Fennix turned his back on them. The old man waved them further into the cave, "Come now. Sit." He led them away from the gray light of the entrance and into the belly of the mountain, where it grew dark. The air grew significantly colder, smelling of the fire he let go out at the mouth of the cave. Near the back of the cavern sat four round boulders in each corner of the dwelling. Each of the boulders glowed a faint white light, perfectly illuminating the sanctum.
In the middle of the four lighted boulders, sat an arrangement of stone that resembled a set of chairs and a table. Fennix slowly lowered his frail frame onto the largest of the stones, resting his gnarled hands on the top of his walking stick.
Anya quickly moved to the cluster, taking a seat on a smaller boulder and pulled her knees to her chest to preserve her body heat. Katarina remained standing directly behind her, crossing her arms over her leather armor. Urduun lingered near the back, leaning against the cave wall, keeping a distance.
Doren walked up to the boulder directly across from Fennix and sat down. "Alright," Doren said, his voice "You know who I am. You know what I am. So you know why I'm here. Where is my father?"
Fennix didn't answer immediately. He stared at Doren, his eyes reflecting the dim light.
Finally, he broke the silence. Fennix did not break his gaze, however. He tapped his stick against the floor once, a thwack that demanded absolute silence, before reciting what he had seen:
"The blood of your blood will brave the violent tide. Bringing a storm to strip away your pride. A bitter clash will leave you torn and frail. With shattered bones that mock the time to heal. Yet as you lie upon this shifted stone. The sire you seek will walk this isle alone. But calm your heart, and quiet your demand. He does not come to hold your hand. He walks among the killers and the blind. Chasing for answers he left behind."
The heavy silence that followed the riddle was suffocating.
Doren sat on the boulder, the old man's cryptic words echoing in his ears until everything slotted into place. The blood of your blood. His brother.
Was his brother coming to Shifton Island? The riddle didn't promise a warm reunion. It promised brutality in the form of shattered bones. Shattered bones that mock the time to heal. Whatever was going to happen between them was going to end in violence. A pit formed in Doren's stomach. Broken and trapped on this deadly rock for a long, agonizing recovery.
But it was the second half of the prophecy that felt like a physical knife twisting in his gut. The sire you seek will walk this isle alone. Was his father coming to Shifton Island as well? The very man Doren had torn his life apart to find, the man he was desperately trying to locate, was going to willingly step foot on Shifton Island while Doren was injured.
He does not come to hold your hand. Doren let out a shaky breath, his eyes dropping to the floor. His father wasn't coming to rescue him. He wasn't tracking Doren across the realm out of paternal love or desperate concern. He was coming for his own reasons, chasing his own quest, completely blind to the fact that his son would be bleeding out on the same island.
"You're telling me," Doren started, his voice cracking slightly before he swallowed hard and forced it steady. He looked back up at Fennix, a feeling of anger and betrayal that he hasn't even experienced yet. "My brother is coming here to put me in the ground... and my father is going to just ignore me?"
"I am telling you," Fennix answered, his face completely devoid of pity, "that fate is a wheel that cannot be stopped. The course can be changed. But this way... The outcome is perfect, Doren. Perfection does not mean it will not hurt."
"Can you tell me anything else?" Doren asked. The desperation he had been trying so hard to mask was finally bleeding through his exterior. He gripped his knuckles together until they ached.
Fennix shifted on the boulder. "The King's governors have started a rally for your head," Fennix stated plainly, "To the crown, you are not a victim, and you are definitely not a savior. You are a plague of destruction. They are actively dragging your name through the rubble of every city that has been destroyed since you awakened. The bounties being drawn up for you will make the assassins in this very guild salivate."
In the shadows, Urduun let out a low, acknowledging grunt, confirming the truth of the hermit's words. He already wanted to take Doren's head.
"But the King's men want an execution," Fennix continued, his eyes narrowing. "The Order of the Sunless desires something far worse." The old man raised his walking stick, tracing a slow, invisible circle in the air between them. Then he closed his eyes and said, "The knowledge and power you seek is nothing if you can't use the knowledge you already have. Power without knowledge is chaos. Power with knowledge is control."
Doren stared blindly at the stone floor between his boots. There was still a lot to learn. The impending doom that lingered over him in the form of the Order and now his brother and the king were after him. His world felt like it was getting dimmer.
"Like I said though, the outcome is perfect," Fennix repeated. His voice was completely devoid of emotion, treating the horrific fate he had just outlined as an unchangeable law of nature. "Now. You must learn. You must get stronger."
The old man slowly turned his head, his piercing eyes locking onto the dark corner of the cave where Urduun was hiding amongst the shadows. "You will be introducing him to Dayle," Fennix commanded, leaving absolutely no room for debate. "And he will be training with the guild."
"I don't think so!" Doren snapped, shooting up from the boulder. His hands balled into tight, shaking fists. The sheer panic and betrayal of the prophecy boiled over into raw anger. "I'm not staying here if my brother is coming after me. I'm not just going to wait around to get my bones shattered!"
"You can run, King-Maker. You can scramble back down that mountain, fight your way to the docks, and beg Flotsam to take you back across the strait. But fate is not a location. Damurah is a bloodhound. Running will not stop the clash. It will only guarantee that when he finally catches you, you will be too weak to survive it."
Before Doren could argue, a sharp cackle of a laugh echoed from the back of the cave. "Whoa, whoa, hold on just a damn second," Urduun interjected, aggressively pushing himself off the stone wall. The assassin stepped fully into the pale light of the glowing boulders. He was now glaring at the old hermit. "Take him to Dayle? Are you out of your mind?" Urduun aggressively pointed a leather-clad finger at Doren. "You just said the King's governors are drawing up bounties that would make us salivate!" Urduun argued, his voice rising in disbelief. "Dayle won't train him! Dayle will slit his throat the second he walks into the courtyard, collect the gold, and then he'll gut me for bringing that kind of heat to our doorstep!"
"Dayle will do no such thing," Fennix rasped, slamming his wooden stick against the stone floor with a resounding crack that silenced the assassin instantly. "You will tell Dayle that the King-Maker is under the protection of me. You will tell him that the debt of blood he owes me from the Red Winter is officially being called in. He will train the boy, or I will come down the mountain and collect the debt from his veins myself." Fennix said hoarsely, spit forming at the corners of his mouth.
Urduun's mouth shut. The mention of the "Red Winter" clearly struck a deeply buried nerve. The assassin swallowed hard, the color draining from his scarred face as he looked at the frail, hunched old man with terror.
Satisfied that the assassin was dealt with, Fennix turned his sharp gaze back to Doren. "You hold a power that can destroy the world, Doren," Fennix said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "But you fight like a frightened child. You freeze when you should strike. You hesitate when you should kill. Damurah will not hesitate nor will the Order."
The old man reached out, poking Doren squarely in the chest one last time. "The guild will break you of your fear. Dayle will teach you how to weaponize your intent. Until then... Hold your bearings, boy. You have a long walk to the sanctuary."
Doren's mouth opened, the burning protest dying in his throat before he could even speak. Then, Katarina cleared her throat, shifting the tone of the room.
"Could Meko have still been alive..." Her voice was uncharacteristically fragile, a grief she hadn't spoken about out loud. She stared at the old man, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "...if we wouldn't have followed Doren?"
The cavern instantly plunged into an eerie, suffocating silence. The impulsive, desperate question hit Doren like a physical slap to the face. His knuckles clenched and turned a bone white as a defensive anger flared hot and sharp in his chest. It was a deeply unfair question. A hurtful question. He didn't turn to look at her. He couldn't.
Fennix did not react to the heavy emotional gravity of the question or the weight of the room between the three weary travelers. The old man turned his head, his eyes locking onto Katarina.
"If he did not die in Limka," Fennix stated, his gravelly voice echoing off the damp stone, "he would have died soon after."
Katarina flinched as if she had been struck.
"And you would have too, if the King-Maker was alone," Fennix continued, his gaze remaining tight on Katarina. He slowly dragged his gaze across the group, letting the reality of their intertwined fates settle over them. "If a question of regret is present in your heart, do not let it take root. The tapestry is woven exactly as it must be."
The old man shifted his gaze, settling his heavy stare squarely onto the fire elementalist who had been quietly shrinking into herself on the neighboring boulder. "For even if Anya wasn't with us this day," Fennix rasped, his voice dropping to a low, prophetic whisper that made the air in the cavern stand still, "the world you know would not have been around much longer."
Anya gasped, her eyes going widening as she instinctively pointed a trembling finger at her own chest. Her? She was just a runaway, a girl trying to keep her new found friends alive and to escape the possible wrath of the Order because of her intervention. To suddenly have the weight of the entire world's survival dropped directly onto her shoulders was paralyzing, even if it was because of her presence.
Fennix gave the group one last, lingering look, his face completely unreadable in the pale glow of the boulders. "The blood is spilled and the pieces are moving. The King-Maker goes to the sanctuary," Fennix finalized his word, bringing his walking stick down with a loud tap. "And Urduun... You will escort them safely to Dayle," Fennix ordered, turning his back to them. "Go. Before the sun sets and you.miss you chance to talk to Dayle."
Urduun pushed himself off the wall, letting out a long, deep sigh. "Right. Well," the assassin muttered. He gestured toward the steep decline leading down the mountain. "Let's go have you meet the second most dangerous man on the island, then."
As they turned their backs to the dark belly of the mountain, ready to step out into the freezing high-altitude wind, Fennix tapped his stick, turning their attention back to the old man. "And King-Maker," Fennix's old voice drifted out from the darkness of the cave one last time. The harsh, prophetic edge was gone, replaced by a quiet, almost gentle calmness. "I know there was a lot of information given to you, and right now, you might be scared. But you will meet people who will help you along your way."
Doren froze at the mouth of the cave, his boots resting on the edge of the jagged shale.
"Your journey is just starting, after all," the old man finished, his voice fading out.
Doren stood there for a long, heavy moment, letting the weight of the hermit's final words wash over him. The fact of the matter was, he was scared. He was terrified of the unpredictable magic burning inside his chest, terrified of the brother hunting him down, and terrified of the wedge that had just been violently driven between him and the only friends he had.
He stepped off the rocky ledge and began the treacherous, sliding descent down the loose shale, following the dark flutter of Urduun's cloak. Behind him, Katarina and Anya fell into step. The space between the three of them felt completely different now. A hollow, fragile, and fraught feeling with unspoken grief. Katarina kept her eyes on the rocks below her, her jaw tight as she wrestled with the old man's brutal truth about Meko. Anya walked with her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her youthful energy thoroughly extinguished.
"Keep your heads on a swivel and your mouths shut once we hit the courtyard," Urduun called back to them over his shoulder, his voice snapping them back to the immediate, lethal reality of Shifton Island. The assassin easily navigated the steep decline, his boots finding perfect purchase on the shifting rocks.
They left the hermit's cave behind, descending back into the dense jungle of the island.