chantry’s finest warriors.

We had a nice alcove to ourselves, and Gavin was sharing the tale of yesterday’s battle. “It was over in a flash. These raiders arrive, at least nine of them, and they cause a panic by starting a fire. Lucky they didn’t know which house had the militia’s gear, else things would have turned out worse. We were on patrol, just leaving the village, and the second we saw the smoke we circled back around and came charging in.”

“We?” asked Merrill.

“Gwyn was with me. Said she was spending her last day doing normal stuff as way of saying goodbye. Don’t know if it was her idea or Morgan’s.”

Merrill’s eyes sparkled. “What was it like, watching the chosen one fight?”

“Merill, you’ve seen her fight. You’ve sparred with her!”

She shook her head with exasperation. “Yes, yes, but that’s different from real combat. I’ve seen her fight to win, you saw her fight to kill. So?”

Gavin leaned back a little and stared at the ceiling in concentration. “It… it was something. I have to admit, much as the magpie can be obnoxious, she’s absolutely the strongest of us.” He flicked his gaze to me. “No offense, Duncan.”

I smiled weakly. “None taken. I’m happy to see her doing what she’s meant to.”

He nodded. “Right. Well, like I was saying, Gwyn was just terrifying in combat. It was like she wasn’t even trying. In sparring, she’s focused. She might give you a shit-eating grin, but she still treats you like a serious opponent. But against those raiders… she slaughtered three of them while cracking jokes. She threw lighting at a lass trying to retreat, then cut her down and death-stared the last of the raiders as they sailed away.”

I shivered, and Merill noticed. “Can’t you use magic like that, Duncan? You and that third one, the girl who left.”

“Mal. And… yeah, sort of. I can use sorcery, but I can’t make lightning like her, just an edge to my blade. Her magic is more powerful than mine, and more ruthless.”

Hearing Gavin’s description of the battle almost made me laugh at myself. How had I ever dreamed I could beat someone like her? I was like a cat thinking itself the equal of tiger because they both had claws. I could never have been the chosen one.

A voice in my head whispered that I hadn’t wanted to in the first place. I tried to ignore that voice and focus on the conversation.

Gavin had continued recounting the scene in the village, but stopped when he saw me tune in. “You okay, Duncan?” He leveraged an easy grin at me. “Story getting too graphic?”

“No, no, I’m fine. Just thinking about things. The chosen one. She’s… well, she’s definitely impressive.”

He must have seen through my attempts to hide how uncomfortable I was becoming, because he said, “Mm, right. Well, maybe let’s switch the topic. We’re going to be drowning in talk about her tomorrow, no reason to waste tonight doing the same.”

The topic turned to simpler pleasures, and time passed. Eventually I ended up in my room, alone, well fed on food and conversation.

I was miserable. And I couldn’t figure out why.

I hadn’t wanted to be chosen one, and now I wasn’t. I hadn’t wanted to be Gwyn’s rival, and now I wasn’t. So what was the matter with me?

A thought came to me, unbidden. A question: What do I want?

I wanted Gwyn to stop hating me. I wanted to laugh and smile and live. I wanted to be with my friends. I wanted all this drama and tension to be over, and quick.

Everyone looked at me like I was a failure. Like Gwyn had beaten me, and that was a shame. I could have been someone if I’d just stuck it out and been better than the prodigal champion. Sometimes, when they thought I wasn’t listening, they whispered that I should have been chosen one, not Gwyn. They questioned why I hadn’t fought harder, trained more.

I never asked for this. Sometimes, I wanted to follow in Mal’s footsteps and just abandon everything. But I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t forsake my responsibilities and gifts. Not when people depended on me.

I was tired, so I slept.

I wasn’t assigned anywhere the next day. I ate, took a walk, and ate again, then I took to the library and tried to find some solace in literature. I was absorbed in a novel about vampires and necromancers when Merill slipped into the library and headed straight for me.

“Duncan. Hey, Duncan.”

I looked up from my book and gave her a questioning glance. “Yes?”

Merill cast a few furtive glances behind her, then sat next to me and said in a low voice, “Something’s up. Gavin swears he saw Gwyn come riding back, without the others. She avoided everyone and is holed away in her room.”

“What? Why?” I marked my place and closed the necromancer book, setting it aside to listen more intently.

“I think the meeting went badly. Maybe the Council wouldn’t let Morgan have as much control as he wanted, or maybe they said something to insult Gwyn.” She paused, then leaned closer. “Gavin thinks they might have denied her entirely.”

I stared at Merill, shock creeping into me. That… was impossible. It had to be. I stammered, “But, that’s just what Gavin said, right? Did you see Gwyn? This sounds crazy.”

Merill shook her head. “I didn’t see her, but I lurked outside her door and heard rummaging. There’s a new horse in the stables, too, from the Council’s town. It’s the only explanation.”

I tried to clear my head. “I… why tell me? What do you think will happen?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe it’ll pass, or maybe things will change.” Merill hesitated. “Look, don’t tell Gwyn this. I mean it, ever. But… I think you’d make a better leader. Don’t get me wrong, Gwyn is great in a fight, and she can be fun, but she’s also abrasive, headstrong. She’s not like you, she’s not nice like you are.”

I paled a little. “You’re not suggesting…” I couldn’t even say the words.

“I’m not saying it’s going to happen. Just… don’t be surprised if things get chaotic.” With that she slipped away, leaving the way she’d entered.

Leaving me alone with even more unease than the night before. They had to be wrong. They had to be. I couldn’t handle… that. Not when I was so close to letting go of that stupid competition and all the ways it drained me.

I wasn’t going to be able to focus on my reading. I put the book away and exited the library. I agonized over my options for a good few minutes before nervously taking a walk through the halls in search of Gwyn’s room. It wasn’t with the normal barracks, but rather in an alcove all to herself. As befitted the chosen.

I hesitated outside the last corridor before her room for another few minutes, maybe half a dozen, before rounding the corner. The door to her room was ajar, and inside was a mess. I crept inside and looked around. Nothing seemed missing, but Gwyn (hopefully her, and not an intruder) had moved things around quite a bit, and everything was uneven, from the bedsheets to her lockboxes.

Granted, I didn’t see her room often, but it didn’t strike me as the state Gwyn would have left it in on normal terms. I left it behind and nudged the door so it wasn’t so wide open.

I tried to think about where Gwyn would go, but part of me still wasn’t even sure what I was doing. Was I trying to follow her? Why? I wanted to leave it alone, but I needed to know what was happening. I went outside the chantry for a look at the stables and saw Morgan’s carriage arriving.

I hurried over to try and intercept, but the moment it had stopped Morgan pushed his way out and stormed off towards the nearby woods. Finn stepped out a few seconds later, looking very nervous, and after a slight delay he followed.

Gwyn liked to take walks in the wood whenever something was nagging at her. More evidence that something had gone wrong. I took a step to follow them, then stopped myself. It wasn’t my business. I’m sure none of them would appreciate being eavesdropped on. Reluctantly, I forced myself back inside, and sat in my room to brood.

That night, Morgan visited me.

He was waiting for me outside my room when dinner had ended. I gave him a questioning look and he motioned for me to follow him, which I did. He led me to his office, and we sat down.

Silence stretched between us. His face looked more lined than usual, wearier.

Eventually, he said, “I’m sure by now you’ve heard that the meeting did not go… smoothly.”

“Only rumors and hearsay. But, I did see you run into the forest, and I know that’s where Gwyn goes to meditate when she’s irritated at something.”

He nodded. “The simplest version is this: the Council rejected our proposal. Vehemently. The ancestor spirits deemed Gwyn a risk to order and stability, a dark reminder of the old days.” He sighed. “They convinced the Council that we were after power, and they labeled the prophecy as ‘baseless’. Gwyn didn’t take it well, and screamed at them. We were thrown out.”

I stared with wide eyes.

He sighed again, this time deeper. “This is a setback no matter how you spin it, but I have hope that something, at least, can be salvaged of all our years’ efforts. Councilor Ibis will never support us, but I have faith that, with the right case, Councilors Capra and Lupa will see our necessity.”

Nervously, dreading the answer, I asked, “And where do I come in?”

Morgan shuffled a few papers randomly, as if putting off the inevitable. “Next to her, you were always our brightest pupil. And with Mallory making it very clear that she’s never coming back… you are next in line. You are the next chosen one, Duncan.”

Shock and terror left me numb. I wasn’t ready for a responsibility like this. I wasn’t good enough. I couldn’t throw myself into it the way Gwyn did. How could succeed at a job I’d never wanted, never asked for?

I scrabbled for alternatives. “We – we can’t give up on Gwyn so easily. The Council is reasonable, they have to see that she is our strongest warrior. She won the trials. She’s the only one who can fight the invaders, when they come.”

Morgan kneaded his forehead. “I know. I know she’s the strongest. But she isn’t a leader. That’s been proven. Besides, the Council hates her now. She’s a hothead, and she’s insulted them. The ancestor spirits would never allow her any measure of power. If we’re to convince the Council that the chantry is needed, we need a more approachable figurehead. Someone like you.”

Merill had said the same thing. It was even more terrifying coming from Morgan.

“I understand if you need time to think it over, Duncan. Please, rest. Consider what I’ve said. But know that you may be our only chance. There is no one else within the chantry who has showed aptitude for the prophecy. And time is running out.”

“I… I’ll think about it. Thank you. Good night.”

I swept away from his office in a hurry and shut my door behind me, breathing heavy. I wasn’t going to get any sleep. Definitely not.

I threw together a small traveling kit and went to the stables. I saddled Moondash and rode off. I needed to talk to Mal and Sam. They might be the only ones who could understand, who I could share my woes to without expectation of judgment.

When I shared the news with her, Mal spent a solid minute trying not to laugh and only partially succeeding.

Sam rolled her eyes. “Excuse my worser half. She has no manners. Now, about this situation… is the issue that you don’t want to be chosen one, or that you don’t think you can? Or both?”

“Um, I think a little of both. I don’t know. It’s something I was okay letting go, and now… everything is just so chaotic and confusing, and I’m not sure how much time I even have. Morgan expects an answer, and I know what answer he expects.”

“Why do you feel beholden to him? What stops you from saying you need more time?”

I struggled to find the words. “He… it’s not about him. It’s about the chantry. They raised me. Provided for me. I can’t abandon them. I can’t just say no to my destiny because it scares me.”

Mal finally got her laughter under control and leaned towards me. “Listen, Duncan. You know I stopped believing in fate a long time ago. But I still paid attention. Let me ask you something: do you think Gwyn’s destiny is to be the chosen one?”

I had to think about it, but the answer wasn’t hard. “I do. There’s no one more devoted, no one more powerful. If anyone is the chosen warrior, it’s Gwyn.”

“Then, if she is destined for that, surely it will happen anyways, right? If her destiny is to be the great warrior, I don’t think the Council or anyone can stop her from that.”

It made a certain kind of sense. I still hesitated. “But if I’m wrong about that…”

Mal shrugged. “Then there’s no such as thing as fate and the prophecy is bogus, so you still don’t have to be chosen one. Easy.”

Sam cast her a shrewd look. “Despite her irreverence, I think Mal has a point. If you cannot envision yourself as the chantry’s hero, don’t try to become that figure. Trust that Gwyn will resolve her situation and take her rightful place.”

I thought it over. They were patient, and Sam poured me another cup of tea, which I direly needed. Eventually I sighed and said, “This is… it’s still just so crazy. And we don’t even have all the facts yet.”

Sam patted my hand. “Please, take your time. We’ll be here if you need us.” She stood up and pulled Mal with her, and they retreated to a neighboring room.

I could still hear them, but they weren’t trying very hard to mask their conversation.

“I called it, Sam. And I told him. I told Morgan that something like this would happen. Gwyn’s volatile.”

“Yes, that’s precisely why I’m worried. Now is not the time to gloat, but rather to be careful. Who knows what that woman is capable of unfettered? Nothing good.”

I tried to tune them out, and mostly succeeded. For the moment, I was alone with my thoughts. They weren’t happy thoughts. If anything, their tone was desperate. Desperate that Mal might be right about destiny. Desperate to believe that I could go back to living a nice, normal life.

I said my goodbyes, thanked them for their help, and went home.

All through my journey, I debated the matter. If Gwyn truly was the chosen one, everything should turn out fine. But what if it was me? How could it be me? The idea terrified me. But I had to be ready to accept that possibility. Ready to accept those burdens.

I crawled into bed and buried myself in sheets. I slept fitfully, but I slept.

In the morning, there was a knock on my door.

Confused, I opened it to see Finn. He looked even more tired than I felt, with dark bags under his eyes. He brushed past me into the room, paced for a few seconds, then turned to me.

“Something’s gone horribly wrong, and I need your help.”

It took me a moment to catch up. “Sorry, what? Is this… is this about Gwyn, and what happened with the Council?”

He stared at me. “What? No, this is about what happened last night.”

“Last night?”

“Yeah. Gwyn and I went down to the Gate and she opened it. She opened a portal to another world and something came through and she scared it off, and then the Council showed up and exiled her. They exiled Gwyn.”

I went numb. “I don’t understand.”

“Right now, Gwyn is sitting in her boat, with all her possessions in crates. She’s about to leave the island forever and do who knows what. She’s been exiled, because the Council thinks she’s too dangerous, too reckless.”

I shook my head like I was moving through quicksand. “What did you say about a portal?”

“The Gate. She opened the Gate, the one in the Council’s town. It works. It’s active. And they exiled her for it.” Finn’s gaze kept flitting about, never resting on a single spot for more than a few seconds. His hands were jittery and his foot kept shaking.

“Oh.”

Silence reigned. The immensity of a mere two days choked all language.

Finally, I managed, “What are you going to do?”

He stared at me blankly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… why did you come here? What do you want? I… what can anyone do, now? What will you do when Gwyn is gone?”

“Nothing. I have nowhere to go. Nowhere but Gwyn.” He looked me in the eyes and said, “I’m going with her.”

And I found a lifeline to grab on to. A crazy, desperate plan.

I said, “I’m going with you.”

At night, the capital glowed just like the estate had, only a hundred times worse.

Duncan whistled appreciatively. “I see what you meant, Gwyn. That is… a lot of ghosts. Too many. How are we going to get past them and find the palace?”

I walked to the ship’s railing and leaned on it, carefully observing the harbor.

The capital city had been beautiful, once. So much of it had been built with purpose, built for beauty, built by the fallen to be their glorious throne. The harbor we were docked in was just one of many in a patchwork sprawl that stretched on and on, an entire district dedicated to shipyards and warehouses. Everything in it looked artificial; there were rough patches of dirt carrying tree husks, but they were too perfect, too neat.

Spires rose in the distance, but no building in the docks was taller than a few floors. It was like the whole city was looming over this one area, claiming it for the fallen.

We hadn’t dared travel near enough the Vaulk estate to see its residents, but our ship was docked in the harbor with a dozen wrecks and the ghosts of the fallen were merely yards away. Rough-looking kindred in shiny, ornate armor patrolled the streets. Refined kindred in luxurious garments pointed at ships or moved in and out of warehouses. Black-garbed kindred lashed whips at the air.

There were no kine ghosts, and none of the fallen noticed our presence.

“Gear up. The palace will be whatever building is the fanciest.” I descended and sorted through my things. I slid the old journal into my coat, adjusted my sword belt, put on my best boots, and threw together a few days worth of rations just in case, stuffing them into a satchel. I grabbed a compass too, and a matchbox.

We reconvened at the gangplank. Everyone except Finn carried weapons, and Gavin and Aislin wore light armor. They shouldered their supply packs and followed me down the ramp.

Almost immediately, a plain-dressed ghost waved at us cordially and said, “Welcome to Aurelion, heart of the empire! Enjoy your stay, and feel free to ask any of our proud imperial soldiers for help navigating the city. Hail the emperor, and have a lovely day.” The ghost smiled vacantly.

I glanced at my companions and raised an eyebrow. They had no input, so I turned back to the ghost and said, “Uh, hi. Who are you? And are you aware that your empire is dead?”

The ghost was not, in fact, aware of that, and he continued to be not aware of that. “Welcome to Aurelion,” he began, and I tuned him out.

To the others, I said, “Not exactly an auspicious start, but maybe it’ll make things easier.” I started walking away from the boat, and they followed.

Gavin and Aislin looked around with wonder. Duncan followed me on the right, and Finn frowned at me from the left.

He said, “It’s kind of creepy. They’re all just repeating the same actions, like they’re stuck in the same few seconds. In the moment they died, maybe?”

Duncan shook her head and pointed at some of the guards. “Those soldiers have traveled across the length of the docks and are still walking. I’ve seen some of the other ghosts move about, too. They don’t match the corpses, either. They should be clustered around the shoreline, but most of them are closer to the buildings.”

I stepped over one of the few corpses that wasn’t by the network of piers and nodded. “They’re reliving something, but without more knowledge about ghosts it’s hard to say what and why. Maybe the library will have answers on that too.”

We passed between a pair of squat, dilapidated warehouses and Finn asked, “Yeah, speaking of that, any plan to find that beyond wandering the city looking for the tallest towers?”

I shrugged. “Do we need one?”

“We could try asking for directions.”

I stared at him blankly.

“That’s what the ghost said. Might not work, but it’s worth a shot, right?”

I was suspicious of this “directions” idea, but I grudgingly admitted it probably couldn’t hurt. Probably.

We intercepted the nearest guard patrol and I gestured for Finn to say his piece.

He cleared his throat and said, “Excuse me, I’m a new visitor to the city and I’m looking for the palace. Could you help me out?”

The lead soldier, a woman with dark hair and a raven on her tunic, nodded. “Of course, citizen. The imperial palace or a palatial estate?”

Finn’s eyes flicked up in brief thought, then back down as he said, “The imperial palace.”

“Go down this road until you hit the canal bridge, cross over, then follow that canal north until you reach the bridge with the statue of Agrippa. Cross it, stay north, and you should be reach the palace district in a matter of minutes.”

“Many thanks, ma’am.”

“Have a good evening, citizen.” The ghostly soldier continued on her way, her patrol following.

Finn grinned at me. “See? Directions.”

I watched the guards leave, focusing more on them than Finn. “Interesting. I guess you just have to… ask the right questions? Hmm.” I shook my head to clear my thoughts and turned back to Finn. “Right, yes. Nice work, Finn. I’ll admit I didn’t actually catch all of that, so, mind navigating? I’ll keep up us on the right bearing.” I took out my compass and let it settle.

We followed the fallen soldier’s instructions and passed through the ruins of Aurelion.

Pockets of kine and kindred marred the city’s beauty with their corpse-smiles, but there was still a somber grace to the fallen capital. Ruined shops with cracked glass windows, decorated roads covered in dust. Everything was muted, the color drained by wind and rain. Grey-red brick and grey-brown timber and grey-purple tattered banners.

We passed through streets that bore the remnants of thriving marketplaces. We followed the canal and saw how eroded it had become. We walked between the worn columns of a gladiatorial arena. Every road was wide enough for an army to march through, and every building was crammed against its neighbors.

We reached the bridge with the statue and I stopped to admire it. The inscription labeled him Emperor Agrippa, Discoverer of the Gates. His image was stoic, but youthful. He wore a laurel crown and carried an ornate spear. For an emperor, his garb was more militant than regal. Agrippa looked closer to a general than a noble. And yet, something about his likeness made me question even that description. One hand grasped a spear, but the other hand held aloft a hefty tome.

That was four sovereigns, then, that I knew about. Aurelius was the first, Nero the last, while Agrippa and Tiberius were somewhere in the early days of the empire.

The history of my world felt like a puzzle box. Learning all the intricate details could unlock something useful, I felt that deeply, but I didn’t know what secret awaited inside this riddle. The library would hold the answers. Answers about Nero, answers about the dead world, and answers about the prophecy.

My destiny was inside that palace. I stopped looking at the statue and started walking again.

Two minutes later, the imperial palace towered above us.

The imperial palace was almost too grand to comprehend. It wasn’t so much a building as it was an expression of power; at least a hundred spires stabbed at the sky, and the palace itself had no consistent shape. It jutted at odd angles and caved in with no discernable pattern.

The palace had once been cast in gleaming gold, but the color had faded to a dull brass. Red cloth was everywhere on the lower tiers, hanging from balconies or strung across ramparts. The primary building material seemed to be stone, but there was plenty of marble and wood visible.

Statues were everywhere, and two lines of statues pressed against a painted brick road leading straight into the palace’s gaping maw. The front gate had once been menacing, surely; steel teeth in front of a timber door with a bar. Now it was in pieces and the palace was vulnerable.

Well, vulnerable with the exception of all the ghosts inside, and the two spectral guards standing watch. They wore fancier armor and taller epaulets, but otherwise seemed indistinguishable from the other soldiers we’d seen. Their corpses were sprawled with several others outside the gates.

I first tried for the easy route – just walking by – but they didn’t make it that simple for me. The guard on my left (his right, I guess) pushed out a hand.

“Halt, citizen. Do you have business in the imperial palace?”

I looked to my friends and they all just shrugged, so I said to the guard, “Yes.”

He apparently hadn’t been expecting such a simple answer, because it took him a few seconds and several awkward twitches to respond, “State your business. Palace security has been heightened because of disobedient kine.”

“Uh… I’m here for the library. I need to check out a book.”

“Do you have permission from Nero or the Royal Archivist?”

“Of course I do,” I lied inexpertly.

Either the ghost wasn’t expecting such a blatant bluff or his ethereal state kept him from noticing, because he said, “Very well, proceed,” and let us all pass.

We entered the palace proper and I marveled at the scenery. The inside of the palace was more impressive than it had any right to be for something so long abandoned. The palace exterior had been drained of color by time, proud gold and crimson turned to dull brass and rust. But without exposure to the elements, the imperial halls were just as resplendent as they had been centuries ago; each room was a tapestry of silver and purple carefully designed by the empire’s finest decorators and architects.

A silver chandelier, a painting of the city, a royal purple curtain, all beautiful. With the exception of the dozens of corpses littering the floor, it was a simply gorgeous foyer.

I hadn’t been paying the dead bodies much mind, but there was a sharp disparity here that made me give them a second look. Some of the bodies bore imperial regalia, but many more were in rags, and were most definitely not kindred.

When the world ended, had it been so sudden that a rebellion in the palace itself couldn’t be cleaned up? The corpses here were more whole than those outside, and while most bore wounds born of weapons, a few seemed dead of natural causes, like heart attack victims. At least half of the guards on the floor were that way.

My companions were beginning to notice that too, but none of us voiced our thoughts. I pointed at the nearest stairwell.

“According to the journal, the library should be three levels up, with a massive set of painted doors. I want to get there as quickly as possible, but don’t run; we don’t want to catch the attention of any more ghosts.”

They nodded, and we ascended through the palatial labyrinth.

And I do mean labyrinth. The palace was so confusingly laid out that each floor seemed twice as large as it should be. We passed through two ballrooms and an indoor theater before finding the stairs to the third floor, and had to creep our way past dozens of bewildered ghosts going through the motions as they wandered their silver and purple grave.

A pair of spectral noblewomen flirted with each other in a shadowy corner. Imperial guard patrolled through heart attack-corpse halls. Kine servants and kine rebels lay dead all throughout the second floor, but I saw not a single specter belonging to the fallen empire’s slave population.

The third floor was much the same as the second, maybe a few more bedrooms and kitchens and menial things. At the same time, the artwork was more resplendent on the third floor, and a few of the statues looked of superior craftsmanship to the ones outside.

It took us longer to reach the next set of stairs, owing to a more active guard presence and a more paranoid tone to our movements. There was a growing tension in the air, and I could see it in everyone’s faces; we were getting close to our goal, and it was making us all nervous of what might be waiting.

When we finally did reach the fourth floor we saw an immediate change. Things here were crisper, more orderly. There were fewer bodies here, too, and fewer ghosts. Everything on the fourth floor seemed to have a purpose. We passed by a few balconies and lesser rooms before reaching our goal: the palace library.

The doors to the palace library were covered in fancy illustration and calligraphy. The shape of a lock had been engraved into the doors, but there seemed no mechanism by which to actually lock them. Two imperial guards stood at attention in front of the library entrance, expressions resolute.

I took the lead once more. “Hello there, soldiers. We have business in the library.”

They crossed their very sharp-looking spears. “No one has business in the library today.”

I searched my brain for something clever to say in response, but subtlety wasn’t my strong suite. “Uh, the emperor said we could?”

“No he didn’t,” replied one of the guards. There was no quaver, no doubt. He knew his orders.

“Look, I think there’s been a misunderstanding. Why don’t you contact-”

“Leave, or be forced to leave.” Both imperial guards leveled their spears at me. They had that same distant look as all the other ghosts I’d seen, but there was a focus in them as well. Something – or someone – was keeping these guards more whole than the rabble in the city.

I rolled my eyes. “Fine, be that way.” Then I drew my sword and lunged.

The guardsman was ready for my blow, his shield raised in defense, but my blade passed right through his shield and carved into his spectral form, passing through cleanly and leaving watery disruptions like skipping a rock over a pond.

Unfortunately for me, those disruptions resolved themselves in seconds, and the guardsman’s face barely registered the sword slash. My blade hadn’t slowed, and the ghost hadn’t felt the wound. Being incorporeal had its benefits, it would seem.

I stood there, taking in the sight, as my friends rushed up next to me and assumed combat stances. I just tilted my head and kept examining the ghost. If my sword did nothing, how could I kill it? And how could it possibly fight back?

My answer came in the form of numbing cold shooting through my chest like someone had ripped out my heart and replaced it with a shard of ice. I gasped and doubled over, clutching at my chest, and when my hands started to go numb too I noticed the spectral spear currently impaling me.

The word ‘cold’ was insufficient to describe the ghost’s attack. Cold was falling onto a pile of snow in weather-inappropriate clothing. Cold was a sharp wind leaving little cuts on your hands. Cold was that slight annoyance that made a hot drink and a warm blanket all the more palatable.

This was oblivion’s edge. I felt like I’d been kicked in the lungs with steel-toed boots, then thrown into a frozen lake with my legs and arms tied up so I couldn’t swim out. It was so cold it felt warm again, sensation so overwhelming that it removed sensation entirely and left me unable to feel my chest beyond a vague notion of pain and alarm.

I wrapped my hands around the spear and felt it, felt something just barely physical. I pushed with every bit of strength I could muster and the spear came free with a howling sound like wind on ice. I stumbled back and took in a massive gulp of sweet, precious air.

My companions weren’t having much better luck. All their attacks did nothing, and I could see that numbing pain on all their faces. We couldn’t beat these ghosts with brute strength. All our skill wasn’t enough against these broken memories of a dead empire.

Our objective was right in front of us, beckoning to me, taunting me. What kind of chosen one gives up so easily? What kind of hero can’t deal with a few dead idiots?

You aren’t special. You aren’t anything. You deserve to fail.

I clenched my fists. No. No, that wasn’t going to happen.

My name is Gwyn, and I am the chosen one. I’m the hero. I have a destiny. These pathetic scraps of ectoplasm will not stand in my way!

I screamed my fury and thrust both hands at the shimmering warriors. Crimson lightning exploded from my fingertips and danced across their incorporeal forms. The ghosts fell to their knees and cried out in pain. One dropped his spear, and the other clutched it to his chest as he writhed in agony. I sifted through my memories and found more fuel, remembering Morgan, and the council, and all the unbelievers who dared stand against the chosen one.

I rose to my feet as the imperials crawled pitifully, aimlessly. I gave a sharp jerk of my head towards the doors. “Somebody get that thing open. I don’t know how long I can keep them restrained.”

Duncan was first to the library’s entrance. She pushed it lightly and nothing happened, so she gave it a shove with her shoulder. The doors didn’t even creak. She drew her weapon and slammed it against the twin doors, but a barrier of light sprang into existence, a glowing curtain flowing over the surface of the entrance.

I gritted my teeth as I started to feel the strain of pouring out this much power, and shouted to Duncan, “Sorcery! Try sorcery on it!”

Duncan nodded and took in a deep breath, then let it out. She raised her blade and it glowed with a deep red, closer to burgundy than crimson. She yelled a fierce battle cry and swung the blade down, red clashing against white and sparks flying everywhere.

The barrier rippled, but only slightly.

At Duncan’s feet, one of the guardsmen drew a horn and blew a pained warble into it. The off-note sound echoed through the halls, and in the distance I heard shouting.

Damn it. Damn it!

Finn grabbed my shoulder. “Gwyn, we have to leave. We can’t fight that many, we could barely take two.”

I was still staring at the door, as if I could pierce it with sheer will.

Finn shook me. “Gwyn! You can’t become the chosen one if you’re dead!”

That broke my spell. I shook my head to clear it and growled. “You’re right. I don’t like it, but you’re right. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

We raced for the stairs, leaving the two guardsmen behind. More shouts, from all angles, everywhere. We caught sight of one and Duncan cleaved through her with a sorcerous strike, leaving her gasping behind us as we drew closer to our escape route.

We rounded a corner and at least a dozen guards were waiting for us. We turned to flee back the way we came, but half a dozen more imperial guard marched up and leveled weapons at us. We were surrounded.

“Surrender!” shouted one of them.

We didn’t have much of a choice: we surrendered.

The imperial guard marched us up a flight of stairs and into the most heavily-defended and most richly-opulent floor of the palace. There was a growing presence, a prickling on the back of my neck. Something important was here. Something powerful. It called to me in siren song.

Our escort stopped at a pair of doors even taller and fancier than the library’s. These were gilded. Royal. Fit for an emperor. It took four ghosts more effort than it would have taken one of us, but they pushed the great doors open.

We stepped into the throne room and were surrounded by a hundred ghosts.

Spectral nobility prattled in clumps and gawked at the evening entertainment. At the edges of the room, stony-faced soldiers watched us enter suspiciously. If you ignored the way everyone was transparent, you could almost believe the empire had never fallen. Silver chandeliers, purple curtains shrouding the windows, and a crimson carpet leading to a golden throne.

Upon that throne sat the pristine corpse of a man who could not be anything but an emperor. He wore a laurel crown and imperious garb, and there was a curious silver bracer on his right arm that I had a hard time looking away from. When I finally tore my gaze from the strange armlet, I saw the emperor’s ghost: Nero, the last sovereign of the fallen empire.

Nero’s hair was perfect, his eyes manic, and his lip curled cruelly. With age, his hair had not turned gray but instead greasy. Instead of sagging, his cheeks had worn to the bone. He looked like a particularly venomous and malnourished teenager reveling in accidental and absolute power.

His voice was a trickster’s lilt, slithering and false-faced.

“What have we here? Intruders, in my palace? Fool kindred these be, or perhaps well-masked kine.” The crowd chortled at his words as if cued. “Fair guardsman, what tricks were these precious children playing?”

I didn’t let the guard say anything. “We need into your library. Since you’re dead, I figured it wouldn’t be a problem.” I gave him a smirk that was far more confident than I felt.

A few faces in the crowd flickered at the word ‘dead’, but Nero was unchanged. He raised an eyebrow at me. “Was that a threat, little girl? Threats and attempted theft. My, you’re just begging to be thrown in the dungeons. What’s your name, pet? I’m sure the guards have a report to write up.” He grinned at me thinly, and his eyes showed the spite he felt.

He was like Valeria. I didn’t know how, but he was. He knew exactly what was going on, and he was letting all his subjects believe a lie.

I spat at him. “I’m Gwyn. I’m the chosen one, too. And it’s not a threat if I back it up.”

I lurched away from the guards and thrust my hands at Nero, pouring lingering fury and frustration into a blast of lightning surging straight for his smug bastard face. I was the hero of this story, and no dead emperor would best me.

Nero held out a hand, gritted his immaterial teeth, and stayed standing. I stared in disbelief as my lightning ebbed, died, and left him almost completely unharmed.

The last emperor snapped, “To the dungeons! Let them starve. Let them rot. And when they are weak, they shall be brought before me and slaughtered. Thus is the will of the emperor. Thus is the will of the empire! Praise Nero!”

The entire court shouted, “Praise Nero!” and a dozen speartips lanced my flesh. Everything was cold, and then warm, and then black.

I tossed my crew a look and they returned it.

Duncan was confused, so Finn filled her in. “Ghost lights. They come out at night in every fallen settlement we’ve found. We try to avoid them; fallen ghosts aren’t like the ancestor spirits back home.”

She frowned. “Can they be reasoned with? Slain?”

Finn shrugged. “We don’t know.”

Aislin added, “We usually just avoid them. Never worth the trouble, and the ones we’ve seen didn’t look friendly. Spooky glowing creeps.”

I kept the ship on course approaching the glowing isle. Finn looked at me nervously, and the others followed suit shortly after.

I said, “We’re going to the biggest, grandest, and probably most populated city of a dead empire. It isn’t a stretch to assume the palace library is indoors; ghosts are afraid of sunlight, not daytime. Dealing with ghosts is an inevitability at this point.”

Duncan eyed me. “It pays to pick your battles. We can sail right past this isle, Gwyn.”

“We can. Or we can make sure our first encounter with ghosts isn’t in the place where they’ll be most plentiful. Consider it a trial run.”

She pursed her lips, but nodded and said, “I’ll grab my hammer.”

We all armed ourselves as the ship drew closer to the isle. Soon enough, indistinct shapes became the silhouettes of structures. There was a vast estate blanketing the isle, and a sandy peninsula jutted out from the main landmass. Smaller silhouettes squatted on the peninsula, looking less regal but also less ravaged by the elements.

I directed my boat to the peninsula, which bore no ethereal lights. It would make a good staging ground to plan our advance on the mansion. As we made our final approach, I made out more detail of the peninsula’s structures by the light of the setting sun.

They were stone edifices covered in statues and domes and twisting spires. Their purpose was unknown to me, but the architecture seemed familiar; I’d seen something like this before on a scavenging trip, I just couldn’t remember what it was.

I looked to my companions and asked, “Anyone remember what those things are? I’ve seen them before.”

Gavin and Aislin didn’t, but Finn said, “Tombs. We found bones in a structure like those.”

I frowned. “So why are the actual crypts the only place ghost-free?”

They didn’t have an answer, and we ran aground. We marched to the gangplank and took up formation.

I took point with my blade, Gavin’s sword and board to my right and Duncan’s maul to my left. A ways behind us, the unarmed Finn and Aislin with her bow. Despite her newness to our team, Duncan had trained in the same tactics at the same temple, so she fit into place naturally.

We approached the first tomb with caution. Up close, my memories of that other tomb returned. The fallen had peculiar burial habits, from what little we’d seen of it. Instead of scattering ashes and inviting ancestor spirits into the vault of souls, the fallen kept their dead in elaborate mausoleums and richly-decorated graveyards, and in at least one place we’d visited, mass graves.

These tombs looked excessively ornate, as if most of the structure was dedicated to looking pretty rather than sheltering corpses. The nearest had a plaque on it: Eris Vaulk, Spice Trader. A whole structure for a single corpse?

Another tomb bore the title of Buteo Vaulk, Patron of the Arts. The detail work on it was subtly different from Eris’s tomb; she had carven sailing ships and embedded coins, he had marble busts and mocking theater masks.

They were strange, but our concern for ghosts still outweighed our curiosity. At least, until I saw her tomb.

The structure was larger than all the others, and more colorful. Marble, basalt, strange stones that seemed almost otherworldly, and mosaics depicting dozens of scenes of regal figures. The inscription: Lord Valeria Vaulk, Warlock, Courtier to the Emperor, Sponsor of the Great Campaign, Forger of Chains.

I had no choice but to enter the tomb, ignoring the nervous looks and faint protestations of my allies. I walked through the open entryway and was greeted by a burst of cold blue light.

The ghost of Valeria Vaulk frowned at me and demanded, “You are not of my house. Why have you intruded upon my sanctum?”

Her voice was cold, curious, and smooth. There was a lilt to it that reminded me of Vesta, an accent forgotten by the living. She was dressed regally in a silken shift and glimmering jewelry, but a very functional-looking dagger hung at her decorated belt.

I hesitated, searching for words. I grasped onto, “Lord Vaulk-” but she cut me off before I could say another syllable.

“Lord Valeria,” she replied sharply. “Vaulk is my family name, as any of my blood would know.”

“Sorry. Um, we didn’t know you were here.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You don’t look like kine, but you seem inexcusably ignorant to be kindred. Why is a strange girl with a strange accent the first to wake me in years? I have felt the dark for a long span.”

I looked to my friends, huddled in the doorway and not daring to step further. Their faces showed no more surety than mine, so I returned to Lord Valeria and said, “Centuries, actually.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Centuries? What has befallen my brood to forsake me so dearly?”

“They’re dead. They’re all dead; everyone is. The empire fell.”

Her suspicion was replaced by horror. “That can’t be. We are glorious. We are kindred. What happened? When did this happen? How?”

I winced. “I was hoping you could tell us. We honestly don’t know much. But… I can try to fill in the details.”

I told her that the Gates fell dormant, and that according to our ancestor spirits the empire had died in a single moment, after the flight of Vesta and her followers. We had only survived by hiding on an island protected by a powerful Ancient shield. We didn’t know what had killed the world, but every living thing above water had died. Outside the island, there were no more birds or beasts or kindred. Only death and cold stone. Even the grass had withered and been ground to dust by the wind.

While I spoke, my companions mustered their courage and crowded behind me, examining the insides of the elaborate tomb. The ghost noted their passing but did not interrupt my tale.

When my story was done, Lord Valeria spat a single word: a name.

“Nero.”

It was my turn to be surprised. “Nero? You know who he is? I’ve heard his name from ancestor spirits but never who he was, just that he tried to stop the exodus.”

The fallen noble scowled and turned away from me. “Nero was Emperor when I last woke. A petulant, arrogant wretch who spent more time hosting bacchanals and torturing prisoners than he did managing his empire. If anyone could have squandered our glorious civilization so completely, it would have been him.”

I filed away that piece of the puzzle, and Finn stepped up beside me.

He said, “Please, we know so little about our history and culture. What was it like in the empire? What do you know about the Gates?”

Duncan shook her head and said, “We don’t have the time for this, Finn. We need to get to the capital. We can talk to ghosts later, but protecting our people has to be the priority.”

He reluctantly retreated to the doorway.

Something occurred to me and I said, “Lord Valeria, what do you know about prophecy, and fate?”

The ghost returned her attentions to me and tilted her head curiously. “Fate? What a strange query. I’ve known nobles who swore by their soothsayers and star-interpreters, but never paid it mind myself. Tell me of this prophecy. And your name, as well.”

“I’m Gwyn. The prophecy is… it’s everything to us, back home. My temple, we have a prophecy from long ago, maybe even from the time of the empire, that foretells the end of the world. The Gates that betrayed us by failing will betray us again by opening and letting through a horde of all the kine who resented the empire and want vengeance. Only the chosen one, the hero, can save the kindred from extinction. That’s me.”

Lord Valeria’s expression was morbid. “If I had heard a prophecy like that in my time, I would have dismissed it in an instance. But if I had heard tell that the empire would fall, I would have believed it even less. I cannot help you in this matter, Gwyn, but I wish you the best of luck.”

I hesitated, then said, “You can come with us, if you’d like. See what’s become of the capital city.”

She shook her head. “No, I must attend to my house. If the world’s death was as sudden as you say, they might have died improperly, and it is up to I and my resting descendants to set the estate in order. Besides, I doubt you have the equipment to transport a ghost across a large body of water.”

I didn’t have the slightest idea what kind of equipment that would be, so I just nodded. I turned to leave, and Duncan followed, but Finn lingered.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Hmm?” the ghost inquired.

“For your loss, I mean. It… it must be hard to lose everyone. Your whole family.”

She smiled somberly. “Yes, I suppose so. It was the first time, when I saw my children die. I hid my grief, then, because it is not the place of a Lord to mourn. Not my place to show weakness that might be exploited by a rival. I choked my grief and buried it. There were many more deaths I learned of, many more tombs to be raised.”

She drifted out of the tomb and looked up at the night sky. “I tried to build a legacy. I was there when Emperor Tiberius opened the Gates. I funded the first slavers, and my house received a bounty of kine for my efforts. The Vaulks would be cared for, kept in luxury by the fortunes I amassed, the structures of power I and the Emperor’s other confidantes established.

“I have often regretted my actions; I fear I coddled my children too much. I wished for them to have an easier upbringing, but it dulled their senses. None of my line have ever surpassed me, even with the advantages they were given from birth. I alone possessed the ruthlessness to excel.” The look in her eyes was faraway and bittersweet.

Finn said, “I don’t think empathy is a weakness. I don’t think it’s a weakness to feel grief, or to love your family.”

Lord Valeria laughed and smiled at him. “Oh, child. You have the eyes of one who has been shown mercy. Who protected you? Who stole your pain?”

Finn’s gaze flicked to me of its own accord, and Valeria nodded.

“Shouldering burdens will not always make you stronger, Gwyn. One day, if you keep that up, your back will break.”

Then the ghost began the trek to her estate, and we returned to the ship.

For the first half hour after departing the Vaulk estate, everyone was silent. We were all processing what we’d witnessed. My thoughts were aswirl with the ghost’s warnings. My understanding of the fallen empire had blossomed, but it was still incomplete.

The first concern raised was a practical one: Aislin asked, “Is Nero waiting for us in the capital?”

It took a few seconds for me to conjure a response. I said, “Maybe.”

Then Duncan asked, “Why was that ghost so calm and reasonable? I was expecting – well, you told me to expect – someone more dangerous and less composed.”

I nodded. “Yeah. Thinking about that myself. Thinking about our ancestors. How only the oldest ones ever really show up to talk.”

Finn frowned. “Only the oldest? I’ve never noticed that.”

“Every ancestor I’ve ever seen manifest, or heard of manifesting, was an older type, not someone we might have ever known. Their chosen voice in the council is the oldest of them all, the one who led them to the island. I think it’s about how they die. I think there’s a right way to die, and we’ve forgotten it.”

Duncan protested, “But how could the ancestor spirits let us forget something so important?”

“Our ancestors let us forget a great many important things.” My voice came out colder than I had intended, sharper.

There was no more discussion after that. My companions retired belowdecks, and I carried the ship towards its destination, alone with my conflicting thoughts and the sea breeze.

My name is Gwyn, and I am the chosen one.

That’s who I wanted to be. I detested the doubt that was crawling in my gut. I detested the fear and guilt clawing at my heels. I needed to channel that negativity into something. But there was only the ocean.

In the distance, a jagged claw tore at the sky.

We had found our destination; the ship drew closer and I saw the decrepit spires of the fallen empire’s once-glorious centerpiece. Shattered glass, crumbling marble, sky-piercing towers withered by the elements. A dead city; a city of the dead.

I called for my friends, and they hurried to the front of the ship, watching with wide eyes as we made the approach. The capital’s broken harbor beckoned, rotted vessels lounging next to unsteady piers. And there were bodies.

Dozens, hundreds of bodies slowly growing visible.

Imagine a world without insects. A world without scavenger beasts and carrion birds. Imagine a corpse, left to rot but cursed to know only the wind’s tender mercies. Wind-scarred skin and exposed flesh, hellish grimaces and broken bones. Snapped necks and frozen, artificial smiles.

At least two hundred bodies were scattered across the harbor in various states of distress. The lucky ones had reached the water, to be devoured by the fish. The not-so-lucky only made it halfway into the water, and clean bone jutted from otherwise whole cadavers.

Some of the bodies were kindred, but not all. I saw foreign skin colors, horns, pointed ears, a few tails. Kine, trying to escape their masters, and being cut down.

But cut down by what? Time’s brutality obscured a cause of death for any of the numerous wretched refuse.

Finn looked sick, Duncan grim. Gavin and Aislin looked away.

I kept the boat steady, and we arrived at the capital city of the dead empire.

The cerulean sea sparkled as we sailed; the water caught sunlight and beautified it, enriched what we otherwise took for granted. Fish swam beneath the waves, and the sky was a clear light blue. The air was filled with the scent of salt.

My sailing boat was a beautiful bit of woodwork with bright crimson sails. It had plenty of space for all us, and a raised platform at the back of the ship for me to pilot. It also gave me room to observe my crew mates on the deck.

Finn, Aislin, and Gavin all had camaraderie, but Duncan didn’t seem out of place among them. She laughed at the right jokes, weighed in at the right moments, and had an infectious charisma. She was better at it than I was after only a day of getting to know them all.

Everyone was dressing casually until we neared landfall; even if we encountered raiders, we’d have plenty of time to suit up before they boarded. Aislin had her hair down, Finn was wearing sandals, and Gavin had put together a green bandanna. Duncan’s clothing was plain, but she still wore her gauntlets and kept her rapier close at hand.

For my part, I’d traded my tunic for a coat and blouse. I also kept my sword at my side, though I don’t know if our reasons were the same.

The journey went quickly by boat. It would take us only a few days to reach the edge of explored territory. The talk turned to supplies.

We had enough preserved fruit (dried nectarines and brined olives) and long-lasting vegetables (nuts and potatoes) to last a week, two if rationed carefully. Outside of that, our only source of food would be fish until our quest was complete.

If we were lucky, we might encounter a colony of birds that had left the homeland, or some sprouts spread by travelers. But nothing grew naturally outside our island, and I wasn’t going to wager our food stores on random chance.

Fishing wouldn’t be a problem. We had a net and some rods, and a well-maintained stove for preparing the catch. Aislin, Gavin, and Duncan volunteered to fish while Finn took care of food prep. It was a familiar system, so I didn’t worry myself with supervising.

Our course was straightforward, so I found myself spending less time at the wheel and more time in the map room poring over my books and our charts. I was brooding, and I think the others could tell. They gave me space, and I set myself to the task of hunting for any hints as to what awaited us in the capital.

On the fourth day, exhausted from fruitless research and hungry for sunlight, I emerged onto the deck and resolved to participate just a bit more in whatever social interaction was going on.

Gavin and Aislin were practicing while Finn and Duncan watched. They used lightweight training swords, little more than wooden rods.

Every move they made was routine. Aislin lunged, Gavin parried, Aislin twirled, Gavin ducked. Even without a shield he played defensively, waiting for key moments to reach out and whack at her sides. Aislin was aggressive, but steady; she didn’t try to push her luck, just kept up the pressure.

They were both grinning, but Gavin’s eyes shone a little fiercer than Aislin’s. I knew that look from all the times it had been in my eyes; he wanted to win. He saw a reckless opportunity, took it, and the duel ended with a practice sword at each throat.

A good third of their duels ended with ties of some variety, so I just clapped and smirked. They turned and bowed to me, then flopped onto a bench someone had set up.

Aislin said, “Good duel.”

Gavin replied, “Same.”

“I had you dead in four moves.”

“If I’d been more patient you would have been on the floor in three.”

They bickered fondly and Finn tended to their bruises. His alchemy made short work of such minor marks and by the time his ministration was done their skin was almost unblemished again already.

Aislin was the first to break away from their argument, and tilted her head at me. “You up for a round, Gwyn? I haven’t seen you and Duncan go at it since the trials.”

Duncan’s hand drifted to the pommel of her sword, and I gripped the hilt of mine. We locked gazes.

I forced myself to relax my grip and gave a forced smile. “Let’s not reopen old feuds. I’m too competitive for my own good.”

Duncan nodded at me and slowly took her hand away. There was an awkward silence.

Gavin broke it with, “Well, I want to take another look at the charts, add a few details. Care to join me, Aislin?”

She nodded and they descended together into the ship’s innards, leaving me with Duncan and Finn.

With only the three of us on deck, there was a tension. I don’t think any of us yet felt comfortable with the new situation, even after days of travel.

My conscience urged me to say something to Duncan, but my pride silenced me. I wanted to apologize, but I couldn’t make myself understand what there was to apologize for. Duncan was the enemy, and I beat her. It should have been as simple as that, but my former rival didn’t seem to see it that way.

All I could say was, “Thank you. For coming on this journey, I mean. I… I appreciate your faith in me.”

Duncan shrugged. “Fate chose you when you conquered the trials. I stand with the hero of prophecy.”

It sounded so easy when she said it. I wouldn’t have been so calm if our roles were reversed. What did that say about my faith? I didn’t like that train of thought, so I left Finn and Duncan for the helm and made minor corrections in the ship’s course.

Duncan and Finn took up the free bench and looked out at the crystalline sea. The air of awkward tension slowly subsided into peaceful quiet and the sound of rolling waves against the ship’s wooden hull.

Eventually, I heard Duncan say to Finn, “This view makes me regret never sailing before.” Her voice was a bit faint, but I had good hearing.

“Never?”

“Never far, at least. I’ve been on one fishing expedition, I think, but it stayed in close waters.”

“I like the sea. There’s something calming about its vastness. I follow Gwyn around on scavenging trips all the time. Why were you with the fishers?”

Duncan turned her head away from Finn and more towards the sea. “Back when I still thought I had a chance of being a hero I tried to visit as many different places and people as I could, in between training. I wanted to know the island I would be protecting. How could I serve a fisher faithfully if I didn’t know their ways? Or a baker, or a mason. I had a duty. Would have… would have had a duty.”

It was almost a comfort to finally hear bitterness creep into Duncan’s tone. Almost. She didn’t sound angry, just sad.

I saw Finn’s hands twitch, which they always do when he’s hesitating to say something. Eventually he worked up the nerve. “I think we all have a purpose. Sometimes that purpose is to be the hero, sometimes it’s to help others. I’m okay with my purpose in life.”

Duncan nodded. “I should be okay with it too. I’ve spent months convincing myself I am okay with it. But… honestly, when Morgan told me I was the chosen one I desperately wanted to accept, no questions asked.” She sighed. “When you’re groomed from a young age to be something, your entire metric of happiness becomes tightly bound to that ideal. I know there are more ways to be a hero, more ways to help others, but I can’t escape this notion that I’ve abandoned my people and my destiny by going on this voyage. It hurts.”

Finn put an arm around Duncan’s shoulder. “I’m here for you, friend. I hear your pain. I think we all have doubts about who we are and what we do. It’s in our nature. Sometimes that doubt is healthy, but sometimes it drags us down. When you have good people by your side, it gets easier to tell the difference.”

She looked over at him and smiled. “You’re good at this. I can see why Gwyn likes you.”

He laughed and turned his head down shyly. “I just try my best. Every hero needs a companion, and Gwyn is responsible for the life I have. I’m doing my part.”

“Trying to repay her?”

“I wouldn’t phrase it like that. I mean, I guess I do feel indebted to her, but I don’t think you should build a life out of guilt or debt. It’s just the natural thing to do.”

She tilted her head. “Interesting thought. I’m going to catch a nap. This was nice.”

Duncan descended into the ship, and then Finn and I were alone.He joined me by the wheel. “I take it you heard everything?”

I nodded silently and made another slight adjustment.

“You should talk to her.”

I gave him a look that conveyed the entirety of my opinion on the matter.

“I mean it. Duncan’s a good person, and the two of you would work well together.”

I sighed. “You’re not going to give up on this, are you?”

He shook his head.

“Great. Listen, Finn. I don’t think she’s a bad person. We probably could make a powerful team. But I spent years thinking of her only as my mortal enemy, my sworn rival. She was what stood in the way of becoming chosen one. I can’t just forget that. I can’t just change all my instincts overnight.”

“I’m not asking you to. I’m saying give her a chance. I think you might like her.”

I sighed again, this time with more frustration. “You don’t get it. I do like her. Too much.”

He stared at me in confusion.

“The problem isn’t that Duncan is a bad person. The problem is that I’m a bad person.”

“Gwyn-”

“She is willing to sacrifice everything she has ever cared about because she genuinely believes that helping me is the best way to help our people. She was offered the world and acted with integrity, while I was denied a dream and threw a world-class tantrum. What does that say about me?”

He didn’t have an answer.

I turned away from him and muttered, “Some hero I turned out to be.”

Finn put a hand on my shoulder. “Gwyn. You’re still the chosen one. You’re still the hero. And once we get to the capital you can prove that. I believe in you.”

He wasn’t saying anything he hadn’t a hundred times before whenever I was feeling doubt, but it still helped. Everything hurt, and hiding wouldn’t keep the pain away forever. I needed to get to the palace library. I needed to fix the problem. I needed to be the chosen one again.

I said, “Thanks. I… I’ll try.”

We enjoyed comfortable silence for a few more hours. Eventually Duncan, Gavin, and Aislin rejoined us.

As night was falling, a landmass grew on the horizon. Duncan looked to me for confirmation and I shook my head.

“Too small to be the capital. We can investigate it, though; we won’t go off-course, and it might confirm that we’re on the right track.”

The sun set, we sailed closer to the island, and it began to glow with ethereal light.

I was crying.

I was curled into a ball, sitting on a bunk bed in the hold of my sailboat, and I was crying.

Everything I cared about was gone. My friends, my library, my titles. The temple, the villages, the island. The kindred. Laughter, shouting, talking. My whole world.

My glorious destiny was in ashes.

My favorite books and a week’s worth of clothing were in a sack under the bed. My sword was in a lockbox at the foot of the bed. Princess Whiskerton was reclining on the bunk bed’s cheap pillow.

I was alone, and afraid. My eyes were puffy and red. My hands were shaking.

Nothing made sense. The world was too much noise and light and motion, and I just wanted to hide. I’d lost too much to comprehend.

Why? Why would they do this? What did I do to deserve this?

I hadn’t slept, and I was long past the 24 hour mark. The past day was a blur of action and conflicting voices and unmoving masks. I’d started the day prior full of energy and conviction, ready to become what I was always meant to be. Now I was numb and broken.

I was no hero. No chosen one. Everything I did just made things worse.

Who am I?

I didn’t know.

Boots on wood broke my misery coma and I mustered the energy to wipe my tears. I knew it couldn’t really hide that I’d been crying, but what was left of my vanity demanded the action.

Finn climbed the ladder down into the room and stood there looking at me. I could hear a thousand insults preparing on his lips. I could feel the weight of his disappointment in me. I’d been his hero, and I failed him. I failed everyone. I waited for his condemnation.

Instead, he said, “You okay?” Then he winced. “Stupid question, but I don’t really know how else to say… I guess I just want to let you know that I’m here for you.”

I stared at him and tried to process.

“I know you’re probably going through a lot, but I think it can help to talk. To know that you have friends, and this isn’t the end.”

“How?” I croaked.

He sat down next to me slowly, carefully, like he was dealing with a frightened animal. Maybe he was. He said, “You’re strong, Gwyn. Not just physically, but who you are. Do you remember how we met?”

I didn’t. I shook my head.

“I was just a kid, a new orphan brought into the temple’s care. I was quiet, and better with animals than people, and the other kids saw me as an easy target. They were throwing things at me when you stepped in front of me and said that the next person to throw something would lose a tooth. So when the biggest threw an apple core, you rushed him.” He grinned at the memory.

Pieces of it were coming back to me. “Did I win?”

He laughed. “By attrition, yeah. The first time, you got a few good punches in and he decked you. But you got back up, and again, and again. They had numbers, but you refused to stay down no matter how much they fought. Eventually they just gave up and ran away instead of trying to fight any longer. When you turned around and proclaimed your victory, your nose was broken and your face was covered in blood. It was a pretty gruesome sight for a kid.”

I smiled a little. “There’s a moral to this story, isn’t there?”

“Yeah. Don’t give up. Don’t let them beat you down. It’s not over yet.”

I took in a deep breath and let it out. “Okay. Okay. I won’t give up.”

“Good. The others are waiting at the dock.”

I looked up at him sharply. “Others?”

I followed Finn to the deck of the ship and stood by the boarding ramp as he joined Gavin, Aislin, and my oldest rival. They were all dressed for travel, and armed.

I folded my arms and stared Duncan down. She held my gaze unflinchingly.

Finally I said, “Enjoying the promotion, chosen one?”

“I turned it down.”

What?

“I want to help, Gwyn. I don’t care about accolades, I just want to do what’s best for our people. And Morgan’s plan is not what’s best.”

I thought you hated me. I hated you. What else had I been wrong about?

She gestured to luggage at her feet and said, “I want to come with you, wherever you’re going. The council wouldn’t listen to you, and they’re not going to listen to me. We need to show everyone that we are necessary, and part of that is showing solidarity, not turning on each other for power.” She hesitated, then continued, “You’re the chosen one, Gwyn, not me. I stand with you.”

I finally managed to tear my gaze from her and looked to Gavin and Aislin. They each nodded silent agreement.

“Duncan… Aislin, Gavin, Finn. You know the laws.” I stared at them all with an almost reverent bewilderment.

“We know,” Duncan told me. Again, the others nodded. “Exile is a price we’re willing to pay.”

They were better people than me. Every single one of them. Could I have made a sacrifice like that if it was Duncan facing exile? If it was Finn? I didn’t know.

I let all the new information I’d just been presented with sink in. I stood there with my eyes closed and my fists clenched for maybe a minute before I opened them and said, “Okay. Welcome aboard, crew.”

Finn gave me a wide grin, and Duncan nodded at me approvingly. They all picked up their things and started marching onto the boat.

I said, “I need some time to think about our next move. Get settled in, then wait for me in the map room. The others will show you where it is, Duncan. We are not giving up on the prophecy.”

They all ducked below with their luggage, and I moved to the prow of the ship. I was alone with my thoughts again, but this time I had a purpose. My friends had restored my drive, and determination burned in my veins.

Useful. Not useful. Two types of ideas.

The council believed I was a reckless narcissist, but that was irrelevant because I had no way of showing them otherwise. Lupa had spoken in favor of me, but that alone clearly wasn’t enough, and I had no way to apply pressure on that front.

The Gate was open. That couldn’t be walked back, and it couldn’t be ignored. Maybe there wasn’t proof of a threat out there yet, but the possibility of one had just become a lot more real to the council. Again, not something I could affect at this juncture.

Morgan considered me a threat to the temple’s power on the island. He had influence over the temple’s infrastructure, and connections to influential people across the island, but with Duncan’s defection he would be vulnerable. Morgan was an arbiter, an interpreter of prophecy. Without a chosen one to back, his control over the temple was tenuous. Regaining the allegiance of the temple’s warriors could be classified a non-issue.

Prophecy. It was the key to everything. If I could prove to the council that I was the chosen one, they would have no choice but to let me save them. It wouldn’t matter what they thought of me if I showed them in irrefutable terms just how necessary my presence was. The council had the capacity for reason, despite their callous dismissal of my claims. I just needed to make them understand. I needed real proof, real evidence.

I sighed and leaned on the ship railing. I’d tried the evidence route and found nothing. I had scraps. Little fragments of nothing. Those scraps were all that was left of the empire’s literary tradition. Every fallen library I’d been to was in the same state of decay. Three centuries hadn’t been kind to the empire’s books.

A spark flickered, my pulse raced, and I had an idea.

I marched into the map room and dropped a moth-eaten diary onto the table. It landed with a thump and everyone looked at it, then at me. They were clustered around it, all facing me.

I put my hands on the table’s edges and leaned forward. “The council doesn’t believe in the prophecy, and as much as it pains me to admit, I understand why. We grew up with the prophecy, and it seems as natural to us as the council or ancestor worship. But all we have is one old scroll and a bunch of reprints. Everything else is oral tradition, stories passed down that could very well have been warped by the years.

“We need evidence. We need evidence they can hold in their hands and read with their own eyes.”

Aislin picked up the diary, weighed it, and started to flipping through pages. She frowned. “We picked this up on a salvage run. It’s better-preserved than a lot of stuff, but it’s just full of minutiae. Some noble’s travel journal.”

“A travel journal I’ve read every surviving page of. The writer wasn’t just some noble, they were a scholar, and this documents their journey to every library in the bounds of the empire. A lot’s missing, but this passage isn’t.”

I took the diary from Aislin and opened it to a specific page, then pointed at a specific line that was legible.

Gavin read it aloud. “’The palace library is even more impressive than I had expected; every single book here has been Preserved to a far stronger degree than my own paltry work on this journal.’ What do they mean by ‘Preserved’?”

I grinned. “Notice how it’s capitalized? The fallen put proper nouns on all their magic, I think. I’ve seen Sorceress before, and one instance of something called Glamour. My hypothesis is that Preservation is another kind of magic, one we’ve forgotten, and that’s why this journal weathered the years better than all the other books I’ve found in ruins.”

Duncan’s eyes lit up. “Which would make the books in the palace library even more whole.”

“Exactly. Somewhere in that library is a document that proves our case. Maybe something that references our prophecy directly, or maybe just something to show a history of prophecy. Whatever it is that could help us, it’s in that library.”

Finn asked, “So is that the plan? Sail to the capital city of the fallen empire and plunder the palace library?”

I hesitated. “Yes. Well, maybe.” I sighed. “Look, I got into this mess by acting recklessly. So before we decide on any plan, I want to hear any suggestions or objections you have. I need a second opinion before I commit to sailing to a dead city.”

They were all silent for a few minutes. Finally, Duncan asked, “Do we even know where the capital is?”

I nodded to Gavin and he pulled out a tightly bound scroll, then unbound it to reveal an incomplete sketch of islands and sea currents.

I gestured at it and said, “We’ve been working on a few maps to make scavenging easier, and this one is intended to be a map of the whole world. Every time we find a new chart in the ruins, a new reference to far-off locations, we mark it on the map, and we fill it in with more detail when we find somewhere in person.

“Admittedly, we’ve never been anywhere close to the capital, but we know the general location of it.” I pointed it to a big red X on the map. “Anything else?”

They all looked at each other and shook their heads, and I slipped the journal back in my coat.

We left the map room and started rigging the ship for travel. As the work was finishing, Duncan walked by me and put a hand on my shoulder. “We will succeed, Gwyn. The hand of fate will guide our path.”

I wasn’t so confident, not anymore. But I nodded anyways, and watched the island slowly get further away as the boat picked up speed.

We set sail, and left our home behind.

I was reckless, but I wasn’t stupid. I brought two friends from the temple with me; Gavin, a warrior; and Aislin, a healer. We were all armed, though Finn only carried a dagger and likely didn’t intend on using it.

The Gate was hidden away in a cave beneath the council’s stronghold; they probably built their precious hovel on top of it to watch over it. It only had a single guard, easily dispatched with a knock to the head. We stuffed her in a bush and crept inside.

A winding tunnel supported by pillars of alien metal led us directly to the Gate. The Gate’s chamber was timeless in an antediluvian way, something eldritch and unknowable. The metal that composed the walls, floor, and ceiling looked like tourmaline or the inside of a geode, rainbow-hued and glossy. It was shot through with channels of deep obsidian that seemed to suck in the light emitted by cubes raised out of the floor.

The Gate itself was an archway of translucent crystal. Six people could have comfortably walked through it side by side, and I imagined imperial legions – or what imperial legions might have looked like – using this Gate to journey to a dozen different worlds.

There was a raised platform in the center of the room and I stepped up onto it. I could feel the potential in the air, the weight of history, the power locked away in strange crystal and otherworldly devices. A thousand years ago, or maybe longer, the Ancients built the Gates for us to find. They were pathways between worlds, twisting trails across the cosmos.

The fallen empire had used the Gates, once. Then the Gates broke, and the empire fell. Now, the prophecy warned of our enemies using these same Gates to destroy us. The council wouldn’t listen to me, so I had to show them; I had to open the Gate within the mountain and prove once and for all that they could bring about our downfall.

The others wandered the chamber, marveling at its strangeness, though Finn kept glancing around nervously. I’d explained to them my reasoning and they’d agreed, at least enough to join me. Opening the Gate was risky, but if it furthered the prophecy then it was worth the risk. I needed to be named the island’s protector, and I needed the temple to give me undivided support as the chosen one.

A lone voice in my head dissented. I did my best to ignore that voice and focus on my task.

Aislin turned to me and asked, “So what’s the plan, boss? Got some mystical key hidden away? Got the inside scoop on how Ancient tech works?”

I shrugged. “Actually, I was thinking of just blasting it with lightning.” Then I blasted it with lightning.

Red light arced from my hands to the Gate, and crackled along the crystal archway’s length. I fed the crimson lightning with my fury at Morgan’s betrayal and let out a feral snarl.

This is my destiny. I threw all my hate and frustration at the Ancient structure and watched the lightning break apart into more and more arcs of light, until the whole Gate was covered in crackling red.

My arms started to ache, and a wave of tiredness washed over me. Using this much sorcery was putting a strain on my system, and I was out of practice. My anger started to dwindle, and other emotions came rushing in: fear, guilt, and doubt.

What was going to happen if I failed to prove myself? How could I lash out at that innocent guard? Was I strong enough to save us?

My legs grew heavy, and I wavered. It wasn’t working. The Gate wasn’t changing. Of course it wasn’t changing. Had I really thought I could succeed where the empire had failed? Had I been so arrogant to presume I could cut the knot where others had tried to untangle it?

Sweat matted my hair. My vision blurred at the edges, until all I could see was the Gate. I needed this. I wanted this. It was mine by right. The council had denied me. Morgan had denied me. Now this Gate, this hunk of glass, would deny me too?

No.

My name is Gwyn, and I am the chosen one.

I would not tolerate this final defiance. This arch of crystal would not best the hero of prophecy. I pushed with my magic, poured more effort into it, found more depth to my well of fury and channeled it all into thrusting my will at this antiquated portal.

The crystal began to glow red.

I pushed with the last of my energy and watched as all the lightning I’d summoned, all the concentrated agony energy, flowed into the Gate and lit it from the inside. The Gate was infused with my power, and it pulsed in time with my heartbeat. It was mine.

Finn, Gavin, and Aislin stared at the Gate in shock, and then a hologram materialized in front of me.

Two dozen shards of colorful rock orbited an orange-red ball of fire. The image was bright, but I could just barely see my allies through the shards and fiery orb. I tentatively waved my hand and it passed cleanly through the rocks. I touched the fire and it radiated no heat.

One of the shards looked familiar, and I frowned. No hand gesture changed the image, but if the Gate reacted to sorcery, perhaps a similar principle applied here? I took a deep breath and reached out with my will, urging the hologram to enlarge the shard I was focused on.

The image obeyed, and the other shards fell away. There was only the shard I’d focused on, and the ball of fire it was orbiting. The shard was blue, with patches of brown and gray and a single large patch of green. I willed the image to come even closer, and I began to make out more detail. I saw the edges of the world where the land fell away and the waters grew stagnant. I saw the seas and islands.

It was my world. My sea. My island.

Two strange runes appeared and started flickering, changing shape erratically. One was displayed over the mountain I was standing inside, and the other was displayed in the center of the shard over a tiny patch of gray. The mountain rune was glowing, and the distant rune was dim. I couldn’t read the runes, but the intent seemed obvious: they displayed Gate locations.

Finn whistled appreciatively. “You did it. You actually did it.”

I shook my head. “Not yet.”

I directed my will at the hologram again and returned to the view of the shards, and what I assumed to be the sun. I picked a predominantly-white shard and focused on it. The hologram showed me a shard covered in white and grey, with blotches of bright red. It was more mountainous than my home, and I didn’t see a single body of blue large enough to be a sea.

Two more runes flickered into existence, both dim. I picked one at random and willed it to activate. The rune glowed, and the hologram vanished. The Gate pulsed.

In the space within the archway, reality was torn asunder. Blinding red light coalesced into a sheer wall, and then that wall of light began to ripple with a liquid intensity. The portal shimmered, and beckoned.

The Gate was open.

Little specks of white fell through the portal and drifted gently into the chamber. The room felt a little colder, and a chill breeze brushed against my skin.

Gavin lifted his hands and caught a few specks. His eyes widened and he exclaimed, “Water! They’re like little flakes of water, but cold.”

Aislin frowned. “Is that whole world covered in frozen water? How could anything survive?”

“Maybe they live in the red areas?”

“Yeah, but what are those? They could be lakes of fire or something.”

“Or red grass.”

The two of them bickered over geology and biospheres, and I walked up to the Gate. It was magnificent. The cold was stronger the closer I moved. The wall of light was a silk curtain just waiting to be pushed aside, practically begging me to step through and into an alien world. It tempted me with visions of imperial legions and court warlocks striding through. Fallen nobility stepping onto foreign soil. This world might even have been one the empire conquered. A birthright waiting to be claimed. It sang to me with howling wind, a harsh melody becoming louder the closer I ventured.

I raised my hand to touch the light and pass through, but something in the air changed. A disturbance like someone was blocking a doorway. The portal started to ripple.

I took a few steps back and grabbed the hilt of my blade, ready to unsheath it if necessary. My allies noticed my behavior and went for their own weapons. Anticipation turned a few seconds into a silver of infinity.

Something came through.

It was a tremendous beast with ram’s horns and blue-white fur. It walked like kindred, but with a hunched back and the occasional dragged knuckle. Its eyes were baleful black dots, and it emitted a low growl as it examined each of us in turn. Its arms were thick as barrels and ended in meaty fists.

None of us moved. Aislin whispered to me, “What do we do?” from her place at my side. The two of us were standing just in front of the dais, closest to the monster. Gavin was off to the side a bit, and Finn was behind us.

I ran the odds in my head. I hadn’t expected a fight, but I’d prepared for one, and the three of us were dangerous. We could take on even numbers with ease, and we’d even won against superior forces. But a lumbering beast with curling horns?

The monster took another step closer. I threw out planning and trusted my instincts; I threw lightning.

It roared in fury as red agony surged into it, but then everything went fuzzy and when my vision cleared I was in Aislin’s arms and everything hurt. Too much magic. Too much strain.

The monster unleashed a roar of pain that dwarfed my pathetic groan. I pushed Aislin away and drew my blade, waving it front of me wildly while shouting to my allies, “Don’t worry about me, just kill this thing!”

The creature stayed back from my attacks while the others repositioned. Gavin came in beside me with spear and shield, while Aislin drew back to ready her bow. I nodded to Gavin, and we moved as a unit.

Gavin approached from the flank while I faced the creature head-on. The beast took a step back each time we took a step forward, and we steadily pushed it back. The feral look in its eyes turned wary, then trapped as it realized it was outmatched.

An arrow from Aislin bounced off one of its horns and the beast roared again. This time, the roar was weaker, afraid. I grinned and moved in for the kill.

A familiar voice shouted, “What is the meaning of this?!” from behind me. Instinctively I turned to look, and in that moment the beast lashed out. Gavin and I both went skidding across the metallic floor.

The monster dashed for the portal, evaded another of Aislin’s arrows, and vanished.

I turned on the intruders ready to furiously chastise them for costing me victory, but the accusation died in my throat when I saw the Councilors standing there.

Councilor Ibis had been the one to yell. As I stood there with gaping mouth she marched briskly over to Gavin and knelt by him, performing a cursory examination and checking his vitals.

Capra and Lupa focused on the Gate and slowly walked over to look at it, though both stayed a safe distance away. Lupa whistled.

“Impressive work, kid. How did you pull it off?”

I blinked a few times, registered the question, and managed to say, “Lightning.”

“Ah. The same lightning as you employed on an innocent guard earlier today?”

I shrank in on myself a little, which was all the answer she needed. She waved a hand dismissively.

“No lasting harm, no reason to worry. I think it’s safe to say that this discovery of yours eclipses everything else.”

Ibis rose and scoffed. “Are you still taking her side? She just opened the Gate! How can you show her even a shred of sympathy after that? She has ruined centuries of stability with a single action.”

I could barely believe what I was hearing. I moved between them and pointed off to the side at Capra. “He asked about the threat. You lot said the Gates didn’t work, so there was nothing to worry about.” I spread my arms wide at the glowing portal. “The Gate works. The threat is real. I am the chosen one. Now is the time to act.”

“You have endangered us all!”

“I-”

Ibis cut me off before I could defend myself. “Yes, endangered! Either you reactivated the Gates and gave this threat of yours the method it needed to invade, or the Gates were working the whole time and you just informed all our enemies where we are and how to get to us. This was beyond reckless.

“I thought your proposal was unneeded, but even I thought Vesta was going too far when she called you a narcissist. Now? There is no question that you are driven by a vainglorious lust for power and praise. Opening that Gate was an act of destructive, self-indulgent narcissism the likes of which our people have not seen since the days of the fallen empire.”

The councilor’s speech hung in the air, and the only sound was the humming of the Gate. Everyone was crowded around me now, looking at me. Judging me. Haunting me.

Capra broke the silence with a cough and said, “I’m afraid I agree. The temple’s ideology has engendered in Gwyneth a dangerous zealotry. My apologies, Ibis, for dismissing your concerns earlier.”

Ibis nodded graciously. “We must act decisively and show our people that glory hounds and blood knights will not be celebrated, but punished. I move we determine the girl’s fate immediately, and vote in favor of exile.”

Terror swallowed my rage. Exile? Leaving everything behind? No. No, that wasn’t possible. I-

Lupa threw up her hands and protested, “This is ludicrous! She was reckless, but if you have a problem with her ideology then we should be targeting the temple, not her. She could be useful, Capra. This was not an act of malice, and we should not throw away resources just as we learn about a threat to our world.”

Capra shook his head. “The temple shall be dealt with later. Gwyn is too dangerous, too volatile.”

“I- I’m standing right here,” I mumbled.

“I cast my vote in favor of exile.”

Lupa made a little sound of frustration and stormed off.

Ibis said, “Lupa has chosen not to vote. Gwyneth of the temple, you are now an exile. You may bring supplies necessary for survival, and a boat if one is offered to you. Anyone who seeks to join you will also be labeled an exile, and never allowed to return here. If you attempt to remain on the island, you will be removed by force. Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be, child.”

Then she was gone, and Capra was gone, and I was alone and afraid.

I was an exile.

Princess Whiskerton greeted me when I came home. I petted her a few times, then fed her some scraps of meat, to which she purred appreciatively and set about devouring. When she was done, she curled up on my lap and fell asleep.

My room is nice. The walls are all lined with shelving packed with books, and I have a few lockboxes for the more delicate and valuable works. I was sitting on my bed, which has comfortable sheets and a few beige pillows. There are a few chairs and pillow piles scattered about for when I don’t want to read on my bed. My sword was in a chest with the rest of my weapons, in the corner. I hadn’t brought it with me to the council.

I live in the temple, like most of our warriors. We eat and bathe in the temple, or sometimes in the village with other followers of the faith. We each have a purpose. We each have a place in the prophecy.

I just tortured a man.

I kept petting my cat. I’d only run so far as my horse, then mounted it and rode the rest of the way. The temple was situated close enough to the council that it only took me a few hours by horseback to get home, but most of the day was still gone. I didn’t know if Finn had tried to follow me.

They denied me.

I focused on my cat’s breathing and tried to slow mine down, but my ribcage still felt pressed in and there was a dark, angry cloud making it hard to think about anything but the miserable bastards who had taken from me the only thing that mattered.

I wanted to laugh, or cry, or shout, but I just sat there. I let myself fall back onto my bed and stared at the ceiling. It was painted with images of the chosen one that I wasn’t. It depicted legends of the hero I wasn’t. I wanted to burn the paint off the ceiling, but then my books might catch fire, and I wasn’t going to let two human rights violations occur in one day.

My books. My books had the solution.

I gently scooped Princess Whiskerton off my lap and onto the bed, then slipped over to one of the lockboxes and carefully opened it.

The books on the shelves were all in good condition. Some of them had simple covers, others had a little more color. Some were handwritten first editions, some were second or third editions with printing press lettering. They were musings on prophecy from the temple, stories dreamed up by writers in other villages, and scientific documents put together by scholars. I collected all of them and loaned them freely, on the condition that those who read my collection also contributed to it.

In the lockboxes were a more precious treasure: relics from the fallen empire. Waterlogged journals, torn scraps with barely legible handwriting, and faded illustrations. Pottery shards, moth-eaten fabrics, and rusty metal. A ravaged history of our cultural heritage, pieced together through years of trading with older families and scavenging driftwood from the sea.

When our ancestors fled the fallen empire, they didn’t take much art with them. They took tools and supplies, but very little art. The ancestor spirits rarely talked about the fallen empire, except to mourn its passing or warn of repeating its mistakes. Until earlier that day, I’d never heard of Empress Aurelius or the city of Garac. I would have to record those names when I had the free time.

All I’d ever learned was this: some hundreds of years ago, the kindred had an empire that spanned a dozen worlds, or perhaps less. They knew sorcery, and alchemy, and prospered. Then the Gates broke, and the empire collapsed, and our ancestors survived by fleeing to the island we now called home.

I knew that in the last days of the empire there was a man named Nero who tried to stop the exodus. I knew that our island was the only place on the surface of the world that still bore life. And I knew that our ancestors blamed the highborn of the empire for its ruin.

That was it. The grand sum of my research was two paragraphs. But there had to be more. I started digging.

I was looking for something, anything that mentioned prophecy, or fate. Not even our prophecy, just something that gave precedent for my temple’s faith. If I could find evidence that the fallen had heard of such prophecies, it might be enough to sway the council back in my favor. It might be enough to cast Vesta as a petty, bitter liar.

A pottery shard depicting grand sailing vessels. A play about a boy prince who drove an icy sword into his father’s heart. A list of library locations. A shipping manifest that mentioned human cargo. The pieces of a cleaved tower shield, an heirloom.

Little pieces of history and culture each with a story to tell, but nothing useful. Nothing that could secure my destiny. Nothing to promise me what I was owed.

I shut the lockbox and draped myself over it with a drawn-out sigh. It was pointless; my collection was too small and too random to have any hope of finding evidence that I was right and they were wrong. Continuing to look at the same artifacts over and over again wasn’t making me feel better, it was just turning what was left of my anger into despair.

I needed to take a walk.

I said goodbye to my cat and started walking. I didn’t have a direction, I just needed fresh air and flowing blood. I needed an escape.

I was wearing a thick cloak, and I pulled the hood up to try and hide from the others. If they started questioning me about the council, about the meeting, I would lose my last shred of composure. I fast-walked through the temple halls and out into the afternoon sunlight, raising a hand to fight the glare.

In the distance, the sea glimmered purple and gold beneath the setting sun. A few fishing boats were coming in carrying meat for trade; verdant valleys and savvy alchemists provided enough food for everyone to eat plentifully, but people always craved variety. At the end of the week, the temple’s traders would travel to market and offer up crafts and jewelry in exchange for meat, iron, and other useful goods.

I didn’t think I’d be going to market that week. I didn’t know what I was going to do ever again if I didn’t solve my problem. I turned from the sea and zeroed in on a mountain trail that would be nice and secluded. I left the temple behind and started hiking.

The island is lush and fertile, possessed of rolling hills and white sand shores. Sloping mountains dot it, and the largest of the mountains, at the western edge of the island, houses the temple on one side and the council’s stronghold on the other side, the side facing away from the sea. The mountain is riddled with caves and passages; some natural, some forged by the Ancients.

The hiking trails are good for thinking, and solitude; there are so many of them that you’ll hardly ever encounter someone else on a hike. The rich mountain air is bracing, and something about the peacefulness of it provides clarity.

I walked, and walked, and tried to sort out my thoughts. Impotent rage wasn’t useful. Pity and self-loathing weren’t useful. My outburst probably helped Vesta convince Capra to vote against me. I needed to be calm and focused to claim my rightful place as the chosen one.

Walking helped. Not much, but it helped. Between my cat, the mountain air, and the passage of time, my well of fury was finally drying up. I could still feel it pulsing in my veins and beating in my heart, but it wasn’t going to explode again. I wasn’t going to hurt anyone I didn’t mean to.

I let out a long sigh and leaned against a stocky tree. I closed my eyes and felt the setting sun warm my skin. With my anger suppressed, my sense of the world returned. Chirping birds, a graceful breezes, and footsteps.

Footsteps?

I pushed away from the tree, opened my eyes, and whirled to face the trail behind me. Morgan was standing there with his arms crossed.

I scowled. “Oh. You. Leave me alone, Morgan. I’m… meditating.”

He ignored what I said. “Finn came back. He refused to talk about how the meeting went, almost like he’s trying to protect you. What does the chosen one need protection from, Gwyn?”

Standing with his spine straighter than a monogamous couple, Morgan was only an inch shorter than me, which was more than most could say. He was easily six feet, swarthy, and built like someone who carried lots of heavy boxes. He had a close shaved head of muddy brown hair, and an even jawline. He had a likable face with plenty of smile lines, and usually carried himself with an earnest, empathetic presence, the spitting image of a benevolent cult leader.

He didn’t try to put on that act with my anymore. The chosen one would not be treated like a fresh novitiate. His expression was stern, and his set was confrontational.

I shrugged. “I think I’m a bit too dangerous to need protection from anything. He’s Finn. Maybe he’s just being finicky.” I grinned at my pun. Morgan didn’t appreciate it. I rolled my eyes and said, “Fine. The meeting didn’t go well.”

He glared at me. “I guessed that much. Details. What did you do, Gwyn?”

I screamed at him, “I didn’t do anything!”

I stood there with teeth bared, breathing heavy, hands clenched into tight fists. I let out an embattled sigh and returned to leaning against a tree. I was tired.

I shook my head and repeated, softer this time, “I didn’t do anything. It was a ghost.”

“A ghost?”

“Vesta. Ancestor, an old one, claimed she was speaking for all of them in denouncing me, and denouncing the prophecy. Said the people don’t need a warrior to protect them. Said I was a narcissist. Said all our preparation was just so we could take over the island.” My voice was drained of its conviction; I was repeating the details as if reading them off a particularly boring grocery list.

His disapproval morphed into calculation and he started pacing in front of me and muttering under his breath. I let him pace.

Finally, he looked up at me and said, “I have to name Duncan the new chosen one.”

It took a bit for that to kick in. First I stared at him, befuddled and confused, convinced I’d misheard him. Then I started looking around for the audience he was clearly making this joke for the benefit of. When that too passed, I met his eyes and said, “Fuck no.”

He sighed, threw up his hands, and turned to look at the island below. “I knew you’d be this way. You always have been. You’re more concerned with your role in the prophecy than seeing it to completion.”

I scowled at him and snapped back, “I just spent the most grueling hour of my life standing in a shitty room talking up at three masked menaces with bloated self-importance and a fascination with arguing the littlest details to the death. I did that for the prophecy. For our people. Maybe you just can’t stand my independence.”

That got his attention. He faced me, narrowed his eyes, and said, “I stood by you when others said you were too brash. I supported you as the chosen one because I respected your strength, and your heart, and thought you were the real deal. But if the council doesn’t want you, then for all our sakes I need to go with a candidate who might have a better shot at convincing them.”

“I’m stronger than Duncan. I’m faster than her, tougher than her, and smarter too. I’m a more powerful sorceress, and I have sharper reflexes. I am the superior warrior.”

“And without the council’s approval you are just one warrior. The chosen one has to be more than that. She has to be a leader, an icon to inspire the people. Duncan has always been more willing to compromise. She is a better face to our faith. This is about doing what’s best for the kindred, Gwyn.”

I laughed in his face. “No. This is about power. You’re afraid of me because you can’t control me, and now you’re taking your golden opportunity to shove me aside and put your little puppet in charge. You just can’t bear the thought of losing your precious cult, can you? Duncan will follow your agenda, and report to you, and with the chosen one in your pocket you’ll get to pretend you’re a real leader, that you have real power.

“I won’t let you, Morgan. I won’t let you destroy what I believe in just so things fit your schematic for our people. I am the chosen one. And I will find a way to prove it. I’ll make the council eat their words, I’ll put that talking corpse in her place, and when I’m done you’ll regret ever siding against me. This is my destiny. Stay out of my way.”

Morgan just shook his head slowly, said, “So be it,” and walked away.

I seethed in solitude and gave up trying to stop being angry.

I was furious. I was bitter. I was terrified, and frantic, and on the verge of despair and tears. Nothing I did worked; I nail-scraped my skin, I breathed in a dozen different ways, and I beat up a shrub that had it coming. I still felt red-hot energy coursing through my veins and scratching my skin from the inside out. I wanted to lightning something, but the birds and rodents stayed away from me and trees didn’t know how to scream.

It was all-consuming. I wanted to think, to act, to make some progress on fixing the problem, but my fury dragged me down and enveloped me.

I needed to channel it. I started running through ideas in my head, letting my anger feed into them. Violence was good at solving problems; how could it solve this one?

Fighting against Morgan would make me feel better, but it wouldn’t solve the council and would probably tear a rift in the temple’s structure. Fighting against the council would make me feel better, but it would alienate me to the whole island and weaken us for when the invaders came.

They needed me. But how could I show them that?

The mountain air wasn’t helping anymore. I took a long route to avoid Morgan and made my way back to the temple. Finn was waiting for me in the courtyard.

The first thing he did was apologize, which should tell you all you ever need to know about Finn.

He wrung his hands and said, “I’m so sorry for tipping off Morgan. I tried to just avoid it, but I think that made it worse. I told him he should give you space but he didn’t listen. Sorry.”

The courtyard was empty except for us, and the last rays of sunlight cast long shadows over clay lanterns and the painted brick ground. Stone tile roof and pine wood support beams framed the courtyard, and above us the temple stretched into the mountain and was subsumed by it. There were a few dummies and weapon racks left out from training, but everyone was off eating, sleeping, or studying.

Morgan hadn’t told them yet. Maybe Duncan, but not the others. For the moment, they were blissfully unaware that our village’s whole purpose was in jeopardy.

I shook my head at Finn and said, “No, I’m sorry. I left you to clean up my mess at the stronghold and that wasn’t fair of me. I lost my temper and forced you to deal with it.” I proffered my hand. “Bygones?”

He clasped my hand and nodded. “Bygones.”

Then we talked. The council hadn’t told him what went down, so I informed him of my extended argument with them, and about Morgan’s decision to make Duncan the chosen one instead.

“Morgan doesn’t believe I’m the chosen one. Vesta doesn’t believe the prophecy is real. The council doesn’t believe there’s a threat on the other side of the Gates. And I don’t know how to prove it to any of them.”

Finn winced. “Yeah, not a great chain of events. You sure you want to try and solve this now? Sleeping on a problem usually helps me get a better feel for it.”

I shook my head firmly. “I don’t have much time. Morgan was going to announce my success tomorrow, at dinner in front of the whole village. He’ll probably keep that time, but use it to make Duncan the chosen. I need to make my move before him.”

“I’m there for you, Gwyn, but I just don’t see what we can do. You can’t change Morgan’s mind. You probably can’t convince the ancestors without evidence you don’t have. And I don’t even know where you’d start with the council and the Gates.”

Inspiration struck like a lightning bolt from the heavens. A bit of good humor returned to me and I said, “That’s it! I know how to fix this; I know how to show everyone they need me.”

“How?” Finn stared at me with a befuddled look on his face. My grin only widened.

“I’m going to open the Gate.”

My name is Gwyneth, and I want to be the chosen one.

I practiced those words in my head as I paced back and forth in front of the doors to the council’s inner sanctum.

My name is Gwyneth, and I am destined for greatness.

Too aggressive? I like aggressive. But what if they don’t?

My name is Gwyneth, and I wish to protect the kindred from our enemies.

Subtle. I hate subtle.

I growled and glanced around for something to punch. I’d been waiting for figurative centuries in a cramped antechamber while the council deliberated over the farming dispute some random nobody was raising against some other random nobody. The anticipation was compressing my lungs into fleshy coal, and at this rate they would turn to diamond before I had a chance to present my case.

This was supposed to be my big moment. This was the moment I’d been training for since I could walk, and instead of basking in it I was pacing in a tiny stone box of a room.

Finn coughed lightly. “You okay, Gwyn?”

I whirled around to face my best friend and declared, “I. Am. Fine!”

The look on his face was not as gullible and trusting as I had hoped.

I sighed and flopped onto the nearest waiting chair. “Okay, so I’m not fine. This is my destiny, the purpose of my very existence. This is the moment that eclipses all other moments, the top of the mountain that is my life. This is the culmination of nineteen years of effort. You know the prophecy. You know what this means for me.”

He nodded. Of course he knew the prophecy; he grew up in the same cult I did.

I growled again and sank deeper into my chair. “I keep getting little stabs. Little pinpricks of something unfamiliar in my chest. Intrusive thoughts getting in the way, voices telling me that maybe I’m not the right choice.

“I think I’m feeling doubt. But I hate doubt. The chosen one isn’t supposed to doubt herself. But these little insect voices are gnawing at the inside of my skull and devouring my confidence. What if the council doesn’t think I’m strong enough? What if they think Duncan is the better choice?”

Finn shook his head. “They won’t.”

I waved a hand dismissively. “Obviously. That would be ridiculous, and it’s ridiculous to even consider them choosing her.” I frowned just thinking about it and started picking at the skin around my fingernails. “But that’s my point: this self-doubt thing is ridiculous and infuriating and I just want those doors to open so this damn anticipation can finally end.”

I let out another long, frustrated sigh and let myself sink down from the waiting chair to the floor. I stared up at the ceiling, but it was boring, so I stared at the walls, but they were boring too. Every other minute I looked around the room trying to find something new and interesting to distract me, but after twenty-seven tries I was still unsatisfied.

The council’s stronghold was carved into a mountain, and was arguably just a series of glorified caves. The antechamber to the inner sanctum had stone walls, a stone floor, and a stone ceiling; like every room in the stronghold, simplicity had been incorrectly deemed the best approach.

A few marble pillars and fur rugs attempted to provide variety, and an iron brazier gave light. In one direction, plain doors leading to the stronghold entrance. Opposite, tall doors of local pine carved extensively with images of life in the mountains.

In one carving, a huntress chased deer. In another, an alchemist mended wounds and hastened the growth of grain. There were lots of little markings here and there to represent the different villages in the mountains, but there wasn’t one for my village. It didn’t surprise me that the council had neglected to add our little hamlet. Most people liked to pretend we didn’t exist at all.

I lost interest in the door and returned to waiting.

After several more eternities, the sanctum doors opened. Two agrarian types shook hands and walked out through the exit doors, while a guard nodded for me to enter.

I took a deep breath, collected my thoughts, and strode in to the council’s inner sanctum.

The inner sanctum was much fancier than the antechamber. The room was vast and triangular, two points to either side of me and one in front. At least a dozen braziers lined the wall behind me, and there were more braziers flanking the three marble thrones sitting atop a raised dais in front of me. The ceiling was flat, but blue crystals grew down from the center of the ceiling like a diamond cocoon or a glassy stalactite. Stalagmite? Whatever it was called, it pulsed erratically with faint, cold light.

The council kept two guards on call, one by the door and one by the thrones. They didn’t call them thrones, but what else do you call elevated chairs made of a precious material? The only marble we had was all stored away in the council’s stronghold, because it wasn’t found naturally anywhere in the mountains. At least, not proper white marble.

The councilors themselves sat rigidly in their seats. Their identities were a closely-guarded secret, and when on official business they always wore their thick green robes and white masks. Each mask was shaped in the likeness of a different animal to signify their different roles. A wolf’s head on the right, an owl on the left, and a goat in the center seat.

The guard behind me closed the doors to the chamber, and everything was silent. The council seemed content to wait for me to speak first. I gathered my wits, played over my opening statement one last time in my head, and spoke.

“My name is Gwyneth, and I am the chosen one of prophecy. It is my destiny to protect the kindred from our enemies. I stand before this council that I might be recognized, and given the tools I need to keep us safe.

“Morgan believes fervently that I am the subject of the prophecy. The scholars tell me that the stars are right, and that the signs are clear. The chosen one must stand in defense of the kindred, and I must do so with your authority.”

My mouth and throat were dry, and it wasn’t from dehydration. Getting those words out was a relief, but there was more to come. Statement, interrogation, deliberation, judgment.

The councilors whispered to each other from behind their masks. Too quiet for me to make out, but paranoia kept me from being too optimistic. Panic threatened to infiltrate my veneer of confidence and I acted quickly to suffocate it.

This is my destiny. I am the chosen one. They will see the truth. This is my destiny.

The councilors stood up. Councilor Capra, the goat-masked man, posed the first question. “You claim our people must be defended, but from who? From what? No beast can challenge us, and the kindred are a united community. What threatens us that would call for defensive measures?”

This was one of the questions I’d prepared for. I cleared my throat and said, “The prophecy is very clear about this, councilor. The threat to our civilization will not come from within the bounds of our world, but from beyond it. Our enemies will open the Gates and send their legions through.”

Councilor Ibis tilted her head. The owl-masked woman said, “Your prophecy seems to believe in the impossible. The Gates are broken. Inert. If reactivation was possible, it would have happened long ago.”

“Has anyone tried?” I felt a little smug at the moment of silence my question produced.

Councilor Lupa, the wolf-masked woman, waved her hand dismissively. Her voice was the only to seem affected by wearing a mask, coming out gravelly and warped where the others sounded smooth and clear. “The Gate is irrelevant. Outsiders or no, our world is harsh and there are still dangers. We’ve survived this long by being cautious and preparing for situations deemed unlikely. The question is, what do you offer? We have huntresses and huntsmen, night watchers and attendants. Why should you be treated any differently from them?”

“The prophecy-”

“No.” Councilor Lupa cut me off and shook her head. “Not all of this council thinks your cult’s religion has merit. Explain your value as a protector in material terms, or say nothing.”

I suppressed a growl. Somehow, her calling us a cult seemed worse than me calling us a cult. Most of my arguments related to the prophecy. I was the chosen one, and she wanted me to just ignore that? I took a deep breath and let it out as I restructured the argument in my head. It was difficult to excise mention of the prophecy entirely, but I could change the context of those references.

I said, “Councilor, regardless of your beliefs about the prophecy itself, you must understand that I wasn’t chosen randomly. I am the strongest and fastest warrior at the temple. I am the most determined. The fiercest. I know the most about sorcery, and I have the most adept grasp of its use.” The attendants in the room stiffened at the mention of sorcery. Outside the temple, it was only known through suspicion and fear. “I have been training all my life to lead our people against terrible foes, and I have led other warriors of the temple in combat exercises and scouting missions. None of your guards have that kind of experience.”

She nodded. “A fair assessment. I withdraw myself from further interrogation.” Councilor Lupa sat down, becoming just as stone-still as she had been when I entered.

That was a good sign. Hopefully.

Councilor Ibis put forth my next question. “Appointing a protector suggests there is a need for protection. Heightened militancy will breed fear in the general populace, unnecessary fear if no threat is lurking in the shadows. How do you justify creating that atmosphere? Are you willing to escalate the use of force for the sake of a prophesied threat that might not come to pass?”

Her question threw me. It was an angle I hadn’t considered at all. I hesitated for a moment, but I had to find a counterargument; I was not going to let my destiny slip away from me now.

The councilor noticed my hesitation and pressed the point. “Have you truly considered the consequences of the action you are proposing? Our communities are happy and peaceful. You intend to prepare them for a war that may never come. Do you understand the scars that will leave on our culture? Would you sacrifice the contentment of your neighbors at the altar of your vanity?”

“They’re my people too!” I cried out. “I’m not doing this for my ego, I’m doing this because it’s what I am meant to do. I am the chosen one, which means I have a responsibility to protect us all. If that protection casts a shadow, so be it. I’d rather people be a little more afraid than see them butchered by outsiders. Survival is worth a bit of stress.”

Councilor Ibis made a disapproving “Hmm,” and folded her arms, but inclined her head and said, “Very well. Suppose this threat is real. You spoke of authority in your statement, and leadership in your response to Councilor Lupa. Who would you lead? The mountains hold not the infrastructure to support an army, nor is there a surplus of bodies to form one. Would you recall huntresses and herdsmen to serve, or draft a militia on short notice? Consider the potential disruption to daily life from training time alone.”

My frustration started to ebb a little; this was another question I had a ready answer for. “The temple has an ample supply of warriors ready to serve the kindred. We have the armaments and stores, we have conviction for the cause, and our scholars have devised a schedule for establishing outposts and defenses.”

I stepped forward and made an earnest plea to her. “All I need is your word, and we can start the process of preparing every village for what’s coming. With your authority the temple can begin securing the Gates, setting traps, and building barricades. I can win this fight, but I need your support or the people won’t let us help them.”

She gave no sign of her thoughts. “I withdraw myself from further interrogation.” She sat, and then only Councilor Capra faced me.

I was feeling a little better now. Lupa had accepted my arguments, Ibis seemed open to them if not particularly impressed, and Capra’s first question had been easy to deal with. My destiny was within reach.

The councilor asked, “What evidence exists in favor of the prophecy’s validity?”

I recoiled. “What?!”

He repeated himself and I cut him off halfway through. “I heard you the first time. What do you mean, ‘what evidence’? My entire village believes in the prophecy. It has guided our every action. The prophecy is ancient. How can you question that?”

“How ancient is the prophecy?”

I stood there trying to think of an answer, but I couldn’t. I didn’t know. I’d never thought about it. I started opening and closing my mouth to try and encourage words to come out, but he raised a hand and I stopped.

“Please, Gwyneth, do not mistake my questioning for hostility. I have been to your temple and found it comforting. I have seen your warriors and found them fierce. I do not doubt your faith. I simply find it curious that there are no other sources to corroborate the prophecy’s claims. Perhaps I am misinformed. Let me ask you: have there been any other prophecies or visions in the past few decades?”

I slowly shook my head.

“In all the time since the Gates broke, has there been any activity documented at the cavern Gate?”

I shook my head again.

He spread his hands. “You see why, though I enjoy your village’s culture, I must maintain reasonable doubt at the words of the prophecy. You maintain a personal library, yes? I have heard it is the greatest collection of writing in all the mountains.”

I nodded hesitantly. Greatest might be overselling it, but it was sizable.

“In all the writing you have collected from our time and the time of the fallen empire, is there anything to support the prophecy?”

I found my tongue and started babbling. “Yes! No. Maybe. I… I can’t think of anything specific but there has to be something there. I have hundreds of books. At least a few thousand, and lots of miscellaneous works. I know there’s something in there from outside the temple’s body of work that agrees with the prophecy. There has to be.”

He nodded. “I hope so. I withdraw myself from further interrogation. We shall think on your words amongst ourselves.” He sat, and the council returned to whispering.

My head hurt. I felt exhausted, like I’d run up a three-kilometer cliff. All my practice and pacing hadn’t prepared me for trying to argue about philosophy and practicality with three people who did that every day as their job. I felt like I’d done a good job of representing myself, but it just seemed inadequate compared to all the counterarguments they’d drafted after only a few minutes of thinking over my proposal.

I wanted to go home to my library, curl up with my cat, and read something light and fluffy. I wanted to just not have to talk to anyone for at least a few hours. Instead, I dug my nails into my palms and waited for the council to make their decision.

After a few anxious minutes they stood up again. Time stood still.

Councilor Lupa said, “I vote in favor of Gwyneth’s appointment as protector of the kindred.”

Councilor Ibis said, “I vote against Gwyneth’s appointment as protector of the kindred.”

Councilor Capra opened his mouth to speak, and then the crystal growing out of the ceiling unleashed a surge of light that blinded everyone in the chamber.

When my vision came back to me, a ghost was standing in the middle of the room.

She was ethereal, the space behind her just barely visible through her pale skin. She wore a golden sash over a voluminous white dress, and everything about her outfit seemed subtly antiquated. The ghost had a worn face, and steady eyes. She looked wary.

The ghost woman shook her head at me, then turned to the council and said, “The ancestor spirits have taken notice of this court and have concerns. It is our collected belief that Gywneth and her cultists should not be handed power, and their prophecy should not be respected in this hall. She is not of sound mind, and they are not of sound belief.”

Her voice shook with power, and I stood stiff as the shock washed over me.

The ancestor spirits are the ghosts of the dead, our dearly departed relatives. All ancestor spirits, weak or strong, coherent or mad, take their rest in the crystal Ossuary on the ceiling of the council chamber. They whisper to the council in private, and impart wisdom when asked. But an ancestor spirit only ever appears in person once in a lifetime.

And one had just denounced my faith, my destiny, and me personally. I got angry.

I walked straight through the ghost and whirled around to face her, pointing my finger in her face. “Who are you to make that call? I didn’t hear the council ask for your input, dead woman.”

She glared at me coldly and said, “I am Vesta, oldest of the ancestors. I brought our people from the fallen empire and saved the kindred. I built this council, and I have advised it for centuries. You are a brash, headstrong youth with an arrogant streak just shy of becoming narcissism. Step aside and let the adults talk.”

I wanted to punch the stupid dead woman in her stupid dead face. “You sound like every decrepit, blind bag of bones envious of the next generation. I will not let you take my destiny from me.”

“Gwyneth.” Lupa called my name with enough emphasis to make me turn and look at her, but it wasn’t sharp enough to be a reprimand. “We will hear her case. Do not sabotage yourself by giving her ammunition.”

I dug my nails even harder into my palms, and this time I drew blood. It was enough to give me a bit of clarity, and I reluctantly stepped aside.

Vesta nodded to the council and stepped forward. “My esteemed successors, you know that I only appear when the subject is of grave importance. The ancestors have spoken amongst ourselves, and we do not make this decision lightly. Gwyneth cannot become the kindred’s protector. Her cult cannot become the kindred’s army.

“We have traveled these paths before. It was pride then, and prophecy now. These precautions against violence lead only to an escalation of violence. There is no room for militarization in our culture. Make no mistake; handing such power to the temple would only be the beginning.”

Furious denials and heated accusations tried to claw their way up my throat, but I just barely kept myself under control and fumed in silence.

The councilors looked at each other and hesitated for a few moments, but they didn’t converse. Lupa was the first to grow a spine.

“The girl is strong and devout. I don’t care about the temple’s prophecy, but they would do a great service to our people. I think they’re genuine about wanting to help, and I think Gwyn would make a good protector.”

Vesta shook her head. “There is no need for a protector. There is no prophecy, no threat, no conflict but that which she would bring in blind pursuit of power. The kindred have survived by setting aside the trappings of war. We cannot return to the old ways. We cannot tolerate a new empire.”

I lost my temper again and snapped, “I don’t want an empire, I just want to protect my people!”

The ghost shot back, “So said Aurelius at the Sack of Garac, three months before she donned a crown. Power corrupts.”

I had feelings, but I didn’t have words. There was this burning red ball of hate and fury growing larger and larger, and I didn’t know how to express it. Every word out of her stupid dead mouth fed the fire. She was wrong, but I didn’t know how to prove it, didn’t know how to tell everyone. My tongue was useless. My vocal chords were useless. I was useless.

Vesta returned her attention to the council and said, “You have heard the advice of your ancestors. Please, heed it. Her prophecy is nonsense, her temple is militant, and her temper is dangerous. Do not let her ruin what we have built.”

Then she was gone, and my hands were still clenched fists.

Capra looked down at his feet for a long moment, and then he raised his head and said, “It is with regret that I vote against Gwyneth’s appointment as protector of the kindred.”

It was over. I lost.

I threw open the doors and stormed out of the council chamber before they could say anything else, and I marched right past Finn without a word.

How dare they? How dare they deny me my birthright? How dare they take the word of a ghost over mine?

“Gwyn!” Finn chased after me, calling my name. I kept ignoring him; my strides were longer than his, and he wasn’t the type to run in a place like this.

I picked up speed as I stomped through the long entry hall of the council’s ridiculous little cave. My hatred built with every step, and everything around me blurred into vague shapes and colors: brown below me, slate to either side, and little spots of orange. The ostentatious double-doors leading out of the stronghold were the only thing in focus, my singular objective.

The council’s precious attempt at a door guard turned to look at me as I approached. I shoved him aside and threw open the doors. The hot summer wind greeted me and carried the scent of sea salt.

“Hey!” The absolute idiot of a guard grabbed my arm and I whirled on him with a withering glare.

I got up in his face and growled. “Don’t get in my way.”

He curled his lip with unbearable smugness. “I take it the meeting didn’t go well?”

I lost the last of my restraint and took a few steps back.

I reached inside myself, felt that burning core of anger, and shoved it out of my hands as sorcerous lightning.

The guard screamed as crackling red light arced across his body. He sank to his knees and I poured more of my anger into the magic. All of my hatred and fury went surging into the insolent whelp who had dared mock me, transforming into a miles-deep well of pain and suffering that tore into his nerves and brain. I pushed it further, wanting to see him collapse from the pain, wanting to see him suffer like I had suffered, wanting everyone to know my pain. A twisted, toothy smile etched itself across my face.

Finn shook my shoulders and shouted, “Gwyn! Enough, stop!”

The lightning flickered and died, and I stood there numb. All of the anger started to drain out of me, and I stared at the man lying on the ground with a heaving chest and an exhausted, scared look in his eyes. I didn’t know his name.

Finn knelt by the guard and started inspecting him for damages. I waved my hand and mumbled, “He’s… sorcery can’t injure, it just hurts. A lot.”

I didn’t feel good. There was a pit in my stomach, my adrenaline rush had turned to sickly withdrawal, and I just wanted to run and hide and not have to think about what had just happened.

What have I… no, what have they done?

I choked out, “I’m sorry,” and then I started running.

“Gwyn!”

I slowed down long enough to look back at Finn and say, “I just… I need some time to think.” Then I was running again, and gone.