Tears rolled unchecked down her cheeks. Looking him deep into his eyes, she whispered to Rall. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you.” Then she finally broke down into heartwrenching sobs, completely devoid of hope.

He rested on a ledge curled up close to an outcropping of rocks that blocked the mountain’s chill wind. Clenching his fist slowly, he watched the village’s dim firelights dance across the valley below. A single thought kept rolling around in his mind: his failure to kill two simple girls.

The almost inaudible sound of footsteps approaching finally quieted his mind for the moment. Slowly he pulled himself deeper into a crevice in the rocks and held his breath. Elves had remarkable hearing and their trackers were trained to single out a man’s heartbeat even in the heat of a battle. A single lone simple man on the face of the mountain would be simple for them, fortunately he was no simple man.

Calmly he dulled his mind, allowing his thoughts to drift in between awareness and nothingness. With each passing second his heart rhythm slowed. To a passing observer he would have seemed like a dead man, and in truth the trick had been used for that very purpose more than once; it was usually easier to sneak into temples as a dead man than a living one.

Moments later the patrol had passed him, none the wiser. They wouldn’t likely pass over this particular piece of the mountain again for a few hours at least. Releasing his breath he then quickly inhaled with a jolting involuntary shiver. He ached with profound exhaustion that would take more then a simple good night’s rest to recover from. The magic of his talisman was not something to be toyed with and he was only now beginning to feel the side effects of its use. Soon he would not be able to move more than a finger without great effort and the pain he imagined would be excruciating. Demons always seemed to use suffering as payment for the uses of their magics . He guess they got something out of it, nourishment seemed to be the popular theory amongst the magic types. But it always struck Cale as more likely for entertainment than anything else, just to see how many times the stupid mortal will hurt itself before it stops.

---

The night passed with out much incident, the elves did sweep back again thoughout the night but never so close as to be of concern. Even the curse of his talisman was more tolerable then he had feared. He managed to catch some sleep, though he still struggled to move his body, the lethargy threatening to overtake him at any moment. It would be weeks before he was fully himself again, but even in this deteriorated state he was still determined to follow through on his contract with Xabriar. The promise of his sister was too great to even think of passing up.

Dusting himself off quickly, he could hear the distinct sound of cracking joints in his neck and shoulder. It was a testament to his body’s protest at his abusive sleeping arrangements. Sneaking back into the village was unlikely, there simple was not enough of a human population to hide himself in a crowd. His only chance now was to wait for the caravan to leave and look for an opening. With this thought in mind he hiked back towards the village and located an overhang high up on the mountain that retained line of sight of all the exits to the village, but still concealed from prying eyes.

It was quite a surprise when a few hours later after setting up his little camp he witnessed the trio of girls leaving the village for the mountain with an escort of six heavily armed rangers. Smothering his camp fire hastily, he prepared himself to follow. His mind was full of questions; why were his marks leaving on their own accord when their would-be killer was still unaccounted for?

He watched and waited for them to lose the escort, and to his delight they parted ways not far below him. But the guard remained close by, almost like they wanted to follow but were unable. And the girls stopped at some magical barrier that sprung up to block their passage, so he had to wait for them to clear it before trying to follow. He watched with some satisfaction as the redhead tried to bypass the magical blockade and received a shock for her efforts.

After an interminable span of watching them bumble at it, the elf girl finally convinced the wall to allow them passage. When they’d moved out of sight, he cautiously climbed down to follow them... and the wall sprang back up. It was covered with nonsensical flowing lines and symbols. He didn’t understand a single character of it.

He groaned in disgust at himself for making such an obvious mistake. Looking around for an alternative route seemed futile, the red haired girl had shown that climbing over the gate would be pointless. But there was one possibility; no magic could cover the whole mountain and the sheerness of the mountainside was within his ability to climb, though in his present state it would be less than pleasant.

Sheathing his one remaining dagger he began what he was sure would be a tiring and boring ordeal. But he did see one bright point of this new complication: the three would be alone when he caught them. No one was following but him.

---

The pathway along the mountain ledge was easy from the first gate to the second, and well-travelled. All along the cliff face gifts and what seemed like prayer sheets lined the way.

“These sheets are riddles, written for the goddess’ amusement. The elders leave theirs at the top, but many of the rest of us choose to leave them here, especially at times of births and weddings. Sometimes she carries them away, and I like to think she takes them across the world.” Rall listened raptly as Larenmireil explained, he found he loved the sound of her voice as much as the information she was sharing about her culture.

“That’s a beautiful tradition. Maybe some day soon, when this is all over with, the three of us can come back up here, and bring our own gifts for her.” Rall suggested, and Greta and Larenmireil both smiled at him. He was starting to think maybe it could work out, the goddess sounded wonderful from the way the elves spoke of her.

“Oh, here is the second gate. We should be careful, just in case there’s another...” Greta trailed off, and Rall couldn’t blame her. In the middle of her word they had suddenly stopped being on the open mountain face, and instead were in a hallway together. The passage was stone, much the same stone as the cliff face, but all along the walls were doors, and he could not see the other end of the corridor. A soft light filled the space, but not from any light source he could pick out.

“‘The only door that leads to freedom is the last one.’ What in the name of the First does that mean?” Rall followed Greta’s gaze to a sign hanging from the ceiling directly above them, where this phrase was written in the common trade tongue.

“I guess it means we walk until we find the last door?” Even as he said it, Larenmireil shook her head.

“I can’t see the end of the corridor.” Rall wondered why she had such a serious look, and Greta seemed just as worried.

“Neither can I, but the mountain is only so big, right? It can’t be that far away.”

“You don’t understand. Elven eyesight is nearly as good as elven hearing. If she can’t see the end, we’re not on the mountain anymore.” Greta clarified for him.

Larenmireil nodded, “It could be worse than that. We may be on the mountain, on the same path but lost in an illusion of sorts. One wrong turn could mean certain death falling from the cliff.”

Rall felt his stomach drop to somewhere around his feet. He couldn’t help feeling unnerving terror as Greta paced back and forth. He had never been one for heights, had always made it a point never to look out the tower windows when working the upper floors for Master Xabriar. And being hung by his ankles over the side of the tower stairs repeatedly had only driven home this fear. Now that very same feeling of terror was swimming around in his gut trying to rearrange his internal organs. “Can you please stop that?” he croaked out.

Greta paused in her pacing and looked at him, and apparently whatever she saw in his expression made her stop. Walking over slowly she placed both of her hands on his shoulders looking concerned. “By the gods you’re shaking... You’re afraid of heights?”

Looking away he shrugged Greta’s arms off turning around to face back the way they came from. “Let’s just turn around, okay? Go back to the village and find another way.”

But the path behind was the same. Doors and corridor as far as the eye could see. “Stop!” Larenmireil sharply commanded.

Slowly turning, Rall felt his heart pounding in his chest, he had never heard Larenmireil shout before. “Remember what the sign said, the last door is the way out.” she continued softly.

“So, what you’re saying is we can’t even turn around?” he gasped in surprise.

“It would seem not.” she replied stoically. Pointing forward with her hand she continued “If we are to escape this magic, it will be by pressing forward. To turn back is death.”

Rall crept forward, testing each step to be certain it would hold his weight. The girls trailed right behind, mostly because every time one tried to pass him he held out a hand to stop her.

“I have to do this. I can’t lose you two. Just stay behind me, and let me check the floor.” He stayed to the right side as much as possible, where the cliff face was before the corridor appeared, and the floor seemed quite sturdy and capable of holding him.

“It goes on forever. How will we ever find the last door?” Greta complained after hours of the tortuously slow pace. Rall nodded, he could feel his exhaustion growing with every step.

“Let’s... open a door. We don’t have to walk through, right?” Greta offered as she grabbed the closed door handle in font of her.

Rall rushed forward himself, grabbing the door handle as well. “What in the nine hells are you doing!” he yelled, his voice screeching even to his own ears.

Greta gave an unimpressed look. ”Look we don’t know anything. We can’t keep just walking forever!” Turning to Larenmireil pleadingly for support, Rall saw her nodding towards Greta in agreement.

“Look Rall, I get it, you’re afraid. I am too, but we can’t keep walking like this, you don’t have the time to waste around here, I can see how tired you’re getting! And this hallway might not *have* an ending. This is a riddle like the first gate. And one of these doors it the solution.”

“But... But, you don’t know if this is the door... What if it’s the next one, or the one way down there!“ he cried.

“We don’t Rana.” Larenmireil spoke softly “But the puzzle said nothing about opening a door to look. And that’s all we are doing.” she said as she pulled Rall’s hand gently off the doorknob. He found himself letting go, and Greta turned the knob.

Suddenly they were again standing on the path, the second gate right behind them. They had not moved an inch in the hours of walking down that hallway, and neither had the sun.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it? I guess it was a trick hint, whichever door we chose would be the last one we saw.” Greta smiled tiredly. Rall tried really hard not to glare at her, which was actually fairly easy since he was too tired to be mad anyway.

“The third gate is not far ahead, we can reach it in half an hour at the rate we’ve been going. But maybe we should take a short break and let Rana rest, there’s a section of the path ahead that will be dangerous and difficult, and it’s best if we’re all as rested as possible for it.” Larenmireil offered, and Rall smiled gratefully.

---

Gripping his talisman in his hand he allowed himself to relax on a ledge. Pushing the magic of the talisman to his eyes he was briefly granted sight beyond that of even elves. He found them halfway above the first gate.

They were almost frozen in time for a moment at the second gate as if expecting some kind of problem, but nothing seemed to happen they then stopped to rest as well. That worked in his favor, he needed every bit of rest he could manage before they arrived.

He shifted positions to keep from cramping and inadvertently knocked a largish bird’s nest askew. Three small eggs rolled out of it and against the cliff face. He paid them no attention at all. Until the mother appeared. The creature was much larger then any natural winged beast had a right to be.

A deafening screech blew out Cale’s hearing into a headache-inducing monotone ringing. The creature landed squarely onto the ledge, furiously beating its wings at the air. Cale felt each powerful stroke as the air gusted past him, threatening to lift him aloft and out into the open air below. He scrabbled for purchase on the ledge, keeping his back hunched he swiftly made way towards a rock to cling to, but had to abandon it as that great sharp beak darted down at him.

Cale jumped backwards to the wall of the cliff as the razor sharp beak missed him by a hair. Looking around frantically in a panic, he grasped for ideas. A griffin was not a creature to causally trifle with, whole battalions had fallen to an enraged mother after simply intruding into the creature’s nesting grounds. And by the looks of this Cale was responsible for the loss of the mother’s eggs. The beast screeched loud enough to shake his body, pinning Cale to the wall it lifted itself onto it hind legs towering over Cale. It’s forward paw swiped down hard, and in a quick, nearly suicidal instinct Cale pressed into the creature’s chest, narrowly avoiding the death blow.

The griffin fell forward onto all fours with Cale in the unfortunate position of being directly underneath it. The griffin stepped backwards half a step exposing Cale’s head, tilting its own head to get a better look at its prey. It then chirped in a way Cale swore sounded very much like a laugh. As it slowly lifted its right claw for the killing blow, Cale did the only thing he could think of. He stretched his right hand towards the creature nest, desperately reaching for one of the remaining eggs. His fingers grazed the closest egg, but no matter how many times he tried he simply couldn’t grip the stupid thing.

A deep breath in from the Griffin was all the warning Cale needed to know that it was about to strike. As it lifted its right side upwards into the air, Cale lunged forward in a last desperate grab, no longer bothering to hide his motions from the beast. Finally he clutched the egg that eluded him for so many moments and pulled it close to his chest.

The creature squawked in protest, stopping its claw mere inches from the egg, and those wings spread in a threatening manner.

“That’s right, I have your egg, don’t do anything too rash now.” He wasn’t sure if it understood him, but it did seem to be weighing its options. He felt around for a moment and found his punch dagger with his left hand.

“You let me go, and I’ll give you the egg, deal? Otherwise you can raise an omelette on my corpse.” The griffin shrieked in protest again and backed off of him.

“That’s right. Now, do we have a deal, you and me? Nod if you understand.” The bird-beast nodded once and he held the egg out at arm’s length, palming the knife. The bird slowly reached out with its beak, taking the egg in a surprisingly gentle grip. The moment it parted his hand a claw lashed out, but he was ready. He jumped, sprang from the outstretched claw, and into the beast’s face, where he drove the knife and much of his fist into its eye. The egg broke open in its beak as he felt the knife pierce the bone behind the eye with a crack, and the griffin convulsed as it crumpled underneath him.

“That’s what you get for double crossing me!” Cale yelled out in exhilaration, his heart pounding and mind abuzz with adrenaline. Tossing a wild kick into the dead creature’s back he shouted again. “Nothing gets the better of Cale of the Stilled Heart, you hear that you stinking bird?”

---

“Did you two hear... Nevermind.” Larenmireil realized that of course neither of her human companions had heard the screeching in the distance above. Though Rana looked thoughtful and nodded as if she had.

“I thought I heard something, but it might have just been the wind. It’s very noisy up here.” She still looked scared, the poor girl. For the first time ever, Larenmireil looked forward to leaving the resting place of the wind goddess, just so she could see Rana relax again.

“Are you ready to move on, Rana?” Larenmireil asked, and Greta sat up from where she’d been leaning against the stone, watching Rana.

“I think so. The sooner we reach the top the better.” Suiting action to words, she stood up, leaning a little on the wall, and Greta followed suit. They started along the path again with a grim sort of determination.

The path was easy for a few minutes, but quickly thinned to a narrow ledge little more than a foot wide. Greta took the lead and Larenmireil the rear, both ready to catch Rana should she falter, and they continued to inch upward at the steep angle the ledge took. They climbed forward with utmost caution, thankfully the wind held them to the cliff face. It always had, and Larenmireil attributed this to the wind goddess’ blessing as did all of the Windrunner elves.

“Larenmireil, we have a problem.” Greta called out as Larenmireil mused on the wind’s support. “The path is broken here. There is a fifteen foot section with no ledge at all. I might be able to climb across, but Rana can’t possibly in her condition!”

---

The ledge was broken and while the cliff face had some handholds, Greta was not certain she could safely get across at all.

“This shouldn’t be” Larenmireil called. “The wind goddess would never allow the pathway to be destroyed!” She sounded almost despairing. Greta felt around for a grip and got another zap just like from the stone wall for her trouble. Then words sank into the stone face of the cliff right next to her head.

“Ow, blood of the first, why does that keep happening? I think we have another riddle thing here.” It was written in the trade tongue so she read it aloud, over the noise of the wind.

“I have split the one into five.
I am the circle that few will spy.
I am the path that breaks and gives.
I am the bow no man may bend.”

Greta puzzled thought the clues as she recited them out loud. But before she could even decide on possibilities Rana spoke up, pressed close against her, eyes squeezed tightly shut in terror.

“It’s a rainbow. Five colors. It’s a circle, but you only see part. It breaks up if you aren’t looking from the right angle and who could bend a rainbow?” She said it quickly, with shuddering breaths, shivering against Greta. Greta found herself very impressed.

“I think you’re right. It has to be a rainbow!” And clearly that was the correct answer, as a wispy looking rainbow arched from one broken end of ledge to the other. Greta tried a tentative step and it felt firm, in spite of its translucent appearance and tendency to fade into nothing in places. She suppressed a shudder as she watched a lone fluffy cloud drift in the distance underneath her feet.

Gripping Rana’s hand she moved as quickly as she dared, pulling her friend along in tow. “Don’t open your eyes, Rana.”

Rana nodded and mumbled her assent, her hand clutching desperately at Greta’s. Larenmireil steadily supported Rana from the back keeping her on pace as they inched across the impossible bridge. Long minutes passed, feeling like years, but in due course they crossed without incident. Looking back after Larenmireil made it on to solid ledge, Greta could find no sign of the bridge.

Larenmireil quickly took the lead once again, guiding them to a path leading further up the mountain. It finally ended at a large stone temple that pierced into the heavens. The tower of air, the crowning monument of Lussax’ engineering, was a pale imitation of the grandeur and majesty of the true temple of air.

“It was built in ages past by my ancestors, at the height of the great migration as a gift to the goddess.” Larenmireil said with a smile.

Greta was at a loss for words, the Windrunner tribe seemed to her mind a fairly simple people, But she was obviously mistaken if they could construct something of such scale and have it last over so many centuries. Her train of thought was abruptly stopped by the soft thud of a body hitting the stone path behind her. Both she and Larenmireil turned in unison to a collapsed Rana, struggling for breath.

“Rana!” Greta cried out and turned to help her, but Larenmireil was faster this time. She cradled Rana’s head in her lap and stroked her hair, murmuring softly in that song voice she had. Rana breathed raggedly, but seemed to relax a bit in her arms.

Greta stood above her, terrified for her safety, and completely oblivious to the man creeping up behind her with a knife clutched in his fist, wicked blade protruding between his fingers. But Larenmireil heard him just in time to save Greta’s life.

“Greta! Look out!” She flinched at the cry, and that movement saved her life. The knife tore a stream of white hot fire through her left shoulder, glancing off her shoulder blade. Had she not flinched, it would have pierced her heart.

“Shut up, elf bitch!” He lashed out and Larenmireil didn’t even try to move, except to block Rana’s body more thoroughly with her own. As Greta realized Larenmireil couldn’t move fast enough with Rana’s head in her lap, the knife slid between her ribs with a sickening grating sound. Greta found her own knife, that blue elven blade, in her hand before she even realized she was reaching for it. She tasted blood and realized she’d bitten her tongue.

Growling with rage, Greta dashed forward clutching the dagger until her fingers ached. Cale moved toward her lightly, inviting her to strike. And that’s what she did, she relaxed her hold on the knife, repositioning the grip so that it pointed backwards parallel to her arm.

The sudden last minute change to her form and approach slipped through Cale’s defense as the girl dove past his side. Her blade dug into his hip as she passed. The rough impact of the glancing blow imparted the impression to Greta that she had cut deep, dragging along the man’s hip bone as she rolled into a crouch.

The man cried out in shook. “You little twat!” he screamed. But Greta hardly even noticed the insult. Her mind swam with ideas and tactics she could hardly make sense of yet understood at the same time, a sea of options. Rather than fighting the odd new knowledge, she went with the flow. With a quick snap of her wrist she released the dagger into a spin, plucking the blade from the air in a proper forward orientation, and dove in.

The assassin seemed immobilized, his injured side facing away from her, but her eyes caught the slightest of movements as she halved the distance between them. That vast flood of knowledge rang through her mind, warning her that the man was faking.

As he span forward, his punching knife between his fingers, Greta had already instinctively begun her own counter. Parrying the assassin’s knife over her own blade, she felt a sharp thrill as she watched the assassin’s hand getting dangerously close to her own blades razor fine edge. At the last moment a powerful leather booted kick from the assassin rammed hard into her solar plexus forcing the air from her lungs as she was thrown on her back several feet away. She ignored the desperate need to breathe and somehow struggled to her feet, focusing on making air move in her lungs without panicking.

“What the devil is this?” the man screamed, his nerves rattled. “You fight like a fiend!”

She didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. But she stood there, knife in hand, facing him as her lungs slowly began to draw air in again. Then she saw the light in the sky. A second sun bearing down on the mountaintop like a fallen star. She backed away from the assassin and gripped Larenmireil’s still-warm hand, dragging her back toward the tower entrance. Gasping and desperate, she knew she had to get them both inside, protect them from the coming blast.

The assassin took a halting step, his hip clearly slowing him down, and turned to face the barely breathing Rana. He was going to stab her, while she couldn’t even fight back!

“Look!” she croaked, pointing at the fire in the sky, close enough now to drive the eyes away from its painful light. The assassin sneered at her for a moment, then apparently realized that it was far too bright out. He turned and looked. Then he dove hard away, as the ball of fire struck Rana with deafening, body-shaking force.

“Nooooo!” she couldn’t her herself cry out in the roar as scorching super-heated air singed her clothes and skin. The thought of her friend’s charred remains twisted her stomach. It was too late, she couldn’t save her, and Larenmireil was losing so much blood she couldn't even feel a heart beat in her wrist.

---

The blast nearly killed Cale, tired as he was. That girl, not only did she suddenly fight like she was trained in the pits, but she had literally saved his life warning him about the fireball. Why would she do that?

Regardless, she warned him, and he dove away, The blast threw him further away, on top of it, and he almost went off the side of the cliff. He clung to the edge, struggling to stay conscious, because if his grip failed he would fall and very definitely die. Inch by inch he pulled himself up until he was resting flat on the ground. He tried to roll a bit further from the edge, but didn’t quite make it, and passed out inches from a dizzying fall.

---

The sensation was familiar. Light and fire swirled around him in a mad dance, caressing and filling him up. He felt alive in a way he hadn’t since... since the fire struck him at Lussax. It was life, this fire. Purest, chaotic life. He felt it change him and exulted in it. He was one with the fire, and it with him. And in that short moment of joining, he was one with Granth. He remembered the maddening loneliness of being trapped in that wretched seal. The wild freedom of flight. The feel of hot blood from some large herbivore coursing down her throat. The feel of Calenth as he fertilized her eggs. The crushing pain at finding both eggs and Calenth shattered at the hands of some human godling. It all jumbled together in a single rushing flood of feelings and memories, and then just as suddenly it was gone.

Gasping and naked but for the sword, Rall sat up in the smoldering bowl of smooth blackened stone. He couldn’t remember how he got there, but he knew something was wrong. Missing. He looked around and saw the assassin lying next to the cliff. He thought about shoving him off the edge, but the man looked dead already, and he vaguely remembered that to do violence here was forbidden.

He rolled over, sinking his claws into the stone ever so lightly, and pulled himself to his feet. As he crested over the side of the shallow obsidian bowl, the fog in his mind began to clear and he remembered Greta and Larenmireil. Spinning around frantically he came to the realization that they were not anywhere in view. Stepping towards the temple door he paused as he felt a wet stickiness on the soles of his feet. Looking directly at the ground through the yellow rocky sand he saw a trail of blood, more blood then he had ever seen in his life.

A flash of memory came back, the sound of Greta’s terrified and anguished scream. His heart pounded and blood rushed in his ears as he recklessly dashed forward, following the trail towards the open temple door. Laid out on the vast white marble floor was Larenmireil, with Greta crouched to the side of her holding her head. Greta was silent, her eyes fixed like glass, staring at Larenmireil’s still, breathless body.

“Is she...” Rall trailed off when his voice echoed through the stone structure. A delicate, wispy, soft voice. A very definite girl’s voice. But it didn’t matter right then, it was unimportant next to the thought of what might have happened. “Is she...?”

He couldn’t make himself say the word.

Greta shook her head looking dazed. A sob crawled its way out of his throat and Greta made a sort of keening sound. She couldn’t be dead! She should be singing to her behemoth friend, or dancing, or laughing, not lying there like a broken porcelain doll! He raged for a moment, planning a dark and horrible vengeance for the assassin.

Greta slowly turned towards him, she almost seemed as lifeless as Larenmireil. “She’s dead... the man stabbed her... Then the fire killed you.” Tears rolled unchecked down her cheeks. Looking him deep into his eyes, she whispered to Rall. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you.” Then she finally broke down into heartwrenching sobs, completely devoid of hope.

Grabbing Greta into a deep embrace, Rall felt the girl stiffen for a moment. “I’m alive.” he whispered into her ear. Her eyes shot open. The broken expression of joy and profound loss intermixed in her eyes made Rall’s gut wrench.

A warm breeze swept through the temple pushing the ancient stone door shut with a groan of grinding rock. “Such sadness .. such pain you hold in your heart.” whispered a soft voice from behind him. Rall twisted towards the voice and was stunned by the vision of Larenmireil standing above him he blinked for a moment, on close inspection while she had a striking resemblance to Larenmireil but it was not her . Turning back towards Larenmireil’s body, he saw that she still lay in a pool of her own blood.

Greta nearly choked as the woman knelt next to her then slowly placed her hand on to Larenmireil chest. “Do not be afraid. I have come to grant you a boon. Only you,” she pointed at Rall, “may receive my gift, as you did not shed blood on my sacred home. You,” she pointed to Greta, “I forgive. But I may not give you anything.”

“Larenmireil!” he nearly screamed “Bring her back please.... I’ll do anything!” his voice cracked.

The woman smiled, seemingly pleased at the answer. “This request is with in my power.. but if you choose to travel this path, what you have come here seeking will be forever denied to you”

Greta finally looked up to the woman. “You mean his sword can not be repaired if Larenmireil is returned?” she asked, horrified. The woman simply nodded.

“Then Rall must die for Larenmireil to return.....” she began to weep again

Lightly touching Greta’s shoulder, the goddess continued in a breathy voice, “The cage must be broken and her power be made whole. Only then can I act to restore your friend.” Turning towards Rall she spoke with a smile “It is a path can not be undone, but I see you have already decided. I understand, she is one of my beloved children.”

Standing up from her crouch the woman whom Rall now understood to be the air goddess offered her outstretched hand. “Come with me, child.”

“Stay with your friend young one, I will return with your lover shortly.” she told Greta with sly smile as Rall accepted her hand. He was about to protest but a powerful gust of wind lifted him off his feet. Before he could even comprehend what was happening, he was already shooting upward at a frightening rate. He found himself drifting through the tower of the temple, columns of stone bracing rings flickered past, faster then he could count. The whole world seemed to stretch before him. Clouds hung like sweet fairy strings and the earth even further below.

In a moment, the two stood atop the tower. Before them stood a column of air, spinning wildly within the confines of a circle of glowing lines traced atop the flat surface at the apex of the spire.

“This is where the last of Granth’s life and power lie. Once the seal is broken, she will become one with you. With the power of my demesne no longer siphoned away by this device, I will be able to do as you ask. I can anchor you, so that you will survive. But you will change, and Granth will be with you always.”

Rall looked down at the sword, remembering suddenly that brief moment of connection, the life she lived, suffered, exulted in. He knew he had to ask her. He placed his hand on the hilt of the sword, the only thing adorning his so alien body. He knew, somehow, she would hear him.

“Granth, this is your decision as well. Much as I want to, I have no right to make this decision for you.” For long moments he was met with silence.

“I have seen your heart, child. I have lived your life as you lived mine. Of all mortals, you alone might be tolerable. I will do this thing you ask, for you, and for the chance to feel the wind under my wings once again.” Granth sounded gentle, surprisingly so.

“Then I will break the seal.” He looked up to the wind goddess once again. “Now?”

“When the dragon’s fire consumes you, you must break the seal. Not before, nor after. You will only have moments.” Rall nodded and drew the sword from its sheath. In spite of the influx of power, it still looked like it should have been melted down years ago. Deep cracks covered it from hilt to tip, any one ready to part at the lightest pressure. But he knew it would not part by any force but his own hands.

Then the goddess waved a hand at the ritual, almost lazily, and the glowing lines drifted away in a puff of wind. The column of wind roared free, turning into a column of fire which arched over to focus on Rall in an instant.

Again white hot chaos surrounded him, filled him, changed the very core of his being. He lost all sense of time and thought, his focus on one thing above all others. A sword, in his hand. He had to do something with it, something very important. He struggled to grasp what he was supposed to do.

“Break the sword, child! Do it now!” A familiar gravelly voice called out from within him, within the sword. He could not resist the command, it felt right somehow. He gripped it by hilt and blade, the blade slicing deeply into his hand, and flexed.

The blade parted, and pain filled his soul. Burning, coursing agony. In a moment he lost consciousness.