The dawn came and went without much fanfare. The atmosphere in the air was...odd. Egan and Zach were vibing, as always, but Selara was strangely (well, not strangely, he had to admit) aloof, Pevarin even more so. Egan sensed it as well, the two boys sharing a look of mutual understanding. Zach made an effort to be more aware, scanning the horizon, though the sky was clear and calm as always. Surprisingly, they returned to the main road, and it was strange to see others besides the three he had been traveling with for weeks. He bid his fellow journeyman greetings, and some stopped to chat idly, the party members gathering information as they went.

They had finally reached their destination, the country of Glorena, home to one of the Emperor’s foremost generals, Lucinder, the Flame-Shear. Egan had filled him in on the lore of Lucinder over the course of their journey in bits and pieces, Selara adding in the occasional correction. Glorena was a large state, unsurprising as it was one of the Empire’s seats of power. The presence of the Goldskins was significant here, owing to the activity of the Final Breath in the region. The travelers they chatted with spoke of death and destruction towards the capital, Empsyrean, with fighting scattered around the country. Some seemed shaken and glad to be heading in the opposite direction, but others still spoke with quiet satisfaction. These people were happy that the land was war-ridden?

He said as much to Egan, who nodded in agreement, “Most of us are just glad that something’s finally happening. What’s the point of living under an oppressive hand?”

“I just thought that maybe there would be those that disagreed. A different side,” Zach said, frowning.

“I think the ones you’re looking for probably aren’t the ones running away,” he responded wryly.

He had to agree, but it was strange to think about. He had never really been around war or any real strife. His family had been upper-middle class—safety was never a concern for him. The amount of fighting he had been involved with had been almost fun, kind of like just playing a game, sans the part where he had actually died. Even then, that was just his plot armor. He honestly never really believed he was in any danger, and it was extremely hard to relate to these people. It was strange to think that his experience in life could be so different from theirs.

“Aren’t you guys worried about, like, Goldskins?” he asked the group as the sun began to set, their destination in sight as they slowed their horses to a walk. It had been strange that they hadn’t encountered any at all, even stranger still that they were openly showing themselves to so many people. Couldn’t some of them be spies or traitors to the cause? How could they not be worried about them running off to report to the Goldskins?

Pevarin shook his head, “The Final Breath draws their attention inwards. They can ill afford to expand their efforts around the perimeter, and it would be a tactical blunder for them to do so.”

“How’s that?” Zach asked, surprised that Pevarin was even speaking to him for once. “They have the overwhelming advantage in forces, don’t they? Can’t they just call in more troops from other areas and pincer the resistance? How are you all even still fighting, actually?” Now that he thought about it, it really didn’t make much sense that they could even sustain the rebellion. How could they maintain supply lines? Maneuver throughout the land without being caught? Keeping an army fed and paid was a good eighty percent of the battle, and trying to engage in a war of attrition again a literal Empire wasn’t the brightest strategy.

“They could. At any time,” said Selara bitterly. “That’s the thing. The Emperor does not take us seriously. He is aware, just as well as we are, that if he wished he could bear the full might of the United Empire upon us. We are allowed to run about, playing at being liberators, playing at being freedom fighters-”

“Selara, you call what we are doing playing? That’s what Jineth was to you? Gup? Veron?” said Egan, harsh in tone, angry, even.

“You know it’s true. That’s why we need you, Zach, and we need you to discover your strength quickly. If the Emperor realizes the threat you truly pose...” she said, the implication hanging like a guillotine in the air.

He thought of the resources that the Empire must have at its disposal. It had only taken those two magi to level an entire town, and a small company of Goldskins to accompany them. Then there were those Shadowstalkers that had ambushed him and Pevarin at the Gate. He shuddered to think at what more they could produce if their ire was fully drawn to him.

“Enough,” said Pevarin, “We are close. There is a contact I must speak to within town. After, we will rejoin the main force and begin training the Etelendi. Worrying yourselves about what may or may not happen is pointless.”

With that, the conversation was killed in its cradle, and they rode into town in silence. He just could not figure Pevarin out. The man could not seriously believe that he, Zach, was capable of the atrocities that this Emperor had committed, right? He’d done nothing to deserve this kind of treatment. Where was the kind elf that greeted him that first night? When Zach figured out how to master whatever power he was supposed to discover, he’d still be him, for better or worse. Well, there was that one old adage about power corrupting, but he doubted that would happen to him. He was too self-aware to let that happen.

The town was still somewhat active despite the hour, the locals lounging about and chattering, eyeing them up and down before returning to their business. Some studied them a bit longer than he would have liked, but none of the others seemed to mind much. Was this really wise? He understood that there was little chance of the Goldskins diverting attention, but Lucinder had seemed pretty intent on capturing him. If he caught wind that they were there, Zach imagined he’d risk anything to take him captive, or worse.

They slowed their horses to a stop at Pevarin’s command outside a small yellow building, the paint faded and scratched in spots. It appeared to be a house from what Zach could tell, a small garden could be seen lying beyond it, a small fence enclosing the flowers and vegetables. A small golden dog, a breed he was unfamiliar with but looked like some sort of Shih Tzu investigated them with a few inquisitive sniffs. Pevarin dismounted, the others following suit, but he held up a hand.

“No. This one does not favor visitors. It was a struggle to convince him to meet face-to-face. Remain here, for now, I shall conduct my affairs with haste.” said Pevarin, cold as ever, Selara obviously displeased. He went inside, Egan muttering, “Affairs” mockingly.

“He’s an elf, man. That’s just how they talk.”

“No cap,” said Egan, nodding his head. Zach almost shed a tear. Perhaps there was hope in the world.

“So, you guys know who this contact is?” asked Zach, looking between them. Selara shrugged, as did Egan.

“Pevarin isn’t the type to share much,” Selara said, arms folded, “And we simply must trust him sometimes. He’s led the Final Breath for decades, and lived longer than all of us combined five times over.”

Egan and Zach shared a look. She certainly didn’t seem to believe what she was saying, but he supposed she had to rationalize it to herself somehow. Pevarin being her pseudo-father figure didn't help things any. She noticed, a shadow washing over her face, and the boys grabbed hold of each other, quivering in fear as she bore down upon them. Pevarin was watching them, the door ajar as he looked back at them. The elf wore his customary frown, mouth moving indiscernibly as his eyes settled in particular on Zach. The elf motioned for him to draw closer, and he hesitated, face folding about in questioning. The other two seemed just as confused as he.

He walked forward a touch reproachfully, coming into whoever stood behind the door’s line of sight. A small rat of a man stood there, one eye seemingly larger than the other, or perhaps it was the way the man leered forward at him, his right shoulder almost jutting out of his body. He wore a small stained white frock, armpit hair poking out inquisitively at the fresh air. Zach stood resolute, though he wanted to lean as far away from the foul-smelling man as possible.

“It is he,” the man said in a strong clear voice. Zach did a double take, feeling as if Mike Tyson had just slapped him across the face. “The touch of the Sly One is thick upon him. Bring him past the threshold, quickly!” the rat-man said, and Zach looked at Pevarin briefly, the elf merely nodding and motioning to go in. Weren’t rat-looking men supposed to have high-pitched, raspy voices? He sounded closer to Saruman than Smeagol. And Sly One? Did this man know who it was that had summoned him here, that had named him champion?

The inside was exactly as he expected, thankfully, though why he would wish for those expectations to be true he didn’t know. Scrolls and furniture littered the ground, garbage frolicking in the home. He tried to pretend he didn’t see the insects skittering across the floor around him, Pevarin deftly maneuvering around them with light steps.

“You are bold indeed to seek my aid in this hour, Pevarin, Forsaken of Kwinelyn.” Zach resisted the urge to ad-lib "Bars" behind that statement, and the urge was powerful indeed. “Does the boy know of my nature? The others?”

“No, beast,” the Forsaken of Kwinelyn replied coldly, “I have kept your secret. My word is my bond.”

The rat-man grinned wide, “Strange indeed—an elf that keeps his word and a traveler not of this world. I cannot be certain which is the most bizarre,” he barked a harsh laugh in a deep baritone. “Well, then, Pevarin the Forgotten, what you seek can be given. Remove all your weapons from your person and swear the words.”

“You wyrm,” the elf growled, “you expect me to walk defenseless into the heart of the enemy?”

Zach’s mind was racing. He had called the man-beast. The rat-man had a deep voice. Heart of the enemy? His knowledge also seemed expansive, far more than a normal man his age should. He looked at the rat-man, the imprint of his grin still stained upon his face. He had called him a worm. Could he mean...wyrm? Like a dragon? Sparks flew in his brain as his neurons fired at light speed, the answer appearing in his head, and he seized it with both hands.

You.

He said in his mind, but not aloud. How could he escape from this situation? Pevarin was a traitor. Or even worse, he had some sort of idea to try and hoodwink Lucinder. He wasn’t faster than a seasoned veteran and a literal dragon, even if the dragon did look more like a rat than a Valstrax at the moment. His only option was to scream for help, but that could lead to the dragon transforming and fighting them within the town. He also had no idea if they were even capable of battling the creature, judging off the fight with the Shadowstalker. Fighting here would also likely endanger everyone in the town. Was that something he could endure upon his conscience?

The consternation he felt must have shown through the mask he tried to maintain, for Pevarin and the rat-man watched him quietly, the air laden with tension.

“Careful, boy,” said the dragon warningly. “You may be the Hero, but you are not ready to do battle. You would be wise-”

“To stand down? Recant my foolish bravado?” he asked nervously, the butterflies battering his rib-cage, anxiety and fear bursting within his capillaries, mingling with a sense of...readiness. Eagerness. “I’ve heard that spiel probably millions of times. From your kind and others and I never backed down then. I won’t back down now.”

Let’s see who the fuck I am.

He couldn’t worry about what might happen to the others. He couldn’t worry about who he might hurt. If he couldn’t help himself, he couldn’t help anyone else. Twenty-three years of living for others, of believing he wasn’t worth the effort. Twenty-three years of selfishness that deserved to be free. It sizzled and pounded and frothed and quaked and exploded and cavorted within him, quivering and convulsing, and he closed his eyes. There was...something, there. Something besides the anxiety, the doubt, the fear, the hesitation. He reached for it tentatively, then grit his teeth and jumped towards it in his mind’s eye, strangling it. Whatever it was, it was his.

It disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared, and he frowned, then understood. Trust. That’s what it was about, eh? He didn’t know what would happen, but he envisioned an explosion. An explosion, and a barrier for himself. Zach looked at his feet, a mischievous grin adorning his face.

This world was in big trouble. They just gave a former mage main magic.

Egan stood outside the decrepit building, flipping his knife in the air, his horse thoroughly unimpressed. Selara stared at the house helplessly, obviously wishing she was inside. He smiled sadly. He missed that feeling, and Bessie. Maybe she was thinking of him too if she was alive.

“Worried about him?” he asked casually, not pausing his knife-practice.

Selara shook her head, “What he decides is right for us is best. He’s experienced beyond what we could comprehend. I just wish I knew what was happening in there.”

“I wasn’t talking about the elf, Selara,” he said. A small jet of flame singed his finger right as the knife handle came into contact with his hand, and it slid along his palm, slicing it open as he dropped it, sucking his teeth as he shook his hand. He put his hand to his mouth and sucked on the blood, eyeing Selara in irritation. Her face was bright red, and he took satisfaction in that, at least. He laughed, “I was talking about the contact. Who did you think I was speaking of?”

Another few streams of fire came his way, and this time he ducked and scurried out of the way, the flames causing him to sweat. “Egan Valinor, you are a-a,” she sputtered, her eyes flaring dangerously, “a shallow, conniving, foolish buffoon of a man!”

“Selara,” he said with a sigh, “if you’re going to take that long to insult me, you could try to come up with something better than that.” Something shifted in the air, something they both could feel, and Selara’s attention had already been diverted to the house, and she started for the door, then something else changed. Like the silence that arrests the heart between the flash of lightning and the rumbling of thunder, it hung over them, but Selara broke free of its grip first, blasting a torrent of fire behind her as she soared towards Egan. He snapped out of the trance, rushing towards her. She tackled him in a tight grip and kept going, and the horses reared up on their legs and began running away, but they would be far too late. A few children stood staring at them, other townsfolk yelling in alarm, and even fewer turned to the house, ignoring the commotion as their instincts warned them of the impending danger.

“Get down!” he screamed with Selara, the children looking at them in terror as the barrier went up around them.

She tried to shush them, to no avail, and a part of him, the part that could still feel something for moments like these, looked at the children sadly. They were about to become future rebels. Just as he had. When would it all end? The cynical side told him never. No matter if they defeated the emperor or not, this would always happen. When the explosion came, so powerful that the ground heaved and roiled, his vision consumed in a multi-colored flash, he was grateful that it deafened the cries of the screaming children.

They reminded him too much of himself.