A FREAK of a lone Heir.
As a matter of fact, when Maze had overheard such a term — 'a single Heir path' — he was a little flustered. Orphans were still slightly blessed, for they were called Siblings, but for a lone Heir to be an outcast among a group to whom 'inheritance' was given . . . why was such discrimination allowed, as if it were a part of them?
When those two rode a boat and steered away, Maze revealed himself to the woman he discovered was named Athelstan.
"Funny, is it not?" Her buggy eyes stared at Maze, who was looking at the central land where hundreds of crows feasted in the air. "You have heard a portion of my Heritage, my reason, and even my name."
"Why would you even utter that?"
"That I am a freak?"
"That you are alone."
The woman jumped from the tree to stand behind him. "Oh, save your pity."
Maze slid a hand into his pocket. "Truth is, I have heard that you are perished, not in a manner that is literal."
Athelstan noticed the ring on Maze's hand. "So you have obtained the key." She nodded. "What do you say about my intel? Is it wonderful?"
Maze remained unfazed.
"Let me guess, that key was indeed in that Father Darkness's chest, am I right?" She clicked her tongue. "Although it is of a low tier, you did defeat it, huh. I must also commend you for being highly observant. You did not miss it."
The man scoffed and walked ahead, his boots devoured by the bloodied water. He leaned and pulled a boat near the edge of the drought land. What he desired was steering a boat for himself and just egressing this trial to enter the passage to Camp.
"Are you sure you do not want to hear my reasons?"
"I changed my mind."
In truth, he had already been helped to find a key, though he had to put in his own hard work, which was much better, given the fact that he did not want to be indebted anymore.
Athelstan, on the other hand, rolled her eyes.
Maze hopped on the boat and began to steer. However, the boat began to shake as a weight jumped behind. Without taking a glance, he knew he had a passenger.
"Very well then, I must pay the price of the fare." It almost sounded like sarcasm. "Would you not want to?"
"Now that you mentioned it, I guess we could have a good trade." Maze sheepishly smiled. "Since you have almost put my life at risk, I suppose it would be well to hear about some knowledge."
"About what?"
"Yonder."
"Alright."
"You are to agree that easily?"
"Not that it is utterly significant to me."
"And why is that?"
"I am a lone Heir, must I repeat it for the nth time?" The woman cleared her throat. "Yonder, is that what you want to hear?"
Maze did not have to answer.
"There are twenty Paths known to an Heir, sixteen of which are specified and have been tread by past Heirs, and four which are special." She paused, appearing to be lost in thought. "I assume you know that Yonder has four Towers surrounding a central Tower."
"I do know." Maze would have added that he had seen such Towers twice.
"The Denomination of Heirhood has four sects, each with a Tower. The Tower of Time, Hope, Sufferance, and Death." Athelstan nudged her hand in the swamp as the boat moved forward. "Each sect has its own factions whose purpose is to determine one's specific Path."
As if the woman were a lecturer, Maze tried to take note of these learnings through improvised cogitation, steering the boat with his eyes closed to visit his Soul Tree. It was time to make use of his blindfold. A mere facade!
Only for the sake of the Learning Method.
"How did you learn all of this?"
"Well, the library is free."
"How—"
"Ahem, do you wish to learn more?" the woman silenced him. "Anyway, there are four major Paths that an Heir can tread, belonging to the four known gods: Time, Hope, Sufferance, and Death. The Builders, they are called. The major Paths are broken into five specific Paths each, and thus, are called Heritages."
Maze was reminded of the analogy Miss Olivia gave.
An arrow burning.
A gift from a god.
"Heritages determine one's faction. I could give an example of each if you want."
"Go on."
"You are simply too flat, are you not?" But the woman still allowed herself to be extorted of information. "The Heritage of the Wheel of Time, which is a reputable faction for the Sect of Time. Heritage of the Flagon from the Sect of Hope. There is also the infamous Heritage of the Crown of Thorns from the Sect of Sufferance, whose abilities possess whips of blood and thorn. For the Sect of Death, there is the Heritage of the Red Horse."
Maze had a vague inkling of what Heritages were for, but he confirmed it anyway. "Therefore, the difference between a major and specific Path is the abilities given to an Heir. Even if you are an Heir of Time, you can have the same or different abilities."
"You can say that."
As they got nearer the central land, Maze glanced behind him. "What I am more curious about is yours."
"I am a factionless lone Heir, even a sect of my own — nothing to pick your interest."
Well, she did say there are four special paths among the twenty. Perhaps these special paths are unique gifts to a sole Heir.
"Then you might as well be an Orphan."
The woman became quiet at that. "Neither of us wanted this in the first place."
Hearing that, even Maze became silent.
When they arrived at the central land, Maze wanted to hasten his pace to reach the Door. However, a problem arose as the black grass hissed with the wind. Despite not being flung to the swamp by a crimson surge, the ground had a faint tremor as the swamp itself trembled. Even the crows that became the clouds to hinder the sun at noon wailed longer and unusual.
"This . . ." Maze did not become fazed as he went ahead with quick strides, the woman following. "Is this some warning?"
But he needed no answer, since it revealed itself, emerging from the swamp.
GROAAN! A guttural vibration resonated in every direction, and Maze felt the hair on his skin rise.
"What did you anger?" It was a question of amusement from Athelstan. "Perhaps obtaining a key when you are supposed to not have one?" She hideously smiled. "Perhaps . . . learning something an Orphan must not have learned?"
Maze turned to the woman. "What do you mean?"
"Have you ever thought whether an Orphan is needed in Camp?" She shook her head. "Even before the rifts began, Orphans were outcasts. Have you not learned that there is no Orphan among the Directors?"
"How do you know all of this?"
The woman sighed, as behind her, a looming figure emerged from the swamp, bearing long, fleshy tentacles.
"As I have said, the library is free." Athelstan looked him in the eyes. "But your fate is not."
Damned, Maze could only ever be lost.