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‘I would argue that we can only understand how it relates to us by understanding hoe, as vessels, relate to others In fact, just last night I discovered--’

‘Any discovery rants is irredee me’

Bralston’s eyes narrowed at the boy, but Dreadaeleon, for the first time, did not look away, back down or soscowl of his oeeping over the nificant a point for a Librarian to harp on,’ Dreadaeleon said firh adventuring and I’h I’ in these people’s company’

Bralston’s eyebrow rose a little at that, his lip twitching as if to speak Dreadaeleon, forcing himself not to dwell on the stupidity of the act, held up a hand to halt him

‘You have another motive, Librarian’

‘You are certain?’ Bralston asked, a sliver of spite in his voice

‘I am more perceptive than you suspect’

For all the ire he had been holding in his stare alone, for all the disappointment and despair he had seen in the boy, it was only at that h, only at thath,’ he whispered, ‘to know you’ve contracted the Decay?’

With a single word, Dreadaeleon felt the resolve flood out of hi his that strained to support him

‘I don’t have it,’ he replied

‘You do,’ Bralston insisted

‘No,’ he said, shaking his head ‘No, I don’t have it’

‘I can sense it I can s I followed it last night That’s how I found it Surely, you can sense it Surely, you know’

‘It’s nothing,’ Dreadaeleon said

‘Concoh it, it is certainly not nothing In fact, to even sense it at all, sy temperatures? Loss of consciousness? Instantaneousurine,’ Dreadaeleon said, looking down

‘The Decay,’ Bralston confirmed

It was unthinkable, Dreadaeleon told himself Or perhaps, he simply hadn’t wanted to think about it He still didn’t want to He didn’t even want to hear the word, yet it was burned into his brain

Decay

The indefinable disease that ravaged wizards, that unknown alteration inside their body that broke down the unseen wall that separated Venarie froaic and bodily function

It was that which turnedinfernos, turned flesh to snowflakes, caused brains to cook in their own electric currents It was the killer of wizards, the vice of heretics, the consequence for disregarding the Laws

And he had it

He didn’t question Bralston’s diagnosis, didn’t so much as feel the need to deny it anymore It all made too much sense now: his sudden weakness, his use of the red stones, his altered bodily state

But then … how did you recover last night?

A fluke, perhaps Such things would not be unheard-of In fact, Decay’s fluctuating effects on ic often resulted in sudden, sporadic enhanceic, too perfect an irony for him to deny it anymore

‘What …?’ he said with a weak voice ‘What now? What happens?’

‘Your master told you, I am sure’

Dreadaeleon nodded weakly ‘The Decayed report back to the Venariu’

‘We are wizards Nothing can be wasted’

‘I understand’

Bralston frowned, shaking his head

‘My duties require a survey of the ocean,’ Bralston said, ‘to scan for any signs of the heretic After that, I shall return to Cier’Djaal You will return with rimace flashed across Bralston’s face

‘It’s … it’s not so bad, really,’ Bralston said ‘At the academy in Cier’Djaal, you’ll still be useful to the Venarium You’ll be able to provide services in research, even after you’re gone And until then, you’ll be cared for by people who understand you for however long you last’

Dreadaeleon nodded again

‘Until then …’ Bralston sought for words and, finding nothing, sighed ‘Try to rest It will be a difficult journey back’

He left, disappearing into the village, and Dreadaeleon allowed hiht, how the very indication of a disease, the knowledge that life h it were already over

Ridiculous, he told hih you didn’t already know you’ll have to die sometime Hell, you’ve been with adventurers You knew death was inevitable, right? Right At least this way, you’ll do your duty You’ll serve the cause You’ll enforce the Laws You’ll further knowledge Harvesting … well, that’s just what happens You can’t begrudge them that You use merroskrit Someday, your bones and skin will be used by another wizard Everything is balanced Everything is a circle

He stared down at his hands: hands that had hurled, hands that had held, hands that had touched He estith of ether He studied his hands, confiruess

And then he wept

Lenk’s first memory of this forest had been one of silver

That night, long ago, even as his body had been racked with pain and his , soht and life alike The leaves were ablaze with h each one had been dipped in silver The song of birds and the chatter of beasts had rung off the trees, each branch a chi in his ears

That night, a week ago, he himself had barely had a drop of life left in him, the rest of his body filled with pain and desperation That night, every tiht, he had struggled to hold on: to life, to light, to anything

This day, he stood tall Despite the fresh stitches in his shoulder, he felt scarcely any pain Despite the night before, he found his body light, easily carried by legs that should have been weaker Despite everything, he found hi to hold on to

And in the unrelenting brightness of , the forest was a toether to drop a funeral shroud over the forest floor, each branch and leaf trying its hardest to block any trace of light froone, the forest so silent as to suggest it had never even been there, and the only sound that Lenk could hear was the wind singing wordless dirges through the leaves

Had life been a hallucination?

It was not a hostile darkness that consumed the forest, but a hallowed one It did not threaten hih the branches, commented on how tired he looked, hoful it was that his friends had abandoned him and let him wander out here all alone, mused aloud just how nice it would be to sit down and rest for a while, rest forever