Part Seven - Where Four Paths Converge (3)
“There was and will always be
Four,
But no one ever said they would be called
Traitors.”
Olea looked over the cliff’s edge, and she wondered if it was time. If the call of the ocean was the call of death, and if she could accept it. If she could jump and perish, and finally, finally, she would be free.
Then again, as she called Mardh—her dagger—back to her, there was a lightness to the action. With a flick of her hand, the blade popped back into existence. It told her of the collapse, of the destruction left in its wake.
Of a Grotto of Light drained of its power. Of a lagoon stripped of life. Of two Heroes turned to heaps in the sand.
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She took in a deep breath, turning away from the perilous drop, and looked at her companion. Really looked at him.
His usually tan skin was sallow, and his emerald eyes had turned a sickly shade of green. Under his eyes were bags that she’d only ever seen on those taken with the plague, or some other magical sickness.
“Are you ready to go?” she asked, casting the oddness away.
She knew how a Well could change you.
She knew how it could corrupt you, down to a person’s soul.
It had happened to her at the ripe age of eleven. The Well of Doom, she called it. The Well of the Darkening, Krohnic had given her as a name. But she knew its true name—the Well of Babylon.
It did not escape her that there was a closeness to her father’s name.
“I am,” Shen said, in the only way his workings allowed, taking hold of Olea’s arm and pulling her close.
“Good, then let’s head out.” Olea stroked Shen’s jawline, her eyes tracking the way his jaw twitched, and as she did so, a working wrapped around them.
Then, they were gone.
Lost.
And behind, they left the world in turmoil.