Chapter 5 – Reassessment

Chapter 5 – Reassessment

Liria stared. It was all she could do to keep the shock and disbelief from showing on her face.

Her first thought was that this had to be a trick. An elaborate and very realistic illusion the Lich King was showing her to make her let down her guard. For someone claiming to be so “perfect” and “beyond trivialities like mortal emotions,” that pompous skeleton was disturbingly good at preying on human weaknesses.

Therefore, the smart and reasonable thing to do here would be to erase him from existence before he could attack her first. Move on with her life. No one would fault her…

She should stop lying to herself.

Even at the height of his power, the Lich King had never been able to toy with her mind. Here in this altered past, the odds of a fledgling Serivhal being able to one-up her was nonexistent.

Liria? Aethon’s voice echoed inside her mind.

What happened? Seralyth joined him only moments later.

Wonderful. She had been so shocked that she failed to stop the emotion from resonating through their shared connection. Now, how could she deflect without lying?

I… I’m fine. She reassured them. The world is just… so vast and full of surprises.

Oh? Do tell. She could almost see Vaelir’s teasing smile.

This was embarrassing. Liria grasped the emotion like a lifeline, forcefully shoving it into their shared connection.

Not. Talking. About. It. She said sulkily.

With an understanding chuckle, her siblings’ voices faded.

How long had Liria been standing there, lost in her own mind? A minute?

It was a minute too long. She could already see the cautious hope fading from the young Serivhal’s eyes. The resignation and self-loathing taking its place.

Liria made her decision. If this was an illusion or just plain, good old acting, then it was truly inspired work. Serivhal deserved to get one over her after going this far.

Her siblings were only a thought and a teleportation spell away; she could afford to take the risk.

Liria crossed the remaining distance between them.

The circling wraiths charged at her in a screaming wave of malice. They melted against the barrier of light and life that she summoned.

The necromantic fire flared, threatening to consume her. She put it out with delicate precision, carefully manipulating the streams of light so that she wouldn’t hurt the child.

Then they were finally face to face, with nothing in between them.

Awe had returned to the young Serivhal’s gaze. Hope too, no longer cautious but desperate. As if grasping at a final lifeline.

Truly inspired acting, if this is what it is. Liria thought with a curious sense of detachment.

Her mind was still a mess. She still had no idea what to think, what to feel, about this ridiculous twist of fate.

Give me back my final confrontation, damn it! Give me back my absolution! She silently raged against an uncaring world.

Her time was quickly running out. She had to make a proper first impression. What would her siblings do in this situation?

“Goddess,” the child spoke again. No longer a question this time, but a tearful plea. “Please save me.”

The raw emotion in his voice was almost heartbreaking. And wrong.

Serivhal, the Lord of Ashen Eternity, should not be speaking to her like that. Liria wanted to scream.

“I am no Goddess, child,” she said instead, in her best approximation of Aethon’s solemn and serious voice. “And only you can save yourself.”

She knelt, placing them at the same eye level, looking directly into his vivid green eyes. She arranged her facial muscles into a clumsy imitation of Seralyth’s gentle smile.

“But I can help you get there,” she reached out. “Will you let me?”

The young Serivhal looked back at her with a dazed expression on his face, as if he was looking at something far too bright.

He clasped her hand.

The necromantic taint inside him was still a wound in reality, the simple contact burning like acid against her skin. Corruption clawed at her very being.

Liria’s benevolent mask never faltered.

The child was not Serivhal.

At least that was what Liria told herself, for the sake of her own sanity.

Other than the unmistakable necromantic taint, they had nothing in common.

Not even their name.

The child had been living on the run for as long as he could remember, moving from town to town, surviving by begging and theft. Whenever his power slipped free, people fled—or drove him out with stones and fire. His parents had abandoned him at some point, leaving him with nothing but a faint memory.

Seris. The child’s name was Seris.

Did he modify it later in life? Liria wondered. To make it sound more impressive and menacing, maybe? Whatever happened to being “beyond mortal weaknesses,” my dear Lich King? Vanity is a very mortal conceit.

For some reason, the image of the Lord of Ashen Eternity practicing his poses and speech before a mirror flashed through Liria’s mind, and she had to bite back a strangled laugh.

No. That’s ridiculous. I must be losing my mind.

They walked through the forest as the light softened toward dusk. The air was cool and damp, carrying the scent of new growth. Somewhere in the canopy, birds called to one another, their lively song a stark contrast to the death and decay that had surrounded Seris before.

Seris walked just a little ahead of Liria; he was skipping. She still found the sight surreal.

What.

His childlike wonder was infectious, like a little boy experiencing the world for the very first time.

She recalled the grim scenery when they first met. The grotesque undead. The gray, lifeless wasteland stretching in every direction.

Liria’s grudging smile died on her lips. Was that how his world had always looked?

Seris was looking at a simple flower now, a look of almost religious awe on his face. He reached for a white petal, and the flower immediately wilted in his hand.

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Seris wilted along with it. His body shrinking in on itself. Tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

Liria hurried to his side, patting the back of his hand soothingly even as her fingers burned from the contact.

“There, there,” she said. “It’s okay.”

The flower bloomed under her touch, and the religious awe was back on Seris’ face. Directed at her this time.

Liria felt goosebumps crawling across her skin.

This is so wrong.

She needed to distract herself with something. Anything.

She took in his large green eyes, took in the delicate features that had been hidden beneath layers of grime, and tried to picture how Seris would look if he were healthy. Without the dark circles, the sallow skin, the overly gaunt face.

She had wanted to fix those immediately, but their mana was too incompatible. Rejuvenation was out of the question, and even a simple cleaning spell made the child wince in pain. In the end, Liria had to wipe his face by hand, without the convenience of magic.

Liria did a double take. Something must be wrong with her mental reconstruction.

A healthy Seris would look quite… pretty.

The Lich King. Serivhal. Pretty.

Too pretty.

Her mind short-circuited.

Had the Lich King been a Lich Queen all along? The notion was absurd. Serivhal had clearly been…

Oh.

He had been a skeleton covered in thick robes, with a raspy and inhuman voice.

It struck Liria for the first time how little she truly knew of her enemy. Besides the methods to counter his spells and tactics, her knowledge of him stopped at: Mean skeleton goes RAWR. Civilization went BOOM.

Huh.

She really was losing her mind, wasn’t she?