Out of the shaded city walls, Thermopos Mountain, far to the north, became visible. Soon they’d be too close to spot the fire at its top—the ramparts of frost-tipped snow, thirty thousand feet in the air, would obscure all with perspective. Yet from this far off the volcano and the perpetual snowstorm over it were easy enough to spot: snowing, burning, steaming, and melting at the peak. That was the Hepaz’s source. All that runoff from all that snow that never ceased to fall, melted by a fire that never ceased to burn.

It had been a familiar sight of Rook’s childhood. At the time he’d grown utterly accustomed to how magnificent it was from the river’s water. Visitors might remark on the view, reminding him to take a look, and so he would; for a brief moment he’d be forced to agree that it was quite special after all, but then as ever it faded to the background.

This time he noticed. He couldn’t look away. It was an almost-satisfactory distraction from the aroma of fish.

The current grew swifter upstream, which slowed the going. That gave Rook and Astera time to discuss their plans. Not much more than a week later they arrived at Ichthyopolis: the last Kathar settlement on the river, nestled against Thermopos’ feet. Ancient ruins crowded the shrubs there like seashells on a shoreline. Collapsed black obelisks and stray stone carcasses. The people built around them, and where they could they scavenged Old Kingdom stone for their own purposes.

Despite its name the town was less notable for its fishing these days than its shipping from Kem-Karwene. For those brave enough to cross the Great Divide on land, there was no quicker route to human markets than this port.

Standing there in the shadow of the mountain, sailors bustling by, feeling like he’d just stepped into a sea of people, Rook wondered how he ever had any faith he would be able to find one woman in so huge a land.

“Best not to waste any time,” he said. “From here-on—ask everyone you meet if you’ve seen her. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

They did just that for the rest of the day. The expected answer came each time, except for one. An old man hung a fish from a hook at a market stall. “Think I’d remember a girl like that,” he said. “But a feller did come through here after askin’ that name, I think it was. Eris you said? That was it. Unusual, maybe it’s the same one, eh?”

“Do you know where he went?”

“Couldn’t say for certain, but he was dressed for winter; was going up to Nanos methinks. Sure as rain he walked right down that road out of town.” The old man pointed at one of the town’s several streets.

“Tell me about the man.”

The old man considered. “Not so old. Nice, fine clothes, heavy as they were. A sword and all that. Some jewelry which I found distasteful for a man without a retinue, too gawdy. Oh! And he had a hauberk on, he did. Must have been not three weeks past, I’d say.”

Rook frowned. “Thanks,” he said.

“Don’t mention it, son.”

Later, Astera asked, “We already intended to proceed north. What good has this intelligence gathering done us?”

“None except that we now know someone else is looking for Eris,” Rook replied. “Someone well-armed and armored.”

“No doubt one of many enemies she has made.”

“Good evidence she’s alive all the same. We make for the Great Divide.”

This was the northernmost province of the land of Koilados. Mountains coated in snow sprawled off in every direction, but for the time being the terrain was fertile and easy to navigate. Rolling, grassy plains with a well-maintained road. Chill air, but not no frost in the way. The trees here were orange. The sky blue. Although not without its share of scars, Koilados was a relatively unblemished land, natural, prosperous, and much as it was millennia earlier. From that fact the Kathar people took their name: they were Katharoi, or the pure ones, those humans whose lineages were not corrupted by mana, who were not made chimeras. Kathars had no scales, grew no tails, had hair only where humans were supposed to have hair. They were nothing except human. The same could not be said for the rest of the peoples of Esenia—even those who looked mostly human at first glance.

When they made camp on a hill that first night, Rook saw another Spire. Its tip stuck out from behind a low mountain. The jagged metal cylindrical top stared back at him with malice.

As if the ruins everywhere might let them forget. The home of the Kathars might have been pure, but it was still part of the crumbled Old Kingdom.

Each mile grew chillier. Astera kept him and herself both well-fed with hunting. A few villages passed them by—yet no one knew further news of their quarry.

They saw the Wall of Nanos before the Divide. The Wall was the single largest strip of Oldwall left in all the world, except perhaps Seneria itself. From Thermopos’ lower mountains off toward Mount Karwene, the way between Nanos and Koilados was divided neatly by towering masonry. Two enormous watchtowers stood on either of its sides, one by each mountain range, and the western was what Rook first spotted. Unlike the Spires these towers were made of stone, were square, and matched the walls themselves naturally. Quite like the Spires they were unbelievably tall. It said much about the scale of the Oldwalls that even when contrasted against the two tallest peaks in all the world they still held their own.

Soon the walls were obstructed as they drew nearer. The terrain turned rocky and harsh. Koilados Pass to the northern province was notorious for its merciless bandits who hid in caves and abandoned mines, as well as the hordes of strange creatures which could be found within each crag. Night came early, for to the west Thermopos caught the sun well before it set and cast the pass in shadow.

Astera was a terrible burden. Rook hated her, as much as he had the capacity to hate anyone. When he looked in her eyes he saw only foolishness, selfishness, and stupidity. He could think only of Aletheia. But she had her uses, and above all was her ability to navigate evil land like this as deftly as Rook might navigate a rug across a room.

“Wait,” she said, and so Rook waited. They ducked into cover by a boulder. There they sat for nearly an hour, Pyraz panting in boredom.

He grew impatient. “What is it?” he said.

She waved him to be silent. Another five minutes passed. Then, from the top of a nearby hill, behind a gnarled tree, a creature emerged.

A reptile that walked upright. Its jaw was enormous. Though it used two legs, it moved at a strange angle, and off its torso hung two stubby arms. It must have been twenty feet tall.

The reptile’s neck extended into the air. It sniffed, and Astera pulled Rook down deeper into cover.

He no longer felt so impatient.

When the reptile finally walked off some time later, footsteps booming with distant echoes, he turned to her. “How did you know it was coming?”

“I heard it,” she replied.

“From how many miles off?”

“Four. One should always be cautious in lands such as these when a large animal is heard on the approach. It moves away from us now; let us go.”

Elves. What Rook would’ve given to be born an elf.

In winter only fools and the desperate traversed Nanos. The road was deserted, even as they came to the Great Divide.

Some great things were rare, described only in books. Some were mythological, known only in stories. Others were anecdotal—fantastic, mentioned form a single perspective, no doubt marred in misremembrance, never seen or heard of except from that one source. And some great things were neither rare, nor mythological, nor anecdotal, but quite common. These things were seen often, described often, known by all. On every map. Universal in understanding.

The Great Divide was one such thing. Everyone knew someone who had seen it. Everyone knew what it was, where it was. And yet, as Rook stared into the abyss, he realized it was no less spectacular for being known. No description ever could have lived up to the sight in person.

A canyon cleaved Nanos from Koilados. On the Koilad side from which they approached, the land appeared as a sudden plateau: the road led straight to a precipice. Up until that point nothing was remarkable. No changes to the trees, nor the pattern of the hills.

Then there came a drop.

The canyon must have stretched twenty miles across. Carved mountains of rock jutted out from the chasm like islands in a sea of air, creating a chain that led to the opposite side. That side was raised significantly higher than that of the Koilad—from where he stood now Rook only saw the canyon’s opposite edge, jagged like a wound made by a rusted razorblade at the far horizon, rising up over his head. The islands raised in elevation more gradually, so they might be scaled one at a time to cross the chasm, if only one could bridge the distance.

Shelves of stone led down into darkness between it all. Even in day, the bottom was an infinity away. No river. Nothing but midnight. Only an abyss.

There were dozens of islands, left and right and up and down. Some formed long barriers; others were small dots of land atop the darkness. Such was the pattern that stretched the entirety of the chasm.

Rook knew there was no way around. The Divide stretched from one mountain range to the next. The only way over was directly across.

Over the centuries the Dwarves had built bridges between many of the islands, chaining them together to connect one side of the divided continent to the next. So it was Rook saw the path ahead. A series of colossal stone structures that, from a distance, looked like bandages holding the Earth itself together. Or perhaps staples in newly-slashed skin.

The bridges looked sturdy. They were tall, guarded on the sides, ancient. But it was a very long way across.

He and Astera both stared in amazement at the view.

“I see why many dwarves prefer the long way around through Rytus now,” Rook said.

She nodded. “They say the abyss is bottomless. Those who fall are cursed to fall forever, until time itself ends. There is no escape.”

“How would ‘they’ know, if no one escapes to tell the story?” Rook said.

“The same could be said of many fates that await us in these lands. I prefer not to dwell on them. The stories are good enough for me.”

“One terrible fate is bad as the next,” he agreed. It didn’t much matter if those who fell down the Great Divide fell forever, were splattered on some far-below pool of lava, or were transported to the aether to be eaten alive by demons; to him, each was good as death, and death was death. “The story gets the point across, at least.”

Crossing the bridges took two full days. They might have gone faster, but daylight was short and even the eagle-eyed Astera had not the courage to skirt along the edge of a bottomless chasm in darkness. In that time they passed no one—and it wasn’t until they reached the penultimate island, until they had almost reached the level of the Nanos plateau, that they realized why.

The bridge was out.

The stone pathway had collapsed. The support beams on either side still stood, like thin rails connecting one island to the next, as did a reinforcement along its top, but there was nowhere to walk: the bridge part of the bridge remained largely absent.

Astera sighed. Yet without any discussion she approached the bridge, and like some kind of primate she scaled up the sides, onto the support beams, and began to climb squirrel-like across the chasm.

It was a thousand feet at least.

“What are you doing?” Rook shouted.

She stopped, pulling herself toward the top of the ruined bridge. “We have no other choice.”

“I’m not a rodent, I can’t scale such a distance upside down.”

Astera gave a glance at the distance, considering. “Have you tried?”

“Many times,” he said, “and I’ve never stopped falling.”

She considered. “I can catch you with my Essence if you fall. The distance is too great to levitate us both all the way, but you should be safe near me.”

Rook knew someone else who had been told just the same thing by Astera in the past. But what other choice was there? Every day was another funeral in Arqa. They couldn’t go back now.

He remembered another bridge, across another chasm. Eris had levitated him to safety when a rope had snapped. Could Astera do the same?

“What about Pyraz?”

“Put him in your backpack!”

He supposed he was curious about the stories of the chasm’s infinity anyway. So he considered the bridge, examined it more closely, and he leaned down.

“Okay, boy. Be very still.”

He put Pyraz in his backpack. He wasn’t a large dog and he was out of supplies, so he did fit—even if the balance was precarious. But he followed the command well. He didn’t move at all, except to dig his claws into Rook to stabilize himself.

Some of the walkway on their side of the bridge did still remain, and he followed it until it narrowed too much to be used. Then he climbed onto the side supports. He tried, like Astera, to scale them the whole way, but it was far too much work. Instead he climbed all the way to the top of the bridge, where he could feel the stone swaying in the wind, and he found his balance on the top beam. From there he caught a glimpse of what happened to the bridge: around where the walkway was fractured, the stone beneath was charred black. Something had exploded near its center. The path had been damaged while all the rest of the bridge remained intact. Most likely an error in the handling of Manastone, Rook thought, or perhaps something more malicious.

It didn’t matter now. He stared out ahead.

The notable, terrible thing about the bridges between these islands was that they were not level, because the islands themselves were not level. So each was either up or down—mostly up, on the way to Nanos—the whole way. That wasn’t so noticeable on the bridge proper. Yet when on a support beam, walking on a wire from one end to the next…it was hard not to notice the steep uphill bent.

He crawled, keeping himself steady with his hands, the entire way, with a dog's snout on his shoulder.

By the time he reached the end he was so exhausted that Astera thought him injured, and she helped him down using a spell of levitation. That was appreciated.

Pyraz slipped out of his backpack, barking.

“There’s only one bridge left,” she said. “Come.”

Rook never much minded heights, before or after that trek across the bridge, but he did consider in the days to come that at least a spider could be stabbed to death. An endless chasm—that was far more challenging to overcome.

Up close the Wall of Nanos looked like any other section of the Oldwall, except that it was perfectly preserved. It was an utterly impenetrable defense of a height beyond any reason. An army of giants couldn’t attempt to breach through something so enormous. It ran to the horizon west and east.

“Why did they build their defenses so tall?” Rook wondered aloud. “What were they afraid of?”

“Perhaps they had other purposes,” Astera said.

“Or perhaps being tall was the purpose,” Rook said.

For the entire stretch of the Wall there was not a single breech or way through. No gates or doors. The only avenue for passage was a hollowed out checkpoint used by the Dwarves, to collect taxes as travelers came and went. That was easy enough to find from the main road away from the Divide. A perfectly square window had been carved into the Oldwalls, big enough for a wagon and horses, and a few defenses littered the area. The whole place seemed mostly abandoned, yet as they passed through the checkpoint they saw dimly glowing blue lights, and a dwarf with a sword at his hip stirred in surprise to see anyone come.

“Due to an unfortunate accident last month, I’m afraid the way to Koilados is closed for the rest of the winter, until our repair teams can—wait on a minute! Yer coming in from Koilados, huh?”

Rook glanced backward. “Yes.”

“How’d ye cross the bridge?”

“We climbed,” Astera said.

The dwarf burst into laughter. “Climbed! Ye elves can do anything! All right, it’s five drachmae to pass on through. Each, including the dog.”

Rook glanced to Astera. They had a dozen copper coins left and nothing else. “We can’t afford five at the moment.”

“Then I’m sorry, but I can’t let ye pass.”

“We have come an extremely far way…” Astera started.

“The rules are written, it’s the law. Nothin’ to be done about it.”

The Oldwalls were enormously thick, thick enough for a dozen men to walk abreast, and seemed hollow: the Dwarves had blocked off the entrances in each direction, so that their checkpoint had no access to the interior of the walls themselves.

He thought of something and decided he had no other choice.

“We’re on our way to meet with someone very important. A magician named Eris. Have you heard of her?”

“A magician? Can’t say I have.”

“She has yellow eyes. Brown hair. Looks like Thermopos ice. Shows skin. Are you certain you don’t know her?”

He thought on it. “Can’t say I do.”

“Well,” Rook said, “she’s very important in Pyrthos. A very rich woman. Once we return with her, we could afford to pay well over the suggested fee. Including a donation for the one tasked with the taxing of entrants into the Dwarven realms. Like, fifty silver coins per head?”

The dwarf squinted. “Fifty silver per head?”

“I’m sure she would be able to afford more, if you think it’s fair. Only we need to retrieve her at once.”

“Yes,” Astera butted in, “we’ll be able to pay you later. But you have to let us through now.”

Rook clenched his eyes and sighed. He thought he had conveyed that point so elegantly so far. It seemed the dwarf was no creature of elegance, however, for he nodded. “Ye pay on credit, eh?”

“Precisely,” Rook said. “We will be back, I promise. We have important business in Koilados in spring.”

The dwarf considered. “All right. I’ll take down ye names and write down what ye owe. Fifty silver per head!”

Rook nodded with a smile on his face. “Precisely. I’m Rook of Korakos. This is Astera of the…Elflands. You will get what you’re owed.”

“I trust I will.”

Rook decided to be certain before they left. “And you know you haven’t seen or heard of this Eris before? You’ve never seen a human magician of this description?”

“There was a magician feller who passed by here some time ago, maybe two weeks. It’s hard to tell on ye humans sometimes, but that was a man, not a girl. We haven’t had many come through, understand, since the bridge went out.”

“So why are you on duty?” Astera said.

“Someone has to tell the poor fools what’s up ahead! And if they want to go through anyway and try their best—they still got to pay!”

The dwarf had a logbook beneath his hands. A huge tome.

“Would you be able to tell us the name of this magician, by chance?” Rook said.

“Oh, of course. Let’s see…” He opened the tome with a thud. “Looks like…that’s Lukon of Pyrthos. Oh, I remember now. Blond feller, like yourself. Had a sword and everything. Said he was on his way to Swep-Nos. Funny place to go, not much to see there.”

Rook nodded. “Thank you,” he said. And thus they entered Nanos.

The Wall was like a dam for snow. Nanos was a tundra in deep winter. On the other side, they were immediately blinded by whiteness, and the farther they proceeded down the mostly-covered road, the deeper the snow got.

“We know she hasn’t left the principality this way,” Rook said.

“If the dwarf’s memory can be trusted,” Astera. “Dwarves are much like humans. Their memories often deceive them.”

“Dwarves are nothing like humans. They’re much harrier. Regardless, you might doubt his memory, but don't doubt his book.”

They were getting closer. Rook felt it. Their only lead was Swep-Nos, so that way he would go. He’d never visited the place from the east, but he knew it well from his adventures last year.

It was a long way through the snow. An elf made the journey much easier. She could sustain fire on wet kindling, clear away frost, bound across banks deep enough to swallow Rook whole, and hunt as easily as in spring. He had only the vaguest notion of how far it was, but with low funds they only stayed in towns and villages rarely, when they sold skins for profit. Too much time spent on fundraising was a distraction from their true purpose.

So they walked. Mostly in silence. Mostly in solitude, with the exception of the rare parade of Rangers or desperate travelers, and every step of the way Rook prayed he would get lucky and find Eris hidden behind a nearby tree.

No luck so far. Yet their luck hadn’t run out yet.

One night, at camp, a horse approached through the snow. Astera heard it far-off. “A single rider,” she said. “He comes our way.”

A few hundred feet from their camp—having seen their fire—he dismounted, and he walked toward them, waving through the darkness in a hail of friendship. Rook had been reading from the same book of poetry he carried everywhere, and he put it down and rose at the sight.

“Well met,” he said.

The rider nodded. He wore thick furs and a cloak with its hood up, but even in the darkness Rook saw the sword at his side. “Well met,” he said. “Might I join you at the fire tonight?”

“Of course,” Rook said. Such encounters were common enough on the road.

The man did as he asked. He was in his thirties and had blond hair. He warmed his hands against the flame. “You have some courage to travel in this season,” he said.

“We’re looking for a friend. It can’t wait.”

“A dwarf?”

“A human. We have reason to think we may find her at Swep-Nos,” Astera said.

“You won’t find much at Swep-Nos,” the man said slowly. “This last week they suffered a terrible fire. Much of the town is in ruins. Many dead.”

Rook felt his cheeks drain of blood. “What happened?”

“They didn’t say. I didn’t linger.”

“…what brings you here?”

He looked in Rook’s direction, and that was when he saw the rider had red eyes. “Business.”

Rook nodded. They all warmed in silence by the far for a long time, until Rook felt the compulsion to speak. “My name is Rook. This is Astera.”

“Lukon,” the rider said, and everyone fell silent. A smile spread across his lips. “Do you know me?”

Rook considered his words. “Perhaps. We’ve heard your name on our travels. We may be searching for the same thing.”

“This friend of ours,” Astera said. “Her name is Eris. She is a magician. Have you encountered her?”

Lukon shifted. “She is a friend of yours,” he repeated.

“We’ve come a long way looking for her,” Rook said. “She’s a very attractive young woman. Brown hair. Golden eyes. You could hardly miss her.”

“Yes,” Lukon said. His face twitched as he spoke. “I believe I have seen her. I have also heard that a woman of that description, by that name, is a dangerous criminal, wanted for the crimes of Plundering Old Kingdom artifacts and impersonating a Magister, in addition to kidnapping an apprentice and several counts of homicide.”

Rook didn’t bother to look surprised. “I had no idea.”

“If you came so far looking for her, you would do well to turn back at once,” Lukon said.

“That will not happen,” Astera said. “Where did you see her?”

“At Swep-Nos.”

“I thought you didn’t linger there,” Rook said.

Lukon’s smile broadened. Then, in a flash of steel, all three shot upright, and all three drew their weapons.

“The Lioness has a sense of humor,” Lukon said, “to bring us all together so.” He looked between the two of them. Now, in better light, with his stand open, Rook caught a glimpse of the Tower’s sigil on his tabard. “I am a Seeker of the Magisters. Do not interfere with my investigation, or you will share in the fate of this Eris and her accomplice.”

“Where is she?”

“Lay down your arms at once!”

“There’s no need for violence,” Rook said, “but we must find her. Tell us where she is.”

“I will not, and you will die if that blade comes an inch nearer to me,” Lukon said.

“You are outnumbered,” Astera said.

“Enough!” he said. He raised his sword, and even Rook could tell from his expression that he was casting a spell. Astera bounded toward him; he parried her slash from her dagger, but wasn’t fast enough to deflect the strike from Rook. It was a clean thrust—

That deflected, the blade pushed aside by a magnetic force. Rook brought his sword around for another slash and cut at the man’s torso, but the same occurred, the edge sent off and deflected on its own. A word escaped Lukon’s lips, but a shower of frost overcame him from Astera’s outstretched arm, and whatever spell it was he had prepared escaped in a burst of fire from his fingertips in an accidental discharge. Astera was overcome by flame.

Rook dropped his sword into the snow. If a blade wouldn’t work, so be it. He tackled the Seeker to the ground. Pyraz followed with him, grabbing hold of a leg and biting it viciously, tugging and tearing it back and forth like a squirrel in his jaws.

Neither of those attacks were deflected.

Rook punched Lukon hard, and Lukon responded by putting both his hands on Rook’s torso. Fire channeled into his chest from both palms. Enough to burn a hole through bare skin and set his jacket ablaze—

But as the fabric of Rook’s jacket flaked away from the heat, the chainmail weaved within revealed itself. Rook screamed as it was superheated, burning the flesh behind, but he wasn’t seriously injured, and he used the chance to punch the Seeker again, and again. In a brief moment when Lukon was stunned, Rook saw the jade ward around his wrist, and he tugged it off, tossing it into the snow. Another punch. Lukon pulled a dagger from his belt and slashed Rook across the bicep, but his armor protected him. He wrestled for control of the blade, and managed to get its point pushed through the mail on his shoulder. Not deep, but a wound, but with a blast of energy Lukon expelled the point from his skin and sent the dagger flying off into the woods. Rook punched the Seeker another time and he grunted in pain; then Rook scrambled backward an inch to grab his sword. When he returned—

The Seeker vanished.

Nearby Astera channeled her Essence to heal. She was badly burned, but the wounds closed before his eyes.

“Where is he?” Rook snapped. He looked all around, but Lukon was nowhere to be seen. There were no tracks in the snow. “Where did he go?”

She took a long moment to come to her senses. Then she glanced around. “An emergency teleportation. A magic item, perhaps.” She coughed smoke out of her lungs.

“Bastard!” Rook shouted into the night sky. “Come back here!”

Yet all the night was calm. No Lukon. No sign of anyone. Except…

His horse. His horse was still there, tied to a nearby tree. It kicked and tugged, frightened by the fight, but it hadn’t yet had the chance to flee—

And the horse was laden with saddlebags. Rook grabbed the jade ward from the snow and went straight to it.

They took the bags and let the horse go, then set up another camp some ways off into the woods. Every flap and container was sealed by magic, but not enough to resist being sliced open by a blade. Rook spent an hour cracking each compartment. He found a supply of golden coins, a refined Manastone gem, clothing, a whetstone, and most interesting of all, a small wooden box locked tight.

The mechanism required an input of mana, then a code to be entered. Instead Astera spent the night freezing the lid entirely shut with magic. Come dawn she smashed it open with the pommel of her dagger.

Inside rested a row of glass vials. Room for seven, there were only three. One filled with a golden liquid, one red, and one green.

Rook pulled the golden vial out. Within its contents a drop of blood was freely suspended, so that it balanced toward the middle, shifting only slightly toward one side or another when tilted.

“Manaserum,” Astera said. “We used such a device to track Aletheia in Chionos.”

Rook remembered. “What’s the blood for?”

She shrugged. “Perhaps to focus the concoction. To attune it to merely one magician, instead of any whose Essence is tainted by it.”

He raised the golden vial to the air, a vial just like the one he remembered holding last year. He pointed it at Astera. It did nothing. No light, no shaking. Then he held it in the air, sweeping it around their camp, checking for any color—

Nothing.

He did the same with the green, and for the green he received the same results. The liquid within was inert and unreactive. No matter what he did, he could evoke nothing.

Then the red. To the south it was unresponsive. To the west it was unresponsive. To the north, unresponsive. To the east…a rumble. To the southeast…the liquid glowed.

“He mentioned Aletheia,” Rook said softly. “The gold must be attuned to her.”

“Which manaserum is Eris?”

He looked red and green over. “Green,” he said. “Her magic was green.”

“The light on the green vial is out,” Astera said. “Just like Aletheia’s.”

“I know,” he said. Could that mean anything other than that she was dead? He raised red. The glow returned. “He mentioned an accomplice. Might that be red?”

“He was proceeding on the road, back the way from which we came. It may be that he followed its path.”

Rook glanced west, then back east. If he made the wrong decision now it might cost him everything. And if his intuition was right…if the dim vial meant what he thought it did…

“Swep-Nos a guess. The green vial is a lead. We follow it to its source. No doubt the Seeker will be back for us, looking for his manaserum. We should go at once.”

Yet deep down Rook knew, somehow, it was pointless. He knew it for certain. He knew in the depths of his heart that Eris was dead.