Iztris spoke about what he remembered of Letrela more easily now; he was leading them, so every now and then he would actually glance back with a little smile. There were also things that Iztris didn’t say much of or otherwise ignored—aside from a few off-handed mentions, the current state of Letrela was one of those. Alyson and Jacob both listened, with the former making sure that her brother didn’t upset anyone; Iztris said that he hadn’t come to Letrela since the other servant declared their war against mankind, and Alyson didn’t want to ruin the trip. It was a little bit of a distraction, but it was one that they needed.

Iztris guided them to a little village, and the group stayed the night there. Well, Iztris told them to find a place to stay, at least—he said that they would go to a specific place when it was later in the afternoon. He helped in the negotiation with a few innkeepers before one let them stay, and he even entertained small talkwith one of the other patrons—it was vaguely related to the gods, but it was still small talk.

Alyson and Jacob stayed in separate rooms until Iztris came to get them after the sun went down. “There shouldn’t be as much people now,” Iztris said after they started following him. “We can start going back to Cheryn tomorrow morning, but for today I would like to visit someplace.”

Iztris took them outside of the village and into the forest outside of it. There was a very faint path—mostly dirt, but looked like someone tried to put stones in it without much luck—running through the forest, which Iztris followed to a certain point before straying a bit. He stopped at a clearing, and gestured to the area.

“My body was buried here,” Iztris explained simply. “A majority of my family rests around here as well; at least in my time, actually marking a grave was uncommon.” He looked towards the clearing, continuing with a bit more…wistful tone. “Out of all of the ways to die, fire was actually the most common in Letrela. We fought often, but there were beliefs against killing anyone in battle. For the victim, it meant you were weak enough to fall to an enemy; for the killer, it was an offense so great that the punishment wasn’t even hell—it was not existing after death at all.”

“I think our politics teacher mentioned that once,” Jacob mused. “One of her rants including a long list of beliefs she didn’t agree with.”

“I cannot say much about life and death,” Iztris admitted, “But it was a belief shared by almost everyone in Letrela at the time. That’s why, in most conflicts Letrela fought in, the lands were more often set ablaze than the people stabbed to death; if someone gets caught in the fire, they’re not technically dying in a battle, no matter who set it.” With a kind of grim chuckle, he added, “Choking to death was a slightly less honorable way to die, but it was still preferred over, say, bleeding out or being a perfectly healthy person killed by sickness.”

Alyson glanced at the clearing for a moment, noting, “I can’t even say that Cheryn has any kind of superstitions about killing—we tend to avoid it as a people group entirely.” She looked back at Iztris. “Does this whole thing—the other servant killing everyone—bother you because of Letrela’s beliefs?”

Iztris shook his head. “I’m far removed from my mortal life; there’s precious few things I believed then that I still consider to be true. No deed is truly more wrong than another—they’re all equally terrible or good. Telling a lie has the same weight as murder to higher beings’ eyes. There’s nothing you can do from preventing an eternity, whether that eternity be peaceful or torturous.” He sighed and continued. “Still, I told you once that mortal beings—or beings with remnants of mortality—have no place to destroy something entirely, if they have any means to at all. Ultimately, Elsyn will realize that as well.”

They all fell into silence for a little bit before Iztris gave another chuckle, not entirely happy nor grim. Jacob perked up and asked, “Thought of something funny?”

“I was only reminded of something,” Iztris said quietly, gradually smiling. “My youngest brother was ten years my junior—similar to how your brother is about a decade younger than Alyson. My family kept a record of most of the deceased family members, ranging from little anecdotes to complete stories. My brother liked giving us all nicknames—and if I remember correctly, my little story had my nickname instead of actually saying my true name.”

“What was your name while you were a mortal?” Jacob asked curiously.

“Matali,” Iztris replied after a short pause. “Letrelans didn’t use last names until recently, so it was just Matali. Nicknames ranged from the mostly respectable ‘Mat’ to my littlest brother’s favorite, ‘Matty.’”

Alyson smiled while Jacob chuckled. “I think Matty suits you,” Alyson teased. “It’s the finest form of deceit—you scowl too much to be worthy of it.”

Iztris laughed a little. “Nothing strikes fear into someone like a sixteen-year-old boy whose the same height as a woman named ‘Matty.’ No, thank you—I would still like to keep some semblance of respect.”

“I’d almost call you that just to annoy you,” Jacob said, still smiling.

“I can’t say much for mercy if you do,” Iztris replied, using actual, genuine humor to follow the threat.

Jacob laughed again, and they all fell into a bit of silence again. Glancing at the clearing again before looking back at the heirs, Iztris said, “I shouldn’t keep you two up. All I wanted to do was visit the graves, so ahead and rest; as I said earlier, we can return to Cheryn tomorrow.”

Both of them nodded, and Alyson led the way back to the inn; Iztris stayed behind for a few moments before tailing after the heirs and eventually breaking off again when they got to the village.