The veil that was obscuring Ezekian's eyes rose, and he beheld a vision that took his breath away.
Before him lay a nightmare landscape. The earth was blackened and cracked, as if some gigantic fire had seared all life from its surface. There wasn't a blade of grass in sight, but only the bony fingers of dead trees stretching towards a smoky sky. The bodies of one hundred and ninety-nine human beings lay on the ground in grotesque rest, their limbs contorted at unnatural angles, their faces set in final moments of terror.
Amidst all this devastation stood Selentia, unscathed by the savagery that lay around her. Her boots were lightly rested on the charred earth, the edge of her cloak lightly flowing in the foul air. At her feet lay one corpse that was in slightly less decrepit condition than the rest - a bitter irony of preservation amongst the ruins.
Her expression bore no sign of regret or satisfaction, but only a disgusting blankness. When she breathed a sigh, it contained more weariness than a century's worth of life. Her eyes, which once shone with emotion when they looked at Ezekian, now regarded him with the chilliness of a frozen lake.
"Young Duke."
The words caught up with him hardly before Ezekian was moving, his feet pounding across the devastated earth in mechanical rhythm. He bounded over bodies that scattered across the ground, his breathing in hard, blinding gasps that tasted of ash and death. By the time he had found her, his hands clamped on her shoulders with frantic strength.
"You're not hurt?" The words escaped before he could stop himself. His hands trembled against her clothes, his palms greasy with sweat. He searched her for any bruise, any sign of injury, and found none.
"I'm fine." She elbowed him away with fluid strength, her movements economical and impersonal. Space between them was like an ocean.
Ezekian retreated, the cold in her eyes like a punch. Where there had been flame and passion - longing, anger, sorrow - now there was nothing. As if he himself had turned into nothing more than part of the empty landscape, unnoticeable.
The tightness in his chest had nothing to do with the bitter reek of fire that clung to the air.
"Selentia, you—"
"The Prince and the BloodHounds battled," she interrupted, her tone as dry as the parched earth beneath her feet. "Naeson Regals escaped." Her boot shoved the less whole body. "And this is all that's left of Xavier Alexus Aelric's impersonator."
Ezekian's throat constricted as he knelt next to the corpse. His fingers detected no pulse in the chilled flesh, only the awful silence of death. Looking up, he saw Selentia regarding him with a face that was impassive.
"I went to Nocteim and came back with nothing," she went on, rubbing her temple with agonizingly slow, deliberate movements. "Only to blunder into this. revelation."
"Revelation?" Ezekian stood, his boots creaking on parched ground. "What secrets are there worth this?"
Selentia's lips curled in something too bitter to be a smile. "Secrets you'd do well not to know, Young Duke." Her eyes blazed with warning, with challenge. Ask, and pay the price.
Ezekian's gaze swept the devastation - the bodies, the blackened earth, the joke of a prince at their feet. His left hand shook at his side, fingers drumming an uneven rhythm against his leg. The weight of decision pressed upon him like the heaviest armor.
He was the son of Nordwyn. All choices had consequences that reached further than himself. And in the icy stare of Selentia, he glimpsed something massive and terrible beyond his understanding.
"If you are too afraid to know the truth," Selentia cut through his reverie, "then return to Nordwyn. Abandon Pyrexia and never again set foot in it."
She heaved the corpse of the dead imposter with ghastly facility, dumping it over her shoulder and grunting. The head hung loosely off the body of the corpse, eyes open and vacant.
"Selentia, you can't—"
"How many times must I tell you?" Her voice cut with icy chill. "We are not close enough for that familiarity."
The words hit with the force of a blow. Ezekian's lips worked mutely for a moment, and then he grunted out, "Not near enough."
"Do as you want," she continued, controlling her ghastly burden. "But if you value life, position, your beloved Nordwyn - turn back now."
Her eyes when they met his were bottomless, colder than the deepest reaches of the northern wastes. "Go back to Nordwyn. And never come back to Pyrexia."
The silence that followed was only interrupted by the creaking of dead trees and the distant scream of carrion birds flying overhead. Ezekian's breathing was brief and harsh, each breath reeking of death and fire.
Selentia's words undressed him - his fear, his uncertainty, his demented urge to hold onto what was his regardless of the price. She went through him as easily as if he was crystal.
And worse than all of that? She wasn't wrong.
"You believe so little of me?" The words tumbled out before he could bite them back, his voice shattering like brittle tinder.
Selentia did not blink. "You've done nothing to lead me to suppose otherwise."
It struck her, like a body blow. Ezekian's eyes pricked for an instant, his head spinning as if struck. Perspiration beaded on his brow, tracing icy rivulets down his temples.
She was right. He had always followed the road of safety, the prudent path. Nordwyn's shield, never its sword. He wrapped himself in responsibility and duty, using them as tools of excuses to avoid true risk, true sacrifice.
The revelation descended upon him like a pall. The wind churned the ashes of the dead into ethereal spirals dancing upon the devastated ground around them.
Selentia turned to leave, her steps measured and formal. The corpse hanging over her shoulder bounced with every step, a macabre parody of life.
"Tell me."
The words stopped her. Ezekian's voice was cold but hard now, all doubt stripped away.
"Tell me the secret you discovered."
Selentia's shoulders had braced almost unbarrably. When she turned to him, the ghost of a smile flickered about her lips. The space between them was charged with something unspoken, strained as the moment before the storm breaks.
The dead trees groaned around them in the wind, the branches snapping like bones. The bitter stench of burned flesh hung over all things, heavy enough to be savored.
"The Imperial Family," Selentia breathed, her voice cold and low, "are the focal point of the Demonic Cult."
Ezekian's sword dropped from nerveless fingers, thudding dully on the hard ground. The world spun around him, the sky piling down on him like a weight.
It was worse than he had believed. Much worse.
Her eyes never wavering from his, she continued, "The First Prince has been imprisoned in the castle. They're turning him into Belhier's vessel."
Ezekian's dry lips. His family's oldest duty echoed within him - Locate the heart of the Demonic Cult. Stop Belhier's rebirth. Nordwyns had attempted to discover this for centuries, and now it was on his shoulders, here in this god-damned wasteland.
"A ship." he struggled, the words scraping his throat raw. "Belhier's ship can't be anyone."
Selentia nodded once, hard and crisp. "From what I heard between the Prince and Naeson, there's more. The Prince's mother was a golden dragon. The Emperor had her murdered after his birth."
The ground beneath Ezekian's feet seemed to shudder. His vision blurred as the pieces clicked together - the Emperor's mastery of fire magic, the legendary strength of the golden dragons, the perfect vessel for the return of a demon god.
His stomach churned. They were outgunned and outmanned in every conceivable aspect.
"We need to warn the Elders," he said, the words tumbling out in a rush. "If it's the Imperial Family, we can't possibly—"
"Engage them directly?" Selentia finished for him. "No. Not yet."
That single word - yet - sent shivers down Ezekian's spine. There was something in Selentia's eyes now that had not been there before, something dark and evil.
"I'm not going to fight them in the way you're thinking," she continued, readjusting the corpse's weight. "Not like you think."
Ezekian observed her face, attempting to interpret some glimmer of her plan. The Selentia he saw before him was unfamiliar, tougher and colder than the woman he had known. Yet there was something more there too - a determination, a purpose that seethed beneath the cold.
"Is your name 'Young Duke'?" she burst out, taking a step forward. The stench of smoke and blood clung to her, blending with the faint smell of herbs he remembered from happier days. "Tell me the truth. Do you have the guts to stand up against the Demonic Cult?"
The question hung between them, heavy as an executioner's sword.
Ezekian didn't flinch. "It's my clan's sacred duty."
Selentia's lips curled into something like approval. "Good. Then from now, you'll obey me. We'll finish Nordwyn's forgotten quest together."
There was a fierce little spark burning in Ezekian's heart - half fear, half excitement. He'd spent all his life as the cautious heir, but here, now, with Selentia's unshakeable determination standing before him, he felt something deep inside him start to wake up to life.
"You're planning something," he breathed. "Something massive."
Selentia didn't argue. "The question is whether you're prepared to risk everything to bring it about."
The wind increased, howling through the skeletons of trees like a chorus of lost souls. Ash danced in the air, clinging to Ezekian's hair, his clothes. A distant crow screamed out, its voice piercing and jeering.
Ezekian looked up at the sky - blue and bright compared to the devastation below, the sun burning with hardhearted unconcern.
"If it will kill the Demonic Cult," he said, his voice hard now, "I'll walk through the depths of hell."
Selentia's reply smile was jagged. "I never play games I might lose."
As Ezekian met her gaze, something resolved within him. The path ahead of him would be one of darkness, the cost unknowable. But there in that valley of the dead, with Selentia's cold conviction anchoring him, he knew one thing with absolute and certain knowledge:
She could change the world.
And for the first time in his life, Ezekian was ready to burn with it.