Thaumaturgy

Sensei's hand reaches out, and his will is made manifest. It is a rare thing, for two Walkers to share a vision. Stranger still, for the two to be allies, instead of enemies. A vision begins to flood your mind, of a Walker beyond the veil of this universe, or even the one before it. How far back this iteration goes is impossible for you to determine. Only that its bounds are limitless. The idea is both breathtaking, and maddening. Thousands of Walkers pass you by as you skip over their entire lives like a librarian rifling through pages, to arrive at the life -- no, one of the many lives -- of the Walker Lalantha, Keeper of the Seven Blades.

---

You sigh, and drop a boquet of crumbled flowers into the rain-soaked grass in front of Pol's grave. The sticks you put up two decades ago have long since blown away, but you couldn't forget the spot. It's been years since you've been back here... Shaking your head, you clear a memory from your mind, and take a seat in the dryest spot nearby.

Lalantha: "Hey, Pol. Long time no see... I was just in town. Thought I could... Check in, or something."

You suppress a laugh, trying not to feel the weight of the moment, and release another sigh. A fat raindrop lands on your boot, as the rain picks back up again, but you're already too wet to care.

Lalantha: "I've been keeping up with my lessons. Fey... And all the rest. Just like you told me."

A minute goes past, a thought churning in your stomach, but you remember what you wanted to say.

Lalantha: "They never see me flinch. Or at least, they don't live to tell the tale. That comes from always being prepared, I guess. Power in numbers, just like you taught me..."

A pause, although you didn't mean to. You ignore the salt coming from the rain. The weather on the peninsula was always unpredictable.

Lalantha: "I tried, Pol. I really did... Thaumaturgy -- small effect, big changes. I- I finally got him, Pol. Callum, I mean. I got everything he stole back... But there's no one left to return it to. So he forced it all on me."

You can't help but look at the puddle beside you. You see Callum's eyes staring back at you. A woman you barely recognize, with a deep scar running diagonally across her face. The last blow from a desperate sickle. Roux's hair falls around the woman's shoulders, framing Annabell's raised cheeks and pointed ears. You raise a hand, and wince as the reflection matches your movements.

-42- by Veronika Kozlova

???: "You came back."

You whirl, on your feet in seconds, reaching back to the shortest of the seven blades strapped behind your back. Violet is in your hands before your eyes even meet their target, but when they do, everything pauses. You've heard the stories, of course. Of a young woman that still bears the flames of the Queen of the Mountain, long after the tyrant's death. It's present in her eyes, and the narrow slit that runs down her forehead, pausing only around her mouth and nose, continuing down her neck. She would be beautiful, if not for the prominent veins and deep wrinkles that dominated her face -- well-known side effects of necromancy. You hadn't see your sister in five years.

-58- by Veronika Kozlova

Lalantha: "Lea."
Lea: "Look at your face..."
Lalantha: "I could say the same to you."
Lea: "Is he dead?"

You beat back at a wave of memories. Roux's horrified eyes. Annabelle's last words. Peter weeping over Gru. An old regret burns in your belly. The day that you picked Callum's promise over Pol's legacy.

Lalantha: "Worse."

Your sister raises an eyebrow, but doesn't comment. You watch as her eyes scan you, stopping at each of the seven blades, and the cold Lantern hanging from your belt. Suspicion builds as Lea's eyes hover on the latter for a second too long, the flames in her eyes wild and hungry.

Lalantha: "Why are you here, Lea?"

Lea smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes.

Lea: "I need your help."

You remember the day you left Lea behind. You were so young back then. You had no idea what the Queen's attention would bring. How it would hurt her. And then five years ago, in the smoldering remains of Turin, on the night that Rufus' head rolled in the ashes. When you left your weeping sister all alone, and began your quest to kill a demigod...

Lalantha: "I'm here now. Whatever you need."

Lea pauses, as if surprised by your sudden acceptance. Then she pauses a little longer -- surprise turning to hesitancy.

Lea: "Vic. I want to kill him."

You start to protest -- a dozen reasons clamoring for attention. Vic was practically an overgod. Even getting to him was a legendary task, let alone surviving more than a few seconds of combat. And could he even be killed? Some believed that Rufus had never truly died -- he had merely broken, and was waiting to return. Worst of all, there were only two of you... Something wrenches in your stomach. You look back at the puddle, and then to Pol's grave.
Thaumaturgy.

Lalantha: "When do we start?"