Chapter 61: Barter Twice...
Keiser wasn’t even sure if the changes he had made in those first two weeks of living as Muzio had done any good at all, especially in Hinnom Village.
The deaths there had struck him harder than he expected. Too hard.
Each face, each body, had pressed against his mind until he couldn’t escape the thought, if he died, if anyone close to him died again now, he wouldn’t be able to change it.
He wouldn’t make a difference, not to Muzio’s fate, not to his own as Keiser.
The truth he kept shoving down his throat rose back up each night: death was permanent.
It always had been.
And yet... how was he supposed to reconcile that with his own reality?
With the fact that he had already died once, betrayed, and then woken in another man’s body?
That paradox gnawed at him. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to believe that the same helplessness waited just around the corner.
What he wanted, no, what he needed, was change.
He wanted to alter the fate that had been given for him, for Muzio, who bore this fragile body. For Lenko, who kept walking beside him even when he didn’t have to. For Keiser, the man he still was somewhere beneath it all. And for the dragon and his promise.
That dragon was the sharpest thorn in his thoughts, the most pressing reason why he couldn’t afford hesitation.
In just a few days, it would be Keiser’s twenty-fifth birthday, the day the dragonbone hilt was pressed into his hands.
The day the chain of events sealed itself.
Which meant one of two things.
Either the dragon would be killed around now, and he was racing against the clock... or worse, it had already happened, and he was too late. He refused to let himself believe in the latter. Not yet. Not until he could prove it with his own eyes.
Until then, he clung to the hope that he could still free it.
But the weight of it all pressed down heavier with each step, and doubt clawed at him. His resolve trembled, thin as paper, each time he caught sight of Lenko.
Because Lenko wasn’t looking at Muzio anymore.
His gaze had sharpened, suspicious, searching, as though he could peel away the mask Keiser wore. As though he already knew something wasn’t right.
Keiser could feel it in those eyes, Lenko was realizing.
But those thoughts were cut short by the unmistakable clatter of armored boots. The sound echoed down the stone corridor, metal grinding against stone, an approaching storm of knights.
The elven turned their head lazily toward the noise, lips curling into something too amused for the situation. "Welp," they drawled, brushing mud dust from their sleeve, "I’ve done my part..."
And then, as if shedding one skin after another, their figure blurred and shifted. The tall, androgynous form melted into something smaller, slender shoulders, a woman’s frame, dark hair spilling across her face. The pale tunic hung loose on her like an old rag, stretching, collapsing, reshaping itself until the elven no longer resembled the dangerous being they had just confronted but instead a weary peasant woman in mud-stained clothes.
It should have been disarming. It wasn’t.
They didn’t have the time to stand there and gawk. The heavy march of knights was drawing nearer, the clang reverberating through the dungeon’s narrow halls. Without hesitation, the group bolted after the elven’s swaying steps.
Keiser’s glance flicked sideways, meeting Lenko’s eyes for a fraction of a heartbeat before he tore his gaze away, jaw clenched tight. There was too much unsaid, too much boiling between them, but not here. Not now.
Tyron and the old men noticed the tension but wisely said nothing, their faces set with grim determination. Survival came first. Explanations, betrayals, promises, they could wait, if they even lived to see the waiting.
At the end of the corridor, the elven, now draped in their illusion of a woman’s form, stood as though she had all the time in the world. She leaned idly against the damp stone, green eyes glinting faintly even in disguise. "Well then," she murmured, as if amused by their frantic state, "I should..."
Before she could finish, Tyron suddenly stepped forward.
"Let’s have a deal too."
The words dropped like a stone in water. Keiser’s breath hitched. Lenko stiffened beside him. Even the two old men froze, eyes wide in disbelief.
But Tyron didn’t falter. He strode ahead, pulling out the small vial pendant. The blood glimmered dark in the glass, sloshing with the movement. He held it up as though it were worth more than gold. "Help us get out of here."
The woman tilted her head. She stared at the vial, then wrinkled her nose in a sharp inhale, as though the scent offended her. Her lips twisted in something between distaste and amusement.
"I don’t exactly barter twice with mortals." Her voice was honey-sweet but laced with venom.
Behind them, the shouts grew louder, the unmistakable bark of commands, the harsh clash of steel. The knights had found their cell empty. And now, they were coming.
Tyron suddenly darted forward and grabbed the woman’s hand, startling her. The elf froze for a breath, then broke into a loud, ringing laugh that echoed through the dungeon halls, sharp enough to surely rouse the attention of nearby knights.
"Halfling, you’re smart," she said, her tone half-mocking, half-admiring.
Before Keiser could even react, the elven woman pressed her palm against the cold stone wall. She whispered something low and guttural, the words in a tongue Keiser didn’t understand. The sound of it made the hairs on his arms rise.
A faint vibration trembled through the stones, and then, like water parting, the solid wall rippled, reshaping itself. Rough stone flowed downward, pulling apart until a narrow staircase spiraled upward before them.
"Hurry," the elf hissed, her sharp eyes flicking back down the corridor, "or else they’ll realize soon enough and follow us through."