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.”