Page 19 of Ever Dark Academy, Vol. 7

“But others have already paid that price, Fifi. You did. Grayson did. Ryder did. Caemorn did. So many more,” Mirryr pointed out.

“You did, too, Charlie, even though you didn’t die,” she said softly.

“In a way I did die,” Mirryr said with a sad laugh. “And maybe it was a little hard living without all of you. So death is not the worst thing that can happen. It really isn’t.”

They both looked at him. Elgar blinked then frowned. He could look into their minds–whatever they were thinking was literally at the forefront–and know what it was that was worse than death. It evidently involved him.

But he didn’t look into their minds. He went after Eyros instead. Because he needed his Master to be the one to tell him what was going on. He just wasn’t sure he would accept it if Eyros told him nothing. Or nothing that he needed to concern himself about. Because he knew that wasn’t true. Eyros not wanting to die was understandable, but there was something more here. Something he needed to understand.

He found Eyros standing on a cliff overlooking the ocean. The wind whipped back Eyros’ dark hair and robes. He was staring out at the inky black waves with their silver-foam tops with a look that could only be described as one of suffering. His Master’s mind though wrapped around him in a warm embrace and Elgar felt all the love Eyros had for him. He sent back his own love. A torrent of it. Love, devotion, loyalty and more. Eyros’ shoulders curled forward and he covered his face with his hands.

“I’m not worth all that, Elgar,” he said.

“Master, you are. You are to me.”

Elgar put a hand on Eyros’ nearest shaking shoulder. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Eyros cry. There had been terrible moments in the War when Eyros had looked blasted as if everything was a wasteland before him and nothing good would ever be there again. In truth, Eyros looked like that most of the time now.

“Elgar, I can’t… I can’t… can’t tell you, but I should. You need to know. It’s only fair. I looked. I know the future. You should too,” Eyros whispered into his palms.

“Do I fail you, Master? Is that why you die?” Elgar asked.

“What?” Eyros’ hands fell from his face and his head snapped around so that he was facing Elgar. “Good gods, no! The opposite! The opposite, Elgar! You don’t… you won’t… won’t leave me. Not even in death. You don’t leave me.”

Elgar stared at him. The knowledge was right there at the cusp of Eyros’ mind. “Master, may I?”

“Yes, because I cannot say it. I cannot describe it. I cannot… this is not fair!” Eyros raged at the stormy sea.

The waves crashed below them against the rocks with a thunderous roar as if they were screaming back. Eyros then let out a yell, a shout, a wail. The sky split asunder with lightning as if he were Horys. But it was just a coming storm. Lightning rippled all over the ocean. Thunder rumbled like a displeased spirit.

Elgar looked into Eyros’ mind.

And he knew.

Everything.

Elgar staggered away from Eyros. One hand lifted to his face as if to cover his eyes and block out the flow of knowledge. For it was not just what Eyros knew, but it was beyond that. More than that. There was…

“Caemorn, I tell you something terrible has happened to them!” A man cried as he paced inside of the Eyros Palace in Nightvallen.

Elgar recognized it though it had been changed. Updated, he supposed to represent the era from when this was.

A platinum-haired man with sharp, yet handsome features looked up from where he was sitting in an armchair by the fire. His black coat had silver Kaly death heads sewn into the collar and cuffs.

“I feel that it is all right,” this man said. He must be Caemorn.

“You feel? Oh, by the gods! Will wonders never cease? You’re talking about feelings?! NOW?!” The first man, whose mind he was evidently somehow in, let out a squawk of strangled laughter.

Caemorn stood. His expression was gentle. It was not an usual look on his face, Elgar thought. It was a face that was more used to showing scorn and disdain or diffidence. But the emotion shown through like a flame in the darkness. Caemorn took the speaker’s hands in his.

“My memories are not all certain, Balthazar,” Caemorn said.

“Memories? What would your memories have to do with where Grayson, Ryder, Fiona and Charlie are? Oh, gods, Arcius is going to kill me if something has happened to Fiona! He will become his old berserker self and grab his ax–”

“He will not, Balthazar. He loves you as much as he loves Fiona. He would use that ax on himself before he would turn it on you,” Caemorn said.

“But I am supposed to take care of all of them!” Balthazar–the one whose mind Elgar was somehow in–cried.

“You are not. We do this together. All of us as Immortals work together. Responsible for each other. But we are each strong and capable. But as to my memories…” Caemorn’s forehead furrowed. “I remember… I remember touching Grayson’s soul.”