The world seemed to stand still as Zepar processed what Aya had said. Surely he had misheard her. A lich was a blight upon the world, an affront to the cycle of life and death. A lich was an undead necromancer—one who had chosen undeath for power and immortality. While he knew his father, Zardeem, was a necromancer, it was unfathomable to him that he could be a lich. Could a lich even sire a child at all?
"C-could you repeat that?" he stammered, his former confidence cracking.
"I-I said...Lichspawn," Aya said quietly, her face pale. "You, Zepar Blackthorne, are the son of the infamous lich, Zardeem Dirkaz."
"Ridiculous," Zepar said too quickly, his hands shaking. "Impossible. A lich is an undead—a walking corpse. They can't procreate." Despite his words, he felt his gut twisting violently, as if his very being was confirming the truth he refused to accept. His head dropped into his hands, his whole body trembling as he absorbed this new information.
Aya, for her part, was sorely tempted to reach out and comfort the man. While he terrified her in a primal way, she could tell that Zepar wasn't inherently a bad person. The news had shaken him, and her heart ached for the young man, who seemed shattered at learning this horrifying truth of his origins. After a moment's hesitation, she reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"Zepar," she said quietly. "Are you alright?"
"No," he answered softly. He took a shuddering breath before looking into her eyes. "I am very far from alright." He sat up straighter and tried to compose himself again. "I spent my entire childhood being called a monster," he said quietly. "Now it all makes sense." He tried to keep his voice even, clinical—but there was a sadness in it—his voice radiated hopelessness.
"Zepar—" she began, but was cut off by the man's next words.
"So? What can you tell me about Zardeem Dirkaz?" he asked.
"Everything," she admitted after a brief pause. "I saw everything from his childhood, to what happened last week." She hesitated. She could tell him everything, even the horrible, destructive future she'd seen for Zepar himself. A future that she knew wasn't set in stone. She didn't know what events would lead to that future, but it frightened her. She also knew that Zepar wasn't in the right state of mind to see his father's history at present.
With that thought in mind, she reached into the pouch on her waist and withdrew a small clear crystal. She focused on the crystal, pushing the visions into it with every fiber of her being. She filled the crystal with only the visions regarding Zardeem and Amira Blackthorne. After a minute, she was finished. The crystal glowed faintly in a pulsing blue light. She was panting slightly from the effort.
"This contains your answers," she said in a low voice. "Use it to see what I have seen...when you're ready." She handed him the crystal, watching as he held it delicately, as if it were brittle glass. "Now, enough of this grim atmosphere," she said, her voice turning playful. "I said I'd treat you to a drink."
Half an hour later, the two of them sat in the Crimson Boar tavern. Despite the cheery attitude of the other patrons around them, the atmosphere was tense. Zepar was still deep in thought, wondering how it was possible that his father was a lich. He also couldn't shake the thought that this meant that he himself was truly a monster—whether he wanted to be, or not. When Boris stopped by their table, he couldn't help but smirk.
"Zepar, you finally brought a date with you," he teased. "I was starting to think you were dead from the waist down."
"Just leave the drinks and go, old man," Zepar muttered. He didn't fail to notice the light blush on Aya's cheeks, which lightened his mood slightly. While he hadn't truly been interested in romance, it was nice to know he could have this kind of effect on women. However, he felt sorry for the young woman as well. Zepar wasn't experienced with the opposite sex, but he wasn't dense. He could tell that Aya had developed a certain level of infatuation with him during the very short time since they'd met.
"Fine. Have it your way, killjoy," Boris said with a chuckle, setting their ales on the table before sauntering off. Aya picked up her drink and chugged half of it before setting the mug down again. Zepar smirked as he casually sipped his drink. His mood was improving bit by bit as he watched Aya's behavior.
"So," Aya began quietly. "I take it you come here often?"
"Yes," he replied. "I bring apples to Boris twice a week for him to use in the apple ale." He glanced pointedly at the ale Aya had just been chugging.
"Now that I think about it, apple ale wasn't added to the menu until you showed up in Gilramore," Aya observed. "Was that your doing?"
"It was," Zepar confirmed with a nod. "It was common in my village, and I thought I'd introduce it here."
"Was that your way of keeping your village's traditions alive?" she asked before she could stop herself. She immediately covered her mouth with her hands, her eyes wide. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—"
"It's fine," he assured her. He felt a warmth in his chest as he realized that she knew what had happened in Grimcrest...and was still choosing to be seated across from him right now. His smile was soft, if nothing else, he wondered about forming a friendship with the beautiful lady before him. "It's been two years, I've come to terms with what happened. Or, at least, that's what I tell myself."
"You know it wasn't your fault, right?" she asked him, her voice soft. "Your response may have been a bit overboard, but I understand why you did it."
"It doesn't make it right," he admitted quietly. "But...I—" He took a deep breath to steady himself. "I appreciate your understanding." They drank in silence for the next hour, eventually deciding to order some food and make it dinner.