COF 6: The Last Oracle

18 | Stop (II)

Events flitted through Xanthy's vision, filling in the gaps in her knowledge as to who the Heiress and the Sovereign were before everything. A human boy often stood between them. She saw a boy between them. Beizhen Liros.

Xanthy watched the Heiress, the Sovereign, and the Beizhen become attached to each other. They got along so well that even without the actual words of their conversations, envy even curled at the pit of Xanthy's stomach. The way how it went all wrong with Reeca was what resurfaced in her mind. Would they end up like their enemies in the future?

Years passed through Xanthy's senses as she watched the Heiress and the Sovereign grow older. The war around them worsened. Pressure from both Human and Fairy camps drove the Heiress and the Sovereign against each other's throats.

Then, the end swooped in. Blood was spilled. An oath muttered in childish innocence was broken. Punishment awaited their souls in Pidmena's embrace. Or so they thought.

That's it.

Through the trees, Xanthy narrowed her vision to memorize the youth blinding both the Sovereign and the Heiress' faces as they faced each other one last time in the dark forest. Then, before Xanthy could react, the Heiress' eyes swept past the horizon and locked into Xanthy.

A gasp skittered out of her throat as the Arbotro pulled her from the memory and back into the real world. Xanthy gripped her head and the side of June's bed as her chest worked to catch her breath. Close. That's so close...

Heartbeat pounded against her chest and throbbed inside her ears. Calm down. It's a memory. Only a memory. There's no way the Heiress could have seen her.

She inhaled and blew out a heavy breath, waiting for her vision to still. Her forehead rested against her twined fingers; her elbows dug into her thighs as she glared at the dark, compact soil beneath her boots.

Their motive was to run all along. All this destruction, this...mayhem. All this just so the Heiress and the Sovereign could run. An eerie dread settled in Xanthy's stomach. She's not that different from them, right? Running. It's what the three of them did best.

What made Xanthy different?

She raised her head to find Nyxis glancing at her from stirring his newly-concocted potion. She smiled the best she could and tucked her hair behind her ears. Nothing was wrong with her. He shouldn't worry.

Not when she was planning her last stand. Not when she would have to betray everyone who believed in her just so she could make it happen.

Xanthy raked her gaze back to June's unconscious form. He had never looked so peaceful and tired at the same time. She had never watched him sleep since he always wakes up earlier than her and it sucked that she only got to because he almost died.

She reached out and cupped his cheek. Cold skin pressed against her palm. Tears pricked at the back of her eyes once again. No. She wouldn't cry anymore. Not when she has something important to do.

Her stomach dropped to her feet as she drew away from June and stepped out of the tent. Men and women, fairies and humans, milled about in their business. Trix passed Xanthy by and the mechanic gave Xanthy a small wave before continuing to hammer a nail. Cyrdel barely glanced up from beside the girl and instead pointed at something in Trix's project. The sharp pound of the hammer against the metal drowned out the Alkaran heir's instructions.

Xanthy wove through people, muttering her excuse-me's and nodding whenever some eager soldier greeted or waved at her. The oracle's tent appeared in the distance the moment Xanthy passed through the center quadrant's gates. Greenish light no doubt from the lamp doubling as the oracles' throne shone through the brittle cloth propped up from the ground with metal prods.

The oracle, herself, sat outside the tent on a three-legged stool ripped off from the stocks. Her hood was down, revealing long, scarlet hair reminding Xanthy of blood and aged liquor. Aquamarine eyes followed Xanthy's every movement as she stalked closer to the woman.

Xanthy stopped when the tip of her boots was inches away from the oracle's. "Should I do it?" she asked. Knowing Rutoria, the oracle already knew what Xanthy was talking about and what would happen three days into the future.

A small, sad smile crinkled the sides of Rutoria's eyes as she looked up at Xanthy. "You have a choice," the oracle's hands remained still atop her lap. "We all do."

"Would I succeed?" Xanthy narrowed her eyes and kept her tone in an edge.

Rutoria looked at the faint light shining inside the tent. From beyond, Elred stared at a hand mirror as large as her face. That's no doubt Helinfirth's throne. "In finding the only way out of this? Yes," the oracle answered. "In a lot of other ways, no."

Xanthy's tongue felt heavy inside her mouth. Would she succeed in making her sacrifice too? She wanted to ask but her throat wouldn't form the words. She flinched when a hand wrapped around hers. She looked down to find the oracle clutching her hand like it's the only thing left for them to do.

Rutoria's whisper was almost lost to the crackles of fire licking wood in the hundreds of bonfires scattered in the inner quadrant. "Good luck."

Xanthy squeezed the oracle's hands back. Her voice didn't work quite well when she squeaked, "You too."

Rutoria nodded before retracting her hand where it joined the other one back at her lap. Xanthy turned and made her way back to the infirmary. The moons kept her company during the long walk back.

A new way had presented itself to Xanthy. She could end all of this without having another soul suffer. She started this war; she should finish it. Even if it destroyed some of the ties she had made over the year. Even if it destroyed all of her.

She has a plan and it's time to see it through.

One last time.