A/N: Again, it feels like I rushed this, but like you, I'm eager to get to the close of this arc. But for now, enjoy!

The knife shone in the light of the bonfire.

Time slowed down, and it was as if Aleksander could feel the slow revolution of the world beneath his feet. Nothing else mattered save for the beating of his heart and the knife like a falling star approaching his open throat.

His first instinct was to fight. It was the natural urge, and the logical course of action. Ezekiel had told him that the Karagan favor feats of strength above all else. If Aleksander fought back and won, then surely the tribe would accept him into their arms. But this hunter – this Judor – was taller and stronger no doubt. Aleksander was weak and exhausted from the ambush by the Dalagan and the long walk to the camp, and there was very little chance he could fight back the man's attacks.

The knife was coming closer, so close he could see his expression on the sharpened blade. His face, his beard outgrown and skin pale and drawn, looked shockingly calm in the reflection, like a man who had accepted his fate long ago. Aleksander did not like that look. It scared him because it was also the look of a man who had given up and welcomed death.

When Aleksander died, he intended to die not in sickness, injury, or even in the heat of battle. He desired more than anything else to die on his bed surrounded by his children and his children's children, in peace and comfort and the knowledge that he done everything allotted to him in his long and happy life.

But something told him to stand still and watch his death approach him in the form of this savage man. Something told him to keep his arms at his sides and stare calmly into the hunter's eyes, eyes dark with malicious intent, and simply do nothing at all.

Aleksander closed his eyes.

"Íla!"

The knife stopped just centimeters from his open throat.

Judor frowned and looked at the chief elder. He opened his mouth to protest but the older man just waved his hand. Judor growled, sheathed the knife, stepped away from the still king, and walked back into the fold of the crowd. He was gone as soon as he had arrived, like a reaper of death dismissed from service by the power who authorized his coming and going. Aleksander waited a few heartbeats before opening his eyes once more and looking at the man who had saved him.

The elder stared pensively at Aleksander.

"Surprised?" he asked.

The man scowled.

"It was a test I was bound to fail. If I retaliated, I would have fought him but would eventually lose. If I didn't, your man would have killed me anyway. Either way, I die, a problem is resolved, and you can go on living your lives in peace." Aleksander met the man's eyes. "But something stopped you. You saw something in me you did not expect to see. That's why you would not let him kill me. That's why you saved me."

The elder raised his chin and slapped his neck with his hand. He spoke in the Karagan language, earning a few mutters of acknowledgment in the crowd. Ezekiel walked forward and whispered into the king's ear.

"He says that you do not fear death. That you stared into his best warrior's eyes, eyes that had inspired fear into the hearts of our enemies, and did not cower. You are not like the others."

"Forgive me, but I'm still trying to get over the fact that you stood there like a dumb sheep while a stranger was about to cut my throat."

Ezekiel smiled. "Oh you were fine. They did the same thing to me when I arrived."

"And you reacted in the same way?"

The archer snorted. "Are you joking? I pissed my pants. They let me survive out of pity, not admiration. I wasn't always this way, your highness. I had to earn my keep here, just like everyone else. It's how I got my bow."

"By gaining their trust?"

"By killing the Dalagan who owned it before me."

Aleksander was about to reply when the elders suddenly stood as one. The chief said something to his people, and they grumbled like spectators at an unexpectedly canceled event. The chief looked at Aleksander and waved him over.

"Looks like they're not done with you just yet," Ezekiel said. "Figures. These folks are all about their tests and trials."

Aleksander and Ezekiel followed the group of elders down the beach, passing clusters of villagers who snuck furtive glances and whispered excitedly amongst themselves. An old woman, face wrinkled like a prune, even reached over to touch the king's hand as he walked by. Aleksander frowned and moved his hand away, unnerved by the almost religious wonder in the woman's drooping but shining eyes. "What's wrong with them?"

"They're speaking about some prophecy of theirs," his friend explained. "They're calling you the false king, or something along those lines. Don't worry, it's all rubbish."

"What prophecy?"

Ezekiel shrugged. "There are thousands, so it's hard to pinpoint. But I think it has something to do with the Breaking."

"The Breaking?"

"The end of the Oathbreaker's rule. The Breaking of his evil and the beginning of a new age under the sun. It's quite prominent in their culture, actually, so I'm surprised as to why I didn't think of it at first. But like I said: it's just myth and legend passed down from generation to generation. A vital part of their culture, but fanciful imaginings."

Aleksander was embarrassed at the sudden attention. He was used to the adoration of his people, he was accustomed to seeing their faces shining with awe as he passed in a carriage or waved from a balcony in the castle, but this was different. There was a difference to being a king and being a god. A memory entered his head like the first spark of a fire from flint.

"Could they be saying 'Pretender-King', and not false king?"

Ezekiel took a moment to listen in. His eyes widened in mild surprise, and he nodded. "That's exactly what they're saying. On how you've come to bring aid to the Moon Child and set free the island from the Oathbreaker's evil hold. How did you know that?"

Aleksander frowned to himself, lost in thought. "Call it intuition."

They finally made it to their destination, a huge tent pitched by an outcropping of black rocks by the water. A large number of guards surrounded the tent, and they bristled at the sight of Ezekiel and Aleksander. The chief elder lifted his hand and stopped them from gutting the two intruders. They stepped back, but Aleksander could still feel the heat from their glares on his back as he ducked his head into the tent.

Ezekiel blew them a kiss and followed the king into the tent.

The elders were all gathered around in a circle surrounding a small fire, a miniature version of the communal bonfire that blazed in the center of the camp. There were over a dozen elders, all gray-haired old men who looked as rough as the boulders protecting the tent, and they all looked at Aleksander with a mixture of curiosity, judgment, disapproval, and open contempt. Aleksander ignored them and kept his head high.

The chief elder was sitting on a chair at the head of the council, the strange staff leaning against the arms of the plain wooden throne. He perched his chin on his hand and merely looked at Aleksander.

The whole room was silent, charged with tension.

"You confuse us."

The elder's voice was like the scrape of sandpaper against stone. It was rough and damaged, but still it exuded an aura of tough authority, and it was little wonder how he exacted power over the village. He had the unmistakable aura of a true leader. Aleksander regarded him a little differently then, just as he would regard Antony, or the princes of the Southern Isles, or any other monarch of the good country.

"You come like the cycles say," he said in a limited but passable common tongue. "Bound and blind, he comes and bids the bright blade to spill his lifeblood. That is what we were taught. That is what many of us believe." He shook his head. "But none of us think you come so soon. But here you are, like it was foretold."

Aleksander sighed as if in defeat.

"I am the Pretender-King."

The elders mumbled softly. Aleksander just hung his head. He did not want any part in prophecies or cycles. All he wanted to do was rescue his wife and his friends and go home. But if this was the price he must pay to do so then he was willing to pay it a thousand times over.

The chief elder silenced the circle with a raised hand.

"Brave words…" he said. He smiled, and his teeth were unusually clean and straight. "I am called Haldar."

"Aleksander."

Haldar nodded, and his gaze shifted to Ezekiel.

"Kragaw."

Ezekiel winked. "Haldy."

Haldar just glared.

"Back when I was new here," Ezekiel explained to Aleksander. "He was the Judor of the tribe. A little shorter, a bit flabbier around the stomach, but quite mean-tempered all the same. He doesn't like me much."

"I couldn't tell."

"Kragaw has no place here," Haldar announced. "Leave us."

"I'll excuse myself, thank you very much. Good luck, Aleksander, and I really hope they don't kill you."

Ezekiel walked out of the tent, trailed by two nasty-looking guards. Aleksander suddenly felt very vulnerable now that he was alone and completely without friends. The elders weren't very glad that he was standing beside them, and if looks could kill…

Aleksander shook off the doubt like newly fallen snow and stood straight.

"If this prophecy is true, then you must know why I am here."

Haldar narrowed his eyes. He inclined his head, prompting Aleksander to continue.

"My wife and my comrades are in grave danger. The Oathbreaker, Ashanagarethanarak, has them imprisoned in his village." The mention of the name caused the circle of elders to stir uncomfortably. Haldar's face darkened.

"We do not speak that name here. Say it once more and we will feed you to the ocean."

Aleksander bowed his head. "Forgive me, I misspoke. May I continue?"

One of the elders spat. "We have heard everything we need! We are not stupid like the sea gull. We know what you want and we say no!"

Haldar lifted an eyebrow at Aleksander.

The king took a deep breath.

"I would like to ask for your help in rescuing the people whom I care about. I ask you to take up arms against the Dalagan."

The tent burst apart at the seams.

Aleksander cringed at the sudden outburst of shouts. Many of the elders stood – some leaning on canes for support – and pointed at him, spitting and no doubt cursing his life. Others were on their feet and berating these dissenters, waving their arms and casting glances at him that were full of hope and awe.

Haldar stood from his chair and slammed the staff on the ground.

Instantly the crowd quieted down. The elders sat to their previous positions on the sand, silent but still aching to speak, Aleksander could see that much. Whatever that staff was, it had the power to turn a room from blazing hot with debate to sub-zero with silence. Something nagged Aleksander at the back of his head, a recent memory of some sort, but the notion vanished as soon as it had come. Haldar surveyed the circle for a moment before sitting back on his throne.

"We do not know if we can do this," he finally said after a moment of thought.

Oh really? I hadn't guessed. Aleksander kept the thought to himself, but he allowed a nod of acknowledgement. "I understand if it is difficult to process."

"You would bring ruin to us!" cried an elder. "We live in peace and you bring the sword!"

"It is the sword that we need!" said yet another. "This is our chance to fulfill prophecy. To accomplish the task our fathers set before us and begin the Breaking!"

"And if we fail? If we meet the same fate as our brothers the Anagan and we are lost to creation? They suffered the price of war and we would be wise not to do the same."

"The Anagan foresaw this tragedy and died only because we did not give them the proper aid. We were cowards and we fled like women from the Oathbreaker and his beasts of men. Such was not the Karagan way!"

The room threatened to dissolve into chaos once more when Haldar lifted another commanding hand.

"This will not lead us anywhere," he said. "For now, we will do nothing against the Dalagan. This council is ended."

He tapped the butt of the crooked staff again, and the elders stood and began to file out of the tent, voices low in private conversation. They flowed around Aleksander like river water against a rock, the king frozen in frustration. He was about to open his mouth to protest when Haldar motioned to him. "Come," he said and gestured to a flap at the back of the tent. "Join me."

Aleksander consented.

He followed him out into the deep night. The air was cooler here than in the heart of the forest. It reminded him of his and Jack's camp on the other side of the island, where hope seemed so alive and within reach of actualization. Now, it was a world away, and Aleksander was beginning to wonder if he would ever see his wife and friends again.

Haldar leaned against his staff, feet in the rushing tide. Aleksander joined him, and both stared out into the utter blackness that waited beyond the homely light of the Karagan camp. The stars shone above them in the firmament like the souls of fireflies renewing their purpose above the earth, but out in the rim of the world, there seemed only the lightless void.

"I am sorry about your woman," Haldar said. "And your friends as well. It must be a terrible burden to bear."

Aleksander shrugged. "Bear it I must." He looked at the chief elder. "You speak the common tongue very well, I must add."

Haldar smiled, still staring out into the night beyond nights. "Ezekiel Fitzherbert was not the first to come within our lands, as much as he might think it is so. I learned your language from an Arendelle merchant many moons ago, and with his help, I instructed the other elders in it as well. I am proficient in it, but I pretend not to be so fluent when around many of my people. It would be too unsettling for them, as they are already distrusting of anything unknown as it is."

"You were driven from your home. To a degree, I can understand what that's like."

Haldar finally looked at him. He was old, maybe a decade or two older than Aleksander, but he still bore the physique of a man ten years his junior. But in his eyes was a pain that would last for eternity. "We were not just driven out. We were hunted like dogs. Shot down and pillaged and raped until we lost the trees and were welcomed by the ocean. I hate the Oathbreaker and his people with a passion beyond words, King Aleksander. You may claim to know his evil – forgive me for my rudeness – but you do not know the half of it.

"On the First Day of the Retaking our ancestors killed a sorcerer who had done many horrible things to the people of the island in his pursuit of knowledge. But unbeknownst to them, he had a son. When his son discovered that his father had been killed, he flew into a rage that burned a hundred men to ash."

Aleksander frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I do not speak figuratively, king. This son was cursed by the spirits with a fire inside of his heart. A fire that he could bend to his will and control it like one wields a sword. One can still visit the Old Village, at the foot of the mountains, and see the great pit of dead and blackened earth that remains from the son's fury."

Aleksander's stomach did an unpleasant flip at his words. "He could control fire…?"

"Like no other."

Was he born with the curse like Elsa? Finally he understood the words of the spirits in his dream: a curse like your daughter's, but one of a different make. Everything was beginning to unravel in such a way that he was drowned in the pile of connected conspiracies. His legs felt like they were about to give out from under him, but he held firm.

"What happened to this son?" He had heard the story from his talk with the spirits of the island, but it was possible that he could learn something new from the perspective of this man.

"Some say he died. He was either killed in the last days of the Retaking or he succumbed to the elements when in hiding. Many of my colleagues have dismissed him from suspicion. But I know better."

He turned to show Aleksander his left arm. It was red and swollen from a third - degree burn or something worse. The king involuntarily winced at the wound. "That looks bad. How were you burned?"

Haldar shook his head. "I wasn't. I was born with this burn."

Aleksander was shocked. "That…that isn't possible." Aleksander was willing to believe many things at this point, but this? This was just downright bizarre, and medically impossible. But if Aleksander learned one thing during his stay on this island, it was that nothing was as it seemed. "But how?"

"One of my ancestors was among the chief architects of the Retaking. He helped raise the enslaved tribes to their feet and fight back against their oppressors. He was there when the sorcerer's son razed the village to soot. He earned a burn that extended from the left shoulder down to his hand because of it. He survived the conflagration and lived many years leading the Three Tribes back to their rightful place, but the wound plagued him until his death. It was only when his only son was born that the price of his survival came to light."

Haldar examined his arm with a thoughtful frown.

"His son was born with the same exact scars on the same exact arm. A perfect replica of the original right down to the burn pattern. It was terribly extraordinary. The healers thought it a fluke and wrote it down in the annals as such, but when his son bore the same burn, they realized that this was more than a coincidence."

Aleksander nodded. He understood. He was horrified, but he understood.

"You are a descendant of that chief."

Haldar nodded, his aged face lined with worry. "I struggled for a long time with this. I was respected by my tribesmen, but because of my forefather's legacy, I was always separated from the rest of them. Whether I was held in awe or regarded in fear, it mattered not, because I was not with them. I was distant from their plight because of my inheritance, and that is the worst thing a leader can wish for. I'm sure you understand."

The king nodded. "Completely." He risked a glance at the chief's burn. It was gruesome yet utterly fascinating. "So anything the sorcerer's boy set aflame stayed burned forever? The village? The trees? The left arm in your bloodline?"

"As far as I know. But do you know what really terrifies me, king? What terrifies me more than even the prospect of my son bearing the same burn for the rest of his life?"

"What?"

"Magic wears out. We of the island know this because magic is not strange to us, as it is to your people. The enchantment, spell, or charm cast by the wielder is forever linked to the life of that wielder. It is the same with shamans, with beast-changers, and mages. Do you know what this tells me about my scar? About the crater of ruined earth by the mountains?"

Aleksander prompted him to continue.

"It tells me that if this burn remains in my line, the one who cast it is still alive."

The blood drained from Aleksander's face. An unwelcomed chill ran down his back, and he shuddered. The impossibility of it all bewildered him, but by then he was well acquainted with the feeling. So. What the spirits said had been true. The sorcerer's son was the Oathbreaker, and the Oathbreaker was Ashanagarethanarak. There had always been a niggling of doubt in his head, but with the chief's words, those doubts had been dispelled.

"Then if we kill him," said Aleksander. "Your curse dies along with the Oathbreaker."

"I suspect so."

"Then let us seize the opportunity while it is ripe for the taking! Why were you so reluctant during the council when you knew this? When you knew you could grant your descendants the freedom you did not have but longer for?"

Haldar sighed. "As much as I would like to see my family free from this curse, I am still Chief Elder. I must still look out for the safety of my people. A war with the Dalagan would be just but ultimately suicidal. They have more men, and the Oathbreaker still has his fire. It would be useless, and the livelihood we have long suffered to secure would be all for naught."

"Then what is the point? Why keep me here when there is nothing to be salvaged?"

"I am going against my better judgment. I have a feeling about you, Pretender-King or not, that I cannot shake. Something tells me keeping you with us is a good idea."

"But you will not help me."

Haldar stared out into the darkness. "That remains to be seen. Let time be the judge of this matter, Aleksander. Ashanagarethanarak will not harm your wife or the Moon Child, if the prophecy rings true."

Aleksander looked at him. "And why is that?"

Haldar said nothing. Aleksander waited for a moment, but soon looked away and joined the chief in his contemplative silence. They stared out into the empty edge of the world, the shifting ocean below and the starry sky above, like the statues of emperors old observing their dominion and judging its nature to be unfit to their preference. But they just continued to stare as the heavens twinkled and burned and the bottomless waters churned on and on under the cycle of the will of the world, hopeless to stop it but content to watch all the same to the end of their days.

XXXXX

A knock sounded on the door.

It was morning of the next day. They were making their final preparations before they were to escape the village. Danak whirled towards the noise. He had been wrapping bandages around Jack's midsection to give the impression that he was still recovering when the knock came. The healer and Jack exchanged a nervous glance. Are you going to answer it? Jack mouthed. Danak nodded. What other choice do we have?

He slowly walked over to the door and opened it a crack.

"Good morning," said Ash with a cheery voice. "How is the Moon Child holding up?"

If Danak was surprised, he gave no indication. Instead, he only nodded grimly. "He is healing, but it will take a while before he fully recovers. We need more time."

"Of course. You will have all the time you need. I just wanted to have a word with our patient, if you don't mind."

Danak shrugged. "Not at all."

Jack's heart leapt to his throat. He watched with dread as Danak opened the door fully to let Ash in. He walked in with a small smile on his face. "Ah. Moon Child. You look well."

Jack was lying on the bed, feigning exhaustion. He opened one eye and opened his mouth to speak, but pretended to be too weak. He lay back, nearly gasping for breath. Danak inclined his head in an infinitesimal motion behind Ash's back. Good. The village leader waved his hand.

"You may wait outside, Danak."

Danak gave Jack one more worried glance before walking out and closing the door behind him. They were silent for a moment. The only light came from the little window facing Jack's bed, and the morning sun's rays fell on him alone and cast Ash in eerie darkness. The man's blue eyes twinkled merrily in the shadows.

"I truly regret having to punish you in such a way," he said. "I did not enjoy it, as much you may think I did."

Jack coughed. "It sure sounded like you did," he said in a weak voice.

Ash shook his head. "As I have said before: it was a teaching moment. My children needed to learn what happens when they rebel. I am certain now that they will whisper against me no longer."

"And if they do?"

Ash smiled. "Well. There are ways to remedy that."

"Gonna whip some more innocent people?"

"It was barbaric, and I regret it. There will be more civilized ways to deal with insurrection in the future. But discussing your punishment was not the prime reason I chose to visit you, Moon Child."

"And what reason is that?"

Ash came closer, and Jack began to recoil. He stopped himself before doing so, however, and let the man approach his bedside.

"It hurts me to see you like this."

"So you're the one in pain, now?"

"You have so much potential, Moon Child. There is greatness in you. I can sense it. While my people's silly prophecies are mere myth, there is a kernel of truth in each one. You may not be their savior, but in you lies power."

"Oh stop. You're making me blush."

Ash showed his teeth.

"We can do great things together, Moon Child. You and me, ruling over this island and ushering in a new era of peace and prosperity. That was always my plan. You might not see it straightaway, but I do care for this island and her people. With you and Elana at my side, there will be nothing to stop us."

Jack glared when he said Aleksander's wife's name. "What did you do to her?"

Ash sighed. "Nothing. Why must you suspect me so? I have treated her with nothing but kindness and affection since her arrival. She is stubborn, mind you, but I'd like to think that I am growing on her."

"You stay away from her!"

Ash leaned back. "So much fire. You heal fast."

Jack cursed himself for dropping his guard. He fell back on his bed and closed his eyes, once again pretending weakness. "You're lucky I don't heal faster."

Ash chuckled and ruffled Jack's white hair. "I'm certain. That's what I always liked about you. You're tenacious." He rubbed a strand of hair between his fingers. "And such a peculiar hair color. How did it become like this?"

Jack's stomach churned as the man touched him, but he lay still, not wanting to risk anything else. "Traumatic event."

"Hm. A strange phenomenon."

"Are we done here or are you just going to keep touching me?"

Ash released his hair and stepped back. "We are done. It seems that you are recovering speedily. I am happy for you. In due time I shall invite you to my hut. I'm sure you'll start seeing things my way, then."

Jack scoffed. "Right."

Ash turned to leave, and Jack was about to breathe a sigh of relief when the man suddenly turned around, finger pointed in the air as if remembering something. "Oh, and one more thing. I have not forgotten your insults when I was administering your punishment. I do not brook that sort of rebellion in my home. I care deeply for you, son, but if you continue to lose control over your speech I will be forced to punish you further."

"I thought you needed me."

"I would like you to be at my side in the coming age, Moon Child, but do not mistake that desire for vulnerability. I can get rid of you and suffer no harm to myself."

Jack narrowed his eyes. "And how are you going to do that?"

Ash smiled.

He snapped his fingers and the torch to his right, the torch that had been still hand dark and a few feet away from him, burst into flame.

"I have methods."

And with that, he opened the door and left Jack alone to stare with shock and awe at the sudden fire. He was still staring at the lit torch when Danak walked inside and shut the door behind him. He rushed over to Jack's side, old face creased with concern. "What happened? Did he do anything to you?"

Jack shook his head absently, eyes still on the fire.

Danak frowned and followed his gaze. He cursed when he saw the burning torch. "It is as I feared. He is losing patience?"

"How did he do that?" Jack said. "He didn't even touch it."

"There is much you do not know about him."

"Tell me."

"Ashanagarethanarak is far older than he looks. He was on this island in the time of the Retaking, and he was the son of a sorcerer and gifted with the curse of fire. He was able to escape the slaves' revenge, and, with the help of a golden flower, stay the same age over the centuries."

Jack closed his eyes and massaged his temples. "Okay, you're going to have to slow down. What in the world are you talking about?"

"When I was a boy, I looked up to him as a son looks up to his father. He treated me with love and kindness and taught me all I know about the healing arts. I thought he was perfect; a god among men." He shook his head sadly. "How mistaken I was."

"What happened to make you change your mind?"

Danak's eyes took on a measure of sorrow. "A group of sailors washed on our shores twenty years ago. They were wet, bedraggled, and filthy, but our master took them in and gave them shelter. He invited them over to his home and you could hear their laughter and conversation from outside. I was curious, but I was jealous. Why should they receive the luxury of his presence and not me? I was about to confront my master while he was dining when I noticed a commotion in the nearby forest. Curious, I checked what it was, and I was horrified.

"Sakaz and two other guards were beating a sailor, one separate from the others, with their clubs. They were laughing and spitting at his broken body and all the while he wept and pled for mercy. I intruded and demanded that they stop. Sakaz only spat, as is his custom, and told me that they were doing this not for their own personal pleasure – although they were deriving it from the task – but by the master's orders. I was stunned. Surely my good master would not treat another human being in such a way. But I was wrong.

"The following day Ashanagarethanarak took that sailor and cut his throat in front of the entire village. He said that the spirits demanded it and that the white man had deceived them and plotted to take over the village, just like the Fair Ones in the past. He then began to execute them one by one in front of us all, all in the name of the island's will. It was then that the illusion was broken. The master had revealed his true nature and I was appalled. Sad though I was, I needed to right this wrong in the name of the Dalagan, not in his name. So, I set free the last prisoner who was to be executed and bid him flee into the forest."

"Did he survive?"

"I do not know. But from that point on I no longer doted on the master's every word. Instead, I plotted his downfall."

"How?"

"As healer, one of my privileges is to commune with the spirits. Every full moon I grind the Silva root and inhale its properties over a fire. Doing this I can listen to the voices of those who came before and be advised by their wisdom. They had been silent for a long time, and I was beginning to lose hope and thought that they would never commune with me. But that night, after I freed the sailor, I was able to listen to them speak. What they told me changed my life.

"They told me Ashanagarethanarak's true identity and of his origins with the Fair Ones. They told me of how he seduced the Dalagan, killed our leaders, and exacted his control over the tribe. They told me of how he wiped out the Anagan and drove the Karagan to the ocean. And they told me of how he had discovered a lone golden flower in a clearing in the forest, and how he had used it to keep himself young for all these years."

Jack's mind was reeling. It was too much to process, and he was having a hard time figuring out whether Danak was pulling his leg or telling him the truth. He looked serious enough, but the tale seemed far-fetched. "So…" he said, struggling to catch up. "Ash is really a couple thousand years old because he was using a glowing flower to stop old age?"

Danak nodded gravely. "It sounds ridiculous, but I swear it is the truth. Ashanagarethanarak had deceived us. I fear he plans to exact his revenge over the island over the extermination of his people and the death of his father."

"Hold on," Jack said, hand in the air. "Rewind. Ash has a flower of his own, but how do you have one yourself?"

Danak smiled. He reached under the bed and took out the flower, which deprived from sunlight still continued to shine with an otherworldly glow. "The spirits showed me the way to the Garden in our communion. I made my way there and took this from the hill it sprouted from. The spirits had told me to retrieve it for a great task in the future. I know that task now; it was to heal you."

Jack sighed. "This doesn't make any sense."

Danak patted his arm. "Do not worry. It will in due time. Once I take you to the Garden, you will finally begin to understand."

"What is the Garden? You keep talking about it like it is some holy place."

"There is nothing holier. The Garden is the wellspring of eternal life. The epicenter of the sun's gift to earth. Across its verdant hills grow hundreds of these flowers, hidden to shine forever. The master must have come across the product of a seed blown astray, and now he uses it for his own nefarious purposes. That is why you must help us, Moon Child. If Ashanagarethanarak finds the Garden, there will be nothing to stop him from taking over the entire island with ease.

"And all, including you, Moon Child, will be doomed."

Jack processed this with a heavy heart. Never before in his life had he felt such a mixture of rage and confusion. Rage because he felt angry at Ash and what he had done, but confused because…well, because it was just so damn confusing. But he got the gist of it, and that was if he didn't do something soon, everything would occur as Danak had predicted, and no one would be safe from Ash's wrath.

"So," he said, rejuvenated by the healer's tale. "When do we start?"

Danak smiled. "Soon. We shall wait until night falls, and only then will we execute our plan."

"Night. Great. And if we get caught?"

"Ash will burn us alive."

"Even better."

"As far as I know, there is no way to combat his fire. It is too hot, and born from a magic as old as creation."

Something clicked in Jack's head, and he looked down at his hand.

Maybe…

He opened it and inspected his palm, picturing an icicle forming and gleaming in the torch light.

Nothing happened.

Jack's heart fell. It was as he had suspected.

He had lost his powers completely.

Danak frowned. "What are you doing?"

Jack sighed and closed his hand. "Nothing. I'm doing nothing."

A/N: Did it feel as rushed as I think it did? Tell me in the review section! Thanks for reading!