Fealty and Fate

The sword dominated Achlys's attention. Ancient, imposing, and resplendent, the sword both enthralled and unsettled the young girl in equal measure.

"Is that the king's sword?" she asked.

"It is," her father answered.

Achlys did not ask the other question that was burning in her mind. Her soul knew the answer. The magic radiating from the blade was dangerously humbling. The magic in her felt like it was quivering through all her nerves.

Suddenly, much of her enthusiasm was evaporated, replaced instead by nervousness. She looked down at her dress, ran her fingers gently along her blade, and tried to calm the swirling jitters that danced in her stomach. She cast a nervous glance up at her father in hopes of guidance but saw that his expression was creased with concentration and his fingers were dipped into the Mist. A moment later, he withdrew his hand.

"He knows we are here," Karthus said, "He is waiting for us. Are you ready?"

"I am."

Karthus gave her fingers a squeeze and lead her deeper into the temple. He knew exactly where they were to go. He did not have to think, which gave his mind the unfortunate freedom to wander. For any other living soul, Karthus's ethereal eyes would have been difficult, if not impossible, to read, but Achlys was his daughter and could tell that his gaze was distant and distracted. He looked so upset that she did not even ask if anything was wrong and upset him further, but she needed to know. She let the faintest amount of her magic ghost over the tips of her fingers that were wrapped around him. It was just enough magic to feel his emotions.

It felt as though someone had clutched her heart. Unease and fear, emotions she never associated with her father, rushed through her. In the back of her mind, she thought she heard someone coughing. But beneath this dreadful feeling, she felt something else. Love, warm, comforting, and familiar, was present as well. She leaned on that feeling, letting it fill her mind and soul.

"Father is here," she thought, "Acheron is here. I will be safe."

The further into the temple they descended, the thicker the Black Mist became. The hallway they had just entered had the entire floor covered with it. The feeling of the Mist washing around her ankles was like ice water. A shiver went down Achlys's spine, not from the cold though, but from how it reminded her of the consuming Mist from her nightmares.

It was dark enough to be her nightmares. The light from Karthus and Acheron's glowing forms was the strongest form of illumination. Even the Mist seemed unusually devoid of spirits, with only the occasional spark of green flickering through the black tendrils. At last though, there was a faint glow coming from ahead.

At the end of the hallway, she could see a large doorway from which the Mist appeared to be emanating. When they were within thirty Achlys-sized paces away, Karthus stopped. He let go of her hand and placed his on her shoulder.

"Do you remember what you have to do?"

"I do," Achlys nodded, "I am going to wait for you to introduce me, then I will enter and curtsy the way Auntie taught me how. Then we will talk with the king. He gets to speak first because he outranks us and when I speak to him, I will use my best manners. I will not call him Viego, even though that is his name. I will only address him by titles, like 'my king' or 'my liege' because that is what the book said was the polite way to address a king. Oh, and I make sure that he knows I want to help and will be loyal."

She felt him give an encouraging squeeze on her shoulder.

"That is correct," Karthus said, "Now, please wait by the doorway until I call you in."

"I will."

"I know you will. I love you."

"I love you too."

Leaving Achlys, Karthus glided into the throne room. Unlike his previous audience, Viego was expecting him. He was sitting upright in stone throne, unblinking eyes fixed on the doorway in anticipation of the lich's arrival. Also unlike last time, Thresh was present, standing in wait several paces from the throne. Karthus cast the Warden a suspicious glance, but could not dedicate more time than that to the other wraith. More important souls demanded his attention. He gave a low bow.

"Karthus," Viego acknowledged.

"My king."

"Have you brought the girl?"

"Yes, my daughter is here. Please, allow me to introduce her."

"Do so."

Karthus moved to the side and extended an arm towards the door.

"Achlys," he called, "please enter."

Achlys gave Acheron a pat on the head and whispered a command to "remember to behave." Any lingering sense of nervousness or shyness was pushed away and she lifted her head held high. Then, she stepped into the throne room. At once, her eyes went wide with what she saw.

Here, sitting upon a throne, was the source of the Black Mist. An unfathomable wound, unnaturally shaped like a perfect inverted triangle, punctured the king's chest. At one time, blood poured from this fatal wound, and inky marks of the ancient injury still stained his chest. Now however, Black Mist, sorrow manifest, wept from the mark.

It filled the room. Like a creeping vine, it spread across the floor and up the walls. Here and there a soul within flickered like a captured firefly, it was a different light that captured her attention completely. The king's eyes were brilliant in the darkness, radiant discs of green against a midnight backdrop. Achlys felt as though his burning gaze wasn't looking at her, but into her, as though he were examining her soul itself. She did what she had to do though, and walked to her father's side.

"King Viego," Karthus said, "this is Achlys, my daughter and her companion, Acheron. Achlys, this is King Viego, sovereign of the Shadow Isles."

Achlys gave a polite curtsey. Acheron remained motionless, sensing his charge's desire for him to remain passive and not see the king as a threat.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, my king," Achlys said, exactly as she had been instructed to.

For several silent seconds, Viego just looked at her. His expression was unreadable. At last, he spoke.

"Achlys,"

"Yes?" she responded automatically, before quickly adding, "my king."

"Karthus spoke of you. He told me that you would be a valued asset to my kingdom, that you would be loyal. Is this true?"

"It is. Acheron and I are loyal subjects. We only want what is best for the Isles."

Anticipated questions, practiced responses.

"And how do you intend to serve me?"

"With my magic."

"Yes, he mentioned you possessed magic, but what can you do with it? I have the souls of hundreds of mages at my command, ones with centuries more experience than you. What makes yours more beneficial to me?"

"My magic was born from the gift you gave the Isles," she said, remembering what she had practiced saying, "and it would bring me joy to return this great favor by using this very gift to aid you."

She held out her hands so that Acheron would come to rest in them.

"I can use it to help wraiths," she continued, "I help them remember. I help them reform. I can also influence their emotions, making them calm or angry. And if I need to, I can defend myself with balefire."

She let her magic flow into Acheron, letting her guardian flare brightly for a moment.

"Acheron helps with this. He protects me and I can give him balefire to make him stronger. When I am stronger, I will gladly use it to defend the Isles. My magic grows stronger every year," she finished with a smile, before quickly adding, "Um, and I can also levitate a little bit, I am still learning. I will get better at that too."

Mentioning levitation wasn't part of the response she had been told to give, but she didn't think it would be polite to not include that bit. She wished she could look over to Karthus and see if he approved of her saying this, but she couldn't look away. It was rude to look away from the king when he was talking to you. That's what the book had said.

"And has Karthus told you what great goal you will be serving?"

"I am to help right a terrible wrong, however I can. The queen is missing and without her, the Isles are incomplete."

"They are."

By his expression, Achlys could not tell if Viego was pleased by her response or saddened by it. He had turned from her and looked at the empty throne beside his. He placed a hand where another's may have rested upon it.

"And do you understand the importance of this task?" he asked without taking his eyes off the empty throne.

"I do."

"How could you?"

He whipped his head back around to look down at Achlys.

"How could you understand?" he demanded to know, "You have never met her, never seen her. How can you claim know what I feel? You are a child! Our love was beautiful!"

"I don't understand," Achlys heard herself blurt out, "but I still want to help!"

As quickly as she had deviated from them, she tried to return to the answers she was supposed to say.

"I want to help wraiths, my king. Please let me help. I will be loyal and faithful and good."

Her words weren't perfect. They weren't exactly as she was supposed to say them, but they had the intended effect. Viego calmed. He leaned forward in his throne, considering the girl before him for a moment.

"You may never understand how profound our love is," he says, "but you do understand value of serving a greater purpose. I forgive you, Achlys."

He stood and stepped down from the elevated platform towards her. Achlys bowed her head, and responded with a "thank you, my king." In her hands, she could feel Acheron ripple with energy. She gripped him tighter just to make sure that he wasn't going to try and defend her from Viego. She had hoped that her command to "behave" would have covered this, but she didn't want to take any chances.

Achlys kept her head down until he was standing before her. She knew she had to look up, to not do so would be rude. She looked up and was ensnared by his eyes once more. Not quite human, not quite wraith. Much like the ancient sword, their color both drew her in and unnerved her.

"The same green color as mine," she thought, "but something feels wrong."

"All I want is to have the kingdom I rightfully should have had," Viego said, "My beloved queen by my side, sharing my happiness with my adoring subjects and rewarding the champions loyal to me. I should have had that! But fate cannot deny me forever. I will still get her back. I will still have it all. You can be part of it, child. Give me what I deserve so that I may give the love I was destined to. Swear fealty to me."

And as he finished speaking, he held out his hand, expectantly. Achlys's mind went blank. Somewhere in the book, she had read that there was something she was supposed to be doing at this moment, but in the moment, she could not recall. Shake his hand? Kiss it? Place it against her forehead? Without thinking, she reached out and took his hand.

A shiver ran down her arms as she closed her fingers around his. For several heartbeats, she just stood there, holding his hand. Achlys had expected his hand to be warm like Gwen's were, since he looked almost alive, but his grip was as cold as any other wraith's.

Then suddenly, the memory of what she was supposed to do came crashing back to her. She dropped to one knee.

"I, Achlys, do vow to serve my king and country faithfully from now until the moment of my death and beyond."

The vow was supposed to be longer, but her mind hadn't fully remembered it all, so she said what she knew, having decided that it was better to recite the parts she knew perfectly than guess at the parts she didn't and get something wrong. Viego did not appear bothered by the omission of these words.

As she finished speaking, Achlys released his hand and then placed the one she had been holding his with over her heart.

"I accept your vow," Viego said, "Rise now, Achlys, faithful member of my court."

She followed the command.

"You shall find that I reward service rendered well," he continued speaking, "and, as a show of my generosity, I shall bestow upon you this boon. I shall mend your magic."

He took a step back.

"Thresh," he barked, "lay her soul bare for me."

Achlys turned her head in surprise towards the familiar sound of clanking chains. Her attention had been so focused on Viego that she hadn't even realized Thresh was there.

"Hello, Achlys," he greeted in his usual manner.

"Hello," she responded, giving him a short bow as well.

"You know what you are to do."

She nodded and turned Acheron to face her.

"Remember," she told her crystalline guardian, "this doesn't hurt me. You don't need to protect me from Thresh. Go wait by Father's side."

She released him and made sure he went to Karthus before turning back to Thresh.

"I would recommend supporting her," Thresh said to Karthus, "bodies have this tendency to collapse when the souls are removed from them."

Karthus moved to catch Achlys, placing his hands behind her upper back.

"I have you," he said to her.

"I am ready," Achlys said.

Thresh brushed aside her sea glass pendant, its frosted surface reflecting green against his claws, and placed his blade to the base of her neck. There was the sting of her skin breaking, and Achlys took a deep breath in and let all her other muscles relax. The tips Thresh's claws gripped the faintest threads of her soul wisping from the wound and he yanked it out with a sudden motion. Her mortal body collapsed back into her father's arms while her spectral form was held up by Thresh.

No matter how many times she had experienced it, the sensation of becoming wraithlike was always dizzying. In an instant, all her senses changed; colors became duller, voices were clearer, smells shifted, and strangest of all, emotions felt tangible.

Her mind spun as she felt those of everyone in the room. As always, Thresh felt like a still pool of water, cool, calm, and in control of his emotions. Behind her, an emotion like the exciting tickle of fear melded with the heavy burden of concern and electrifying jolt of hope radiated from her father. And from Viego, she felt a mixture of emotions, loud like the churning of waves, but at the head of them all was curiosity, which usually tickled the back of her mind, but from him, it was stronger, hands desperate to grasp for knowledge, for some hope.

"My, my, Achlys," Thresh said, "look at what has happened to you."

Over the years, Thresh had watched the Black Mist within Achlys grow slowly from a sliver curled around her heart, to a larger coil, with several small tendrils budding from it. Now, those tendrils had erupted, spreading through her like an overgrown vine, curling around and knotted up in itself as it reached down her arms, through her chest, and around her throat. It had grown more in the last year than it had all the previous ones combined.

The look of horror on Karthus's face made Thresh almost glad that the girl had been brought before Viego. Almost.

Achlys looked down at herself and shock instantly leapt to her face.

"It's gotten bigger!" she exclaimed, completely forgetting her courtly manners, "Is this why I keep throwing up mist?"

"It is," Karthus answered.

His voice was clear and melodious, devoid of the echo usually heard by Achlys's mortal ears. The sound calmed her.

"I will make it obey," Viego said, moving back to Achlys, "Step aside."

Thresh gave the briefest of bows before moving just enough out of Viego's way to satisfy him, but remaining close enough so that he could watch how the Mist could be influenced. Karthus gave a more genuine one before backing away with Achlys's mortal body cradled gently against himself. Achlys peeked over her shoulder to watch her body be carried off and see the pale thread of light between it and her soul grow.

"Achlys,"

At Viego's voice, her head snapped back around. The authority in his tone demanded attention.

"Show it to me."

The command rippled through Achlys like a tangible force. She obeyed, lifting her chin and letting her arms rest by her side so the whole afflicted portion of her body could be viewed.

Viego examined each knot and curl of the Mist that wound its way through her. There was not a hint of concern on his expression, though his brow did furrow in thought, as if he was intrigued by how his powers were able to influence the living and wondering if this could perhaps be replicated.

"You have been given this gift by fate, but I will give you the power to use it," a plume of Black Mist seeped form his wound as he spoke, "Let it not give you anguish! Surrender to it! Let it give you strength. The strength needed to find her!"

The being responsible for the Mist, her magic, the very thing that had allowed her to survive on the Isles, placed a single finger in center of her chest. It was bright. Streams of magic, hauntingly beautiful with its green light, coursed through Achlys. It wrapped around the tendrils of Black Mist, making her chest look as though a black and green striped wrym was writhing within her.

Moment by moment, the tangle of Mist began to unwind. It spread itself more evenly through her body and eased its grip on her vitals, except for her heart. There the Mist kept its grip on her as tightly as ever. And all the while, Thresh watched intently.

If this process was painful for Achlys, she did not show it. Her mortal form rested in Karthus's arms, breathing shallowly and looking as though she were just asleep. Her spectral form was likewise motionless. She looked like a statue carved from ice and moonlight.

Though her wraith was immobile, her mind was not. It was reeling. She had heard Thresh compare sorrow to waves upon a shore before. Viego's pain was like a tsunami. At his touch, the churning waves of his emotions came crashing down on her. She felt like she was drowning in it. No matter how she searched, she couldn't feel any other emotion through his and with each second, she grew more desperate to escape it. Then, she felt something different.

She thought it was her father. The emotion felt comforting and familiar. It felt like love, but as she focused on it, she felt that something was different. Wrong? Like there was too much of something or something was missing.

"Achlys."

A voice cut through the sorrow. She strained her mind towards it.

"Achlys."

With a gasp, her eyes snapped opened and she saw Karthus leaning over her, a look of concern on his ancient face.

"Achlys," he spoke softly, and once more it held the hollow echo of undeath, "are you in pain? You are crying."

Tears were streaming down her cheeks. In the light of the wraiths, the glistening streaks were tinted pale green. Her chest was not heaving from wailing, nor was her throat tight or her face contorted in grief, but silently she cried. She turned Viego and spoke.

"You are so sad."

There was no space in her mind for courtly manners.

"So sad," she continued, "I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry that you hurt like that. It's the worst feeling. I'm sorry, Viego."

Karthus tried to shush Achlys as she spoke freely. No decorum in tears.

"It's like you were pulled under water. You try to breath but only water comes in, not air. It fills you up and it's all cold where there should be warmth. And you can't get it out. And the more you try to get air, the more water you swallow. And it gets colder and darker and heavier and you just can't get above the water."

Her eyes were so blurry with tears that she couldn't see Viego's expression as he fixated up on her.

"I don't want wraiths to suffer. I'm supposed to help wraiths, and that means you too. But I don't know if I can pull you out," she whimpered, "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. It hurts."

"Hush," Karthus urged, "Achlys, my dear, hush."

His voice was love and fear in equal measure as he wiped the tears from her eyes. Achlys blinked the rest away and when her vision returned, she saw Viego looming over both her and her Father. For a brief moment, she feared that he would be furious at how she had spoken horrifically out of turn and he would accuse Karthus of being a poor parent, but that did not happen. Instead, he spoke with an unusual softness.

"You felt it," he said.

Achlys nodded.

"You will never truly know how deep my pain is, but that you have any sense of it means that you, more than any other of my servants, know the need to see my vision achieved. I must be with her again."

"I want to help," Achlys said.

Her destiny. Help.

"And you will."

"I will."

"Stand, and use what I have given you. Become a worthy champion of the Shadow Isles."

Karthus aided Achlys back to her feet.

"How do you feel?" he whispered to her.

How did she feel? Achlys focused on her body, visualizing the tendrils of Mist within her as she thought. She could feel it within her melded perfectly with her magic and thrumming in time with her heartbeat. She still felt its chill, but no longer was it an uncomfortable cold. It was part of her now and always.

Achlys took a deep breath in, letting the still air of the temple fill her lungs as much as she could allow, and exhaled. Wisps of Mist floated out with her breath. There was no coughing. No pain. She felt powerful. She felt alive.

"I feel wonderful."

Greetings Summoners,

Wow, it has been a lot of work to get us here. I hope their meeting was worth the wait. I wrote a lot over the last year and, if I am being honest, I need to slow down a little. I had this meeting as the goal in mind but I haven't planned much of the story past this point. I will be taking the rest of August off from Deathsinger to recharge my thoughts and get some ideas. I know there is a particular grave digger who still hasn't made an appearance. Also, moving forward, I may only be able to do one chapter a month. I want to spend some time on other stories. I want to do a revisit of Project: N, start the awaited sequel for it, put out a few more scenes of Prelude to Ruin (before the Ruination book comes out and basically does the same thing), and possibly start a new series set in Ionia. Thank you all for your understanding and remember, feedback is appreciated.

Best of luck on the Rift,

- Gwoo