Jenya broke through the last barriers to consciousness to find himself tied to the saddle of his horse. The reins of his animal were tethered to the wagon.
     Sha'en rode on his left, Lalreth to the right of the wagon. Both ignored his protesting grunts, instead eyeing him warily and looking to Kelnai for guidance as they began crawling to the north.
     Saerifahl lounged comfortably amidst the supplies, humming softly. She paid no attention to the fact that Jenya had been bound and - after he'd begun attempting to use Magi Song to break free, gagged as well.
     He struggled against the bonds - simple knots of rope - but his heart was not in it. If he managed to break away, he had nowhere left to run to, nothing to run for. Acharya wanted him dead - of that, he was certain - and the Taer'shal would never offer him sanctuary without word from his wife.
     Jenya's eyes were tawny and dull in the demi-light of the hazy slate-blue sky. The sun was not awake yet, but it promised it would be soon, rolling its light over the flatlands of the Blighted Fields in all its waning glory. Even if the party was forced to travel the entire distance at a dragging crawl, Kelnai had told everyone, they would still make it to Shivralliah well before nightfall.
     Jenya sat - as if he had any choice to do otherwise - and silently watched the women gossip. He heard nothing that they said, but it made no difference. He had already decided that his loyalties did not match those of his wife. He had already decided to cut himself away from the family this world had given him.
     His parents had let him believe they were dead for almost two decades. Not a note, not a single word from either of them and they just let him mourn and go on killing for the Acharya.
     He wouldn't do the same to them - though they certainly didn't deserve such courtesy. He wouldn't simply step out of their lives, he would give them an explanation just as he had deserved from them. For the rest of the journey over the hot, black Blighted Fields he pieced together his goodbye for the people that had brought him into their miserable, painful world.

     "Jenya!" Kelnai had to shout in her husband's ears to rouse him from his state of catatonia. Hours of being rhythmically jostled, staring out over the nearly featureless plains had pressed him into a trance.
     He said nothing, only lifted his eyes accusingly to those of his wife. A small growl rose in the back of his throat before he became aware of a new voice.
     "What's wrong with that one?" The guard at the gates jerked his chin at Jenya. He was burly with a puff of a moustache and a ball-like nose, reddened from too much drink. Jenya had laced his fingers, forced to keep his wrists close together. A slight trickle of drool crept from the corner of the Sun-Chylde's mouth; the gag made it difficult to swallow.
     "He became slightly... unruly." Kelnai smiled gently at the guard, painting Jenya to be her prisoner. Jenya threw a glance back to Sha'en and Lalreth, wearing old Tracker uniforms. The world made less and less sense.
     "I can't imagine the likes of him being any trouble for you fine ladies," the guard barked a laugh.
     Saerifahl caught the guard's eye, drawing his focus away from Lalreth's cleavage. The sitter cocked an eyebrow, her mouth becoming terse. The guard cleared his throat and nodded.
     "Right then. All's in order, on you go. Peace follow you, and honor to the Acharya." The party had moved on before the guard finished the dismissal.
     "Jenya," Kelnai breathed his name again, softly, once they had moved away from the gray stone gates. He realized that his attention had been wandering to the sullied throng, and turned slightly to peer at his captor-wife.
     "This is necessary, Jenya." She whispered to him urgently. "It will make sense soon, I promise. I -"
     "I don't know you." With those simple, clipped words Jenya turned his attention back to the city. The buildings were packed closely together in an irregular manner. It looked as if, in the beginning of the city's construction, they were evenly spaced for aesthetics; as the city grew more buildings had to be stuffed in the in-betweens. The walls surrounding Shviralliah had not been altered since the city's founding, and any home or shop built without the walls was fair game for thieves - and worse.
     "No, you don't know me at all, dear." The corners of her eyes tightened; the concession hurt. "But we will fix that soon." She muttered all of this under her breath, and Jenya did not hear over the clamor of the crowds.

     The wagon and horses squeezed slowly through the streets, narrowed by Shivralliah's occasional growth spurts. It took the better part of an hour to move from the gates to Aendar's inn.
     The wagon was left out front, with Sha'en and Lalreth standing with it until it could be properly stored. Jenya remained tied to his horse, even though the reins were now in Kelnai's hands, along with the reins of the two horses that had drawn the wagon. The reins of Sha'en and Lalreth's mounts were in Saerifahl's hands, who quickly led the animals around back of the inn, then scampered away to find Shorin. Kelnai led her three animals, single-file, around the back of the inn, through a tiny alley, and into the stable. She pulled Jenya carefully from his saddle without ever touching him. He tugged at the bonds on his wrists as Kelnai dealt with the horses and he listened to Saer'soth, his son's horse, pawing the ground.
     Once all animals were comfortably situated, Kelnai turned her attention to the ropes on her husband's wrists. "You don't need to be restrained anymore," she spoke offhandedly as she worked at the weak knots. "But then, I know that if you had really wished to get away, you could have. You once escaped from some of the most powerful Magi in the world," she smiled with what was a mingling of pride and sorrow twinkling in her eyes. "Though the rumor is that much of their strength came from the flame of their faith, and they have since begun to shy away from the fire."
     Jenya flexed his fingers, rubbing his wrists as he studied Kelnai. "Aren't you going to force me to do your bidding?"
     "No," she shook her head emphatically, giving a slight grin. "I can not, and never could, force you to do anything. Either you come with me to talk to Aendar, your parents and your son, allow me to explain my actions, or you will not. The balance shifts no matter what you do, but it is, as always, your choice." She turned and stepped quickly over to a door that Jenya would never have noticed. Mostly hidden in the dark, the door was further obscured by fading daylight and its placement away from the alleyside entrance.
     He had a moment to decide, listening to the whinnying and snuffling of the few animals resting in these stables. If he left now, he proclaimed that he had never really wanted the answers badly enough. He shouted to the world that his wife and son were as good as dead to him, and could never be brought back.
     Jenya closed his eyes, breathing a long, heavy sigh. Being a Sun-Chylde, his curiosity got the better of him and he desperately wanted to hear - and to believe - Kelnai's explanation. A small part of his heart - at least, he convinced himself it was only a small part - wanted so much to still trust her.
     He took in another deep breath, marching over to the door. He startled, buffeted by the out-of-place cacophany within. Merrymakers could be heard whooping from the main room; cooks in the kitchen that Jenya had stepped into clanged cookware together, creating a tune entirely different from that of the harmony drifting from the instruments being played in the common room.
     The inn itself looked as bleak as he remembered from four - was it really only four? - years past. The people within looked lean and hungry as he passed through the common room. They eyed Jenya's tailored clothes - the dark tan breeches, gray tunic, and black soft-leather boots - and licked their lips greedily, suspiciously. He flashed them a dangerous smile, the sort he had donned before heading into a battle with Dharin. So long ago, and now his thought turned more and more often to his friend. Sha'en had said that the statue - what statue? - needed to be gotten out of Trinlayra soon. Jenya didn't know if he believed her, but the idea of seeing his dead friend's form threw his thoughts into upheaval; the pain, confusion and grief made his smile frightening. The memory of his dead comrade pulled the corners of his dulled eyes downward in a sorrowful twinge.
     All the compounded hurts of this world made the ex-Tracker a dangerous, unpredictable animal, and the would-be thieves sensed this easily. Many that had thought of smashing in that pretty blonde head buried their faces in a mug of bad Qu'elba or Kai'elan, making sudden small talk about weather or chickens.
     Jenya swaggered through the common room, toward the entrance and the main desk. The innkeeper, Aendar, looked the same as he had four years ago - wispy, and frail, as if a sudden breeze could blow him away - save that now, he had less hair and a tiny light shone in his eyes, a light that Jenya didn't notice and wouldn't have remembered how to label it - hope.
     "You, boy." The innkeeper grunted. Rasped, more like. "Looking for your Mage, and her guard-wenches?"
     Jenya nodded dumbly, not caring about the slurs against Lalreth and Sha'en. His smile had worn away, leaving his gaze blank and his golden eyes empty.
     "Aye," Aendar bobbed his head in self-confirmation, his few white hairs wavering about. "Upstairs, with a boy and some jester folk."
     Jenya's eyes narrowed as his mind almost formed a question. What he came up with he decided not to ask. Jenya didn't really care how much the innkeeper knew - or thought he knew - or how he had stumbled across his "facts."
     Instead the Sun-Chylde turned and made for the stairs. His boots made thumping sounds against the unsturdy wood, creaking beneath his weight as the ancient planks lamented how badly they needed to be replaced.
     Jenya had paid no attention to the decor the first time he'd been inside. He had noticed only the basics four years past - the stairs behind and in front of him and the seven doors spaced evenly along the walls to either side of him. Now he saw that each door had a number carved into its face, and above that a plain brass knocker. The locks were simple, and the walls betwixt the doors were unadorned. Maybe Aendar anticipated skirmishes and refused to waste rare coin on art that would just become trash. After noticing the lack of paintings, rugs, and sculptures to mask the decay of this ill-kept inn, the last thing Jenya's eyes fell upon was the bright-blonde boy in the center of the hall, standing still as stone.
     "Shorin," Jenya began sourly, but his son shushed him.
     "You get your explanations soon, Father. I promise. But when it's all over-" he sighed. "If it is ever over, I get to say 'I told you so.'" He laid a hand against the door behind him, applying slight pressure. As he met some resistance he rolled his eyes and muttered before pounding against it. Someone behind the door swore - a gruff voice, definitely male - and the boy grinned. Letting the satisfaction fade so his voice would stay even, Shorin called out. "He's here, finally. Stop snooping and open the door."
     The plain wooden portal swung inward and Shorin eagerly stepped through. Having already made a choice outside, in the stables, he saw nothing for him to do but follow.
     This was obviously one of the bigger rooms in the establishment. There was space enough for everyone present. Everyone, as it turned out, was Jenya, Shorin, Kelnai, Sha'en, Lalreth, Saerifahl, and Jenya's parents. The room that held them all was as plain as the hallway, only in much better shape. Three large beds covered in white linens stood against the wall that faced the door. A couch, big enough for three adults, sat against the wall to Jenya's left. To his right sat drawers for clothes, a small shelf for books, and the door to the bathing chamber.
     Jenya's father stood between Jenya and the beds, rubbing a quickly swelling nose. Dressed in clothing held together by patches of red, orange, violet and blue, the thick man was unarmed.
     Jenya's mother sat on the bed the farthest to his left, her curly hair tamed and pulled into a tight bun atop her skull. Her narrow face looked odd, the way her paleness offset the light rose summery dress she wore. She smiled pleasantly, her hands folded in her lap as her eyes flashed, destroying the prim patience of her facade.
     Jenya's mother and father were an odd pairing. His mother was all poise and propriety; his father in bright motley and reeking of drink, was straightforward and vulgar.
     Compared to his parents everyone else in the room looked absolutely grim, clothed in blacks and grays. His gaze at last fell to Kelnai, who refused to shudder beneath his stare. She stood closest to Jenya, her back to everyone else.
     "Trust me, dear," she mouthed silently.
     Jenya's father cleared his throat, stepping forward to greet his son, looking disgruntled as Saerifahl edged past him.
     "Too crowded in here," she grumbled under her breath. "I'll see you all later," she smirked, letting the smile linger on Jenya's face. Just once, he wished he could know what was so damn funny. "Maybe." She pulled the door shut behind her, the lock automatically clicking into place.
     Indignation faded as the father clapped Jenya on the back. " 'Ey boy! Didn't tell us you had a scamp of your own. Seems to be in a bit of a sour mood, that one does." He grinned through a thick accent, lost mostly through the sinking of Serfahlen. The grin was directed at his grandson who in turn just glared and crossed his arms, leaning against the wall next to the small bookcase.
     "Well, Pop, you never told me you were alive." Jenya smiled through gritted teeth. "Otherwise you might have heard more from me." His eyes slid sideways to Kelnai again, narrowing through hurt and distrust. "I've got a wife as well, in case you care, but I'm not sure how much longer that will last."
     Kelnai flinched at the end, but only Jenya saw and she said nothing. Breathing a sharp sigh, she turned to sit between Sha'en and Lalreth, perched on the edge of the bed in the middle. They sat with backs straight, ankles crossed, swords they'd picked up in Arsibaeth laying at their sides.
     "Poor dear," Jenya's mother stirred but was quickly silenced.
     "The last thing I want is your pity, mother. I want an explanation. I want to know where you've been, why she -" he jerked a thumb in Kelnai's direction as he pivoted to confront his mother, "knew you were still breathing and I didn't. Do you even know what happened to Serfahlen?" His voice had risen until he was shouting. He calmed himself, staring at his mother coldly.
     "Don't speak to me like that, you little brat. We've raised you better than that."
     "Of course you did," Jenya snapped icily. "You shipped me off to the Bastion and let them train me to kill, for a lie. When I heard about the earthquakes," his jaw worked as he sniffed bitterly. "I have mourned you everyday since I was told that accursed city was swallowed. Now I am sad to see that you both weren't lost with it."
     "Jenya!" His mother sprang to her feet, her eyes widened at such scandalous words. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, she shook with indignant fury.
     "No, let him finish." Jenya's father stepped closer to the mother. He raised a hand behind her back, tentatively, as if to comfort her, then lowered it again. "The boy is obviously just hurting."
     "I'm not hurting," Jenya lied, but he lied well. "I'm done already, and you can stop making excuses for me. Let her raise a hand to me now. I am not a boy anymore, and I am through letting this world, and you, bother me. I don't need your pity, or protection. Just answers, now."
     His mother sputtered, looking everywhere but at her son. His father gave the barest of nods. "Answers, the boy -" the father cleared his throat and continued. "He wants answers. Then answers he'll get. But let them empty the room first," he flapped a hand at Sha'en, Lalreth, Kelnai and Shorin.
     Jenya looked at his traveling companions. More choices, and this one felt significant, tangibly different than most other choices he had made. The whisper of the Coranavayel had left him, for now. His only help in the matter was the widening of his wife's eyes behind his father's back; the miniscule shaking of her head. The Sun-Chylde did not trust his wife, at the moment, but she had never let him believe she was dead. Additionally, he trusted his parent even less - they were too glib and colorful - and he didn't want to face them alone. He had always been more frightened of his parents than any imaginary monster in a closet from his childhood.
     "No," Jenya shook his head. "They stay."
     Father stared at son for a moment, neither flinching. Finally the father looked to the mother who only offered a tiny shrug. "Two of them stay. It is too crowded and stuffy in here."
     "Fine. Kelnai," she flinched again as her husband spoke her name. Her eyes met his; she looked wounded still. "You pick who stays."
     The red-haired woman looked a little confused but it passed quickly. She nodded to Sha'en and Lalreth. "Wait outside," the form of it held command, but the tone - tinged with fear, regret and a resignation to it all - said something else entirely.
     "So adamant about your whelp and your wench staying, even if you defer to her call," the father chuckled.
     "There must be something you really want said, to call me here after all these years," Jenya began as he moved away from the door, letting Sha'en and Lalreth past into the empty hallway. "So spit it out, here, in front of them so they don't have to rely on my memory." Jenya crossed his arms stubbornly, the feeling that he was doing right flooding his senses.
     Jenya's father studied the set look on his son's face. "Have it your way. Makes no difference to us," he turned to the mother, cocking his head to push the attention over to her.
     "I don't know how she knew we were still alive and well," the mother shrugged. "Few people this side of the Rift knew." She returned to sitting, gaze fixed on her son, posture immaculate. Shorin groaned loudly as he shifted against the wall, detracting from  the mother's sere dignity but she continued anyways.
     "We knew that the city would sink in soon. He had given us sight; we saw the dreams that were reshaping the world. It had to happen."
     "You're not making any sense," Jenya bared his teeth in tiredness as he stepped over to the couch, falling back against it heavily. Casting a quick glance around the room, he noticed the odd looks everyone was giving him. Kelnai looked sad, so... hurt. The weight in her eyes made him was to say something - anything - to her to make the hurt go away. Later; he reminded himself he still didn't trust her. His son looked tense and alert, straight-backed and forcibly slouched against the wall. He was trying too hard to look casual.
     "The truth doesn't make much sense when you first hear it, love." The mother cooed at her son, drawing his focus back to her.
     "This is what I know to be true: the Rift was closed. Six people - terribly brave, or incredibly stupid - died to see it happen, and now Acharya wants to see all of it undone. The world believes he is their saviour, the living God; that is what Torankhayel - the force that is pulling Acharya's strings - wants the world to believe. What does that have to do with you?" Jenya's eyes narrowed as his hands clenched into fists, quick-bitten fingers digging into his palms.
     "Close lad, damn close. But not quite, there's more. There's always more to it. You see boy, for a Chylde of the Sun," he lent a condescending reverence to the title, "you never did ask enough questions. Rarely the right ones, even then." The father shook his head, pulling thick fingers through har that barely existed these days. It made him uncomfortable to take attention away from his wife; she loved having eyes upon her. She was just terrible at telling stories.
     "Wait, dear," the mother flitted a hand at her husband. "Why doesn't he know about that? I thought they'd taken him to-" For the barest instant, her perfect demeanor faltered.
     "Tried to, they did. Then the oaf got away, Ahless Maurae - stupid seeing tart - and he attacked one of them."
     "Killed," Jenya corrected his father harshly. "I killed the proud idiot, Father." He forced his lips not to twitch in response to the proud grin on Shorin's face.
     "No boy," the father laughed. "Not a great deal in this world could kill that one. You just let him free, and I'm sure he'll want to thank you for that once that Acharya fellow is gone."
     "Blast you!" Jenya shouted in fury, pounding a fist against his thigh. "Stop trying to be so cryptic, you drunkard, and explain!"
     "You complain of being decieved?" The father talked over Jenya's outburst, standing over his son and trying to loom. "A'right, we sent you to the Bastion, partly because we too were decieved. We were under the impression that you would serve a strong leader, ready - and able - to bring this world into a new age." The father's eyes threw themselves downward, touches of regret pulling at the corners.
     "But he wants this world to die," Jenya began shouting again.
     "Darling, do you want your answers, or are you going to just keep interrupting us? Let your father explain." She chastised Jenya condescendingly. A tiny growl rose in the back of her son's throat, but he said nothing else.
     Shorin had begun humming out of boredom, which distracted Jenya's parents slightly. Yet he was doing no harm, and the tune was pretty so no one silenced the boy.
     "Well, that is what Acharya has wanted. But there is much speculation in certain circles as to whether he's strong enough - or ever was, will be - to see it come to pass. That one you let free, Va... va... Bah. Names are such a bother with those guys. Anyways, there's a lad can get things done!" Jenya's father shot a sneer at Shorin who had ceased humming long enough to snicker. "What d'you find to be so funny, wee one?"
     "Your glaring idiocy, that's all. Like father, like son I suppose." Shorin smiled at Jenya innocently.
     "You little," the rest of the words were lost in a scuffle as Jenya's father thumped over to Shorin, grabbing the child by his collar and coiling a fist back. He let out a gasp of mingled surprise and pain as Jenya's hand clamped around his wrist.
     "You will not lay a hand on my son." Jenya's voice was low and steady. He would never have guessed that he could move that fast; springing across the room to catch his father's hand. "He is not your child, and you will not beat and mislead him, like you have done to me."
     The most miniscule smile quirked the corners of Shorin's mouth and eyes. There is hope for you yet, Th'ar, Shorin thought to himself. If you will just let me push you a little further...
     "You were in the middle of a speech," Jenya prompted his father. "Making me regret more and more that I had ever mourned for you sorry pair."
     "I am so tired of you, Jenya!" His mother fumed.
     "Just be quiet, mother," his golden hair quavered as his head shook tiredly. He let his father's wrist go. "You," he laughed humorlessly. "You are tired of me? For years - eleven of them, remember? - you reminded me constantly that I was worthless, would never amount to anything. You sent me to Shanra to get me out of your way, chanting 'prove us wrong, boy' and even after I believed you dead I exhausted myself over-reaching your expectations of me." He paused, more than a little unnerved by his mother's sudden giggling.
     "Silly, silly boy. We never sent you to the Bastion to prove us wrong," her head tilted, lips twisting cruelly into her most charming smile. "We sent you to Shanra to die. You've always been a thorn in our sides, now you're a thorn to the foot of the Great Dark. I should have -"
     "The uh, 'Great Dark' doesn't have a foot," Shorin interrupted, snickering through a very know-it-all tone.
     "No, He's got hundreds by now," the mother countered.
     "Both of you, shut up." Jenya did not care about the "Great Dark," or what his son knew of it. Not yet. "You sent me to die?'
     "Well, what else would we have sent you for? Your father says we too were decieved, but he's such an oaf... I know Acharya isn't really sure of what he's doing. The way his actions conflict, he can't really be sure of whether he's coming or going. If you ask me, I doubt he's all really there. Almost a pity, he's more than a little handsome..." She jumped slightly, realizing she was rambling once her husband cleared his throat. "No dear, you've always been a disappointment, and we never thought you would survive your first mission, if you even made it through all the training. Such a terrible disappointment," the mother shook her head sadly.
     "Then nothing has really changed," Jenya breathed.
     "No, boy," The father grinned. "Much has changed. You've changed, and there is a balance, shifting all the time. He was saying to us we might not have to kill you, on account of all them nice dreams you were having... but you were always stubborn, makin' connections and then clingin' to people. He is saying to me now that you just won't give her up." The father's voice rose slightly, fighting to drown out the sound of the little boy humming jovially.
     The mother stood, staring intently at Jenya as she bared her yellowed teeth. Something dark flashed in her eyes as she stepped towards her golden-haired boy. "And you're so brave now, facing the world all on your own. It's such a terrible place," She rested a hand on her son's face. "I should never have let you try to face it alone."
     To Jenya's ears the room fell silent as he stared at his mother's vacuous eyes. He didn't hear her laughter, his wife's gasp, or his son humming anymore. He had not heard the screams outside, echoing along the strangely silent upper hallway and contrasting the suddenly silent commons room. He did not notice his mother's other hand, pulling a tiny poisoned needle from the bun atop her head with the intent of puncturing her son's beautiful, glazed golden eyes.
     For Jenya, the world stopped until his mother collapsed, suddenly headless. Her body lay at his feet, blood pouring freely from the cleanly cut veins and arteries wrapped around what used to be her trachea. The blood, an uncertain shade wavering between crimson and charcoal, pooled at Jenya's boots.
     The world had sound again.
     "Th'ar?" Shorin spoke uncertainly.
     The single word mingled with the furious wail that Jenya responded to, sidestepping as the father lunged at him. The old man slipped on his dead wife's blood, landing on his back and staring up at Jenya, visage alight with disgust.
     "Father," Jenya bent down, grasping the few hairs that remained on the man's head then jerking him to his feet. "Why did you ever bring me into this world? I know you two never loved each other, and you are terribly upset that it wasn't your swing that took her head off. Why have a child, why marry, why stay together?"
     "We were disciples of the Dark," the man laughed. "He said there were prophecies that He could twist."
     Jenya grunted in irritation and frustration. "So I was only a tool that you wanted to use?" He led his father, slipping and yelping, to the bed his mother had say upon.
     "No boy," the man grunted as he fell back against the firm matress. "You were just a mistake."
     Jenya nodded. "Kelnai," he looked at his wife. The red-haired woman had been standing ready to lift her voice and crush the father's skull.
     "Yes, Jenya?" She relaxed once he had said her name, knowing that the most important instant had passed and the world was progressing as it should.
     "Bind him, tightly. Shorin," he looked at his son, had to look twice. The boy wielded a sword as big as himself, clear and twinkling from a light playing among all the facets within. "What-"
     "What is this?" The child finished for Jenya. "Just a longsword. Diamondine." Blood covered the very end of it, bubbling slightly. "What do you want me to do," he asked as Kelnai used Magi Song - for the first time in so long - to bind the old man in motley to the bed.
     "Question your grandfather." Jenya had a feeling that his son would know which questions to ask, and how to ask them most effectively.
     Shorin grinned happily, as if he'd just been given a puppy.
     The old man on the bed whimpered as the sword shimmered out of existence, replaced by two small, thin diamondine knives with tiny hooks winding along the blades.
     Hating the father as he did, Jenya still didn't want to see the questioning, didn't want to smell his mother's blood anymore. He didn't want to know how cruel his son could be, how many weapons the boy could summon into being. He trusted them for now, just to ask questions and give him the answers.
     Stepping outside into the hallway, a sound he had not heard finally registered. His still dull eyes settled on all the blood painting the walls, the floor... the ceiling. Sha'en, Lalreth and Saerifahl were spread - literally, their limbs arranged like a disarrayed jigsaw-puzzle - along the hallway floor. His eyes took in their skin and hair, coated by the red sweet-smelling liquid that belonged in their veins. He'd never particularly cared for any of the women, but he had never wanted to see them dismembered. His ears registered their screams, and his eyes finally took in the two Feldenaim rushing at him, Greyblades in the first position of their deathstrokes.