I woke up in an infirmary bed. It was nice, and comfortable, and I fell back asleep in seconds. I woke up again, later, and saw two people in masks arguing. I drifted, and saw dozens of scenes like that play. Three people in masks, a woman wearing gloves that kept inspecting me, and two women that argued with the three masks.

It was hard to pay attention to any of it. I was on a ship, but the ship was a bed, and the waves were just nausea passing through me. My head felt swaddled in iron wool. I had a warning to deliver, but it was hard enough just breathing and opening my eyes.

The gloved woman was standing next to my bed, looking at something, when I managed my first word: “Water.” The next thing I remember there was a glass at my lips, and slowly I drank. My throat thanked me for it, and I struggled out verbal thanks to my benefactor.

She nodded and helped me sit up. “You really shouldn’t be moving. We don’t know how severe your ailment is. I’m Agata, by the way. I’m the Council’s medic.” Council. I knew them. I…

“What… what happened to me?”

Agata picked up a journal and skimmed it as she spoke. “You used the portal, presumably. Vesta has been talking with us about it. Where were you, for the weeks you were gone?”

“I… I was in the city. The empire.” I coughed heavily and Agata handed me the glass again. This time I drank under my own volition. “There were ghosts. Ghosts everywhere.”

“That matches Vesta’s prediction. There was an affliction in the days of the empire that would strike people when they used the Gates. Apparently it was more common in people who interacted with ghosts a lot, or overexerted their magic.”

“I… I think I did both.” I cracked a weak smile.

“Well, the good news is that physically you’re fine, just tired. Your body is recovering from the strain of passing through the portal after your adventures out there. In another day you should be fine.”

My eyes widened. “Another day? How long have I been sick?”

“Two and a half days have passed since you stepped through the Gate.”

I tore at my bed cover and tried to get up. “I need to see the Council. I need to see them now. Too much wasted time, too much-”

Agata rushed to my side and grabbed my hands. “You need to rest. I will tell the Council that you’re awake, okay? I’m sure they’ll want to talk, just stay here and don’t exhaust yourself.”

Panic and urgency surged in my adrenaline-filled veins, but I forced down my newfound energy and settled. “Okay. Just- just hurry.”

She did. Only a minute or two passed before the Council came filing into the infirmary. Capra, Ibis, Lupa. The ghost that Gwyn hated, Vesta, was with them.

They had questions. Lots.

“Where is Gwyneth?”

“What happened to you?”

“Why did you follow her into exile?”

I coughed again, drank, and Agata glared at them. They relented from their assault and let me speak.

“I… I didn’t want to be the chosen one, so I helped Gwyn. We went to the old capital looking for something that might prove she was chosen. Waters of prophecy. Instead, we found dangerous ghosts, a mad emperor, and a dark spirit that corrupted Gwyn.”

Vesta peered at me intently. “Dark spirit?”

“Caligula. She had magic that let her eat ghosts. She wanted to teach that magic to Gwyn, and Gwyn agreed. She… Gwyn didn’t care about being the chosen one anymore. She just wanted power.” My voice cracked. “She’s going to kill us all. Gwyn is a monster and she wants to kill us all.”

Capra shook his head. “Gwyneth may be a bit brash, perhaps even as monstrous as you say, but what can one girl accomplish? If she tries to fight us, our guards will deal with her.”

Vesta came to my aid. “No, you don’t understand Caligula. The grand warlock was so powerful that it took dozens of soldiers and mages to put her down. They could barely contain her, even in death, and yet she never completed her rituals. If Gwyneth can succeed where Caligula failed, she would be… she wouldn’t be kindred anymore. She’d be something far worse, and far more than any of your people can handle.”

Silence reigned. I drained my glass. Sitting up was hard, so I relaxed into my bed. Well, relax might be inaccurate. How could I relax with the threat of Gwyn looming over us all?

Ibis broke the silence. “We must convene. Gather the chantry. When the girl is well she shall tell us all the full story of her little adventure. Then we can decide what to do about the exile.”

The four of them swept from the room without a second glance at me, and I was alone with Agata.

I asked her, “How much longer will I have to stay here?”

“Not long. You’re healing quickly. I’d prefer you to rest at least a week, but I suspect the Council will want to act as soon as tomorrow. We’ll get you on your feet by then.”

I let out a sigh of anxious relief.

“In the meanwhile, you have some friends who’d like to see you. They’ve been waiting since they heard the news.”

I glanced up curiously, but Agata just left the room. Then, seconds later, Mal and Sam rushed in.

“You’re okay!” Sam sighed happily and gave me a squeeze.

“Of course she’s okay. She’s not frail.” Mal gave me a questioning look. “You are okay though, right?”

I laughed, which only caused mild discomfort. “Yes, I’m okay. Physically, I mean. I’m not okay about… everything else. The city. The ghosts. Gwyn. I should have listened to you.”

Sam gave Mal a look. Mal made an awkward face and glanced away. “It’s fine,” she said. “I should have tried harder to get you away from the chantry. But you’re here now, which is what matters.”

Sam nodded. “We’re glad you’re safe. When you vanished with Gwyn it sent shockwaves. Two chosen gone in one day.”

I laughed bitterly, which turned into a cough. “Chosen. I’m not sure I believe in that anymore. Look at how we turned out: a runaway, a monster, and a failure. Whatever the waters showed the founder, they were wrong. It’s going to take more than a hero of destiny to get us out of this one.”

Another look passed between them. Mal shook her head. “I… I have things to say, on that. But it should wait until everyone’s in one place. No sense telling the story twice, and it isn’t entirely my story to tell. But… I am sorry. Even I underestimated Gwyn. Opening the Gate took guts, I’ll give her that. Same to you, Duncan. Nice work.”

I grinned. “It was, wasn’t it? I didn’t even have lightning like she did, I had to swing my sword at the air and hope. I guess passing out and losing a day is a small price to pay for getting out of there when I did.”

“Yeah.” Mal smiled, then looked away again. “What do you think she’s up to, right now?”

“Hopefully still training. She picked up glamour absurdly fast, but consumption was supposed to be the hardest of the three.”

Mal tilted her head. “Glamour?”

I chuckled again. “We learned about the old world. There were three schools of magic, and we only ever learned the cheapest. Glamour is… well, glamour is basically illusions and emotion reading, and on some level emotion manipulation. Gwyn was scary good at it, I never picked it up. It requires utter focus, cold detachment. I couldn’t manage it.”

Mal tapped her chin. “Wonder if I could do it. Maybe you can teach me something, eh?”

“Maybe.”

Talk turned to home. Mal and Sam filled me in as best they could.

When I left with Gwyn and Finn, the chantry erupted. Every chosen was gone, Morgan’s authority had been undermined, and news of the Gate opening infected every conversation. There was talk about going through the Gate, but nobody could open it again and Mal had no intention of helping them. The Council decided to post a stronger guard and just hope it stayed closed.

A lot of people worried about me, but nobody was willing to follow into the water, especially since they had no idea where we went. Things slowly settled in most of the island, but the chantry only got worse. The people who respected Gwyn’s strength and the people who thought I should have won both had reason to be angry, and Morgan was a shell of himself. He tried to avoid them as much as possible.

There was a short-lived coup, an attempt by some Gwyn loyalists to take over the chantry and declare a search for the chosen one, but the Council intervened. Morgan got his position back and some measure of authority, but a lot of chantry folk defected, leaving for the villages they’d served in. The chantry looked like a husk now, a dying monument to the past.

I should have been more upset about that, but I couldn’t be. Not after the city. Not after seeing the prophecy unravel.

I was tired, and I said as much. Mal and Sam stayed by my side, and I drifted off.