Tallis awoke to find himself lying in a field of tall green grass. The stalks waved overhead in a warm breeze that kissed his face as soft and gentle as any lover. The sky above was a deep blue, streaked with violet clouds lit with rays of orange and gold from a setting sun. The first stars peeked through the twilight and a crescent moon sat behind the clouds. He pushed himself to his feet, surprised to see that he could move easily. The gash in his forehead was closed, the hole punched through his chest gone. There was no pain here.

“Where the hell am I?” he whispered. The grass rose to his chest and was topped with fragrant tufts of amber fluff that filled the air with a fresh, sweet smell.

Phaethon trotted towards him, resplendent in his autumn colours. Crimson and gold leaves hung from his mane and soft green moss covered his flanks. His eyes blazed with a warm orange light. The elemental stopped next to him and shook out his mane with a snort. Tallis pulled himself onto the horse and the elemental turned around and trotted towards the setting sun. A great owl kept pace with them, casting a black shadow over their pleasant ride. Tallis looked up at and swore the bird was smiling, whatever its purpose the owl had no ill will towards him. He reached out over Phaethon’s side, running his hand over the tops of the grass and flowers as they rode.

The elemental ran tirelessly.

A tower rose in the distance ahead of them, the grass gave way to soft sand and soon enough Tallis found himself staring at a glittering sea. The tower was white and gleaming, as fresh and clean as if it had been built yesterday. The doors were carved from dark wood and accented with silver. Tallis swung down from the horse and climbed the short staircase leading to the doorway. He knocked.

Only the soft sigh of the wind and gentle crash of the waves answered him. He opened the door and stepped inside. A blast of cold air greeted him and an electric tingle ran up his arms. Reality bent and the stone around him rippled. The inside of the tower stretched and grew, lengthening into a great hall lined with long tables and benches. Empty plates and cutlery sat on the tables as if the place was being prepared for a great feast.

“What is this, Phaethon?” he asked. He turned to look for the door. It was gone. Only solid stone remained.

When he turned back to the feast hall the great owl sat at the head of the table. He stepped forward. This couldn't be real, could it?

The owl raised a wing and a flare of gold light rolled out from beneath its feathers. Lightning sparked from the tip of its wing and landed on the nearest plate. The plate filled itself with slices of meat and steamed vegetables.
Tallis’ stomach growled. This definitely isn’t real, he thought. Might as well eat. He sat next to the owl and helped himself to the plate of food.

“This is delicious,” he said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” said the owl.

Tallis gave the owl a blank stare for a moment before continuing to eat. He was famished. “This is the best beef I’ve ever tasted. If I had anything to trade I’d offer you something for the recipe.”

“The secret,” said the owl. “Is that it isn’t beef.”

Tallis frowned down at the plate.

“It’s not something seen in your world for ages.” The owl waved a wing towards the blank wall behind it and another crackle of lightning rolled from its feathers. A mural was blasted into the wall. Tiny silhouettes circled around a gargantuan beast, harassing it with spears. The behemoth was massive with curving tusks and long shaggy fur. “Your ancestors hunted them to extinction.”

Tallis wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin, stood, and took a closer look at the painting. “That is a shame, although I suppose you can’t really blame them, can you?”

The owl chuckled. “You could, if you wanted to. There were a myriad of things they could have done. Staying their spears, for one, might have saved a few of the animals. For a time, anyway.”

“For a time. But if it wouldn’t have changed the outcome then why bother being upset? At least they got to enjoy a few meals.”

“I’m not sure enjoy is the term the mammoths would use.”

Tallis shrugged. “Mice don’t enjoy being eaten either but I’ve never seen an owl turn one down. It’s the way things are. Nothing you can do about it.”

Reality bent and twisted again, and the mural folded inwards to reveal a spiral stair. The owl changed shapes with a blast of warm air and a black coyote stepped out onto the landing. “The difference, of course, is that owls don’t eat so many mice that the mice can’t recover.”

Tallis followed the coyote on the landing. “I suppose that is a good point.” He waited for the coyote or owl or demon or whatever it was to lead him up or down, but it just sat there, stone still. Tallis shook his head and started to climb.

“Interesting,” said the coyote.

Tallis cocked an eyebrow. “What is?”

“The path you’ve chosen. It’s harder going up than going down isn’t it?”

“I didn’t realize there was a choice to be made.”

“There is always a choice, even when it doesn’t seem like it. I’m sure the events that brought you here seemed inevitable, unavoidable even, but there were choices that could have been made. Things could have gone differently.”

Tallis gave the dog a sidelong glance. It seemed like it was trying to get a rise out of him but it wasn’t going to have any luck. He was satisfied with the way things had happened. He stopped at a landing and looked out over the landscape. The world had changed while they had been walking. The soft, rolling fields had been replaced by a sprawling city carved from white marble. The architecture was beautiful, done in a minimalist classical style with no ornamentation on the buildings and plenty of open air market squares hemmed in with columns. The city was peaceful, still, and the longer he stared the more unnerved he felt.

Something was very wrong with this place. Tiny statues filled the streets, captured and frozen in a moment of terror. Soot and char clung to the edges of the buildings. All of the trees and greenery had been scorched black, leaving the place accented with twisted skeletons. The smell of smoke and burnt meat drifted on the breeze.

“What is this?” he asked.

The coyote stepped up next to him and rested its front paws on the railing. “A sad tale for another time perhaps.” It shot him a questioning stare, raising one eyebrow. “I feel like you’re asking all of the questions except for the most important one. Why is that?”

Tallis shrugged again. “It’s like the first men and mammoths isn’t it? If there’s no use changing the past, then why fight it? Why ask about it? Why get upset?”

The coyote disappeared in a flash of white light and gust of wind that smelled of the damp chill of winter. In its place stood a Greater Fae with skin as pale as fresh fallen snow, ridges of black scales running down their nose and ringing their eyes, and a pair of rams horns curling down from their temples. “You might not be able to change the past but you can always learn from it. You can always change the future.”

A shiver wormed its way up Tallis’ spine and he grit his teeth, not ready to face the question that had been nagging him since he arrived. He took a breath and looked the Fae in the eye. “I’m not sure I have much of a future.”

The Fae placed a hand on his shoulder and steered him away from the balcony. “That,” they said, leading Tallis back up the endless staircase. “Is up to you.”

They climbed for what felt like forever. Tallis should have been exhausted but as long as the Fae kept a hand on his shoulder he did not tire, he did not run out of breath, he did not so much as break a sweat.

They came to another balcony and Tallis broke the silence. “What do you mean that my future is up to me?”

“Just that,” said the Fae. They leaned over the railing on this balcony and peered down at the landscape through narrowed eyes.

Tallis recognized the sea of pine and maple trees that gave way to tracts of farmland and a walled city. It was home. He stepped up to the railing and looked down. They were suspended above his house and the soft sounds of laughter and life drifted up on the breeze to meet them.

“You’ve never believed in fate,” said the Fae. “You’ve always wanted to keep your destiny in your own hands, even though you rarely acted on it.”

“How do you know all this?”

“It’s the path I chose.” The Fae motioned back to the endless staircase, and they left Tallis’ home behind.

“This whole Path thing is tough for me to wrap my head around.”

“The Fae believe everyone is destined for something. Everyone has a set path they must learn to walk.”

The Fae place it’s hand on Tallis shoulder again, giving him endless reserves of stamina to climb the equally endless stairs. 

“You speak like you aren’t one of them.”

“Not much gets past you, does it? You’re right. I’ve been on the path of the Ceaseless Watcher since long before there were men and fae, since before the hundred age winter ended, since before the great crash.”

“And what does being a ceaseless watcher mean?”

“Many things. I’m a collector, mainly. I gather thoughts, stories, histories.”

Tallis couldn’t help but laugh. “So you’re some kind celestial librarian?”

“If that makes it easier for you to understand, then yes.”

The stairs finally ended at a set of double doors. One door was made of bright pine with gold fittings and a sun was burned into it. The other was made of ebony, accented with silver and had a crescent moon etched into it. The Librarian stepped past Tallis and looked him up and down. They leaned forward and straightened his tie.

“You’ll need to look good for this next step. It will help to make a good first impression.”

Tallis frowned and gently shooed the Librarian away from his tie. “A good first impression for what?”

The Librarian placed a hand on the pine door. “If you call me a librarian then my counterpart is more like an accountant. He doesn't have much time or patience for stories or long explanations, so it’s best to look sharp and answer whatever he asks you.”

The Librarian pushed the door open. On the other side was a neat office. A black and gold chandelier hung down on a dainty chain.The floors were covered by a plush, red carpet. The walls were decorated with animal pelts and paintings of landscapes. A heavy desk sat in the center of the room and the Accountant sat behind it, writing in a massive leather bound ledger with a feather quill.

“Come in,” he said. He had a voice like an old book, dry and brittle and dusty. The accountant himself was thin and gaunt with skin as black as a moonless night, sunken cheeks, and eyes that blazed faintly with an inner red light. Dark red scales, so dark they were almost black curled down from his brow like a crown of dried blood and his fingers ended in wicked looking talons. He opened one of the drawers on the desk and pulled out a stack of black coins. He looked up at the Librarian. “Why have you brought me this one?”

“The same reason I brought you the last one.”

The accountant looked up from his ledger. “Hm,” he grunted. “Just because I looked at the father you think I need to see the son as well? Ferry him onwards. I don’t have the time.”

The Librarian laughed. “You don’t have time for anything.”

“That’s right. I don’t. So please, ferry this one on and let me get back to my tallies.”

“I don’t think I can.” The librarian waved and conjured a pair of pale wooden chairs out of nothing. He sat and motioned for Tllis to join him. “You know as well as I do I can’t guide anyone who isn’t ready to leave.”

The accountant put on a thin pair of spectacles and squinted across the desk at Tallis. “You have been quiet so far,” he said, steepling his fingers. “You’re already off to a better start than most.”

Tallis didn’t know what to say to that. He stayed silent.

The minuscule ghost of a grin lifted the corner of the Accountant's mouth. “Well you’ve passed the first test. Most mortals will have spouted off half of their life's story by now. Time wasters all. No respect for the process. You can speak now, if you like.”

Swallowing past the sawdust feeling in his mouth and doing his best to ignore the frozen knot of fear in his stomach, Tallis decided to treat this just like he was getting reamed by the captain back at the office. “Thank you, sir,” he said. “I’m well acquainted with working within rules.”

The accountant flipped a few pages in his ledgers, studying the strange columns of runes scrawled across the page. “I can see that. Good schools. Good job behind a nice comfortable desk.” He tapped a particular string on the page. “But what happened here? You threw it all away. Why?”

At least it was an easy question. “I had to protect my parents.”

“From what? Didn’t you think that if you had waited things would have worked out on their own?”

Now there was a bit of a thinker. “I don’t think so,” he answered. “Cold Iron had been growing more extreme. They had started doing things I didn’t agree with and I thought taking matters into my own hands was the best option.”

The Accountant flipped the page. “Brave,” he said. “Stupid, of course, but brave. There wasn’t even a hint of a selfish reasoning to your choice?”

“I’d be lying if I said the thrill wasn’t enticing, sir.”

That half smile tugged at the accountant’s lips again. “I appreciate the honest answer.” He flipped through the next few pages in the ledger. “It looks like everything after that did not go too smoothly.”

“No, they certainly did not.”

“But of course that is what my other half is here for. Regrets?”

“I don’t think so.”

The Librarian looked over to him, frowning. He snatched the ledger from his partner’s desk and scrutinized the runes. “Are you sure? I would be pretty upset if my story ended like that. I think he deserves another chance.”

The Accountant took the book back and gave the Librarian and soft swat up the side of the head. “We don’t take the ledger.”

The Librarian stuck out his tongue. “Your predecessor was nicer.”

“Yes, well he also liked to be overly involved. We’d still have one united world if it weren’t for him.”

The Librarian leaned back in his chair and shot the other man a cold look. “The schism was inevitable. I think both people are better for it.”

“They are not!” The accountant stood and leaned over the desk. Something dark and dangerous glinted in his eyes. “There has been nothing but war since the world cracked. The humans and the Fae are always at each other’s throats. It leaves me overworked in ways that you wouldn’t understand.” He straightened his tie and sat back down, counting out the stack of black coins on the desktop. “You like deals, don’t you Tallis? You like gambling, you like to win, to come out ahead?”

“I suppose I do,” said Tallis, looking back and forth between the two creatures. What the hell had just happened?

The Bookkeeper slid half of the coins over to him. “I am not one to leave things to chance, unlike some of our other facets.”

The Librarian laughed. “Why I am not surprised that you don’t get along with the Gambler.”

The countant grumbled. “I’m sorry that I take my job seriously. You should be thankful that I’m here. If it were up to you two I swear more people would come back to life than would pass to the other side.”

“And if you and the Hunter had your way,” the Librarian answered. “No one would get a second chance.”

The darker creature’s frown deepened. He looked back to Tallis. “Somewhere in the space between worlds your heart is still beating, so I have a proposition for you.”

Tallis shuffled to the edge of his seat. “I wouldn’t say no to a chance to keep going, sir.”

The Accountant waved dismissively towards the Librarian. “That is this fool’s domain. If they could have sent you back on their own they would have.” He pulled a set of brass scales from a drawer and piled the half stack of coins onto one side. “In this case, the scales need to stay balanced. I can’t let you leave with the full pot.”

Tallis scowled down at the stack of coins in front of him. “What does that mean?”

“It means you have a choice.” The accountant took Tallis’ coins and set them on the scales. The evened out. “You can either leave things as they are, and move on to the next life,” He returned the stack to Tallis and split the coins remaining on the scale. “Or, you can roll back the clock. You leave your experiences, your time, your life with the Faerunners with me, and you go back to your desk with Cold Iron. You’ll have a quiet life, a dignified life, an ordinary life.”

Tallis let out a sharp bark of laughter. “That’s an easy one.” He pulled his stack of coins closer and leaned over them, guarding them like a dragon protecting his hoard. “If my second chance is an ordinary life then I think I’d prefer to stay dead.” He turned the topmost coin over in his hands.

Bonnie’s voice rang in his ears “Life is short, so drink, dance, don’t let the night end.” He wouldn’t trade his experience for the world. He stood, savouring the bittersweet sorrow dancing through his heart, and left the room without waiting to be dismissed. He put his hand on the handle of the dark door, nodded towards the storyteller and opened the door.

The tower crumbled out of existence behind him and his feet crunched down on soft sand and loose stone. He found himself standing in a moss covered arch overlooking a bleak grey beach. The tide rushed in, rippling through the black water and surging up over the shore in an icy spray. He shivered as the water hit him and the world he left behind faded back into his mind. For a heartbeat, he was lying on his back staring up at the night sky. A warm dusty wind rolled over him, blasting him with sun baked grit, and his entire world lit with a pulsing, burning pain that filled him from head to toe.

Reality faded to black and he found himself on the beach once again. He fell to one knee and the freezing spray crashed over him again. A great snowy owl flapped down to meet him and the Storyteller knelt in front of him, placing one hand on his shoulder.

“Tallis?” the storyteller asked. “Are you alright?”

“Everything hurts,” Tallis croaked.

The librarian smiled and took a small notebook and a pen out of the pockets on his robes. “It looks like there is more fight left in you than we thought. We’ll meet again someday. You can tell me how your story ended.”

Tallis coughed and a thin trickle of blood ran down the corner of his mouth. “What’s happening? I don’t understand.”

“It’s going to hurt going back,” said the Storyteller. “It’s going to hurt a lot, but I want you to take something with you.” He tore a page from the book and stuffed it into Tallis’ pocket. “I want you to remember that you chose your own death over leaving this cause, your friends, and your life behind. Remember that, and it will be a beacon for you when all other lights go out.”

The soft darkness of oblivion called to him again, and Tallis let himself fall back into its embrace. Leaning into the surf, he let himself be carried away on the black tide. Tallis struggled, caught between waking and dreamless black. Existence came to him in hazy images and muffled snippets of sound.

He was lying on warm sand beneat a starry sky. A hot and dry wind rolled over him, piling sand and dirt around him, burying him. The copper tang of blood stung his nostrils. Hard scales rested beneath his hand. A gentle pressure tugged at his mind. He needed to climb closer to those scales.

A thundering shot split the night.

The world faded to black.  

Someone patted down the front of his vest, fingers probing into his pockets.

He tried to push them away.

“Ghost of me father,” a voice shouted. “He’s alive. Go. Go! Run for help.”

The world faded to black.

Everything was bouncing and smelled of hay and dust. The ground rolled by below him and his stomach churned, rebelling against the wave of dizziness that broke over him. Up and down had lost meaning. He was looking up but staring at the ground. Nothing made sense. The packed earth below him was replaced with small round stones and a hard clattering noise pounded into his head.

It was unending.

After what felt like hours, the noise stopped and someone lifted him into the air, carried him a few steps and set him down on a table.

The world faded to black.

“I’m not sure what we can do,” a dusty voice said. “He may be too far gone.”

“Damn it,” a stronger voice answered. “You fix him. That’s my son, and I am not losing him.”

Wherever he had ended up, his family was here. And there was no way in all seven hells that he was going to let them down. He grit his teeth as the darkness came for him again. Whatever happened next, he’d be ready to stand and fight.