“I’ve read about your kind,” I began, watching his expression carefully. “You have visions, don’t you? But those visions show only fragments — glimpses of what’s happening right now, or might happen in the future. You cannot read my mind though. You have questions, many of them still unanswered.” I leaned forward slightly, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “So, why don’t we play a little game? We take turns asking each other questions. But here’s the twist — if either of us lies, the other gains the right to commit murder. No strings attached.”

  He studied me quietly, the faintest flicker of amusement—or was it calculation?—in his eyes. “I don’t see how the part about lies will help me.”

  He was right. It didn’t help me either. Yet I needed his cooperation, and murdering him outright would solve nothing.

  “And you will still accept this game?” I pressed.

  He hesitated just a moment, then nodded. “Am I allowed to start?”

  I gave a curt nod.

  “Where are you from?” His voice was calm, steady, but I could hear the underlying curiosity.

  I smiled inwardly. “The fifth hundred hill, counting from the pond of souls to the ever-erupting volcano.”

  He blinked once, but said nothing. I had counted it once on a dull day, but the knowledge stuck.

  “So, we are playing this game then,” he said, his tone even. “Go on.”

  I leaned back and asked, “What happened around two hundred years ago?”

  His gaze sharpened, as if weighing my words carefully. “The gods... changed their opinion around that time.”

  A hint of something unsaid lingered behind his eyes. He definitely knew more than he let on. I forced myself to be patient, waiting for his turn.

  “How did you get here from that strange place you come from?” he asked.

  “Mostly by foot,” I answered, trying to keep my tone neutral. “What exactly did the gods change their opinion about?”

  “I don’t know,” he said slowly, turning the question around. “You said mostly by foot. What about the other part?”

  Frustration prickled under my skin. He was answering my questions but evading the truth. He knew something about the gods’ change of heart—but not the whole story.

  “Godly intervention,” I said carefully. “Did the gods leave this planet?”

  He shook his head, expression unreadable. “Not to my knowledge. What are you?”

  His question cut deep, more than any sword. He had seen what I was capable of, glimpsed the darkness within me—but not yet the full extent of what I was.

  “The same as that worm you mentioned,” I said quietly, “yet completely different.” I let the words hang between us. “How old are you?”

  We both claimed to be daughters of gods, trapped in purgatory before arriving here. Our madness shared a certain kinship, though I liked to believe mine carried a touch more style.

  “Three hundred and fourteen, or two hundred and fifteen years—depending on which age you mean,” he replied, his voice even but cautious. “May I return the question?”

  I nodded, mumbling quietly under my breath as the pieces swirled in my mind. The only logical conclusion from all he’d told me was unsettling: “This world… was created two hundred and fifteen years ago.” It would also explain why the details about a persons life were less fleshed out before that date. The god′s simply didn’t care to write their backstory properly.

  For reasons I couldn’t yet grasp, the gods had truly birthed this world around the same time I first awakened. Yet, somehow, beings like the elven king held memories from before that era.

  Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  “These memories I have from before…” He murmured, eyes narrowing. “They feel shallow. As if someone fabricated a backstory, created the world, then simply let time unfold on its own. The church fights tooth and nail to bury this truth—they see it as their sacred duty. But the ancient and wise know better.” I glanced at him. “How old did you say you were again?”

  “Two hundred and nine,” he said. His answer anchored one mystery, yet birthed another. What did this revelation mean for me, for us?

  “Why would anything imprisoned in purgatory ever visit this place?” I pressed.

  He paused, as if the question itself rippled through him. “I’m not sure what purgatory truly is. You’ll have to ask the gods for that answer,” he said, concern threading his words. “Do you believe you have any part in this world’s creation?”

  I didn’t hesitate. “I can’t deny it… but that’s a question for another time. I think we’re finished here.” I leaned back, eyes steady. “What have you learned about me?”

  He met my gaze, his voice low and measured. “You’re a vampire who has fully awakened her vampirism recently, yet somehow controls her thirst and desires—something no vampire in the history books ever achieved so quickly. You’re logical, manipulative, ruthless. A combination I’d rather not face as an enemy. I wonder which evil god I should pray to, hoping it finds you. And you?” He asked softly, “What have you learned about me?”

  “They don’t call you the wise king without reason,” I said, baring my teeth in a slow, deliberate grin. “You didn’t lie once, and that’s enough for me to trust you—at least for now. I need your help with mass murder.”

  His calm didn’t waver. Not even when I licked my lips, letting the hint of my sharp teeth show.

  “I am willing to assist,” he said carefully, “not because I trust you, but because the world will be doomed if I don’t.”

  Exactly the answer I wanted to hear.

  “But I have two conditions,” I continued, leaning forward. “Arthur White, me, and the former bandit Tom will be the only survivors of this. No one else. And I want your word: no elf—or any agent you send—will attack the Worchester Kingdom for a year.”

  I wanted to ask for a longer truce, or even a lasting peace treaty, but I wasn’t speaking for humanity in this conversation. I was speaking for myself—or, at best, as Arthur’s underling.

  “A de facto truce,” he mused, nodding slowly. “The humans won’t be able to strike anytime soon after all… right. But only if you ensure Arthur dies within a year.”

  His words hit home. A dukedom without its ruler would crumble, even if Mary took the reins immediately after Arthur’s death. His reasoning mirrored my own—it was brilliant, really—but it also revealed that he had no idea what I was truly planning. His demand didn’t faze me; it just meant I had to resolve this looming war with the elves before the year was up.

  “They will cross the same bridge I took,” I said quietly, “around noon tomorrow. They’ll follow the only route available like a stupid line of soldiers. That′s what Arthur will do if your army leaves. It′s best if you use fire—burn everything down, but keep your distance. Are you capable of that?”

  “We are elves,” he replied with a hint of pride. “Though we despise fire, we can bend nature itself to our will. But I will require some support from your side as well.”

  I smiled, rising from my seat and extending my hand. “Don’t worry about that. I will have a few pawns setting fire to all of our wagons. It is probably best if you strike then. Focus your fire around the centre of the army where I will be. I′m almost certain she wants to get rid of me during the next day and knowing her type, she won′t be able to resist seeing my death with her own eyes.”

  Our hands met in a firm shake, sealing our dark pact. If only everyone were as pragmatic and clear-eyed as this king. Then maybe the world wouldn’t be such a mess—then maybe I wouldn’t have to deal with idiots like Markus anymore… not that I’d have to, thanks to the king’s help.

  “I have nothing but one question now … why are you relying on me to do your work? Wouldn’t it be more satisfying for you to defeat her yourself?” That question had every right to exist in his mind, but asking that also meant he didn’t know much about me.

  “As much as it pains to admit it, I tried my best at defeating her. I lost. Without a doubt. But I′m not stupid enough not to give anyone else a chance at beating her. If I would have the ability to set the whole army on fire, I would have done so myself. But I don’t. So, I′m stepping down from being a king on the chessboard. The king is dead. Long live the king! I′m merely a rook now for the remainder of this short game. So please, my dear king, make us win.” I reasoned, a crooked smile around my lips. I wasn′t nearly powerful enough to beat her. But this king could. And I would play the role I needed to.