Uru Baya was a sharp contrast to Samota. Where the previous village had been a small group of unassuming buildings, the one that stood before them was a veritable fortress. High weathered walls of granite surrounded the front half, the mountain guarding the back. Thick doors blocked their entry.

Everything was quiet, still. Clouds shrouded the late day sun once again, threatening another snowfall.

Farron pushed on the doors, but they wouldn’t budge. Then he pounded a fist on them three times and stepped back to wait for a reply of some sort.

Claire shivered. She hoped they wouldn’t be stuck out in the cold. Surely they’d freeze.

A few minutes had gone by when a man finally appeared on the top of the wall to the side of the gate.

“What’s your business here?” he shouted down to them. He gave them both once-overs, but he particularly focused on Farron.

“We’ve just come for answers,” Farron replied.

“To what?”

Sensing the guard’s hesitance, Claire revealed her arm, pushing up the sleeve of her jacket to show the mark. The man eyed it then nodded, disappearing once again.

A moment later a series of loud clicks sounded from the doors before they slowly opened, creaking and groaning.

Inside was much less intimidating and looked like almost any other small village. There were perhaps ten buildings in total, none bigger than her home back in Stockton. Made of stone and wood, they were half buried with thick roofs, some with multiple chimneys producing steady streams of smoke. They had to be in the right place. If not, then why the security?

The doors closed with a resounding thud behind her as if to illustrate her last point. The guard approached them, huddled under a thick cloak and furs. “This way.” He led them to the largest building of the bunch and then entered.

Claire glanced at Farron and he just shrugged before following the man.

Inside was dim and smoky. And plain. Exposed stone made up the wall of the large circular room, and a fireplace stood at one end behind a line of cushions. The only decoration was the swirl-patterned rug underfoot that took up half the wooden floor.

They waited in the room as the guard disappeared again. Claire warmed herself by the fire, the feeling slowly returning to her fingers. She was glad that they had been let in. Whether or not they would be allowed to stay remained to be seen.

The door clicked open and the guard entered again followed by an older man—no, not a man, an elf. Claire kept her surprise contained. Was he an elder? He certainly looked ancient. Perhaps the forest elves had been on the right path. He used a staff to shuffle over to the largest cushion in front of Claire, looking her and Farron over with his faded blue eyes. Gray hair was shorn close to his head, different than most of the elves she’d crossed paths with in the past, who’d worn their hair longer. He stood, slightly hunched over, for a minute, taking Claire in. The guard stayed back by the door, his hand on a sword at his side.

“I suppose it was only a matter of time before one of you showed up here,” the old elf said, his voice brittle but still deep. He turned his back to her and sat slowly on the cushion, groaning on the way down.

Claire came around to face him, unsure of what to say. Where would she even begin?

But Farron broke the silence first. “You know what she is?”

The elder nodded solemnly.

“Then we need your help.”

Straight to the point, that one. Claire examined the old elf. He wore plain clothes, dark gray and monotone, thick and warm, matching the utilitarian design of the rest of the place.

The Elder looked Farron up and down. “And who sent you? Which king?”

Farron’s eyebrows scrunched slightly, not looking pleased with the question.

“Don’t be surprised. That dark hair of yours isn’t fooling anyone. Just because we are at the top of the world doesn’t mean we don’t get news. It’s my business to know these things.” He settled his staff across his lap. “I know who you are, Farron, bastard son of King Earnehard, half-brother of King Líadan. Who used to serve in the court of King Ryaenon. I have eyes everywhere, connections like a web. Who do you serve? Who are you loyal to?”

“Her,” he said plainly, nodding toward Claire.

The Elder raised his eyebrows. Claire could feel her cheeks grow hot, a little embarrassed.

The old elf looked at her. “Is that true?”

“I—” Claire hesitated, then glanced at Farron. After everything they’d been through, she knew it was true, it was just awkward hearing him say it out loud. “Yes.” She turned back to the Elder.

The Elder chuckled. “Well, that is unexpected. Still, I do not know if you speak the truth. Not with your… colorful past.”

She could see Farron shift slightly. His cold mask slipped into place, emotionless. She knew it stung him, that his past was still haunting him.

“I can’t trust you, and if I don’t trust you, I won’t help you.” The Elder held Farron’s gaze, matching his iciness.

Claire swore the temperature dropped a couple degrees in the room.

“So that’s it?” Farron asked. “All this way for nothing?”

“Understand, my knowledge can change the world. Has changed the world. There are walls around this place for a reason. I don’t, I haven’t, and I will not give my knowledge to anyone that just asks.”

Farron clenched his fist, anger flashing in his eyes.

“Fare,” Claire said and reached out to touch him. The sting of the Elder’s words had hit her as well. Was there really no way? She had to think of a way to convince him.

Farron turned, pulling away, then stormed out the door, the guard smartly avoiding him.

Claire followed, hesitating at the door to glance back at the Elder. He looked after her, his eyes sad. The sky had grown gloomier, hiding the sun behind thick clouds. Farron stood in the middle of the courtyard, his face tilted up, eyes closed.

“I thought I would be able to escape it,” he said when she drew near. “My past. I’m sorry, Claire.” He turned to her, his expression matching the weather, dreary and full of regret. “It’s because of me he won’t talk.”

“We’ll find a way,” she said, reaching out to him again, only this time he didn’t pull away. “We’re so close. That this place exists, that he exists, means we still have hope.” She squeezed his arm and gave him a slight smile. She didn’t tell him that her hope was hanging on by a thread itself. That her panic was just as high, or higher than his.

“I can always make him talk,” he said in a lowered voice. “I have ways, you know.”

Claire hoped he was joking. “I think that is the type of thing he spoke of when he mentioned your colorful past.”

Farron shrugged. “One way or another, we are not leaving here empty-handed.”

He had made the statement seem lighthearted, but Claire knew better. She knew what desperation could drive men, and elves, to.

“Miss Tanith,” the guard called from the doorway to the building.

Claire turned to face him. Hearing her name come from him was a little strange since she’d never given it to him. At least the Elder hadn’t been lying when he said he had eyes and ears everywhere.

The guard stepped aside and motioned for her to come. She glanced at Farron, but the guard said, “Alone.”

Farron crossed his arms, not happy, but he didn’t protest either. The first light flutters of snow started to fall and he looked back up at the sky.

With a deep breath, Claire went back into the room with the Elder. When she did, the guard stepped out into the cold and closed the door behind him, leaving Claire to fend for herself. The old elf remained sitting cross-legged on the cushion in front of the blazing, crackling fire.

“Come, sit,” he said, gesturing with a hand in front of him.

Claire did as told, sinking slowly to the floor, unsure what he wanted.

“I may be old, but I can still sense magic,” he said, his expression solemn. “And by the feeling I get from you, there is probably more than one reason you came to seek me out.”

Claire nodded, gulping.

“Let’s see it then.”

Slowly, Claire began taking off her layers, growing colder with each one shed. She was shivering by the time the mark was exposed. She tilted her head to the side to show how it went up her neck and over her shoulder.

“I see,” the Elder said. He sighed and it was long and mournful. “An unforeseen consequence,” he mumbled, more to himself than Claire, it seemed. “I am sorry, child,” he said to her this time. “There are many things we didn’t foresee, couldn’t foresee. What’s happening to you, the land… we never planned for any of it.”

Claire looked at him, trying to process what he was saying. “Do you mean—? Were you there? The Great War?”

The Elder nodded, his eyes clouding over with memories of ages past. “It was a dark time. If we hadn’t done anything…” His eyes cleared as he looked at her. “I was there when it happened. I was one of the ones that helped seal away magic.”

Her jaw dropped a little. It seemed he was more important than she, or probably anyone, knew. Not only was he there for the Great War, but if what he said was true, he was one of the reasons magic had disappeared from the land.

“We only did what we thought was right,” he said, his eyes pleading like he was seeking her forgiveness. “The war was going on and on. And it worked, for a bit, what we did. What happened to you and whoever else got cursed with those marks, we are sorry. The sacrifice of a few for the good of all was what we believed.”

“Who was we?” she asked, curious.

The Elder shook his head, somewhat surprised at her question. A thoughtful look came over his face as he recalled the past. “We were a coalition of men and elves who wanted peace between our races. We were small, and secretive because we had to be, a precursor to the Ophiuchus Syndicate, though nowhere near as insidious. Hume Sylnias, they called us—human sympathizers. Back then the term was used like any curse word today. The movement grew, on both sides, until it was quashed and we had to retreat to the shadows.”

Claire listened to him talk with rapt attention. “Then what happened?” It wasn’t every day she heard history from so long ago, from someone who lived it.

“We escaped to the mountains in Derenan. King Earnehard was also a sympathizer, and it was one of the few safe places for us. We needed time to formulate a plan. A plan Rialla had researched for years. No one thought it would work, but we had to try. Seven humans volunteered. A knife in the back of elves.” A short laugh escaped his lips, followed by a raspy cough. “Old magic, it was. That the spell even existed meant that the balance of power had been off long before elves ruled, though, they—the ones who’d crafted the spell—had never been foolish enough to use it. We sealed the magic away in the humans and hid them away, and thus changed the course of the war and history. The Ophiuchus Syndicate was born to protect the Star Children, only we couldn’t control who the mark would be passed to. The spell had taken on a life of its own; such power, how could it not? And peace was known for the first time in years. My brothers and sisters were forced to pay for their evils and go into hiding. The age of humans. No one ever thought that would come to pass.”

“What happened to them, the others that helped you?”

“They passed in their own time. I am the only one left, burdened with the weight of what we have done. We bought peace for a while, but the winds of war are stirring once again. There is unrest in the earth itself. I have felt it. Heard the stories of the Beasts of Old, once tamed and sealed by my brethren, ravaging the land once again. I fear what we have done has only set the stage for something much worse. Only now we have lost the knowledge of magic and spells. What was once our undoing may now be our only hope.” He looked at the mark climbing up her arm. “However, that may not be true for you.”

Claire shivered and slipped her jacket and cloak back on. “That’s why I came to see you. To find out if there is a way to restore it all.”

“You wish to restore magic?” His eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise.

She nodded.

“I thought for sure someone had sent you, to find out how to use you. That Líadan… he has the others, does he not?”

“He does, but his goal and mine are the same. He knows what is happening to his people, his land. Though my reasons may be a little more selfish.”

“I see.” He retreated into his own world for a few moments of thought. He held his hand out to her then, his fingers long and frail looking. “May I?”

She gave him a questioning look.

“I need to know if you speak the truth.”

Did he know how to dive into her mind like Razi? The thought of having yet another person rattle around in her head was unpleasant, but if it was the only way to get him to trust her, she’d just have to do it.

Hesitantly, she put her hand in his. His flesh was cold to the touch and seemed as thin and delicate as paper. And then she was lost, sucked back into her memories. She saw flashes of her childhood, her mother, and the tavern, the peaceful times, followed by that blazing fateful night, a great ball filled with dancing and reverie, red eyes in the dark, the Haven, the palace. It all went by so fast. She felt like she lived a lifetime in mere moments. The real world was a shock when she finally came back to it. She gasped for breath as if she’d been holding it the entire time. Her pulse quickened and she could feel her hands shake.

The Elder looked winded as well, his slight frame heaving. Sweat beaded on his brow. “The trials you have suffered… I am sorry.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

He nodded, but he didn’t look reassured. She could see the guilt clear on his face. “There is a way,” he said. “To restore it.”

She stopped breathing for a moment, her body stilling. So there was hope.

“Like you, I believe that it is time to return magic to the land, for the good of all. But,” he said, a stern hint of warning in his voice, “I want you to understand the consequences of your choice, unlike we did so long ago.”

Claire swallowed hard and nodded ever so slightly.

“The balance of power will most likely shift back to the elves. They may try to take back what once was theirs. The land may flourish, but humans may not.”

“If I don’t, then no one will have a chance.”

“I agree, I am just trying to warn you. As for a solution to keep history from repeating itself, I do not have one I’m afraid. I am but an old relic from a different time.”

Claire let his words sink in. Could restoring magic lead to another Great War? Was she betraying humans with her decision? Was she letting her selfishness rule her thinking?

“And as far as your problem, beware,” he said, his voice growing soft. “The mark has entwined itself so deeply within you, there is no telling what would happen if it were released. If it spreads too far, there may not be enough of you left. It could kill you just the same.”

The blood drained from her face. “Oh…” was all she could manage to say. Even after everything, there may not be hope for her after all. She took a long shaky breath and let it out slowly. Was she doomed either way?

“I sense hesitance in you, child. If you are to do this, you cannot falter. The task is too great to waver before it is done. Your fate is not set in stone yet. There may be a chance to cure you, but there may not be. Either way, you know your fate if you do nothing.”

He had a point. If she did nothing, she would succumb to the mark and go mad before the end. At least if she restored magic to the land she’d be able to do some good before her demise. Either way, it was a lot to take in. The weight of it all already crushed down upon her. She took another deep breath to keep calm.

“I’ll do it.” The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could really think about what it would entail. Before consulting Farron. It was selfish of her, but no matter what she decided, he would follow. Would he still help her if he knew? She didn’t want to risk it. Not yet.

“Good.” She could see relief flood the old elf.

His burden had now become hers. If she lived, would spend the rest of her days in a place like this, filled with guilt over her decisions?

“The spell used was old magic, so old magic is needed to break it. An incantation to be exact. Words and their meaning lost to time.”

Claire looked at him expectantly, hoping he would know them.

“Of course I don’t know them. Only Rialla did.”

Claire’s shoulders sank. Of course, it wouldn’t have been that easy.

“But she didn’t leave us without any hope. The words exist but they are hidden. She had them set in stone before she passed and hid them across the land. Only the power of a Star Child can reveal them.”

Claire thought instantly of the stone fragment she’d found in the palace. Old language set in stone that she had felt drawn to. It definitely fit the description. She scrambled to her pack and dug the fragment out from the bottom, sending her belongings sprawling across the floor in her haste. She knelt in front of the old elf once again, showing him the fragment.

“My child,” he said, breathless. “You keep surprising me! Yes, this is part of it. Wherever did you find it?”

“In the palace, King Líadan had it stored away in his library. He’s been hunting for anything that is connected to the Star Children.”

“Well, then. I think you are already well on your way. Perhaps it has been your fate all along.”

Claire didn’t know about that, but the way some events had played out, she wasn’t so sure anymore.

“I will have Will take you to the cave tomorrow,” he said as he started to rise. “It grows late. More will be explained to you in the morning.”

Claire offered him a hand, but looked at him questioningly. There was still so much she didn’t know. Was that it?

The old elf chuckled when he saw the distressed look on her face. “Do not worry, child. There will be enough of that in the coming days. There is much to do and much to think upon. I have lived long enough to see magic disappear from the land, but I never thought I’d see it return. I have faith in you. Take the night to rest. I will have Ophelia bring you some blankets and food. I’m afraid this will have to do. We are not equipped for visitors.”

“Anywhere is fine as long as it’s not out in the cold.” Speaking of, she had forgotten about Farron. He was surely an icicle by now.

She escorted the Elder to the door. He turned to her when they reached it. “Apologize to your friend for me,” he said, patting her hand kindly. “I had misjudged him. It is my job to be cautious.”

“I understand. I will.”

The Elder knocked on the door with his staff twice and the guard from earlier opened it. He shivered and rubbed his hands together. Claire was shocked at his dedication. He must have been freezing. Without complaint, he escorted the old elf across the small clearing to another low-roofed building, walking by Farron. As the elder passed, he gave the younger elf a nod that Farron returned, looking both relieved and confused.

Snow fell harder in the dim light after the setting sun. Farron stood as a grim, dark counter to the surrounding white. He looked at her, questioning, then came with a slight jog in his step. He shook the snow off his cloak and stomped his boots before entering. He eyed her overturned pack.

Claire ushered him in and quickly shut the door. After stuffing her things back in her bag she went back to the fire to warm up again, Farron trailing closely behind. She could almost feel the impatience emanating off of him.

“Well?” he finally asked. White flecks dotted his darkened hair.

“I’m going to do it,” she said. “I’m going to restore magic to the land. He said that there is a way. There’s hope, Fare.”

He swept her up into his embrace, her feet hanging helplessly as he swung her around in a circle. When he finally released her she sank back to the floor to sit in front of the warm flames. He followed suit, warming his hands, taking his gloves off. She told him almost everything the Elder had told her, leaving out the bit about her not surviving either way. It was a big omission, one that she felt guilty keeping from him, but in a way, she felt that if she didn’t acknowledge it, perhaps it wouldn’t come true.

Ophelia came with the blankets and hot stew shortly after Claire had finished her retelling of events. Farron had just as many questions as she had, maybe even more. He was just as astounded to learn that the unassuming old elf they’d met had a hand in changing the course of the war, and the world, so long ago. It was a lot to take in. They examined the stone fragment even closer, trying to figure out the secrets it held, but it was no use. It was just as mysterious now as when she’d first found it back in the palace.

“He also said he was sorry,” Claire told him. “That he misjudged you.”

Farron smiled in a sad way, though she had a feeling that it relieved him a little to hear it. Not much, but maybe a little. To know that maybe he could, if not escape his past, at least overcome it.