The River that Flows Eternal

     Rikti sat up and shivered. Sunrise was on the horizon, but he felt no warmth. Heavy clouds hung in the air. The mountains towering overhead were a black silhouette in the waxing light. Kal Panning, dimly visible across the smooth lake waters, crouched gloomily in the shade. Fog rolled over the grass in the dismal breeze. Yesterday the Valley of Song had been blanketed in sunlight, like a fantastical vista rising out of time. Today it was sinking back into oblivion.

     Tylix and Evett were already up. Rikti went and ate with them. The waybread tasted staler than usual; maybe it was the humidity. He missed Evett’s delicious futuristic food—what was it called again? The name was on the tip of his tongue. O... om... no, he couldn’t quite think of it. A sudden doubt seized him. Was this just plain forgetfulness? No, it couldn’t be. If the World could take away Evett’s memories, couldn’t it do the same to him? The question was unexpectedly terrifying.

     The more immediate concern, however, was the task before him. Here, at the foot of the Two Rings, Rikti felt their weight more than ever. The craggy peaks bent towards each other, as if conspiring together. A black, spiky shape could be very faintly seen jutting out of the foot of the northernmost one. Rikti had never seen it before, but it was all too obvious what waited there.

     “So… how long does it take to get up there?” he said.

     Tylix shrugged. He was wearing his usual impassive expression, but Rikti knew him well enough by now to see that he was anxious. “The palace isn’t too high up. It’ll still take most of the day to get there, what with the monsters, but it shouldn’t be a hard climb.”

     Evett chewed thoughtfully. The grey glow on him was stronger than ever now; the World’s laws were binding him for good. “Okay. Let’s get an early start,” he said. He stood up and stretched. Rikti and Tylix watched him anxiously.

     “Are you okay?” Tylix ventured.

     “Never better.”

     They began to walk away from the lake shore in the direction of the Two Rings. As they did, they felt the earth shake slightly. The tremors of approaching chaos were echoing not only here, but all over the continent. Rikti thought he heard faint commotion far to the south, where the ravine curved back towards the road and pastures east of Sunnytown. He looked back, but nothing could be seen over the violet treetops and sharp cliffs.

     A path began to form—some brutish track made by Jahbal’s creatures to go up and down the mountain. They followed it as it wound higher and higher. Wind shook the grass. The sun was just now rising high enough to see, but even now the clouds were swooping in to cover it. Kal Panning, already below them, was covered in vague and formless mist; so too was the way before them. The air was getting chillier.

     “I hope it doesn’t snow today,” Rikti said with a frown. But just as he spoke, the earth shook again. Yells and screeches pierced the calm.

     “What is that?” said Evett in alarm. “I can’t see anything—“

     They stopped, gripping their weapons, and strained to peer around them. The noise grew loud, deafeningly loud. Rikti struggled to keep his balance amid the quake. A mass of shadows was approaching from their right.

     Tylix was already conjuring a few crystals into his paw. In a swift, silent motion he sent them forward. One hit home: the prone form of a Chia monster rolled into view. It was enormous and well-armored, with only its hideous face unprotected. “We can’t take these enemies lightly,” said Tylix under his breath. But who knew how many there were? Too many, for sure.

     “Enough of this,” said Evett. “They know we’re here. No use tiptoeing.” He stepped forward and brandished his staff. Flames rose from it in a graceful arc. They seemed almost to roar as they swept the mist away. Hot winds blasted the hillside. With a cry the nearest shapes retreated, giving the trio a chance to take stock of their surroundings in clearer light.

     They stood halfway up a gentle slope leading to the northern peak of the Two Rings. The grass here was thinning; a few hundred feet more and it would give way to bare rock. The path ahead of them zigzagged up that way, wide and unhurried. But it was not the path to the palace that concerned Rikti now, nor even the twenty-five monsters rushing towards him. For down below, in the dark space between the Two Rings that gave way to the Valley of Song, an army was on the march. There were too many monsters to count. Soon they would be massing on the lake shore and bridging the ravine.

     “What…?” Tylix breathed. “This is crazy.” Jahbal’s evil will was at work again. They could all feel the earth straining under him, and sense the dark energy flowing from the mountain. He had spent the days since his defeat at Sunnytown preparing these beasts in fury and resentment—that much was clear. His army now was more powerful than any seen since the Old Times. The twenty-five monsters here, as strong as they were, were nothing more than scouts.

     “Okay, great,” said Rikti, trying to stifle an incredulous laugh and not quite succeeding. “Let’s just take this one step at a time.”

     He lunged at the nearest monster, a purple Techo with sickly yellow eyes. At the last moment the Techo turned, throwing up a wooden buckler to block his attack, but Rikti sliced through easily. The beasts were slower than they looked, and evidently unprepared for Rikti’s approach. Even with his wings still injured, he found their slow swipes and slashes easy to avoid. A few good hits and they were down.

     Around him, Evett and Tylix were doing well. Fire ripped through the air, missing Rikti by a hair. Three of the monsters coming at him fled or were knocked out by the blast. Two more managed to block the magic, but they were thrown off balance. Rikti dispatched them with a single blow. From behind he heard Evett whistle admiringly.

     A Zafara came forward, growling. Rikti feinted to his right and then swerved away elegantly as an ice crystal streaked into its startled face. Pulling back, Rikti gave Tylix a thumbs-up. The Kacheek beamed but didn’t answer: he was already bending down to the ground, orb in paw. A fissure of ice twisted speedily down the slope. It caught three more of the monsters unawares, and they scrambled out of the way. Too late. As Rikti watched in fascination, spikes shot up from the crack and punctured their armor. The monsters beat a speedy retreat. Rikti concluded that while Evett was the most powerful mage he’d ever seen, Tylix had better eyes than anyone.

     Rikti, for his part, had agility on his side. While his friends kept the enemies distracted and at arm’s length, he ran in close and dispatched them. To his relief, it was a simple task. He could fight to the fullest, knowing Tylix and Evett had his back. After all the desperate, lonely battles he’d been through, he relished an opportunity to exhibit pure swordsmanship without his life on the line. These scouts were strong, no doubt, but they stood no chance.

     When the last of the monsters had run off down the hill, the trio stopped to catch their breath and look around them. “Is anyone else coming?” asked Evett. He looked melancholy. “I don’t want to fight them if we can avoid it.”

     “Don’t think so,” said Rikti, squinting. “That’s odd. I guess we’re not as important as we think.” The fog was starting to close in again, but Jahbal’s enormous army was still plainly visible. It covered the valley like an unsightly shroud. “So Jahbal’s launching his conquest of Neopia now?” he said.

     Tylix grimaced. “I think so. Or maybe he’s just flaunting his strength for us. Those scouts were probably just a final test.”

     “In any case, the monsters aren’t attacking us now,” said Evett. “We need to get up the mountain while we have the chance.”

     He gave them an encouraging nod, as if to tell them he was all right. Rikti wasn’t sure he believed that, but it was true that they didn’t have time to spare. With an uncertain look at Tylix, he followed Evett back onto the path.

     The way became narrower and steeper, cutting its way up the sides of the mountain. The grass fell away, and walls of sheer black rock towered up on either side. Rikti thought they were making progress, but he could hardly see more than a few feet around him through the choking haze. There was no sound of monsters or horns or—anything at all, save the wind and the stones scattering beneath his feet.

     “The monsters living here must all be down there after all,” said Tylix. “We’re in luck.” But just as he spoke, a snowflake landed on his nose. Then another came, and another. Soon a light snow was blowing about in the breeze. The trio pulled their cloaks tighter around them and went on. Up and up they climbed, hurrying over the slick rocks to the waiting palace.

     Rikti wondered if the monsters were spreading south, whether they were rampaging over the southern pastures even now. He wondered if a hardy band of farmers would rise to resist them, like they always did in the legends. Someday far from now, all this might become a verse in some grand epic. The siege of Sunnytown—the battle of the southern fields—the fall of Jahbal. With a chuckle Rikti imagined himself and his friends immortalized in those mythical lines. The heroes that toppled Jahbal.

     But it was only a passing thought. He was too small for the workings of the World, or even the little-w world, and he knew it. The grand stories he had grown up on, the wild feats of heroism he had always longed for, suddenly felt immensely far away. Today—this day, this hour, this one second on a snow-covered mountain—was all that mattered.

     Before him was Evett, greying more and more by the minute, but taking each step with fierce certainty. Behind him was Tylix, trudging in silence, bowing his head in reflection. Together they toiled upward through the snow, fearful but unwavering. Time passed.

     After a while Rikti’s fingers were so numb he could hardly wrap them around his waterskin. He was used to snow, having spent his life in the north, but he’d never had to climb a mountain in it. The wind whipped every which way, and even the modest snowfall felt like it was biting into his skin. It was hard to believe winter hadn’t even come yet. Evett and Tylix looked just as miserable. How long had it been? Two hours, maybe more?

     Not long afterwards they stopped under a rock overhang to eat and drink a bit. Though they had room to stretch their legs, there was a thousand-foot drop right below. Rikti was reasonably sure his wings would hold up in an emergency, but the same couldn’t be said for his companions.

     Tylix stared over the ledge. He looked—not morose, exactly, but brooding. “I wish it wasn’t snowing.”

     The words were so quiet that Rikti hardly heard them over the weather. “You’re not the only one,” he said, clapping Tylix on the back. “I prefer the beach, myself.”

     That made Tylix smile, which Rikti counted as a win. “All right, that’s not what I meant,” Tylix said. There was a pause. He cleared his throat. “Well… you remember that dream I told you about, right? The one where you two were in the snow.” Evett shifted uneasily.

     Ah. Rikti did remember. They’re lying on the ground… the mountain is frozen… the world is frozen. He’d shrugged it off back in Tower Gaia, but the words disturbed him more than he preferred to admit. “What about it? I thought you were done with those dreams.”

     “I am, but… I keep thinking of them. I was hoping it wouldn’t snow today, so I could put them out of my head for good.” Tylix stared at his lap. “That dream a year ago was the first time I saw you. It was the beginning and the end. I was ready for it then. Now I—I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

     “That timeline’s gone,” said Evett soothingly. “We’re changing things. You don’t have to worry.”

     “Don’t I?”

     Rikti stood up abruptly. “All right. You know what, Tylix? Your dream’s gonna come true.” And he dove facedown into a snowdrift.

     Evett gaped at him, apparently caught between a reprimand and a guffaw. “What are you doing?”

     “Hey! Get down here!” Rikti yelled from around a mouthful of snow. “You heard me!”

     “Oh, brother…” With an exaggerated groan, Evett collapsed dramatically next to him. They lay there for a bit making awful attempts at snow angels. Rikti reckoned he was doing better than Evett, but that was a low bar. Finally he poked his head out. “Well? Is the prophecy looking good?”

     “Let me think… no.” Tylix laughed. The pure melody sounded strange in a place like this. “Get up, you two. You’re going to get soaked!”

     “What? Isn’t there a drying spell for this sort of thing?” Rikti jumped to his feet and traced a few fancy lines of (imagined) Kayannin script in the air. With the last flourish he knocked himself in the head and fell back down.

     “I think you’d better stick to sword-fighting,” interrupted Tylix loudly. “And for the record, snow angels only have one head!”

     Rikti and Evett laughed along. For a moment Rikti could almost forget the terrible peril they were in, almost shrug off the burden of Jahbal’s presence. But as he shouldered his pack and resumed the journey, Tylix’s dreams still nagged at him. And his mind was drawn back into that whirlpool of hope and despair.

     The snow fell heavier, then stopped. Time stretched out, one slow second at a time. Rikti thought he would be used to dull walking by now, but somehow the experience never quite improved. Sometimes he and the others talked, when they could hear each other over the wind. There was little to talk about.

     It was several more torturous hours before they finally reached the outcropping of stone where Jahbal’s palace sat. Rikti could hardly believe it at first, but there it was: a grim stair cut into the rock, the first sign of life on the mountain since they had started up it. They stopped at the base, tired and wordless, unwilling to begin the final ascent. Only the very tallest spike was visible from where they stood, but its occupant undoubtedly knew they were here.

     Rikti wondered how high up they were. He soon got his answer. As the trio turned and peered out into the distance, the snow paused and the filmy clouds pulled back. And lo and behold, there was the Valley of Song. Rikti was amazed at the distance he and the others had traversed. The valley was hardly more than a muddle of purple leaves and green grass and clear water. Even the crowds of monsters here and there hardly marred the colors.

     Kal Panning was there too, a tiny blur on the lake. They were almost directly above it. Evett gazed at the city, then at the vale. He looked otherworldly now, wrapped in a silver shimmer. Rikti wished more than anything he could turn his friend around and march him back down to some safe enclave. Somewhere, anywhere. A place where he could live the life he deserved.

     “It’s still beautiful after all,” Evett said. “Funny how that works. When you’re this far away, the imperfections don’t matter so much.”

     “You’re right,” said Tylix softly. “Look.” He pointed at the lake. The sun was peeking out over the valley. A few weak rays of late afternoon light, nothing more, but—there it was. The lake was shining, and the stream that wound into the ravine was like a golden thread.

     “It’s the river of time,” said Tylix. “Just the way I saw it that night. It twists and it turns, but it’s whole. That’s the World.”

     “Wow.” Rikti didn’t know what to say. He imagined himself plucking that thread out of the land and reshaping its path. After all, that was what they were here to do today—change the course of Neopia’s fated destruction.

     The view only lasted a few seconds. Then the clouds rolled in again, and the wind blew harder than ever. “So. Are you ready?” said Evett in a low voice.

     Rikti turned and saw his eyes for the first time in a long while. They’d been like shallow pools once, he remembered. Now there was life in them, and a depth as vivid as the raging waters of the great ocean. In his fading body, only those eyes were as clear as day.

     A thought, a prickly irritation, came into Rikti’s head. He’s not… going to last.

     “We’re ready,” said Tylix. Rikti nodded, shutting away the nuisance. The valley was already obscured so completely from their sight that it might as well not have existed. The watchful gaze of the World was gone. They were alone on a rock wrapped in a blank haze. Awaiting them, all too visible, was their final test. “Are you ready?” said Rikti.

     “Of course,” said Evett. “You have your dreams. This is mine.” He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. And without another word he climbed the stone stairs. They followed him silently. The beginning and the end.

     ———

     The palace of the Two Rings was a twisted, shiny mass of spikes and shadows. The Temple of Roo’s black walls had been smooth and stolid; here the walls seemed to bristle like a living thing—a parasite sucking the life out of the mountain. The warped towers and battlements sat on, or rather sprouted from, a flat and barren stone surface jutting sharply outward from the slope. It was a courtyard of sorts, decorated with spiraling grooves and ridges half-covered by snow.

     Evett wished he could say he wasn’t afraid. He’d always been better at hiding his fear than getting rid of it. Now the fear was wrapping so tightly around him he could hardly breathe. And not only fear—there was a sickening weight in the air. He and the others raised their faces upward, striving against it. Above them mountain’s peculiar curve was apparent even through the fog. The peak was somewhere above their heads, and the distant dark shape in the sky was undoubtedly its twin listing towards them. They were the palace’s deformed guardians, and its only ones. There was no outer wall, nor any other defense save a pair of crumbling watchtowers posted above the steps. Nothing outwardly changed as Evett and the others passed them by and stepped into the courtyard. Nevertheless, Evett felt the weight on his shoulders double. Even with his body half-fading away, he felt increasingly sick.

     Every footstep echoed dully in the empty expanse. The rock beneath his feet quivered. Though the tremors from earlier in the day had died down some time ago, they returned now. The magic in the air glided over his fur, heavy with familiar enmity. The palace rose to embrace him. This was not Kal Panning, where terror was etched into the earth itself; in the Two Rings, a single will was enough to hold sway over all else. Evett could see him now, striding through the courtyard to greet them.

     There were no armies, no fanfares, no sound but the wind and the creak of the mountain. But that was him: a giant of an Eyrie with a green gaze that could melt boulders, swathed in a cloak and an aura of oppressive darkness. Jahbal, last of the Circle of Twelve.

     He was not the mighty lord he had been in Faleinn’s memories. There was a gaunt greyness to his form, not unlike Evett’s own, and his back was bent like a crone’s. But his overpowering strength proved it beyond a doubt. Even the glib smirk could only be his. And the force of those eyes, so much stronger than the mere projection Evett had seen at the Temple of Roo, was undiminished.

     The three heroes and their great foe met at the center of the courtyard, a few yards apart. Even at this distance, Jahbal towered over them. This was him—really him. Evett forced himself to inhale and exhale slowly. His breath misted before him, and he watched it dissipate in the wind. Calm. He had to stay calm.

     “Good afternoon,” said Jahbal in that slow, deliberate voice of his. “How was the climb? I must say, I’ve been quite impressed with your efforts against my servants this past week.”

     No one answered. They met his gaze, or did their best to.

     “Sullen today, I see.” His eyes bored into Evett. The other two might as well have been invisible. “Imagine—a freak of nature in my own palace. A dissonance.”

     He drew out the word with special revulsion. Evett twitched. The mere mention of it felt like the twinge of a recently-closed wound.

     “You’re no better,” shouted Rikti bravely. “Don’t act all high and mighty when you’ve ruined your own country!”

     Jahbal’s eyes flicked briefly to Rikti, who to his credit only took a small step backward, before refocusing on Evett. “So you’ve brought the riffraff again.”

     “They’re my friends,” Evett answered. He was too cold and anxious to muster the usual rage. One wrong move and it would all be over.

     “Friends? Does the sea call a puddle its friend?” Jahbal laughed. “Never mind. No matter how strong your unnatural abilities are, you stand before an infinite ocean. Only luck has brought you this far.”

     “I know.”

     “Luck, and my own magnanimity. I could have ended you at the Temple of Roo—or set my army on you today, if I had so desired. But I was kind enough to let you pass with only a skirmish.”

     “I know.”

     The fear still gripped him, but it was receding into the background. A tight sense of anticipation remained, wound up in him like a coil waiting to spring. He glanced to the right. Rikti and Tylix were moving into position now. Tylix was far back; Rikti stood closer, hand on his sword-hilt. They were ready to go on the defense. Evett stayed where he was.

     “Your quest means nothing,” said Jahbal. “No one chose you. Your city is gone. Not even the World cares for you. Why irritate me here, knowing it will lead to your ruin?”

     He wasn’t wrong. Attacking the mighty Jahbal with a party of three was the height of folly. But did it matter, really? When faced with the sorcerer armed with a millennium of stolen energy, every plan was a gamble against certain doom. The three of them had grown strong to stand a chance, and he was sure to underestimate them. That was enough.

     Jahbal snorted, seeing the look on his face. “I see. Suit yourself, then.”

     It was like the tolling of an invisible bell. The wind rose to a frenzy. Everyone and everything began to move at once. Tylix was first; he raised his paw, orb held within, and daggers of ice came sailing through the wind. As quick as he was, Jahbal made no effort to turn. His gnarled talons were already swirling with spectral magic. He needed no staff; indeed, no staff could have contained such energy. One flick of the hand, and his talent exploded in a burst of violet light. Evett sent up a flame at the last second, deflecting the worst of the beams. He felt his fur searing as they passed him by. Rikti and Tylix dove behind a makeshift ice sheet, which could barely take even Jahbal’s glancing hits. Then, not even taking a breath, they ran out again.

     Jahbal was fixed on Evett. He strode closer, sneering. Magic poured off of him in an endless barrage. Evett dodged and swung as best he could, letting his gut do the thinking. Flame and darkness collided and dissipated. The stones were scorched with colorful marks. Stray rubble erupted from the ground with every clash, marring the age-old designs.

     “Watch out!” came Rikti’s voice. Evett ducked on instinct as a stray bolt of magic passed overhead. He was sweating already. His fire was just enough to keep Jahbal away; the problem was keeping it going. [Faleinn had told him that only his willpower limited him, but summoning infinite willpower was far easier said than done.]

     Rikti was coming up behind Jahbal now, swerving past a rain of spectral bullets. Evett caught only a glimpse, but his heart jumped into his throat. He couldn’t protect Rikti from here. What was the kid thinking? But then he saw a rain of Tylix’s projectiles covering him from behind, shielding his advance. A few of them crept through Jahbal’s magic barriers, taking advantage of Evett’s distraction, and struck him in the back.

     Growling, Jahbal finally turned towards the nuisance. Just as he did so, Rikti circled around him sharply and landed a hard blow on his calves. It did little more than slash open his boots, but Jahbal’s mouth twisted. “You little…!”

     He spun towards Rikti and let another wave of magic loose. Without thinking Evett bounded in front and took the hit. His fire protected him, but the force threw him backwards onto a hard pile of rubble. Only a bit of leftover snow cushioned his fall. And even at this distance, he could not rest. Jahbal was inexorable, and his temper had risen. Magic was leaking palpably from his claws. It pooled in the stone: a smoky, soupy thing. Evett struggled to his feet and blasted crater after crater into the ground, but he could not stem its advance; the rock was warping like burnt parchment. Foul odors crept upward. The earth shook again, down from the roots of the mountain to its peak.

     “Guess there’s no choice,” said Rikti. “I’ll fly if I have to.”

     “No, wait!” said Evett. But Rikti was determined to take the heat in Evett’s place. With a wince he soared upward and began the onslaught anew. His wing still looked crooked, and he could only stay airborne for a few seconds at a time. While Jahbal lunged at him, Tylix and Evett did their best to fend off the creeping poison. And all the while, they were being pushed back—closer and closer to the palace itself.

     “We can’t keep this up,” said Tylix urgently. He brushed the ground with his paw, sending gleaming cracks of ice over the surface of the courtyard. “Rikti not least. He’s an easy target up there.”

     “I know, I know! But what are we supposed to do?” Evett was trying desperately to get closer to Jahbal. But he lacked Tylix’s range, and even when half-preoccupied, the sorcerer’s energy was more than enough to keep him at a distance.

     The courtyard was glossy with ice. Jahbal’s power was fighting it and (naturally) winning, but for now the two were kept in check. Tylix and Evett refocused their efforts on Jahbal. A few ice crystals shattered in the air; a few more hit home on his head. But they could not drag his gaze away from Rikti. The Korbat was swooping high and low every few seconds, unable to land for long or draw back to where the others were. Jahbal was bent on destroying this insignificant opponent.

     “Evett!” said Tylix, in between ragged breaths. “Set my crystals on fire, will you?”

     “What?” said Evett. The dust, bitter and black from their combined forces, clogged his eyes and ears. “Wouldn’t that melt them?”

     “Yes—but they’ll reach him before that happens. Your strength and my speed—”

     Rikti had nicked a few good hits on Jahbal, even slashing his forehead. But now he had flown in too close. Jahbal knocked him bodily to the ground. “You’re a pest,” he growled. With a groan Rikti rolled weakly to the side, buying a few seconds. Jahbal bent over him, stretching out his claws. For a brief, precious moment, he ceased to fire in Tylix and Evett’s direction.

     “Do it!” Tylix whispered. The orb around his neck floated upwards. A dozen more ice crystals appeared above his palm. Evett was suddenly reminded of that terrible scene—another courtyard, another crystal, a blazing atrium in a lonely ruin. He had seen Tylix’s true self for the first time that day. Now, seeing the fierce emotion in his friend’s eyes, he felt strangely proud.

     Evett pointed his staff at the crystals. A halo of flame popped into existence. The crystals began to twist and crackle. But they were already slicing through the air, alive with the vigor of the World. Jahbal turned at the last second, cursing, and managed to block a few. But the rest sank into his side with a burning hiss.

     Jahbal jerked away, clutching his side. He had been injured now, if only slightly. With a roar, his magic burst out from him once more: not in scattered beams, but as a wave of pure hatred. Evett and Tylix staggered backwards, barely holding it back with their combined energy; Rikti narrowly escaped it by flying again, though it evidently pained him more than ever. Quickly he rejoined the other two. They had backed up nearly to the cliff edge now, and all three of them were battered. The shields would not hold long.

     “Are you satisfied yet?” snapped Jahbal. Behind him, the courtyard was rotting away. Evett saw it clearly for the first time since the fight had begun. It had been beaten into shreds. The flat, smooth stone had been broken into hollowed-out depressions and mounds of featureless debris. Poison and chips of ice ate at the blasted rock. But if Jahbal cared for the destruction of his own home, he did not show it. Furiously he pushed forward. The energy grew more and more pressing. Evett instinctively shouldered in front of the others, but even he could not hold out against this. He gasped for air.

     What was he to do? Fighting on this polluted terrain was no longer an option, whether or not they broke out of this chokehold. And the open air was a drawback as well; with unlimited space, Jahbal could easily keep Evett at bay. Evett needed to level that disadvantage somehow. He needed a place where Jahbal would move more cautiously. A narrower, murkier place that would hem him in. A place like—

     Evett’s eyes darted to the palace and then to Tylix and Rikti. They all understood. Rikti inhaled. “Ready, set—“ As one, they dropped the shields and ran full-tilt to the right. Cursing, Jahbal redirected his poisonous beam. It swept the courtyard like a searchlight. The pressure grazed Evett painfully, and his paws sank into pools of burning violet, but he ignored them both. The trio spread out as they ran for the palace—not directly for it, but close enough that Jahbal’s crushing wave, too slow to control with pinpoint accuracy, would have to strike it.

     And it did. The three heroes dived out of the way with perfect timing. The twisted towers trembled. The nearest wall split open from the base, leaving a gaping hole. Once the noise had stopped, Evett headed straight for the interior. He made it just as Jahbal’s blasts hammered the wall above him. Wreckage crashed down, barely missing Evett and the others.

     They stood shakily. Around them was a large parlor, or what had formerly been a parlor; there was a fireplace in the corner, and the decayed remains of a rug and drapes still sat in their proper places. A faded painting of a tall white turret hung above the mantelpiece.

     Jahbal stepped carelessly into the room, kicking aside the fallen pieces of the wall. His wrath was still boiling over. “I suppose this was your scheme?” he said. “This palace means nothing to me. It is a relic. I could tear this place down brick by brick!”

     “You could. But we will first.” Tylix had his orb out again, and he gripped it now so tightly that Evett could practically see his veins through the fur.

     “Ha! An abomination and his ragged entourage. I can hardly believe this has gone on so long.” Jahbal radiated with pulsing spectral power. In a flash all the walls of the room began to crumble. Cracks spread over the floor, and the trio braced themselves. But Evett saw that Jahbal was indeed holding back now. As great and mighty as he was, even he was loath to have a ceiling crash down on him. This was Evett’s chance.

     Rushing forward, he swung his staff at the nearest falling rock. The flame swallowed it and propelled it forward. Jahbal dodged it, but stumbled over the frayed edges of the rug. Evett sent more and more rocks in his direction, as many as he could muster in this tight space. But Jahbal’s attacks were hitting him too, one toxic beam after another. There was no way to dodge here, no way to pull back and wait like he had outdoors. He had to suffer the blows.

     Finally the walls collapsed. Behind their remains, Evett saw more rooms. Parlors, bedchambers, dining halls—on and on they marched, decrepit and hollow, a memory of life nestled in this black palace. He saw in them a twisted replica of Kal Panning; two old, old places, moldering away in a world that deserved to forget them.

     A rock hit Evett hard in the flank, and he fell with a cry. “You still don’t understand, do you?” said Jahbal as he flicked boulders out of his way. “The real battle is happening below in the valley. All Neopia’s energy is flowing into me. I grow stronger by the minute. And once the rebels are dealt with—“

     “Dealt with?” Rikti said incredulously. Though his arms were shaking and he could hardly stand after the beating he had taken, he faced Jahbal head-on. “It doesn’t matter how many times you and your monsters beat us. Neopia isn’t yours. We’ll get back up every time.”

     Jahbal narrowed his eyes. “I am of the Circle of Twelve. The last and greatest of my order. You dare suggest that ruling is not my right?”

     He seemed to grow as he spoke. Evett became aware of faint lines in the air, like thin trails of smoke. They floated in from the world outside. Though hardly visible even against the black wall, there was a vast number of them. “He really is absorbing energy,” Evett whispered as he pulled himself upright. “His monsters—they must be—“

     “We don’t have time,” muttered Rikti. The mountain shook once, twice. Jahbal would not corrode the floor as heavily here as he had outdoors, not when he had so little room to maneuver, but the slightest touch from him was poison to the stone. Even now it was sinking inexorably. And Jahbal himself was more furious than ever.

     “He won’t go all-out in here,” said Evett. “That’s our only hope. If we get him to lower his guard…”

     Back and forth they went, here attacking, here defending. They could do more damage than they had before, but it was hard not to take more damage as well. They were all limping, Rikti most of all. And they were being pushed back. Down the whole length of the palace they went, slowly but surely, as Jahbal advanced on them. The rooms they fought in were unrecognizable beneath the wanton destruction.

     Finally, by pure chance, they found themselves in a small room lined with ceramics. Vases, plates, and figurines were stacked neatly in glass cabinets, covered in dust but no less beautiful for it. The remnants of a golden chandelier still hung from the ceiling. The trio glanced around and readied themselves. Jahbal was hot on their heels, already preparing another merciless blast. But just as he lumbered into the room, Rikti leaped skyward and cut through the rusted chain holding the chandelier aloft. Evett set it ablaze. It landed squarely on Jahbal’s head, shattering into smoldering pieces. The sorcerer swung blindly, cursing, but Tylix and Evett had already taken shelter behind the nearest intact wall.

     Tylix stood alone now. Mumbling an apology, he slammed his paw on the nearest cabinet. Glowing cracks snaked over the glass, brimming with energy. Jahbal batted aside the chandelier, clutching the wound on his head, and realized what was happening. But it was too late. Tylix released his grasp and jumped back. Instantly the cabinet exploded outward, burying Jahbal in an avalanche of ice and twinkling shards. Each one might have been worth more than all the gems in Gali Yoj’s shop.

     Even before they saw Jahbal and beheld his wounds, they could feel his anger. This was the hardest blow they had yet dealt him. But even that desperate ploy had been nothing to him. As his hulking shadow rose slowly from the still-burning scraps of the chandelier, the sick feeling of mingled fear and anticipation tightened in Evett’s stomach again.

     And then the moment came. Faster than sight itself, Jahbal swept his arm. The very air seemed to darken into a violet stew. Evett and the others forced themselves to stay upright, though sweat trickled down their brows. Jahbal’s shadow, still obscured by the settling dust of his precious antiques, moved closer. Every footstep was a thunderclap racing over the floor. Crushing rays of that hated purple light bombarded the ground. Evett raised his arm with what seemed like all the strength he could muster and formed a barrier of flame to protect them. Each crash of Jahbal’s magic against it felt like a stab on his own hide.

     He took the blows uncomplainingly. He could hardly breathe, but he would not give Jahbal the pleasure of seeing him admit to pain. And again he walked forward, step by agonizing step. But whatever terrible spell Jahbal had cast, it was sucking the lightness and life out of the atmosphere. Evett soon sank weakly to the ground. The flame quivered and went out.

     “This is power,” said Jahbal, looming over him. The shadow was enough to blot out all light, whatever was left of it in this blighted place. “This is the strength Neopia once had. What it could have again! I will say it again: your quest means nothing.”

     Tylix lifted his head. “You’re… wrong,” he said, eking out the words. “I know more than anyone what it means. It’s our—“

     “Don’t make me laugh.” Jahbal picked him up by the tail and held him aloft. Tylix struggled, but he was too exhausted to resist. With glee Jahbal placed his other hand on Tylix’s chest. The thin lines of magic that Evett had seen before grew from it, glimmering white like gossamer. Tylix’s breath came in hitched gasps.

     “Hey! Leave him alone!” cried Evett, rising shakily against a weight that felt like the mountain itself. “Tylix! Tylix!”

     He stretched out an arm, only to have it crushed under his enemy’s boot. Jahbal towered over him, still holding Tylix. “How sad. Is this all a dissonance can manage? I expected more.”

     Willpower. Willpower. Evett could still fight. He knew he could. But it was so hard to make himself go on. What had he accomplished in all this time? Faleinn’s words seemed farther away than ever.

     “A plaything of the World,” Jahbal said in a booming voice. “So powerful, and so helpless. Let this be a lesson to you, little Lupe. I will crush your resistance. And if you claim to stand for Neopia, then—then I will crush it as well. As many times as I need to, until it accepts that it is mine. I am—“

     “I don’t care,” Rikti interjected suddenly. He was getting to his feet, amazingly. His face was so pinched with weariness and desperation that Evett could almost hear his teeth grind. “I don’t care, you old codger.”

     Silence. Jahbal’s grip tightened, making Tylix whimper. “I beg your pardon?” he said.

     “All you do is talk. I’m tired of it. Did you talk like this before Faleinn cursed you into being a ghost? Or were you actually important then?” Rikti scowled.

     Then he turned and pulled Evett to his feet. “Are you okay?” he whispered. Evett stared at him as if he’d grown another head. It took him a moment to understand.

     Jahbal looked equally shocked. “…Unbelievable,” he said after a moment. “To think you still aren’t afraid, when I have your precious friend here within my grasp.”

     “Oh, I’m afraid all right,” said Rikti. He ran a hand through his charred and rumpled hair. “I’ve never been so scared in my whole life. But you’re more scared than I could even imagine.”

     “Of what?” Jahbal chuckled. “I have yet to show you my full strength, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

     “It’s not us you’re scared of. You’re scared that your time has passed. That you’ve clung to life all these years only for everyone to hate you for it.”

     Jahbal’s eyes bulged.

     “…That, in other words, your quest is the one that means nothing.”

     “You… you…” Jahbal’s talons twitched. Tylix slid limply to the floor beneath his feet, forgotten.

     “Faleinn said you’d gotten weak,” Rikti went on. He was straining visibly against the magical haze choking the air, but his voice was still clear. “I didn’t believe it at first, but she was right. Our strength is each other—our hopes, our dreams, our country. What do you have, really? Other than what you steal from us, of course.”

     The truth dawned on Evett. For a moment he detached himself from his terror and saw Jahbal: not as the fearsome lord of legend, but as a withered ghost haunting a derelict ruin. And everything seemed to change all at once. He even felt a twinge of pity.

     Jahbal seethed as his green gaze flitted from one of them to the next. He took note of them for the first time—not as annoyances but as Neopets. He saw their worn bodies, their taut faces. He saw rebellion. Watching his face, Evett knew this fight was no longer mere amusement for him. In his fists were spiraling wells of power. The concentrated magic in the close air made Evett’s stomach turn. “I am the true king,” he raged. “Your insolence is pitiful. Neopia’s path, you say? That path is mine to decide!

     “I see what this is. Faleinn… you’ve met her, have you? She’s poisoned your minds. Faleinn!” His face contorted with wrath. His arms trembled by his sides. “I knew she was here. That meddling witch—she was never fit to challenge me! All this is her doing—her foolish resistance, her wicked curse—”

     He broke off, muttering feverishly. All the while Evett and Rikti moved closer, laboring against their protesting bodies. “It’s not about you sorcerers,” Evett replied, speaking with the courage he wished he could feel. “Faleinn just gave us the final push. Right, Rikti?”

     “Right.” They were face-to-face with Jahbal. The Eyrie’s bloodshot eyes swung upwards at them. He saw the little Korbat’s sword pointed at him. And then he saw that the dissonant Lupe’s paw lay over the hilt, covering his friend’s little hand. His fiery talent blossomed from it. At once flame blanketed the blade, so bright and terrible that even Jahbal had to blink. It was no ordinary magic. How long had the Lupe been storing it up? How long had the Korbat been readying this thrust? How could they even stand, when his power filled every inch of the air in this blasted fortress?

     Jahbal’s reflexes were swifter than any Neopian alive. He could knock the sword out of their hands. Or so he thought, but then he felt an iron grip on his ankles. There—was that weak little Kacheek, pale but conscious, holding on to him with the force of a Corrupted beast. How was this possible? “The great never deserve the small,” Tylix whispered. “This quest is about us, Jahbal. It’s our dreams.”

     “It’s the path we chose,” finished Rikti. He brought the blade down in a shimmering, blinding flash. Jahbal was thrown backward, caught unawares by the pure strength and sureness of the blow. His armor smoked and burned away. For a moment the trio heard nothing but his ghastly shrieks.

     Rikti’s sword was disappearing too, eaten up by the flames. It had done its job. Evett couldn’t have charged up his power on his own, not without something to receive it. So as Rikti had helped Evett stand, he had guided Evett’s paw to his sword-hilt. There it had stayed all the while as Rikti had spoken—and once Jahbal’s mind had drifted away from the battle, they had seized their chance. Only in a narrow space like this would it have been possible, and even then it had been risky. Tylix’s safety hung in the balance, after all. But it had been worth every second to see the look on Jahbal’s face.

     Jahbal clutched his chest. Wordless growls escaped his throat. Then, lurching forward, he began to attack. No more rants, no more gloating—he was bent on destroying them now. Glass and pottery shards crunched beneath his feet.

     Tylix crawled out of the way just in time to avoid a passing bolt of magic. He looked barely well enough to move, but the expression on his face was determined. “I’ll stay with him,” Rikti said to Evett. “Without my sword I’m not much help anyway. The rest is up to you.”

     Evett nodded. “Got it. And… thanks, Rikti.”

     “Anytime,” said Rikti with a wink. If he mourned the loss of his beloved sword, he didn’t show it. “What are friends for?”

     He dived to the side. Evett was by himself now. His fire was all that stood between Neopia and Jahbal. And his enemy was undoubtedly still more than a match for him. Okay. Calm down. He took a deep breath. In and out. Outside, snow was falling again. A few flakes drifted in through the holes in the walls. Though the wind had died down earlier, it started up once more.

     The heaviness in the air intensified. Everything had gone dark, from the wreckage of the castle rooms to the snowdrifts building up around them. To Evett’s left Rikti and Tylix were crouching on hands and knees, doing everything in their power not to buckle under Jahbal’s strength. But Evett himself felt the pressure less with every passing minute. He had to shield his friends; he refused to let them suffer any longer. What was a little pain next to that?

     Jahbal circled the room, firing at him from every direction. Evett kept up, reaching within himself for the power the way he always did. He hardly heard the sorcerer’s vicious yells, nor even saw the world around him. Jahbal had never been his real opponent here, anyway. He realized that now. Just as Jahbal saw only his subjects’ love and hatred, Evett saw only his own doubts mirrored in his enemy’s black silhouette.

     He had spent these weeks holding himself back, just as Jahbal had all the long years of his exile. But it was himself he had been frightened of, not others. He had feared that his true nature would break him. That the floodgates would open—that he would cross some uncrossable line. All the things he had treasured, in his old forgotten life and the new one he had cobbled together, would disappear.

     The line had been crossed long ago, Evett reflected ruefully. His glowing fur was the proof of that. There was no longer any need to doubt himself or reject the choice that had been thrust upon him. And so he descended into the depths of his soul again. There was an eternal fire here, locked in the pits of the World’s coffers. Never had he wanted it. Never had he even dreamed of its existence. But now he took it up in his paws tenderly. This was the willpower Faleinn had demanded of him. There was no going back.

     Roiling fire met waves of spectral energy. Brilliant sparks danced over the room. Rocks fell from the sky like rain. Tylix and Rikti ran for cover. Evett shut his eyes as heat and wind washed over him. Jahbal gave a hissing cry. “Why… do you oppose me?” he snarled. “The others, I can comprehend. But your queen abandoned you. Your city is gone. Even your so-called friends—you could topple them with a breath. What does a ruined creature like you live for?”

     “For myself. For them. If you can’t understand that, then you’ll never rule even a single Neopian!”

     His body began to shine more fiercely than ever. A dazzling inferno rolled from it. Evett was reminded dimly of his battle against Xantan an eternity ago. He had drawn on pure instinct then—the primal hunger for life that had kept him alive far beyond his due. Now he knew just how much that life was worth. Even the pain shooting through his limbs was precious. Could the hermit in the cave have ever imagined this? Would the ordinary Lupe of Neopia Central have ever reached for it?

     The walls of the palace that yet stood were falling away now. The rumbling of the broken towers and of the groaning mountain seemed distant to Evett’s ears. He and Jahbal struggled at the epicenter of the destruction, with rubble melting and burning all around them in the thickening snow. Their magic clashed over and over: Evett’s tongues of fire and Jahbal’s whirling eddies of darkness. Each encounter reverberated like a tiny explosion. Evett shuddered from the recoil. His arms were wooden, his legs shaking. Through the pelting snow and the mist of his own exhaustion, he could barely make out Jahbal’s face. Even with everything on the line, even with all the energy he could muster and more, Jahbal was still greater. No willpower could overcome the natural technique of an immortal sorcerer. That was a plain fact.

     He was searching his mind for some new plan when he finally remembered the last piece of the puzzle. As if on cue, Tylix and Rikti limped up beside him, sheltered by a soaring column of flame.

     “You’re here,” said Evett, relieved. “So, should we go for it? I was hoping we could finish this ourselves, but it looks like we could use a little help.”

     Tylix smiled wanly. “I think so. You’ve had your time in the sun. Let’s do this part together.”

     “A little something to remember your hometown by,” added Rikti. He placed his hand on Evett’s paw. Tylix followed.

     Jahbal beat back the flames. His looming figure was terrifying to behold. But none of them were looking. From their joined hands came a rushing breeze and a golden glimmer, the last remnant of Faleinn ever to exist in Neopia—

     The wind howled. Evett and the others were thrown backward by its sheer might. Jahbal staggered back, shielding his face. “What—what—“ he sputtered. A great cloud was forming. Many clouds, many shapes, a pillar of mist that blotted out the sun: the ghosts of Kal Panning, summoned to Faleinn’s call.

     They were innumerable. Though they had no faces and only the vaguest trace of bodies, their moans and cries rose to the heavens. They turned to Evett. At first he could find nothing to say. His heart ached for them, for himself. Were his parents in here? Sisters, brothers? Children he had played with, friends he had known? The past was wiped away.

     “I was like you once,” he said softly. It still hurt to say it, but not as much as it once had. “We’re one and the same. Maybe I’m somewhere in that crowd with you even now. Do you… do you still remember our home?”

     There was no sound for a moment. Then from the ghosts there came a mournful song, a wail that struck at the heart. It went on, louder than the snowstorm, more painful than any trick a mage could devise. If Faleinn could have heard it, maybe even she would have trembled. But she was gone, and only these bitter pieces of the past were left. Jahbal stared at the ghosts with disgust. Rikti and Tylix looked away.

     “I don’t either. It’s okay.” Evett bit his lip. “But for the sake of this era… for the Neopians who still have something to love—can you help us one last time?”

     He did not wait for an answer. Lifting his staff, he rushed at Jahbal. Rikti and Tylix followed him, shaking their bare fists with the bravery of an army. And then, like a coursing stream, a thousand of his countrymen flanked him. They had no magic, of course, nor any strength to speak of; but the force of the wind was bound up in their forms, and their advance was a storm bearing down on Jahbal.

     “You are nothing!” he shouted, struggling to be heard over the gale. “Helpless shades of the past! What power do you think you have?”

     Energy still floated to him from below, but fewer of those glistening grey strands could be seen now. The wind was changing down there, and everywhere in this land. The ghosts’ voices rose in protest, mingled with the shouts of Evett and his friends. It would all end here, one way or another. The palace had been smashed to smithereens. The heroes were battered; the villain was flagging. As the lights and sparks began anew, Evett reached once more for the World. You owe me this much, he thought. It might not be the future you decided on. But just let Neopia win this one time. ...And in return, you’ll be free of this dissonance forever.

     The last, grueling assault began. Jahbal lurched from one opponent to the next, not even bothering to deflect Rikti’s punches or Tylix’s feeble slivers of ice. The ghosts spiraling in the air blinded him in a vortex of snow and wind, so much so that Evett for his part could hardly see him either. All else in them was empty and gone, but their enmity for the great evil of the Old Times, and their simple kinship with one who had been like them, still burned bright.

     That kinship was so close now that Evett felt himself slipping into that same chasm of nothingness from which he had once emerged. His nerves were dulled, and finally a blast came straight for his head. He ducked too late, and it seared his fur… and then it passed through him. Evett looked down at himself, dazed from exertion. He was growing transparent. His body was vanishing, minute by minute. Soon there would be nothing left.

     He refused to let himself despair. There would be another future. There would be another destiny for these cursed Neopians. He still had warmth to fill the void of this mortal vessel, and he had already decided to spend it to the fullest. Here and now, while the last hours wore away.

     Fire poured from his fading body. It covered the ground and hurtled towards Jahbal. Though Jahbal tried to avoid it, the magic surrounded him and leapt inward, encasing him in a ball of flame. Evett fell, dizzy, and looked on.

     The sorcerer’s cry was so great that it alone made all the heroes falter. For a moment he was trapped there, unmoving at the edge of the cliff, as the fire and the ghosts swarmed over him. He sank to his knees. For a while they could hear nothing but an endless roar. Then came silence, which was yet more unsettling. No one believed, even for a moment, that this was the end of him.

     Finally, in a slow movement, he raised his arms above his head. They were dripping with poisonous energy. Rivulets of it ran down and quenched the flames. The ghosts pulled away, and his face came into view again. It was a rictus of insane loathing, so far removed from the self-possessed leer of hours past that Evett could hardly believe his eyes. Jahbal had reached the breaking point.

     “I see. So Neopia is determined to deny me,” he said through gritted teeth. “Then you leave me no choice. I will bury it all.”

     He swung his arm with brutal force. The piles of rubble nearest him went flying. The ghosts were scattered by the dust. Evett and the others stumbled to a safe distance. As they did so, Jahbal bent down and pointed at the ruined stone beneath his feet. Poison melted into the cracks, forming an intricate circular shape.

     “A magic circle,” Tylix gasped. He tried and failed to raise himself. “No… he’s going to do something terrible. I know it. He’s going to destroy Neopia, just like my visions said…!”

     The ghosts rushed at Jahbal, but in his half-kneeling position their gusts of air could do little to agitate him. “This land is mine!” screamed Jahbal. “Do you really think I’m afraid of it? Do you think I care at all for the emotions of your worthless kind?” The circle shone with a sickly light. It was nearly complete. Evett picked himself up and ran to the cliff blindly, thoughtlessly. A river of flame surged with him. He wouldn’t make it. He wouldn’t make it.

     “I will be king of Neopia. King of the ashes, if I must be. That will satisfy me! After all this time, all these years—” With a brush of his claw he drew in the final sigil. Now all that was left was to activate it.

     I won’t make it. I won’t make it. Wind shot like arrows over the crumbling rock. Evett ran for his life, for a million lives. He pictured the floods and earthquakes that Tylix had seen over and over. Was that really how it would end? After all this? He gave a futile cry. He was close, so close. But Jahbal’s hand was already hovering above the circle. His eyes met Evett’s, one last time. A mad, triumphant smile flickered over his face.

     And then—he hesitated.

     ———

     Have you ever heard it? The music of the World?

     There was a wind blowing here too, but a soft one. It barely lifted the hem of Jahbal’s cloak as he sat swinging his legs over the wall. All around him were pennants and streamers. Gleaming towers, a dozen at least, stretched to the heavens. The streets and balconies, so spotless an hour ago, were crammed with cheering crowds. It was one of the many cities Jahbal had seen, once upon a time. A young city in a young land. There were still many years to go before the might of the Circle of Twelve would ring over the hills and valleys of Neopia.

     Jahbal looked over his shoulder. The Twelve were scattered over the ramparts, each in the flower of their youth, caught up in the brilliance of a dawning era. There was Haletha, doing a balancing act on a flagpole. Rosval was scolding her. Xantan was beaming at the onlookers, happier than Jahbal had ever seen him. Mirnar was unfurling a banner with the city’s new name written on it. And Faleinn was standing next to him. She was facing away from the city and all its noise. The lush grass on the hills was reflected in her clear gaze.

     “Well?” she said. “Have you heard it?”

     Jahbal scoffed. He’d heard the theories, and he despised them. “I stand here under my own power. Not fate’s, or the World’s, or whatever you want to call it.”

     “I never said otherwise,” she said calmly. “But answer the question.”

     What was she doing, talking about all this nonsense when they had work to do? “No. No, I haven’t heard it, because it doesn’t exist! If it were possible to write a song that could control the future, I would have done it myself.”

     “I see.” There was a long pause. Faleinn brushed her hands over the smooth white stone. “The music of the World isn’t fate. At least, I don’t believe it is. But it is a fate. And we change it day by day. We Neopians weave that tapestry together. We make the future into the present. You are here because you chose to be, yes—and because these townsfolk chose you.

     Your mistake, Jahbal, was thinking that you alone held the keys to our destiny.”

     Jahbal’s blood froze in his veins. Faleinn turned to him. No longer was she the young, pensive Aisha of those long-ago days—now he saw a queen, a hated nemesis, the last vestige of eleven sundered friendships.

     “Do you even remember this place?” she said coldly. “You did, once. You treasured every one of these memories. Even when I spoke to you that day in Kal Panning, you still remembered. But no longer. We have grown old, and so forgotten ourselves.” Her voice rang in his ears above the din of the celebrations. “Why did you choose this city all those years ago, Jahbal? Why did you fight for it?”

     Jahbal reeled. That was not Faleinn. Faleinn was gone, burned away by her own folly. What he saw was no more than a figment of his worn and battered mind. It was true. It was, and yet—

     Faleinn came closer to him. She was a Kacheek now, a skinny little thing with an earnest expression. Why did you fight for it? A Korbat, young and alive with determination. Why did you fight for Neopia? A Lupe with a glowing white pelt, swirling with eternal fire. What do you have, really? Faces popped into his head. Thousands, millions. All the Neopians he had ever seen. He wanted their love. He demanded it. But the rejection he saw was one of utter finality.

     “They gave everything,” said the Lupe. “So did I. Because once you hold back, you’ve already lost.”

     The nameless city disappeared. The Two Rings replaced it, silent and stern. Jahbal chuckled. His hand was still hovering above the ground. It could not touch the circle, could not bridge the final gap. Maybe in another future it might have, had Neopia’s stubbornness pushed him over the brink. But now he saw clearly how things were. His hand had no dream to animate it, no wish strong enough to carry it through to the terrible end. It was simply a tool that had failed him, like everything else.

     So this was fate, then. In the end, he had just been a little too slow.

     If only—I had written the song—

     ———

     The flames hit Jahbal. The old sorcerer tottered, driven backward by desperate force. He made no sound of protest. There he stood on the cliff edge, perfectly still, surrounded by a halo of fire and stolen magic. In the rushing snow, he seemed like a ghost himself.

     Then the spirits of Kal Panning sprang forward. In a torrent they flooded him, bringing with them the vengeance they had been summoned to fulfill. The cacophony of their voices was sorrow and deliverance. So it seemed to Tylix’s fevered mind as he stumbled forward, running for the cliff despite his own powerlessness. As he watched from far off, he saw it happen. The ghosts reached their aim, and Jahbal toppled silently over the edge.

     Evett gave a shout. But even he was too far away to disturb the sorcerer’s last bow. It seemed for a single second in time as if Jahbal was floating, suspended by a thread above the sea of clouds. His eyes, so shrewd and piercing even now, were fixed on the trio of friends. He did not speak, and there was no answer they could give.

     The moment passed. Away he fell into the mist, never to return.

     The wind blew mournfully. Tylix hardly dared to breathe. He stared at the cliff as long as he could, straining for even a glimpse, until at last his dizziness overcame him. He slumped onto the ground, barely noticing the rock jutting into his back until Rikti shoved it out of the way.

     “Hey! Are you okay?” Rikti said.

     Such an ordinary thing to ask. Tylix smiled, and then rubbed his forehead wearily. “I’ve been fighting for hours on end, I’ve had half my life energy siphoned out of me, and you’re really asking if I’m okay?”

     It was more than mere exhaustion. He was overwhelmed by the sudden calm—the peacefulness of the mountain. His visions were gone. The evil that had haunted them all his life was gone. It was the first real peace he had ever known. The reality of it shocked him to the bone.

     Evett sat down and shook him gently. “Can you sit up and drink something, at least? You’ve got a long walk ahead of you.”

     “You do too,” said Tylix.

     Evett didn’t answer. It took a few seconds for Tylix to realize fully what was happening. His breath was stolen away. No… you’re kidding, aren’t you… The relief of victory vanished in the blink of an eye.

     “So it’s really happening?” Rikti covered his face. “You’re… you’re really doing this?”

     Tylix swallowed. He looked up at the sky, trying to gather his bearings, and it took him a moment to realize that he was looking right through Evett. Evett’s entire being was translucent now, a sad white fog indistinguishable from the crowd of Kal Panning ghosts and the hazy clouds drifting about the mountain. Only his eyes were as keen as ever, and they shone with tears.

     “I’m glad we were able to beat Jahbal,” he began. “I’ve been so scared, but now I can rest assured. You’ll be fine without me.”

     “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Tylix shakily, though it was obvious by now.

     “The World sent me here, remember? It’s trying to return me to my natural state: the ghost I used to be.” He held up his shining paws. “But I won’t go back. I won’t fade into oblivion, accepting whatever comes my way. And I won’t let the rest of Kal Panning endure that torture, either. I’m going to use the last of my magic here. I’ll speed up Faleinn’s spell—make us disappear today, when I still have a mind of my own, instead of an eon from now.”

     Rikti shook his head helplessly. “You’re—you’re a dissonance, right? You could do anything with that kind of power. You could escape Faleinn’s curse—”

     “No one can reverse a spell,” he said. “Even the World can’t just spirit things away. There are some laws that can’t be broken, and tampering with them is how this whole mess started. You know that.”

     The other ghosts came and floated around them with mute respect. They were tired of this life already, Tylix could see. Tired after only a thousand years, and who knew how many more were left? He couldn’t imagine Evett returning to that blank, wandering existence. But for once, he refused to accept the logic.

     “It doesnt matter,” he said. He reached out and grasped Evett’s paws with the pathetic strength he had left. Only the faintest trace of fur was there for him to touch. “You can’t go. You can’t. Not after all you’ve done for us. You—“ You saved me.

     The atrium of Tower Gaia. The battlements of the Temple of Roo. The plazas and alleyways of Sunnytown. Walking this long road had changed him. He had only known the beauty of the past, but Evett and Rikti had shown him the worth of the present. This couldn’t be the end. The victor of the war, the hero of the age, couldn’t just disappear—

     “I’ve already made up my mind,” Evett said quietly. “Now’s the time—before it’s too late. I want the chance to say goodbye.”

     There it was. The final word. “Stop it... just stop talking,” mumbled Tylix. He covered his face. He’d never cried before, not after a hundred thousand dreams of disaster. Why, why was it harder to part with one friend than with all of Neopia?

     Rikti stood suddenly. His face was red, from anger or grief or both. ”You’re always like this!” he yelled. “Just doing whatever you please, keeping everything to yourself! It’s not fair. You’ve interrupted our crowning victory to—to leave us forever, and I can’t even be mad about it! I hate this, I hate it—“ He broke off into a sob. “It’s not fair.”

     Evett drew them into a tight embrace. Tylix thought he felt solid and whole in that one moment, as if he was tethering himself to the ground with sheer willpower. “You can be mad,” he said. “I’d be mad too, if it was one of you.”

     “Then don’t do it,” said Tylix through his tears. “I’ll think of something. Anything else, so you can stay. So you can see how amazing the land you fought for really is.”

     “We beat Jahbal together,” Rikti said. “We found your dream. You can’t let the World win, not now!”

     Evett shook his head. His touch was so warm, Tylix thought. Somewhere inside, the fire was burning bright. “Think about it this way,” he said. “I never would known this life if not for the World’s meddling. I wouldn’t have met you, or thought of anything beyond that little apartment in Neopia Central. I’m happy I got the chance.” His arms tightened around them. “All this time I was looking for home. But home was never a place. It was being with you... sharing my life with you.”

     “No,” Rikti pleaded. “No, that’s not true, please...”

     “It is,” said Evett. He was crying now too. The tears streamed down his cheeks, disappearing before they hit the ground. “You two gave me everything that I’d forgotten, all those years in the cave. I’ll always be grateful. Always.”

     He stepped back. Letting him go was the hardest thing Tylix had ever done. The ghosts pressed in around them, as if offering some small comfort of their own.

     “This is Kal Panning’s final rest,” said Evett. “The scars of the Old Times will pass away for good. This is how it should be.”

     “No... no,” cried Rikti again. Tylix held onto him for support. Already he had been too weak to stand; it was only the energy of sheer desperation that kept him aloft now.

     Evett hefted the gnarled staff one last time. Fire shone proudly on its tip. Slowly the magic grew to surround him and the ghosts. Higher and fiercer it blazed. But there was no crushing heat, only the soft and gentle warmth Tylix had felt in Evett’s embrace.

     The ghosts sang again as they swirled around Evett. It was not a sad melody. They were finally satisfied. And above the song rose a pure note of hope that seemed to cleanse all the pain and darkness of the Two Rings. It was hope for the land they were leaving behind. Hope for their long-suffering city. Even, if they dared, hope for themselves.

     “You’ll probably forget all about me,” said Evett thoughtfully as they sang. “The World will correct the river of time so that this never happened. But it did happen, and that’s enough for me.” He gazed skyward. “The rest is up to you. This is your future, now.”

     The snow was piling up, covering the rubble of Jahbal’s palace. Tylix‘s mind returned once more to the vision he had had a year ago. A Lupe and a Korbat, lying in the snow amid a frozen world. His heart ached. Somehow it was worse not knowing the road ahead.

     “We won’t forget you,” he yelled. ”As long as we live and draw breath, you’ll be with us wherever we go!”

     Rikti rubbed his eyes fiercely. “And we’ll make this world one you can be proud of. Even the Neopians in Neopia Central will be jealous. That’s a promise, okay?”

     “I wouldn’t expect anything less.” Evett gave them a brilliant, bittersweet smile. “If anyone can bend destiny to their will, it’s us. I’m glad… I was able to make this choice, here at the very end.”

     He threw the staff down. The fire swallowed it in an instant. Magic worked its way through the rising currents of wind. Faleinn’s ancient curse was joined by Evett’s last dream in a radiant design. There was so much more Tylix wanted to say, but he could not move or turn away from the sight. It was, indeed, the final masterpiece of the Old Times—and the gateway to the new.

     “Goodbye,” said Evett. “And good luck.”

     The fire burned out. The wind and snow swept it away into dust. Rikti and Tylix shielded their faces. When they looked again, Evett and the ghosts of Kal Panning were gone. Not even the staff remained. There was nothing on the mountain—not an ancient villain, not a trio of legendary heroes. Only two small, weak Neopets stood among the rocks, barely a speck in the vast landscape.

     ———

     They went down the stone steps in numb silence and sat at the bottom, letting their legs dangle over the ledge where they and Evett had admired the valley that afternoon. Though the shadow that had then hung over them was gone now, all Tylix could feel was sorrow.

     “But I guess all the great stories have sorrow,” murmured Tylix. “All the heroes had to lose their way before they found it again. We got a better ending than we could have hoped for.”

     Rikti sighed. His eyes were still red-rimmed, and he looked utterly drained. With his empty sheath in his hands, he seemed to shrink. “You’re right. I had a feeling he wouldn’t stay with us after everything. I just wish he could. I—I miss his stupid face already.”

     Tylix put his arm around Rikti comfortingly. They sat there for a while, resting their heads on each other’s shoulders, staring out at the world. The snowfall was beginning to ebb, and Tylix could see the outlines of the Valley of Song coming back into view. The ruin of Kal Panning sat still upon the lake. The First Forest was a lavender veil rippling over the horizon. Everywhere Tylix looked, he saw serenity. The monsters were gone with hardly a trace. Never again would they burden Neopia with reminders of its fatal past. Their tormented souls, ruined by the long machinations of Rollay and Jahbal, had quieted at last. Tylix thought of Korabric’s last wish. There too was another relic of the Old Times, slipping soundlessly away.

     So this was what peace looked like—the first real peace in a thousand years. He tried to wrap his head around it. He imagined Jahbal’s baleful gaze again, the twisted loneliness he had harbored all these years. He had lived for love, chased every avenue of power for it. Could such a terrible lord be defeated by naive hope? Had it really happened?

     “It doesn’t feel real yet,” he confessed.

     “No, it doesn’t,” said Rikti. He ruminated on this. “But it is real. I mean, we really did it. We defeated Jahbal!” He jumped up to his feet and shouted at the top of his lungs, as if daring all Neopia to hear him and rise in response. “Jahbal is gone! And good riddance!”

     Naive hope had won. It was the plain truth, as absurd as it sounded. This was victory: not the little victories Tylix had seen in his travels, but a great triumph over the evil of this land. And they—Tylix, Rikti, and Evett—had done it. Even if no one would ever know, even if the World scrubbed this day from history, it was a heady feeling.

     “You’ve done it,” he told Rikti. “You saved the world.”

     “Yeah. I can’t believe it, and I was the one who spent all his time talking about it.” Rikti laughed. “And what about you? Did you get to see everything there is to see?”

     “Not even close,” Tylix admitted. “It was always a long shot. But that’s the point, isn’t it? Trying to do the impossible.”

     “It’s not impossible anymore,” said Rikti. “Just like saving the world. The three of us can do anything. Now and forever.”

     He cast his hand over the valley. It was an infinite landscape, a canvas ready to be painted. His voice was so strong, even through the grief, that Tylix felt himself revive. Out there was possibility. He had his whole life before him, and he swore to himself that it would be a life splendid enough to make up for all those who had lost theirs. There would be challenges, there would be evils—when would there not?—but he and Rikti would triumph. This was a song of hope; nothing in the World could keep that hope away.

     The snow was just a light drizzle on the stones. There were still hours to go before sunset, and Neopia was waiting. Standing up, Rikti and Tylix looked at one another with renewed determination.

     “Let’s go.”

     To be continued…