GARETH STEPPED from the boat, his large frame steady as he moved onto the muddy shore. He carried the Orphan with a quiet care, his arms supporting the lean man, who was neither bulkier nor taller than he was, and who lay broken and still. The Child of the Below was a light weight in his grasp, his black uniform damp with the green fluid, as if the blood of an entity, perhaps, was that of a monster.
He did not look at the sixteen keyless Children who watched from the grass, nor did he acknowledge the silence lingering across the land. He simply walked. Then he laid the unconscious Orphan on the earth — his pallet was the soil, his mantle the blades of grass caressing his skin.
Gareth returned to the boat to retrieve his sword and shield; however, at that same moment, Stavros landed heavily behind him. Once the nearly giant Heir had secured his pair of weapons, he turned to face the other with a gritted expression. On the other hand, the face of Stavros was a mask of indecipherable emotion, whether it was confusion, irritation, or a pride utterly trampled, it was clear that Gareth had contributed greatly to the turmoil within him.
"You!" Stavros hissed.
Gareth raised a brow. "Have I committed some transgression?"
"You could have let him fall into the swamp, you idiot." Stavros pointed a finger at his own temple. "You could have let him drown, yet you saved him. Are you a fool?!"
"Watch your tone, Child of Sufferance." Gareth was not necessarily offended, but Stavros was being excessive in his vicious accusation. "Furthermore, what does it matter to you if I saved him?"
"You bastard, we made a deal, and you broke it." Stavros pointed at the man with the tip of his spear.
Gareth remained unmoved. "Did you ever hear me agree?"
Stavros froze, perhaps realizing that the Child of Hope had offered no response to his earlier proposal.
"And so what?! He is not an Heir. You know he is from the Below, Gareth. Who among us is truly the one without a mind?" Stavros was fuming, appearing as though he might explode from the heat at any moment. Despite his tanned skin, his ears had turned a deep crimson. "We could have—"
"Why do you desire the death of this person so much, huh?" Gareth stepped closer, the sharp point of the spear now pressing against his chest. "When you proposed your plan, you gave me an idea. I merely followed what was right."
The Child of Sufferance seemed to lose his tongue.
"I do not wish to disappoint my Heritage, Stavros." Gareth adjusted his stance and mirrored the gesture of the other, tapping a finger against his own temple. "I, too, possess common sense. I am of the Anchor. My God is one of Hope. While it is true that I could wish for all my Siblings to possess a key, it is not right to wish someone dead."
Stavros cursed before shifting his weapon behind his back. "Bastard," he scowled, "soon, you will regret this."
He brushed past Gareth and spat near the unconscious Orphan before continuing his walk. Gareth watched him until he reached the front of the Door. Before long, Stavros opened the threshold and stepped inside.
"Did you not think that I have already considered my own regrets?" Gareth snorted before he continued his stride.
When he drew near the Orphan, Gareth initially intended to simply pass him by. Yet, considering everything he had already declared, he felt he must stand by his actions. Truthfully, Gareth was beginning to feel a prick of annoyance at his own conflicted heart. Nevertheless, he did not wish to appear inconsistent. Having already saved the man, why not see it through before returning to his remaining Siblings?
Little by little, the sun was awakening.
The darkness was retreating.
Gareth approached the Orphan and gave his foot a slight kick. His plan was merely to rouse the man. It was better to wake him than to carry him further. The shield he held was already a heavy burden. It would be too much to carry the man as well. Saving him from the boat was enough, and it would be an abuse of his nature if —
The man's eyes began to blink. Clutching his forehead, he slowly sat up while the grass continued to fizz, threatening to consume his frame. At first, he looked at himself, then at the sword, and finally at the boy standing before him.
It seemed as though he had regained his senses, perhaps realizing the weight of the events that had transpired.
The Orphan remained silent, and Gareth, for his part, did not know what to say. Many thoughts crowded his mind, yet none found their way to his lips. For nearly a minute, they avoided each other's gaze until, unexpectedly . . .
"Thank you," the Orphan said. "I know you did not do it for any particular reason, and I know you would eventually try to clear the air, so I shall speak first." He let out a sigh of relief before continuing, "I could have died back there."
Gareth cleared his throat. "It is good that you know." He scratched the nape of his neck. "Are you not leaving yet? The way to the Door is free, hence, no one will stop you now."
The Orphan faltered for a moment but quickly regained his composure. "Perhaps I was naive, to the extent that I could not immediately believe that . . . " The man stood, retrieving the sword at his side, and shook off his lingering thoughts. "Above all, I am beyond grateful," he uttered at last, before turning his back.
From then on, even Gareth knew what it meant.
This was the part where one must walk alone.
⠀
MAZE STILL could not fully process the truth that he had managed to defeat the Eidolon. It was not that he intended to boast, but the behemoth had seemed simple enough to vanquish provided one held a proper weapon. Though he was not entirely certain of the gap between his previous sword and the blade he had drawn from the stone, he could say the second was far greater than the former. Verily, only such a weapon possessed the capacity to overcome the entity.
The sun had already risen.
At long last, he had broken the play, and for such ending, he would still gain entry to the Camp. Despite everything that had transpired, his heart nearly leaped with bliss. Much of this was owed to a lone Heir, Athelstan. That woman had contributed greatly to his path — she who had nearly become an Orphan like him.
While looking toward the Door, Maze thought of his Siblings, his fellow Orphans in the Towers Below. Specifically, those in the Tower of the Widower, for he considered himself one of the Children of the Widower, much like those here were considered Children of certain gods. Thus, in a mystical sense, he was an adoptee, even if he were not like the Heirs who had drunk from the cup.
Perhaps his fellow Orphans were worried for him. It was possible they expected him to fail, hence their dread regarding whether he could train and cogitate within those seven days. He had not felt pressured in such a way, yet it was nice to learn, as their help had been significant to him.
Maze looked at his fingers and saw his ring. It was dark, the skin seemingly made of black flesh, bearing the symbol of a key. Slowly, it vanished from his ring finger and formed into a key. His own pass, so to speak.
Now, as he was about to place it into the keyhole, he heard the flapping of wings followed by a loud caw. When he looked to the upper portion of the Door, a crow sat perched there, watching him.
"Wish . . . " It pecked before it cawed again. "You — kraa — wish."
It seemed as though the creature had no desire to speak with Maze, given how sparse its words were, yet he understood the intent. Still, he required confirmation. If his understanding were flawed, he would be the one deceived.
"Does that mean I get to wish upon vanquishing the Eidolon?" This was his way of confirmation, a moment of truth. He felt a stir of nervousness and could feel the quickening beat of his heart.
The crow scratched its beak. Click, croak, caw! It leaned down and stared at him intently, as if waiting for him to speak. Maze took it as a confirmation. Otherwise, the bird would have signaled no, but that would be absurd either way.
"Is it true?"
The crow offered no answer.
Even Athelstan had not mentioned that a wish could be gained upon slaying the Eidolon. Perhaps even that woman did not know. Yet if he had one teensy, tiny desire that he believed he would not regret, this was the thing he would say.
Therefore, he did not hesitate.
"I only wish that all Children would experience the Camp." He drew a deep and determined breath, and in his eyes flickered what could be deemed as fair and just. "You let them live."
Though it was an absurdity to speak to a crow, he did not wonder at it. If this place was an illusion, then anything could happen. Especially talking to a crow.
"Is . . . kraa! That . . . " It pecked three times. "Final?"
Maze nodded. "I know the weight of what I have said."
"A wish — kraa!" It flapped its wings. ". . . is a wish."
Click, croak, caw!
"You," it cawed and then bowed its head, "enter."
And so Maze finally put the key inside and twisted it. Shortly after, the Door opened, and Maze was devoured by the light as he walked through.
The morning had finally arrived with streaks of faint but blazing light.
The crow scratched at its body and pulled a single feather. Croak! It placed the feather atop the Door, and in the eyes of the omen, the reflection of the remaining keyless Heirs appeared.
"Failures."