Kaelen's sense of smell was the first to return to him.

There was the scent of burned paper and smoked wood, wafting through the blackness of his mind.

Then, with a flash of inner light, his consciousness emerged from a thicket of darkness, and he was flooded with a sensory overload.

His skin was burning up, especially his one hand, and within seconds, his entire body started to sweat everywhere at once.

His eyes were throbbing when a wall of flames appeared right in front of them, and soon they were stinging like they'd been dipped in salt water.

His throat was dry as a bone, and every breath he took seemed to tear open smoldering wounds that had formed in the back of his mouth.

He could taste blood, and he involuntarily had to gag. Traces of raw power were still surging through his body, but that power wasn't his.

Kaelen was standing in front of an ocean of fire, at the edge of a large archive that housed the tomes of the Fateweavers. All of them were here, and all of them were turning to ash right in front of his eyes.

He looked down at his soot-covered hands. One of them was badly burned, and he didn't know why. But what he did know was that he'd just killed two generations of Fateweavers, maybe more — just like that.

His mind entered a state of shock, and he stumbled backwards until his shoulders hit a wall of stone, and he was forced to watch what he had done.

It can't be, he thought pleadingly, but there was no denying it. He had turned into the doom bringer he tried so hard to stop, the destroyer of fate and all those who heeded its call. People who had been like a family to him were now dead at his hands, and he didn't even know why.

Why had this been his fate?

It didn't make any sense. And what's worse, it clearly wasn't right, wasn't natural. His fate literally had to knock out his consciousness to see itself fulfilled. It wasn't supposed to work like that — and yet somehow, for him, it was.

As the sizzling flames danced in front of his burning eyes, Kaelen slowly sagged to the ground, his back dragging along the smooth stone wall. And so he just sat there and watched as his life and those of so many others crumbled before his eyes. There was no stopping the fire at this point, no saving anyone. Most of the tomes had already turned to ash, and those that remained were caught behind walls of flames that reached all the way to the far ceiling. The cracking of burning wood filled the air, loud and violent, and the boiling air was heavy with the sense of inevitability.

Kaelen didn't even notice when the portal door next to him opened, and a robed figure stepped inside. Only when they spoke did his mind wake up from its state of disbelief and denial.

"I figured I would find you here," an old voice said, like a gentle melody amidst the harsh crackling of the raging fire.

A cold shiver ran down Kaelen's spine when he looked up into the soft eyes of Master Zerath, magnified by his thick glasses.

"Master," he gasped, and got onto his feet. "What are you doing here?"

Zerath gave him a weak smile, and his gaze took in the inferno before them.

"This seemed like the right place to be, wouldn't you agree?" he said calmly, as his eyes followed the dancing flames.

Kaelen's emotions were a chaotic mix of relief, shame, and confusion. Just when he'd felt all alone in this world, his mentor had shown up out of nowhere. And while he didn't understand how that was even possible, he felt grateful all the same. But did Zerath know what he had done? What horrible crimes he committed?

"I don't know what happened," Kaelen blurted out, gesturing helplessly with his hands. "One moment I was … somewhere, and then … things started happening. My body was not my own anymore, and …" his voice trailed off as he waited for Zerath's reaction.

The old man nodded pensively, then looked back at Kaelen, his face firm but not angry.

"Like when you had your fate premonition?" the Master asked patiently.

"My … what?"

Just when his words had left his mouth, his fractured memory offered him a glimpse into a past that seemed all but forgotten. He'd dreamt of this moment before, and other ones. Fate premonition, Zerath had called it. Or had he? The trace of his former self disappeared into thin air, and his mind was left blank and frail.

"I don't know," he admitted and let his chin drop onto his chest.

Then, after a long moment, he added: "Are you here to stop me?"

From the corner of his eye, he could see that Zerath was shaking his head.

"Stop you? I believe your work here is beyond stopping."

When Kaelen looked up at his Master, he could feel a lone tear run down his cheek. It evaporated before it reached his jawline.

"How are you even still alive? Are you real? Or am I just imagining you?"

Zerath chuckled briefly.

"Oh, I'm real. In fact, I feel more real than I ever have."

Kaelen frowned.

"What do you mean?" he asked warily.

Here they were, standing at the edge of the mass grave of their order, and Zerath was not making sense. But then again, not much made sense to Kaelen anymore.

"I burned the tomes of the Masters and Elders," Kaelen pressed. "How are you still alive?"

When Zerath spoke, the softness in his voice had vanished, and so had the gentleness of his eyes.

"Because I don't have a tome in my name, Kaelen. I'm Fateless. My life is my own, and it is not controlled by some book you can just burn."

His words hung in the air like the pluming smoke above them, scorching Kaelen's mind when it tried to process them. When his vision got blurry, he feared he'd black out again — only now, he'd have preferred that over facing the cruel reality he was confronted with.

"I don't understand," he stammered, and it was the truth.

Zerath gave him a pitying look.

"I don't expect you to. In truth, I don't expect anyone to understand. But you, of all people, should at least know why."

"Why what?" Kaelen meant to ask, but the words got stuck in his throat.

"You see, I was young once, too, even if you may not believe it when you look at me now." He chuckled and gazed at the flames. "I was a mere boy, with no worries on my mind and little food in my stomach. Just like you, I had a sister. Her name was Myna, and her eyes were full of joy. She was a clever girl, just like Elara. More than once did she remind me of her."

He sighed. "But unlike her, Myna wasn't a Fateweaver — on the contrary. She was Fateless, just like me, and just like our parents before us. It was no choice of ours, it was just how life had played out, you see?"

A sad smile played on Zerath's lips. He didn't wait for Kaelen to respond, and only briefly took note of the puzzlement in his face.

"Even back then, most Fateless lived in the safety of Morathen. But not us. My parents descended from a long line of fishermen, and so they did what their people had always done. Everyone knew we were Fateless, but we were still respected in the village, and our fish sold well at the local market. Life was not easy, but it was peaceful."

Kaelen could feel his stomach form a solid knot. His eyes were glued to Zerath's lips, and he did not dare to interrupt, even if his mind could barely contain all the questions that raced through his head.

"One day," Zerath continued with a pensive voice, "a Fateweaver passed through our village. They did so all the time, of course, but this one came to our house. It was no secret that Fateless lived in Tavira, and for the most part, the Fateweavers let us be. But this one took a particular interest in our family. He was friendly at first, talked to my parents, and then to us children. My sister must've been seven then, and I was a little older. Everything seemed fine until he saw something in my sister. Despite her age, he tried to catch a glimpse of her fate, and what he learned turned his face to ash."

Zerath shook his head.

"Of course, looking at it now, I can only describe his attempt as foolish. There is a reason why fate is woven when a child is born, no later than that. Everything beyond that is just soothsaying, and fate becomes blurry, like you were trying to see through a milky window. But then again, maybe there was some truth in what he saw. Maybe he saw my fate instead of my sister's, and that's what scared him. But scared he was, and his hasty steps still echo in my head as he ran back to the Great Library."

Zerath's expression hardened.

"They came back two days later, and in numbers, led by the one who'd identified my little sister as a threat. And they were not trying to talk any longer. When they took Myna from our home, my father tried to fight them. They killed him, just like that, right in front of our eyes. I still remember my mother's screams as his lifeless body lay on the floor, while my sister was being dragged out of the door. I still bear a scar on my chest from when I tried to stop them, and one of them just sent me flying with a swipe of his staff."

He smiled bitterly.

"But they'd taken too long, made too much noise. When they stepped outside, they found themselves confronted with an angry mob of villagers. Not all of them were Fateless. Some were just neighbors, family friends, distant acquaintances, even. But they all had heard the screams and seen my crying sister as they pulled her along. And so they wouldn't let the Fateweavers pass, which made them furious. Back then, tensions between Fateless and Fateweavers were already running high, with conflicts throughout the land. In their minds, we were all conspiring against them, and the villagers had just become culprits. When they saw that there was no leaving Tavira with my sister, they did the unthinkable. Led by some misguided sense of justice, they killed her. A single blow was enough to break her fragile body, and she collapsed to the ground right before our house."

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Kaelen could feel his heart beat faster. What Zerath described was awful, and he lacked the imagination to even picture a Fateweaver committing such a vile crime. But then again, he remembered what he'd done mere minutes ago, and the flames in the background still bore witness to that.

"But they had misjudged their position, you see?" Zerath continued with a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "The second my sister dropped dead, the villagers swarmed the group of Fateweavers and smothered them by force of sheer numbers. Six Fateweavers were killed that day — as recorded by many of our history books, marking this event as the catalyst for the last Fateless uprising. Morathen's soldiers came to our aid, but they could do little when the combined force of Cylion and the order of the Fateweavers marched onto Tavira. They killed every Fateless they found, and then some. But what our historic records often fail to mention is that this riot was not started by the Fateless alone — it was ordinary folk, revolting against the despotism of an order that still sees itself as god-sent."

Kaelen swallowed hard. His mouth was dry, and the bitter taste of ash played on his tongue. He still remembered Elara telling him about the uprising Zerath mentioned after she'd read about it in the restricted section — it all had sounded very different then.

His thoughts were interrupted when Zerath let out a low sigh.

"My mother died in the riots soon after, and just like that, I was all alone. But I met a boy a bit younger than me, whose parents had also died at the hands of the Fateweavers. Together, we swore to avenge those we had lost, to take down the Fateweavers and end their reign of terror. That boy's name was Malvorn, and he burned with a passion I had never seen before. As you already know, it served him well."

Zerath glanced at Kaelen and chuckled when he saw his gaping mouth.

"You and … Malvorn?" Kaelen stammered.

His Master slowly stroked his beard and said: "There was a time when we were inseparable — like we were one being, bound by a singular goal."

"But," Kaelen choked out, "how could you become a Fateweaver then? Seeing how you were a Fateless."

Zerath nodded as if this was the right question to ask.

"By the time I turned ten, I was more mature than most of my peers. Life had shown me that there was only one way to escape the hell I was born into: to embrace cleverness and cunning. And so in what might seem like a reckless move, I left Morathen and ventured to the Great Library, revealing myself as a Fateless who'd survived the uprising, henceforth living alone in the woods, surviving on the scraps I could salvage. They didn't know what to make of me, even more so when I declared that I wanted to become a Fateweaver. At first, they laughed, but they soon learned that I was dead serious. When asked for my motives, I told them what they wanted to hear, and had all decided to believe — that the Fateless were nothing but an unruly bunch of rebels, and that my allegiance to them had never been by choice, but by birth. That when the Fateweavers crushed them in Tavira, I was freed from their yoke, and now I wanted to be remembered on the right side of history. In their hubris, they believed me, and they allowed me to take their acceptance test. I passed with a score few had ever achieved, and so I became the first Fateless Fateweaver. Of course, only an elite circle knew of my background, and as they slowly passed away over the course of many peaceful decades, that knowledge was slowly forgotten, to the point where not even Elder Thornec knew."

Kaelen couldn't help but marvel at Zerath's story. It sounded like some tall tale parents would tell their children, and yet here he was, alive and thriving.

"However," Zerath continued with a grim voice, "there was a slight caveat. You see, the Elder at the time was easy enough to convince, but he was no fool. He made me take a binding vow in front of the God of Fate so that I may never lay a hand on another Fateweaver." He paused, then added: "So I had to get a little more creative."

His eyes rested on Kaelen, and their stare was almost too heavy for his aching body.

"Since I couldn't harm the Fateweavers myself, I had to find another way of dismantling them from within. And then it struck me: I had to find a medium. I had to create a medium. Someone who would enact my revenge while I stood by and watched. Never would I personally harm any of my alleged brothers and sisters. I would only bring forth the menace that would eventually destroy them all."

A hint of sorrow crossed his face, but it was already gone when he continued.

"Once they allowed me to access the vast knowledge of their archives, I began my studies of the secrets they wouldn't teach regular students. My hungry mind soaked up every piece of information it could find, and eventually, I stumbled across a forbidden and long-forgotten craft called Fatebending. No one knew how it had been done, or if it was even still possible. But I practiced, over and over again. Weeks turned to months, months to years, and eventually decades, until finally I mastered this ancient art. All in secret, of course, and no one bothered to look past the facade of lies I had built up with time."

Kaelen's breathing suddenly went flat, and the hot air he inhaled seemed to cloud his mind. The rhythm of his heartbeat became unsteady as he started to understand what Zerath was saying.

"I'm sorry it had to be this way, Kaelen. I truly am."

His words were genuine, but they still felt like poison to Kaelen. Zerath had been more than a mentor to him — he'd been a caring father, something that his corporal father had never managed to achieve. Kaelen had always looked up to him and sought out his counsel, and his guidance had felt genuine.

Zerath's betrayal was more than soul-crushing, and Kaelen's wounded heart felt like it was about to burst. Right next to the gaping hole Elara's death had caused, he could feel another traumatic scar form, one that he would carry for the rest of his life.

"Why me?" Kaelen gasped.

Zerath gave him a pitying smile. "Suffice to say, it wasn't your fault you were chosen," he said slowly.

Kaelen opened his mouth, but didn't say anything. What was there to say, after all?

"I still remember the day you were born," Zerath began to reminisce. "Malvorn and I had already talked to Vaelorian. A despicable man, if I might add. The promise of ruling Cylion was enough for him to supply Malvorn's ambition with the necessary funds, and me with the medium I'd been looking for all these years. I never thought I would encounter a father who was willing to offer the life of his own son to advance his greed for power, but there he was. And so the three of us struck a gruesome deal — one that I'm not proud of, but one that had to be made."

A sudden clarity blew away the fog that filled Kaelen's mind. There it was: the explanation why Vaelorian had always treated him like a lost cause — because he was one, as the result of his father's vanity. It all made sense now, but that didn't make it any more bearable.

"I felt no pride when I bent your fate. I know there is little solace in that, but I thought you should know. I turned your fate tome into an abomination of all the vile crafts I had learned, until it was unlike any other fate tome that ever existed. I did so with great care, and henceforth watched over it like a guardian, so that no other Fateweaver would ever read it until you were old enough to do so yourself."

He fell silent for a while, and particles of burned paper swirled around his white beard.

"And here I thought I was a monster," Kaelen rasped with a fragile voice.

Zerath gazed at him, then nodded. "I understand you feel that way, and you may very well be right. I did what I felt necessary. I'm not claiming to be a hero, nor do I expect praise or even acknowledgement for my actions. I thought I could forget what the Fateweavers did to my family, that I could forgive them in time. But with every fate they weaved, my hatred festered, until it irreversibly tainted my heart."

Kaelen's head was throbbing, his mind spinning.

"So you bent my fate and then just … watched?" he whispered in disbelief.

"We bided our time — Malvorn climbing to the top of the remaining Fateless, while I ascended the ranks of the Fateweavers, monitoring their every action from the very core of their order. And with every day that passed in your young life, our revenge came closer."

Kaelen wondered at what point his soul would just give up. It seemed like the last hours were slowly chipping away at his sanity, with one tragedy following the next. Soon, his tear ducts would run dry, and he would just be a hollow shell, caved out by the steady drips of pain and desperation.

At the same time, there was a spark of resistance deep within him. He could feel anger kindle in the depths of his heart, raw and untamed. Anger at Zerath, his father, and the world as a whole — anger at this life that seemed to have it out for him.

"Until I could do your dirty work?" he snarled defiantly.

For a moment there, Zerath seemed surprised by his change in tone. But when he responded, there was no sharpness in his voice.

"Until fate did what I forced it to do. And what better way for the Fateweavers to end than to have them be betrayed by the very power they thought they'd mastered. And that's what people will remember — and with any luck, it will keep them from ever trying to reinstate this foul order."

"But then Malvorn had the tome stolen. How does that fit into your master plan?" Kaelen sneered.

"He did so because I asked him to," Zerath said calmly. "It served two purposes. For one, I needed you to read your own tome. By learning about your future, even without knowing it, you corrupted your mind and memory. In doing so, it made your mind resist less, because half the time it couldn't even remember what your body was doing. I discovered this as a vital ingredient to Fatebending, one that had been unknown to the ones who cultivated this craft before me. The more unstable the host, the easier they accept their bent fate." He paused, then added: "Although your fate premonitions almost ruined my plans in a way I hadn't anticipated."

Kaelen could feel a rush of heat surge through his body.

"You purposefully turned me into a vegetable?" he rasped and slowly pushed himself away from the wall. Clenching his fists, he glared at the man he once considered a father, and his skin ran hotter than even the blazing flames.

"It was the only way," Zerath said bitterly. "Believe me when I say I'm sorry. But that does not mean I wouldn't repeat my every action."

He remained perfectly still as he watched Kaelen, with no hint of regret in his once-trustworthy eyes.

"You're even crazier than Malvorn," Kaelen snarled and took a step towards the old Master.

To his surprise, a smile played on Zerath's lips.

"That's quite the statement," he said with an amused voice. "But to finish answering your question: I also had you retrieve the tome from Morathen so the Fateweavers would learn of its existence, as well as Malvorn and his plans. The fear of their ancient enemy returning blinded them to reason, and it made them look past our walls instead of inwards. It was a distraction, so to speak."

"Killing thousands of innocents was a distraction?" Kaelen growled. "It sounds to me like you are just another hypocrite."

For the first time during their discussion, Zerath seemed uncomfortable.

"That," he began and lowered his gaze, "was not part of the plan, no. At least not part of mine. Neither was Malvorn trying to have you executed after his men captured you and Elara. But I have to admit, I didn't share all the details of my vision with him until after that regrettable incident, and so he mistook you for some arbitrary Fateweaver."

"You didn't tell him?" Kaelen sneered. "Why? Because you couldn't control your friend anymore?"

Zerath curled his lips. "Malvorn's idea of victory and mine diverged a long time ago. You are smart to recognize that. I can't change that now. I did what I set out to do, but I can't control everything. And ultimately, that is something I have to accept. After all, that is exactly why the Fateweavers had to go. Lives are not meant to be controlled by others — they are meant to be lived with free will."

Kaelen scoffed. "Except for mine?"

Zerath sighed. "A necessary evil. And an epitome of all that is wrong with the practice of weaving fate."

Kaelen stared at his pale knuckles. After the initial shock had passed, all he wanted to do now was vent his anger. Maybe he would charge at Zerath, make him feel all the pain that was eating at his soul. His memory might have been a fractured mess, but his fists still packed the same punch they always had.

"What about Master Oryn?" Kaelen hissed between gritted teeth. "Did you have me kill him, too?"

Zerath's expression turned thoughtful. "No," he said in a soft voice. "That was me."

"What?" it burst out of Kaelen. "You killed Master Oryn?"

"I did, yes. He was close to discovering what I had done to your fate tome, and I could not have him spoil everything I'd achieved thus far. With mere days away from achieving my life's goal, it was the only way."

"But," Kaelen sputtered, "I thought you can't harm any Fateweavers?"

Zerath nodded pensively. "Yes, those were the terms of my binding oath. And I have to admit I'm as surprised as you are. I was fully prepared to die that day, but alas, I didn't. I trust my actions will have consequences — maybe not today, or tomorrow, but I will have to pay the price for the vow I've broken. Unless those were just empty words, false, like everything else about the Fateweavers."

"But then," Kaelen began, but broke off.

"Yes," Zerath said with a sorrowful smile. "I could've done it myself — all of it. You did not have to be my medium, as I was never bound by anything. And still, it was probably for the better this way."

Kaelen inhaled deeply, embracing the fumes that filled his lungs, before screaming into the room where the flames were still dancing. He screamed long and hard, his rage pulsating through his entire body even when his voice gave in.

With hatred in his heart and violence on his mind, he lunged at Zerath. The old man didn't even try to move away. He just stared at Kaelen with pitiful eyes, his expression one of inner peace.

But Kaelen never reached Zerath.

Just before his fingertips made contact with the old Master's throat, he could feel a tingle spread through his limbs, like someone was tickling him with a thousand feathers all at once. His lungs emptied, his heart stopped beating, and with a feeling of complete astonishment, he watched as his fingers dissolved into green sparkles that slowly floated away on a gentle breeze. His arms became undone, then the rest of his body.

The last thing he saw was an emerald shimmer that flooded his vision, bright and ubiquitous like nothing he'd ever seen.

Then, there was nothing.

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