“Is she the one?”

  The person with the red hood and two bck dragons on both sides of the hood considers them. They grunt and walk through the mist until they reach the cauldron. The room changes with the seasons. It changes as easily as one breathes. One moment, the room is nothing more than a desk and some boxes, but today, the room is that of a forest with the cauldron floating in the ke. The mist spreads across the fields, swirling around, and filling the air with a denseness. If they were human, the air alone could kill them. Its denseness fills their lungs with something akin to rocks.

  The very air seeks to weaken them. They are losing strength. Perhaps one day they will walk into this room, and it will be the fire of the seven hells that greet them, ready to take what is not to be given.

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “She cks the agency. The innate drive to move forward. She is content with where she is. The current saintess is not the one.” Their robes are heavy, weighed down by the weight of the water. It is icy. A deep chill grips them by their teeth and knocks them together until the only noise is that of teeth chatting and the shrill blow of the wind.

  The current saintess is not the one, for if she were, surely, she would have shown greater promise by now. Instead, the wards are weakening. The sickness spreads across the nds, tainting it with its vile hatred, but more importantly, they are losing power.

  Unacceptable.

  “But she is a saintess. Can she not be molded to be the one?”

  “Foolish.” They regard the figure in blue with an air of disdain. They know not each other’s names nor of their species, though they suspect them to be of the elf race, perhaps half. “We stand here because others have forced others to be the one. We have nothing to show because we forced others to do what only the one can do.”

  If they could find the one, then power would be theirs. With power, they could cause even the forces beyond the mortal realm to bend to them. Force even the darkness to listen to their decree.

  “Forgive me.” The words are hollow, cking in emotion. “We grow weak. Something must be done or...”

  Yes, something must be done, but they have lived a long life. A long, wearisome life of wanting for more. They peer down at the cauldron. The green mixes with the orange creating a brown. They pull out a dagger from their pocket and cut off a locket of hair, careful to keep their hood in pce.

  “Will this tell us what we need?”

  “If it wills itself to,” they reply. “Blood from the saintess would help. Go fetch it and return at once.” They wave a hand in the air, shooing the other away, and yet the figure in blue remains. Such imprudence. “Why do you stand here?”

  “I cannot. The ke threatens to pull me under. Even now, the cold wraps around my legs like an old lover. I cannot part from this pce.”

  They try to move their legs and hiss. It is true then. They cannot part from this pce.

  “The cauldron does not will it to be so.” They peer back into the cauldron. All is not lost. There is something amongst the mist, the ke, and the forest that is to be of use. The wind blows once more, carrying snow as it travels past. “She is not the one, but she can be of use.”

  “Through death?”

  They do not answer right away. Instead, they continue to watch the color take shape as bck creeps in from the upper right. It bleeds into the brown, not quite mixing as the green and orange once did. The bck circles around the red locket of hair and reaches for it as though it has tentacles. They do not react. Do not twitch. They can hardly find it in themselves to breathe lest the cauldron take offense.

  An image emerges. A mirror. It is unremarkable in that it looks cheap. Something someone would buy for another as an off-handed gift. The items in the room are unfamiliar. They look like nothing they have seen before. Not common in this region or perhaps not found in this world. The image fades but the brown remains and swirls into the shape of someone with round ears.

  Human, then.

  “Through death.”

  The winds blow once more, and the ke dries until there is nothing but the cracks of the ground and a crater where it once rested. They lift one leg and then another. Their robes are still wet, but they can walk once more. The hold has been lifted, but they are no closer to the one than they were before coming to this pce.

  “The others will fight. Protest.”

  “They fight for things to remain as they are, but the reckoning is almost upon us. Perhaps it is already here.” Even now, they can feel their strength weakening. Soon, they will cease to be a part of the living. They must act fast. Time. They need more of it. “Gather the saintess. She can be of use. Humans are abundant in magicules.”

  “Life force, then?”

  “Yes. I grow weary and will not st much longer. Another century or perhaps another month, I know not how much longer this body will st.”

  How long has it been since they have referred to themselves as I?

  “In two sun turns.” The one clothed in blue bows before making the trek out of the crater and through the barren forest. Not even snow remains.

  They watch until there is no blue left. Not even a speck. The chill grips them by the throat. Strangling what little air they have left. They cw at the unseen. Their red hood slips, and a bundle of red covers their face.

  “Enough!”

  The grip loosens and they gasp as they fall to their knees. It is not lost on them how they must look. Weak. Pitiful.

  A crack forms in the ground. The cauldron bubbles as the liquid spills down the sides.

  Red.

  No, blood. Theirs.

  “If you will it,” they speak to no one. The chill trails its fingers up their neck. A sacrifice is to be made. “Then it will be so.”

  They colpse on the ground and turn their head. Written in blood is a name: Megan. The name is unfamiliar, but it is human sounding. A start. Something more to go off on. The liquid from the cauldron washes away the blood and bends itself around them until they are bound. They do not struggle.

  A sacrifice is to be made.

  They wait with clenched teeth and pinched brows for the judgment to be made.

  ***

  The room is dark save for the light illuminating from the cauldron. A yellow glow this time. They lounge in a chair, weary from the ordeal two suns ago, and wait for the other, the one with the blue robe, to come forth with the blood of the saintess. The cauldron, or rather the other forces, grows restless with the need to be free.

  They turn at the sound of footsteps. “You are te.”

  “Forgive me.”

  They do not forgive, but they do not slight them for the tardiness. They wave a hand in the air and the fire roars to life.

  “You are weary?”

  “Yes. Add the vial to the cauldron and your blood as well. Tonight, we will have more answers. A face.” Yes, a face and not just a name will be more advantageous. “Speak the name: Megan.”

  “Megan,” the other says slowly. They walk with a limp that was not noticeable two suns ago. A fight must have occurred. The saintess must be stronger than she appears, but still, she is not the one, for it was not her name that was given.

  “She is the one.” The one whose power they will make their own. They eye the one in blue. Will they have to fight when the time comes? They lean forward in the chair and clench their fists. “What of the others?”

  “Dead.” The one in blue picks up a long wooden spoon from the side of the cauldron and stirs, mixing the blood. Smoke fills the room. “We have not contacted them in many sun turns. The communication falters and fizzles out and thus it is reasonable to assume them to be dead.”

  “Death comes for us all.” They look away and watch the firepce. Watch how the smoke is a cool amber. Watch how the smoke dances in the air with the smoke from the cauldron, creating a smell so heady that their head grows dizzy. “We must investigate the cause.”

  “They were nameless.”

  “They were one of us.” The one in blue does not understand the implications of the other’s death. Secluded away in a dungeon with magic from beasts and travelers to feast on, the other should not have perished so easily. Of all of them, that one was the strongest. They uncurl their fist and eye how the cracks form in their palm. How the wrinkles sprout like dust. What little life force they have left, the cauldron took the majority.

  “There is nothing.”

  They scowl, though the hood prevents the other from seeing such a disgraceful action. “There is always something. Even if it is not what we wish.” They push themselves up and walk to the cauldron. Their red robe trails behind them, much longer than the other’s. The length reminds them of the gowns they wore long ago. The gowns they were forced into wearing.

  They hate it and so they push the memory of a life long ago to the back of their mind. Best not to dwell on a time when they were weak. Weaker than they are now.

  “The cauldron is calm. The liquid is a cool bck. Neither the blood of the saintess nor the blood of us gave it cause to act.”

  They wave them off and grip the side of the cauldron. The metal is cool to the touch, but the liquid bubbles from an innate heat. “Leave.” They wait until the door sms shut before addressing the cauldron. “An image. I will have it.” A bold demand, but they are running out of time. They need to find this Megan before the other forces do.

  Before she comes into her power.

  The bck lightens to that of a gray, but an image does not form. In the middle, a dot of red floats to the surface. It spells out a name: Elzapu.

  Their heart stills. Elzapu, their name from centuries ago. No, the cauldron is mistaken. Confused. Why would it off their name? They turn right as the door opens and the footsteps echo in the room.

  “You were instructed to—” They gasp and cw at the arm. They taste blood in their mouth. It dribbles out the corner and down the side of their face. The sword in their stomach is heavy and sharp.

  The other, clothed in blue, forces the sword deeper. “Yes, we were instructed.”

  They tremble with anger and try to will what little power they have left to protect them, but the liquid from the cauldron bubbles over and begins to eat away at them. Their screams are hollow. A masking spell. They should have suspected the other of a betrayal. Should have expected that the other would also seek to have the power for themselves, and yet, they believed their own delusions.

  “You will fail.” A curse from them to the other, whose face they still cannot see. They fall to their knees and clutch their stomach while the other one looms over them with sword raised. Their eyes widen as the blue hood is pulled back, and the face is not a face at all.

  Darkness.

  A creature so foul that their eyes dare not make out the features. They lower their head as the liquid from the cauldron continues to eat away at them. Piece by piece. Their magic fades and fills the other—the creature — with their life force. They were too te.

  Those from the other realm are already here.

  AutumnBanks

  Thanks for reading! Please let me know if this chapter was too confusing. Have a wonderful holiday if you celebrate and make sure to take care of yourself.