After Xewith left—through the door, down the stairs, just as any ordinary mortal would—Drakthor smiled in satisfaction. He had learned what truly interested him.
"I've been searching in the wrong place until now," he thought as he closed the book lying before him.
It was not an economic reckoning, but a register with daily reports. Every afternoon he had Nexoria's youth examined carefully, searching for signs of unusual abilities. He had long been waiting for his own allies to begin awakening as well. For it was not only the Brotherhood of the Twelve that existed.
"They're over there. Where Xewith lives," he concluded.
If the Brotherhood was awakening—and now all in the same place—then his allies would be there too. He only had to find them and help their awakening.
He returned the book to his secret library, whose entrance had been constructed with such skill that no mortal eye could ever discover it. Mirael had found the secret library—but she had not been an ordinary mortal.
Mirael. The only woman he had ever loved.
It had happened two years ago, and since that fateful day the man had never forgotten her. He had accepted that Mirael was dead, and although he would have been capable of returning—physically, in flesh and blood—to his own past, he had not done so to this day.
Why would he? To sharpen the memories? Even alone, he was not strong enough to change what had happened.
Perhaps if the Brotherhood awakened—and his own allies as well.
Perhaps if they joined forces, time itself would bow before them and change the day he lost Mirael.
Then he brushed the thought aside. He would not hope in vain.
"I will help the Brotherhood awaken as well, and I will find my own allies. I will take revenge, Mirael!" he decided.
Revenge was not a vain hope. And he would take revenge on whoever had taken Mirael from him. Whoever it was would pay dearly.
He had never returned to his own past in bodily form—except on that very day.Today, he went back only to say farewell.Not to relive their most beautiful moment together, but the last one.The moment when he handed over the symbol. He himself fastened it onto the chain.
He had felt it that day—Mirael would flee, because she was incapable of betraying the Brotherhood. That kiss had revealed everything. Only one who truly loves, and knows it is the last kiss, kisses with such passion.
He had also known that Mirael would return to him. Even if the Brotherhood possessed the symbol and regained the power and memories of the First Ones. That kiss had been a silent promise.
"I will take revenge," he repeated to himself.
Then he descended the stairs, crossing the wide, shadowed castle courtyard. He headed straight for the dungeon.
Xewith had been right. He rarely went down to the castle dungeon. Why would he? At his command, prisoners were brought before him.
He passed the guards' room unnoticed. He needed neither escort nor key.
"They guard the prisoners well," he thought.
He would hold them to account tomorrow. Today he had more important matters than guards who sat on their ears.
There were not many prisoners in the dungeon. Of these, he knew the oath-breakers well. It was not difficult to find the foreign boy.
"You forgot the water jug again, didn't you?" the captive called out cheerfully when he heard the footsteps.
"So he's made friends with the guards," Drakthor thought.
He rarely used magic, but now he opened the door with it.
He expected the prisoner to be frightened when he saw him—but the boy was merely surprised.
"So they caught you by the river too, Fionn?" Rhys asked in astonishment. "Well, never mind—at least they'll put you in the same cell with me."
He searched with his eyes for the guards who had brought Fionn here—who, in his opinion, had also been detained for loitering by the river. At least they hadn't beaten him over the head first.
Now it was Drakthor's turn to be astonished.
"They hit you hard on the head by the river, boy, if you're hallucinating. I'm not Fionn. What's your name—now?" he asked directly, emphasizing the word now.
"Don't tease me, Fionn! Then how did you get here? How did you get in?"
"I'm not Fionn. I am Drakthor."
Rhys had seen so many strange things already that he accepted this as well. Nexoria's feared ruler—Drakthor—was the double of Fionn. He would think about it later. There was no time for thinking when Drakthor himself, the feared one, had come to see him.
Who looked exactly like his best friend, Fionn.
"What's your name, boy?" Drakthor repeated patiently.
"Rhys," the prisoner introduced himself.
"So you're awakening? Come on, then—out of the dungeon. There are more pleasant places to discuss this."
Rhys considered fleeing. Who knew what Drakthor might do to him?
"But he didn't harm Mirael or Kaelen," he remembered.
He walked a little more relaxed beside Drakthor along the dungeon corridor.
"I won't speak unless he asks," Rhys decided.
After they left the dungeon, Drakthor informed him that after the hearing, Rhys would be free.
"Yes, the guards said that the loiterers are…"
Rhys fell silent, unsure what title was proper to use for Drakthor.
"You can call me Fionn if it troubles you that I'm Nexoria's ruler. Who is Fionn?"
"My friend," Rhys replied simply.
His tongue still hadn't loosened, and he did not dare ask Drakthor questions.
"If I resemble your friend, perhaps it will be easier for us to get along. I know the Brotherhood is awakening, and I will help with that."
Rhys stared at him.
"Why would you do that? Why would you help?"
For the first time, Drakthor smiled wickedly.
"To take revenge for Mirael."
That was reason enough for Rhys to accept. Then he remembered what Mirael had asked of him.
"Mirael is alive… she is in the World of Healers," he said, and waited for the reaction.
Drakthor shook his head.
"Mirael is dead."
Rhys told him about the World of Healers, and that Mirael was there, waiting for her soul and mind to calm and heal, so the Council would receive her.
"That is the afterlife, Rhys. For two years now…"
He paused only briefly, then continued speaking in a friendly tone.
"Oh, you don't yet know, Rhys, that you command life and death?"
"I know Kaelen did. I assure you, I don't have such an ability now."
"You will. And then you will be one of the members of the Council."
Rhys was not particularly pleased by this. He did not like the World of Healers. Ansuz, Daeg, and Ingwaz were not among those he wished to meet again. If he came into possession of his abilities, he would become a member of the Council—one of those who would receive Mirael when she was ready.
Now Rhys thought he understood why Drakthor was kind to him.
"You want me to send Mirael back to you, if I become a member of the Council?" he asked openly.
"You alone are not enough for that, Rhys. I told you what I want. Revenge."
"I don't promise that I'll help with that," the boy answered honestly.
"Revenge needs no help. It seems that whoever attacked Mirael and Kaelen is our common enemy. Someone—or someones—did not want the Second Ones to gain access to the memories and abilities of the First Ones. That is precisely why I will help you gain access to the power and memories of the First Ones."
The servants opened the castle gate immediately when they saw Drakthor approaching.
"Now you must take an oath. You may not speak to anyone about what we discussed today. Every part of it is secret. If you swear the oath, you may leave the castle freely."
Rhys considered this. In the end, if Drakthor would help them obtain the power and memories of the First Ones, the others would learn of it anyway—from Drakthor himself.
"I swear to keep everything secret," the boy replied solemnly.
"You know that I despise oath-breakers, Rhys!" Drakthor warned him once more.
Rhys nodded. He was braver now, knowing that it had not even crossed Drakthor's mind to take his life—even knowing that he belonged to the Twelve.
He dared to raise the issue.
"Mirael also spoke of the symbol. She said we must search heaven and earth for it, because only the symbol leads to the power and memories of the First Ones."
Drakthor's gaze darkened.
"The symbol is no longer with me. Whatever killed Mirael two years ago took it from her."
Rhys muttered something. Perhaps a quiet curse.
Given his situation, it was understandable. He had been struck on the head, imprisoned, visited the afterlife, met Mirael, and finally Nexoria's ruler had offered him an alliance. He had borne the absurdities well—until now. Now he swore.
"We will search heaven and earth for the symbol, as Mirael asked you to in the afterlife," Drakthor promised.
They reached the castle gate. Drakthor extended his hand to Rhys in farewell.