Beru and Hector both turned to face the Wanderer, who stood illuminated in a doorway, as beautiful and inscrutable as ever.

“Your life for a debt owed,” she continued.

“What kind of debt?” Hector asked. “What did you want me alive for?”

She returned his heated stare placidly, and Beru had the distinct sense that they were each trying to outlast the other.

“I found your body in Medea, where I also found Ephyra. I surmised what had happened and knew that if Beru was destined to become the vessel of the ancient god, then your resurrection would become a weakness to the god. And I was right, wasn’t I?”

“You mean the connection between us,” Hector said. “That’s the reason I’m still alive?”

The Wanderer’s gaze focused on him, almost calculating. But Beru detected a hint of something else, something akin to sorrow. “I suppose there was another factor, too. I suppose I … felt a little guilt. At contributing to your demise.”

Beru stared at her. “What are you talking about?”

Hector looked equally baffled.

“Everything that was set in motion,” the Wanderer said, “it was due to my … well, meddling, I suppose Pallas would call it. I set you all on a collision course.”

Beru thought back, realization dawning. “You sent Ephyra and me to find Anton. And then Anton and Ephyra wound up imprisoned in the citadel, where Hector found them.”

“I gave you a little nudge, here and there,” she said. “So that you all might find one another.”

“So you knew this would happen?” Hector demanded. “All of it?”

The Wanderer pointed at herself. “Prophet. Remember?”

They stared at her.

“Of course, it’s a little more complicated than that,” she said with a wave. “I can’t see the future anymore. None of us could, after our final prophecy. But after two thousand years of watching prophecies unfold, my best guess is pretty good.”

“So you pushed us toward one another,” Hector said. “Why?”

“‘To bring the age of dark to yield,’” she replied. “I believe in you. In all of you. And I believe that you will right the mistakes of the past. My mistakes.”

“You think you can just—just move us around like game pieces?” Hector said, his fists clenched at his sides. “We’re not cards in a hand of canbarra. We’re people with our own lives, our own wills.”