Just as R'lissea said, there was no other explanation. Lord Splitbark sat upon his throne, lounging with his chin resting on one hand. He was an ancient, wrinkled man with long white hair and rich green robes with stark white trim. Younger elves shifted around him, readying parchment, serving refreshments, or staring at us and whispering together. But to his side, seated in a small pavilion of their own, was a party of inquisitors. And at their head were two men whose faces I dreaded seeing, who made my tail curl and heart tremble. Lord Evlon and Father Ithris. The two survivors of Blacksand.
"It's…not possible," R'lissea whispered.
I nodded, but couldn't find my voice. Some part of me suspected this might happen, though I didn't know if it was from a vision I no longer remembered, or just the knowledge that nothing we ever did could be easy.
"Do you know them?" Korra asked, eyes narrowed at the party in white.
