“If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world.”

― C.S. Lewis

Alyssa heard Mireille climbing the stairs, the wood creaking under her steps. And then it was silent again. The wind outside had picked up again, and a whistling and light rattling came from the shuttered windows.

Walking forward, she marveled at the ease with which she saw in the darkened room a dresser loomed to her right, and a canopied bed occupied the middle of the room. It seemed this was once one of the nicer guest rooms and, as such, most likely held nothing of great value. But she could be mistaken and went through shelves and cupboards, pulling out drawers, rifling through the contents a bit absentmindedly.

A tugging sensation brought her back into the present, and with some alarm, she saw that she had caught her thumb on a piece of splintered wood. There had been just a hint of discomfort, but now that she was looking, the large splinter had ripped along the upper, softer layer of skin, leaving a deep gash.

Startled, she brought her hand up to her face expecting to see blood...but there was none of that. The edges of the wound began to curl in on themselves while flashes of darkness lingered in the wound. And then the ‘healing’ stopped. Irritated she incanted the waters of life spell and gently glowing water bather her hand...doing nothing. The glow of the spell faded, and splashes of illumination meandered over the walls getting fainter all the while like sunlight shining through the surface of a lake.

‘Waters of Life.’ A voice came from behind her. ‘A very useful spell, especially as you want to avoid light magic.’

Turning, she saw Asandria floating near a mirror blinded by dust. “And?” Alyssa returned, annoyance coloring her speech.

‘Life. Something you no longer possess. Not every spells name will be useful or even remotely accurate. Sometimes it's only thinly veiled vanity that led to a spells nomenclature. But sometimes it is close enough.’

“You mean...I will not heal if I get hurt?”

‘Oh no. You will heal, but only to the extent of keeping your function. Obvious defects like a broken bone, or a wound, will heal until you are no longer hindered by it. But void is not life, and there is nothing inside of you that would heal without the aid of magic, so, the void will restore you to function but nothing else.’

“But that would mean that I would look like a fleshfiend after a few weeks or months!”

‘Nothing so drastic. Small scrapes should heal without much in the way of visible defects, and you could strengthen your flesh to withstand mundane injury.’ A mirthless smile graced the specter's features. ‘I was curious how long you would wait to ask me about your condition. It seems I underestimated your airheadedness.’

“I fucking died! I died, went into an afterlife, and spoke to the goddess of sorrow, and after all that, I think I deserve some slack!” Alyssa exploded, and the anger burning inside of her felt so very good for its intensity, startling her. “It’s because of you that I went here and tried to fulfill my obligations, now that I have literally died for that, could you be a bit more understanding?!”

Asandria threw her head back and laughed. Alyssa regarded her incredulously, getting more and more angry all the while. Clenching her fists, she thought about what she could do to be taken seriously for once, but then the specter stopped and regarded her. A chill spread through Alyssa that had nothing to do with temperature.

‘Yes. You work to fulfill your obligations. But that is what they are, a bond, an oath. And no, you have not fulfilled them yet. I can, and I have helped you. I taught you, advised you, and gave you the opportunity to bond with the Soul Jewel. And if you had not been so reckless, you might even have been alive until the end.’

Alyssa felt a strange pressure around her heart, and for a fleeting moment, she was back in the broken temple, the thorn men stalking after her, rustling, shivering with anticipation. Claws of blackened wood dripping with venom reached for her face.

Then everything went dark.

Back in the room again, she saw strange glyphs like brambles and splintered ice burning with a pale blue radiance shining from the center of her chest.

‘Until you truly fulfill your end of the bargain, you belong to the princess. It wouldn’t do for you to forget that.’

“Why?” Alyssa stumbled back and had to sit down on the covered bed. For an inane moment marveling at the softness of the mattress. With hurt in her eyes, she forced out, “Why do that? I did what you wanted from me without protest. I always accepted my debt. Why threaten me? I thought we had a rapport, at least a friendly understanding?”

Asandria looked at her, and some complex emotions flickered across her face. The dark holes in place of her eyes made her even more unreadable. ‘I...might have gone too far. But when you killed yourself...’ The specter turned around for a moment. Her shoulders trembled. ‘...everything I worked for seemed to turn into dust. I did not really know that you would return. I strongly believed it, or I would have made sure that you did not use so much void magic, but I did not know.’ She bit out the last words with resentment. ‘I don’t know if I would get this opportunity again. So I was...agitated...that you were so nonchalant about your death and continued existence.’

“Is that an apology?” Alyssa looked at Asandria, part puzzled, part angry still.

‘You might take it as one.’

A stronger gust of wind slammed into the shutters rattling them. Dust hung in the air shining in the one ray of light let in through the window.

“And what about my problem?” Alyssa waved her thumb at Asandria.

‘Later.’ The specter raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you know why it is I asked you to kill the Heartstealer that night?’

“She is a lich and destroyed your empire? Isn’t that enough?”

Asandria smiled. ‘True, to an extent. I think it is time you understood more fully.’

“I would like that,” Alyssa answered cautiously.

‘Where to begin?’ The specter turned and floated back to the mirror, brushing over the dusty surface. The dust stirred slightly at her passing, but none was removed.

‘The elves were the favored children of Jaros and Yrgos, brother gods that did not often see eye to eye. Both were deeply tied to magic and the words and runes of power. Where Jaros taught and protected, Yrgos tested and pushed. Sometimes...too much. He was a fickle god, and his attentions wandered as wildly as his feet. Yrgos Worldstrider.’ She smiled again. This time it did not look like a happy expression. ‘Yrgos had a son with one of the smaller godlings born at the forging of the world, and his name was Vyarlis, the feathered snake, the firstborn of Thunder. And for a while, untold years and years, he was the only one, the beloved and spoiled child of the god of...betrayal. As you might surmise, it did not end well. Yrgos grew bored of this child of his and began to neglect him.’

A faint light grew inside the mirror, and the dust moved, forming the shape of a gigantic serpent with many pairs of wings meandering through endless clouds.

‘And as Jaros proposed to create sentient life, Yrgos was the first to support him. It is not that the gods did not do it before, there had been many worlds created before this one, and presumably, this world will not be the last. But this act of creation still seemed to be of great significance as far as we know. And when the first elves were formed, they were gifted by two gods with magic and knowledge far beyond what they could have attained on their own. The favor and preference gave rise to arrogance and pride. Vyarlis was at first only angry at his father, but in time he grew to envy and even hate the race that had taken the attention of his creator. And this turned into blood and conflict. The son of Thunder burned cities, boiled seas, and struck down mountains. The other gods did curb his excesses, but he did not relent. And the elves fought back with magics that are now lost to this world, and for good reason. Finally, it was Yrgos who gave the elves the means to kill his son. It is said that the skies rained tears of blood and the thunder booming in the endless clouds echoed with Yrgos mad laughter as his son died.’

The gigantic serpent in the mirror fell from the clouds, pierced by a strangely shaped weapon, and fell on the ground, crushing a city beneath his folds.

‘The elves.’ She hesitated for a split second. ‘We. Built the orchid palace out of his bones. Some of them were transported further north and formed the foundation of the city now known as the City of broken ivory. But you cannot truly kill the direct son of an elder god. Vyarlis dreamed of vengeance, and for years and years, this was all he could do as the elven empire flourished and grew...but also lost some of its knowledge by design, most likely as Jaros strove to undo some of the damage Yrgos had wrought. And then there was the night of the gate.’

Asandria looked distracted, her gaze not focusing far beyond the confines of the room. ‘The world nearly ended as the first god-king of Allisair rent the spheres to transport his people from another world to this one. Magic from a dying planet did many strange and wondrous things. Clouds swam beneath the ocean, and mountains rose into the sky. Vyarlis took this opportunity and roused from his deathless slumber. Again, years and years passed. The god of poetry and gentle dreams, a child of Irkonos and- of all things- Ielenia came to love the elves, and we did love him back. But as is the prerogative of the truly gifted poet, he became broken in love as the princess of icy stars could not give him back the love he held for her. Gifting her his crystal heart, he vanished into spheres beyond.’

Asandria fell silent for minutes after that.

‘The heart was a marvel for all that beheld it, granting magic and inspiration, leading to great works of art and the arcane. The nation of Allisair had been a known factor for some time now as an envoy entered the elven lands. Her name at that time was Ekaterina Vesselda of Allissair. She was a lesser princess, wed to a declining house. Her personal power nearly non-existent. Eclipsed by the talent and power of her siblings. Her spouse’s name was lost, along with Allisair. She was envious, jealous, and ambitious.

And even as her talents seemed mediocre, she had great facility in necromancy and void magic. Something she hid deeply. Vyarlis sensed her burning need, and together with her magics, he began to tempt her in dreams and visions. It did not take much for her to succumb to his whispers, and with his aid, she obtained the crystal heart, defiling and blaspheming it in a rite of blood and darkness. Her wish came true but cost much more than she had thought. Originally she had wanted to obtain power and eternal youth. She got eternal existence and great power, but simultaneously, she lost her life and her freedom. The city of broken ivory where she performed the ritual became her prison as the gods themselves punished her for her crime. The elves, complacent and inattentive, were punished alongside the lich, and the empire that stood for an age fell in less than a century to the divine curse. The elves used all of their fading might to combat the lich queen and their own demise, but the Fateweaver used divinations and prophecy to guide events so as to destroy the Heartstealer forgoing any possibility of saving her people.’

Tapping the mirror again, the dust formed the side-profile of an elegant elven woman wearing her hair down her back bound by complex braids.

‘She was defamed and cursed by those who knew, but some of the more sane voices spoke to the inevitability of the elven empire’s fall and praised her for at least taking vengeance where salvation was impossible. We will most likely never know. And what she wrought in her visions and by twisting the tapestry of fate led to you. You being here today. And possibly you being alive at all. So take that as you will. Perhaps we are all puppets dancing on the strings of some long-dead elven sage.’ Grinning, she let her arm fall at her side, and the picture made of dust puffed into nothingness.