From the ashes of the fallen shall rise a new unity. Reborn will be the elven people from the chosen clans. Only when the two houses stand alone can the Tear of Earoni return to the world.

Prophesies 76:1

"What's wrong with you?" The sudden question from Reane didn't even cause Sheala to flinch. She continued staring over the Oracle's port side.

A stiff wind aided their journey home. Captain Corsair's remaining two ships followed behind with repairs jury-rigged from what materials had been on hand.

Wearing one of the dresses commissioned for her new role as ambassador, Sheala barely heard the words. "Nothing. What makes you think something's wrong?" Earlier in the day, Sheala admitted to her friend how much she enjoyed this gown in particular.

Reane shrugged. "Because, I know. You want to pretend as though you don't know who you're talking to here?" She didn't need to go prodding through her friend's thoughts. Just the emotional impressions the former thief was exuding were strong enough to inform her of what concerns were currently being pondered. "I thought perhaps you'd like to talk about it. All you've done in the days since we picked up Captain Corsair and his ships is mope around in your cabin."

"I've just got a bad feeling." She touched the medallion about her neck. "I can't explain it." The Imperial fleet was nowhere to be found, and that only heightened her unease. The fact that they hadn't even passed another ship in days was troubling. "Maybe Captain Corsair's assessment of the fleet's destination was wrong?"

"Worrying will do nothing except wear away at your sanity."

"I know you know something about what we're sailing into. I can tell in your voice."

It was getting harder and harder for Reane to continue hiding what it was she realized. And her friend was far too perceptive. "Sheala, we've known each other ever since that day when you tried to pick my pocket in Catersburg. I know I've never said it, but you're like a sister to me."

"I have a sister, Reane." Sheala's voice contained a purposeful edge. "And I also think you know more about her too than you're letting on."

The gears of Reane's mind turned around and around aspossible responses formed. If she played dumb, Sheala would see through that. Her friend was too smart to be fooled so easily. But how to tell her not to worry? That concern was foremost in Reane's mind. "I know your sister is alive. And I also know that, like you, she has her own path to walk. And when the time is right, fate will rejoin the two of you."

Sheala sighed. "That only concerns me twice as much as before." She bowed her head and allowed the salt air to wash over her.

"Fimmirran Reef off the bow!" came the call from the barrelman. "Dead ahead!"

Reane saw how Sheila's mood picked up in anticipation of seeing her uncle again. She almost wanted to tell her friend everything, but couldn't bring herself to. Opening her mind, the captain once more tried to find any thoughts of the living. She sensed not a soul fitting that description.

Risking something she rarely dared, Reane dropped some of her most necessary protections. With that decision, she began to make contact with terrible thoughts belonging to restless souls who had met brutal ends. For some their demise had been quick, while others had lingered. The recurring theme from death to death was flames pouring down upon them from the sky.

In those imprints left behind, she gleaned an insight into the massacre that had befallen Fimmirra. Merely being exposed to them turned Reane almost white, and she raced to lock down her mind tighter than she ever had before. The clawing attempts from the spirits to intrude and gain a foothold within her was something she would not allow. It would be too easy to lose herself to them if they did, and the very marrow of her bones chilled. Now, even she began to dread returning to the islands.

If Sheala had not dashed straight for the bow of the ship, she might have noticed the terror her friend experience. But at it was, she was too excited about finally getting home despite any concerns manifested within her. The first thing, the ambassador told herself, hoping against hope that things were not as bleak as she expected them to be, was that she would apologize formally to her uncle for not returning years ago.

She arrived at the bow in time to witness the ship passing the Fimmirran Reef. It didn't impede their progress even in the slightest, welcoming them home.

But her renewed and eager anticipation turned upon the sight she beheld. A broken piece of timber bobbed in the water and drifted by. From the foredeck of the ship, Sheala observed the oncoming string of flotsam and jetsam. And when the first body of a Fimmirran sailor floated by, her heart crashed into her stomach and knotted up.

"No-" Sheila gasped and turned to Reane, who was following her path onto the foredeck of the ship.

The Captain would not look at her directly. And after moments of stunned silence, the ambassador returned her attention back to the water. Wreckage was everywhere and the remnants of the Fimmirran fleet banged off the hull. At one point Sheala leaned so far over the railing she nearly fell in.

Once the shock to her senses wore off, she confronted Reane. "You knew, didn't you?"

"There's nothing we could have done."

"You knew?" Sheala's voice cracked.

"We all knew. You included."

"Damn it, Reane!" Sheala pushed past the captain, rushing back to the main deck and following a particular piece of debris wrapped in the remains of an orange Fimmirran banner. "We could have helped them!" Waving frantic hands at the pieces once belonging to ships, Sheala thought it would add emphasis to her case.

"Even if," Reane kept a level tone, "it were possible for us to have arrived in time for the battle, it wouldn't have mattered. The Empire would have killed us alongside every man, woman, and child in Fimmirra."

"Everyone?" This time Sheala's full response failed as it came out, falling off before the final sound was uttered. "No more secrets, Reane! Are you going to tell me what I'll find once we reach the main island?"

"I think I already did. Everyone's dead, Sheala."

"A couple dragons did all this?"

"Yes. Fimmirra never expected such an attack would ever be possible."

"You knew." Sheila sobbed now with uncontrollable anguish as that knot in her gut forced its way back up. "You knew, and you didn't tell me!"

"What good would it have done?"

"Damn it Reane!" The ambassador stomped past, stopping a few steps beyond where the captain stood. "It would have prepared me. Instead, you let me cling to false hope? No more secrets! You say all the time you're my friend. Or now that I'm like a sister to you? But then you do things like this? That's not what friends do, Reane."

The captain shook her head. "Everything I've done is precisely because I'm your friend, Sheala."

"Friends don't lie to each other. All you've done since the day we met is manipulate me, haven't you?"

That statement sunk like a dagger into Reane's heart. It was correct, she supposed, from a certain point of view. But it was never her sole intention. Yes, Reane had prodded Sheala down particular paths. But it was all, as she had told her, because she loved her like a sister. And that was equally true.

"Haven't you?" the accusation came again from Sheala's lips. Reane was taking too long to answer for her liking. And the ambassador was tired of the way she saw Reane now as a puppet master doing nothing but pulling her strings. "I'm not some toy, Reane, for you to play with. You think, because you have this power to see the future, that it gives you some right to just mess with my life?"

"Sheala," Brentai tried to put a firm and calming hand on her shoulder.

The woman he loved was having none of it. Instead, she continued to lay into Reane like the Oracle's ballistas had against the archeon. "If everyone's dead, then why are we back here? Why bring me here? To pour salt in my wounds? To make me hate the Empire even more? To send me more firmly down the path of revenge against Lord Hedric for killing everyone I ever cared about? And turn me into some prophesied savior of the world?"

Reane's answer would be simple, but difficult to explain. "Because you need to grieve."

"What? Grieve? You think I'm not grieving right now? You do not understand how much I'm grieving!"

"No, Sheala, what you need to do is confront the death of people that mean something to you. You can't keep running from it. And you certainly can't keep hiding from it. You've done that for too many years."

Lips pursed, holding in venom, Sheala failed to restrain herself and spat out her reply. "Four words for you, Reane." Then she ticked them off on her fingers. "You're. Not. My. Mother."

"Nor your father, but this isn't about that." Reane pointed at the ever increasing silhouette of the main island. "What it's about is how there is someone on that island who meant a whole lot more to you than you'll ever admit to. A man who, when you did finally come home and were stealing coins from the pockets of his guests, didn't throw you in the dungeon like some common thief. He welcomed you home. He didn't care about your transgressions or your failings. All he cared about was you and that little girl he once knew. Someone he worried he'd never see again."

A stew of emotions simmered inside Sheala, eventually boiling out. "He didn't care about me beyond the fact that I was a tool to end a war!"

The stinging slap from Reane's hand across Sheala's face startled her. She'd been so consumed with whatever was going on in side her, Sheala hadn't even noticed as the captain not only prepared, but followed through with the strike.

"Now you listen here," Reane barked. "Your uncle was one of the finest men I ever had the pleasure of knowing. And the fact he was also a king? Well, that makes for something rare. And he might be dead but his spirit is still here. And it's agonizing right now. It's agonizing because people are dead because of him and his inability to protect them." With a deep breath, Reane prepared to continue. "And that kind of weight? That's something you can't understand at this time. But I can tell you something. If you go up there, and you grieve for him? Tell him how you actually feel? It would put his spirit to rest. And it would do you a world of good too. Because you need to learn that trying to avoid the unpleasantness of people close to you dying isn't going to get you anywhere. And I'll tell you this isn't over yet."

"Set dockers!" the lookout stated in the silence now fallen between Sheala and Reane. "Cut sails!"

"Prepare to dock this floating pile of lumber!" Reane welcomed the distraction. "Barrelman! Call out a path and put us in!"

"Aye Captain! One degree starboard! On my mark!" Then, "Mark!"

Tears flowed like great rivers until her eyes hurt. Sheala collapsed to her knees. "No!" She cried that single word over and over.

Impaled on a pike in the now ruined palace courtyard was her uncle's corpse. Pecked at and decimated by birds, the dire exhibit remained as a symbol of a defeated nation that dared oppose the Empire. Stripped naked, he was on display with a multitude of others. But those others didn't matter to Sheala in the least.

"I'm sorry, Uncle. I failed you." Her once pristine gown looked much less so. Now it was soiled with a mix of dirt and the residue of dried blood from the cobblestones of the ground. "I failed you. This can't be happening."

"I'm afraid," Reane spoke, trying to contain her own sorrow and put on a mask of calm, "that it is all too real."

Sheala looked up and saw the captain as she led a contingent of her sailors along with Sayra, Ittan, Gregory, Anthony and Brentai through the gruesome graveyard.

The First Daughter reached out and touched one of the other bodies, speaking a silent prayer for its soul. "The realities of war are often not what we expect. What kind of monster would kill so many and allow the animals to disgrace their remains?"

Brentai stepped over to Sheala and kneeled beside her. Arms around her, he tried to pry her hands from the base of the pole upon which her uncle was mounted. In a desperate attempt, she tugged on the wood, trying to free the shaft from where it was embedded in the ground. Giving up, she threw herself into Brentai with such a tight embrace that the air was nearly squeezed out of him. "Let it go Sheala. You couldn't have done anything to save him."

Sheala sniffled back a few remaining tears. "I know. But it doesn't hurt any less."

While Brentai comforted her, Reane sought out impressions lingering from the battle. The overwhelming and recurring vision of a red-haired woman standing triumphant over a defeated King Turon was the predominant one. It kept forcing its way into her mind. The name "Cassandra" also kept being fed to her, and Reane had seen this woman many times before. If only in her dreams and in her mind. No matter how much she never wanted to admit it, she recognized now, without a shadow of a doubt, who had been behind this massacre. General Nightwing; Sheala's sister.

Sayra touched the dried blood on the pike where Sheala's uncle hung. "We'll see he receives a proper burial. It is only right."

"Who do you suppose is responsible?" Ittan asked.

Anthony surveyed the carnage. "Has to of been General Kayzar."

Reane took in a deep breath to purge the sights of death from her mind. "This is the work of General Nightwing." She'd filled in the gap that others couldn't know. Not without the extra knowledge she had access to.

"What? Sub-general Nightwing? When did she get control of the fleet?"

"General Kayzar is dead. She's in charge now. And obviously very determined to send a message."

Sheala, oblivious to most of what was being said had one word stuck in her mind. "Nightwing," she muttered.

Brentai felt his body tense as he thought about what Reane had told him on the beach; about how he promised not to share that knowledge with Sheala. "Hush, Sheala. You're too overwhelmed. You've got to think about yourself right now."

She pounded her fist into his back. A contorting mix of fear and frustration raging out of her as red hair fell from the golden barrette she wore. "Every one who I ever care about dies."

"I'm still here for you. I'm not going anywhere."

Reane interrupted. "Once we finish up here, we'll head back to the Elven Kingdoms to plan our next move. We're starting to run out of options."

"I swear," Sheala gritted her teeth as her sorrow turned into anger. "With my dying breath I'll see that Lord Hedric and this General Nightwing pays for this. That bitch from the docks I coldcocked? Right? Well, next time I see her, I'll put this knife in her heart." Sheala's blade from the cuff of her dress was in her hand, glinting sun light as a warning.

"Sheala-" Reane began but the most vicious look from the ambassador cut her off.

"Don't tell me this can't be about revenge!" Sheila blasted back as the former thief bolted to her feet.

"Sheala, calm down." Brentai reached out and grabbed her by the arm. Seeing the look in her eyes, Brentai let go the second he touched her.

"I will not calm down!" Her anger turned to Sayra, "You seem to know a lot about me. What am I supposed to do? How do I make all this stop? What do the prophecies say?"

Sayra remained cool, understanding Sheala's anger was not directed at her. "You are Utao nii es Stoam; the Child of the Storm. You hold one of the keys to open an ancient shrine that houses the greatest gift ever bestowed upon this world by Earoni. You are not just some symbol we have been waiting for, but a leader among leaders."

Sheala nodded. "Fine then. That's what I'm supposed to do? Then that's what I'll do. Be a leader. Ok, so we get this rock back and poof," she waved her hands. "No more Lord Hedric and no more General Nightwing. Let's go." Sheala started to march out of the courtyard and towards the docks, but the First Son blocked her path.

"Ambassador, it's not that simple," he warned. "It's not that simple because that which can save the world can also destroy it. The Tear of Earoni can cause even greater harm if it falls into the wrong hands. Lord Hedric also desires the artifact. Why exactly, no one knows. Probably just for power. But Lady Noranda, the Red Witch of the Darklands, a fallen angel some say, seeks it for her lord Descist, so that she may open a gateway for him to enter this world. Neither can be allowed to obtain it. So we must be careful. We cannot allow the keys to fall into their hands."

Sheala sucked in a breath and held it. "You said that this medallion is a key?" She flicked the one around her neck with her finger. "So you've got one, I've got one, and my sister's got the other. We find Cass, go to the shrine and get the Tear."

"The path to the shrine is a guarded secret", Sayra added. "It can only become known when the time is right."

Another breath into her lungs, Sheala held it even longer. The pain and anger inside of her were getting harder to hold down. "This is ridiculous. I'll just go to the palace and kill Lord Hedric myself. If Anthony can get in then it'll be a snap for me. He might be better at picking locks, but absolutely no one is better at breaking into joints than me. And that," she pointed a finger at him, "is a bet I seriously suggest you don't dare think about taking up."

"Listen to me," Reane added her voice in an attempt to calm her friend down. "You can't kill him, not like a normal person."

"Reane's right, Sheala," Anthony confirmed. "He's a Blood Lord. The last of them. More powerful than any that came before him."

Sheala rolled her eyes. "You expect me to believe stories about vampires? I've been hearing those tales since I was a little girl."

"It's true. You will not vanquish him with stealth and a knife in the back. To defeat him, you're going to need faith."

"Faith? My mother had faith. Used to ramble about it all the time. My father too. Look where it got them." Then something inside Sheala worked to calm her building anxiety. It was inexplicable to her, and she sighed. "I'm getting real sick and tired of feeling like I don't have any real control over my life. Everything up until now seems to be working as if by some grand design."

"You always have a choice," Brentai contradicted her feelings.

"Right now? I don't think so. I think something-"

Before her thought could finish manifesting, Sayra crumpled to the cobblestones as a pain ripped through her body. Sheala fell back, but Ittan ran to her aid as the First Daughter's skin turned ghastly white and her eyes grew sunken into their sockets. She grasped weakly at air. "The fairies," she cried.

Ittan's words and eyes filled with concern. "Sayra! What do you see?"

In his arms, she collapsed. "The fairies are in pain; our home afire."

Ittan's complexion now began to mirror that of his beloved. "Your mother and father? Does the House of Tynara still stand?"

"I... I cannot tell... no." Head buried in her hands, Sayra sobbed. "Assassins from House Iilas have taken them."

"What's going on?" Sheala queried.

Ittan answered for his beloved. "Even across this distance, Sayra is still linked with our homeland."

Reane addressed the situation. "If the Elven Kingdoms have fallen, then we must seek out the Rebellion. They're our last hope. I suggest we make our stay here as brief as possible. Tend to the business at hand and then be gone with all due haste."

Ittan shook his head. "If the House of Tynara has fallen, then there is something that Sayra and I must do first." Ittan scooped the First Daughter up in his arms, her silver hair draping over him as she clung round his neck. "We cannot return to our homeland. It will not be safe. We will do what we must here. In the ruins of the First Temple."

"Mind if I ask what is so important?"

"If you must know," the First Son said, "Sayra and I must perform our Ritual of Union. The House of Tynara needs to be restored."

"Then I suggest you do it quickly."

Ittan avoided her statement and the implied demand. "Is it not traditional for a King to receive ten days of burial?"

"You're saying that we have to give you two whole five-days to do whatever it is you are going to do?"

"Maybe more. The Ritual of Union is not something that happens upon some arbitrary schedule of one's choosing. Earoni will bless us in her own time."

"I don't like it. But-" Reane looked skyward. "We could probably use some time to do some salvage operations, gather supplies, and make some additional repairs needed to Captain Corsair's ships. Definitely don't want to be sailing them in their current condition once winter sets in. Sheala," Reane turned her attention to the former thief. "We'll give your uncle his proper burial. We'll bury as many of the rest as we can too. But they'll have to be content with a mass grave. Then we set sail for the mainland. I've just got to figure out where we'll put in at and how to get a message through to the Rebellion."

"I can help with that," Anthony offered. He snuck up alongside Reane and took her hand in his.

Reane smiled and nodded. "Alright. Let's get to work then."