509 years ago, in the Dragon’s Cradle.

  I am Willow of the Fae. Though I have wandered Gaia for 4,587 years, I remain but a child when measured against the ancient Gods, who have persisted through countless cycles of this world's rebirth.

  When gods wage war, it is mortals who die. The gods themselves cannot be killed, but the fragile creatures who worship them can be crushed, their kingdoms consumed by fire, and the land beneath their feet torn asunder in the petty squabbles of immortals.

  Such was the war between Celestia, the Goddess of Creation, and Votheron, the Dragon God of Wisdom and Knowledge. I had a front-row seat to Celestia’s devout followers embarking on their holy crusade, invading the Dragon’s Cradle from the Kingdom of Aurethiel.

  It was a glorious slaughter. Humans, elves, and dwarven zealots surged forth, clashing in brutal combat against the dragons, kobolds, and humans loyal to the Dragon God. For me the battlefield was a feast of lifeforce to be reaped after many years of famine.

  The age before this war was one of progress, where magic flourished among the enlightened races. Mortal lives stretched longer, their miracles reshaping the world, their knowledge solving problems without the need for divine or fae intervention. Voltheron, the great hoarder and dispenser of arcane wisdom, had guided them to prosperity. Under his influence, they became so self-sufficient that beings like myself—the fae—found it increasingly difficult to tempt desperate or foolish mortals into making bargains.

  I have been starving for years.

  That is why I was overjoyed when Celestia declared war on Voltheron. Ever the opportunist, I waited for the armies to clash. When the slaughter began, I drifted unseen through the carnage, searching for my chance—seeking those who lingered on the brink of death, their final breaths spent in desperate pleas for release. There is no easier contract for a fae to fulfill than granting peace to a dying soul.

  Every fae knows war is good for business. Suffering and despair create desperate souls eager to trade their last breaths for relief. And so, as the battle raged, I feasted. Thousands of mortals, clinging to life by a thread, pleaded for an end to their agony. I granted their wishes, and for the first time in years, I fed well. Power surged through me once more.

  Now, the battle is over, but my hunger remains. I sit atop a mound of corpses, indifferent to who they were in life. Their empty shells hold no value to me. My attention is fixed instead on the colossal dragon—100 meters long and 70 meters tall—lying quietly amidst the battlefield’s devastation. He is Votheron, the Dragon God, once thought to be the most ancient and wise of the gods.

  He is magnificent to behold. His flawless scales shimmer like molten gold beneath the crimson twilight, easily twice the size of the largest dragon lying dead around him. He rests stoically, forelegs gracefully crossed, eyes lifted toward the blood-red sky painted by the dying sun. If the loss of his kin and loyal followers weighs heavily upon him, it is impossible to discern beneath his calm and regal demeanor.

  I wait here patiently beside him, just outside of the effects of his dangerous divine aura. The Dragon God’s presence is so oppressive that it dispels illusions and enchantments. His words carry enough power to crush the body and minds of lesser creatures should he will it.

  All I need to do now is wait.

  The vast battlefield stretches endlessly, filled only with death and silence. There are no living souls left for me to prey upon—only him, the greatest prize imaginable. The desperate wish of a god. If by some slim chance he is brought low enough to request a deal, I could claim enough of his divine essence to ascend to godhood myself. The odds are remote, but the possibility alone makes the gamble irresistible.

  “Ready to give up, Vothy?” comes a youthful, mocking voice, thick with condescension and amusement.

  A bright light flares to my left, illuminating the mound of corpses beneath me. From the radiance steps a woman of breathtaking beauty, her presence both divine and insufferable. Celestia, the self-proclaimed Goddess of Creation.

  She is the image of perfection, with flawless porcelain skin that glows unnaturally, long golden hair cascading in shimmering waves down her back, and a body sculpted to entice—large, full breasts, a narrow waist, and wide, curvaceous hips. Draped in little more than strips of pristine white cloth, she teeters on the edge between divinity and seduction, her attire leaving nothing to the imagination while maintaining the illusion of purity.

  Many mortals have been ensnared by her allure, falling to their knees in worship. But I am no mortal, and I see her for what she truly is. She is a deceiver wrapped in the guise of a savior. As a creature that survives by using illusions to manipulate mortals, I recognize her tricks all too well.

  “I have slain your pathetic children and slaughtered your followers,” Celestia boasts, stretching out her arms as though welcoming the applause of an unseen audience. “I have razed your cities to the ground and scorched your lands.”

  “Bow before Celestia, the God of Creation!” She announces herself theatrically, her voice echoing across the battlefield. “I brought divine retribution upon the heretics.” she says regarding Voltheron with an expression of smug sadistic pleasure.

  Votheron, ever the picture of restrained power, lowers his colossal head. His golden eyes settle on her with all the interest one might afford manure upon their boot, detached and unimpressed.

  “Some god of creation you have become,” he rumbles, his deep voice shaking the very air. “Finding amusement in the suffering of mortals.”

  Celestia remains unfazed, her own divine presence shielding her from the weight of his words. “And some god of knowledge and wisdom you are!” she retorts, her voice laced with smug derision. “It was your stupidity that forced my hand, Votheron. The deaths of these mortals are your doing.”

  Votheron remains motionless, regarding her with the same detached patience one might give to a child throwing a tantrum.

  “I warned you,” Celestia presses, with a smug smile as she folds her arms beneath her ample chest. “If you continued to teach mortals the path to immortality, I would stop you.”

  “And what is wrong with others following the path you and I have taken. Are you so insecure?” Vothron responds with cool disdain.

  Celestia’s fingers twitch at her sides, curling into fists before she forces them to relax. A flicker of irritation passes over her flawless, porcelain-like face, but she quickly smooths it over with a scoff. “It’s dangerous, Votheron. That knowledge could destroy the balance of this world. Everything I have built, everything I have created, would be at risk.”

  Her blue eyes burn with frustration as she steps forward, tilting her head up at the massive dragon. “What if the Demon Lord were to ascend as we have?”

  I smile at her words. There is something amusing about Celestia’s fear that her playthings might one day break free of her control. The truth is, the Goddess of Duplicity ensures no nation or individual ever grows powerful enough to challenge her. In carefully orchestrated cycles, she manipulates mortals into culling themselves, always keeping them weak enough to remain beneath her rule.

  The brilliance of her deception lies in its execution. She has mortals convinced they are fighting righteous crusades, waging war in the name of a benevolent and just goddess. But those who have lived long enough to see the pattern know better. She relishes their struggles, watching them claw their way toward greatness only to be cast back down into suffering and ruin.

  I wonder how mortals can be so easily deceived by such a flimsy facade. Then again, I have taken the form of a buxom beauty to manipulate my own prey. So, Perhaps I do understand.

  “You know as well as I do that we are not gods,” Votheron states, his voice calm and absolute. “You did not create this world, any more than I created wisdom. We were mortal once, like them.” His golden eyes burn as he fixes her with a piercing gaze. “Now you would deny them the same path? Pull up the ladder and close the door behind you, lest they reach your heights?” He exhales sharply, sending a gust of hot air in her direction. “I believe knowledge is to be collected, preserved, and shared.”

  Celestia’s mask of control finally cracks. “Then you are a fool!” she roars, her voice raw with triumph and fury. “That is why your followers are dead. That is why you lie here, broken at my feet!”

  At his words, Celestia’s brilliant blue eyes sharpen to slits, her fury twisting her flawless face into something ugly. Her lips curl back in a snarl, baring her teeth like a rabid beast. Her fists clench so tightly her nails threaten to pierce her own skin. Then, like a spoiled child denied its due, she stamps her foot with enough force to send a shockwave through the earth, cracking the ground beneath her heel.

  For the briefest moment, her form wavers. The radiant illusion flickers, her divine perfection rippling like disturbed water. And in that fleeting instant, I see something else beneath the mask—something she does not want seen.

  Then, as quickly as it slips, it is gone. She takes a deep, steadying breath, forcing composure back onto her features. The cracks in her fa?ade seal, the goddess once again the image of beauty and grace, as if her outburst never happened.

  “You’ve lost, old man,” she says, her voice smooth once more, though the sharp edge of her rage still lingers beneath the surface.

  For once, the goddess of lies speaks the truth.

  At a glance, Votheron’s radiant scales remains unblemished and his colossal frame still exudes power. But beneath the surface, he has lost.

  Their 10 day battle reshaped the world itself. A sword of divine fire split the northern fields, carving a canyon into the earth. An inferno hotter than the sun turned entire coastlines into fields of blackened glass. Celestia’s armies laid waste to his kingdom, his worshippers slaughtered to the last, their blood soaking the land he sought to protect.

  During the battle Celestia focused her wrath on the mortals, forcing Voltheron to spend his mana in a desperate effort to protect them from the mad goddess. That was his mistake.

  The fight ended only when his mana ran dry. Now, he endures purely on the strength of his divine resilience. But Celestia? She still has power to spare. That is because of the universal truth that defensive magic expends more mana than offensive magic. That’s why she won.

  Celestia’s jaw tightens, her blue eyes flashing with a silent fury that simmers beneath the surface. She inhales slowly, forcing an air of control.

  Without a word, she lifts her right hand.

  Then, she clenches her fist.

  The earth shudders. A golden shockwave erupts from her grip, snaking through the battlefield and striking the dragon’s massive form. Colossal chains burst from the ground, glowing with divine radiance, latching onto his limbs, his wings, his throat. They coil like living things, tightening, constricting, dragging him down. The once-mighty dragon god is forced into submission, bound to the ruined land around him.

  “Enough talk. Here is what’s going to happen.”

  “You will kill yourself.”

  “Or I will hunt down every last dragon and exterminate them.”

  Votheron watches her, his molten eyes unreadable. “And what stops you from doing so after I am gone?”

  Celestia shrugs. “Nothing,” she admits, smirking. “But I’d have no reason to waste my time punishing you if you were dead.”

  Then her smirk widens.

  “However,” she purrs, tilting her head, “if you defy me… I promise you—I will spend the rest of eternity carving through your children, one by one, until your kind is nothing but a memory.”

  Gods cannot be slain. But they can relinquish their immortality. She could keep him here forever, draining his power, binding him, forcing him to watch as she massacres his kin, helpless to stop it.

  Or he could surrender. Give in. End it.

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  Celestia steps back, giving him no chance to respond.

  “You have thirty minutes to decide, Vothy.”

  She turns, divine light swirling around her. “When I return, if you still live…”

  She glances over her shoulder, grinning.

  “Then I will dedicate myself to wiping your wretched kind from this world.”

  And with that—she vanishes.

  The goddess’s departure leaves behind a stillness that hangs over the battlefield like a held breath. I watch the massive golden dragon, waiting. He does not struggle against his chains, nor does he roar in defiance or despair. He is utterly still.

  He knows resistance is hopeless.

  I smile inwardly and lean forward, anticipation curling within me. This is my moment. He is at the height of desperation, teetering on the edge of oblivion. He has only thirty minutes. Surely, it won’t take long.

  “Show yourself, young one.”

  Voltheron’s voice is calm. Unshaken.

  I tense. Who is he talking to?

  I glance around, searching for another presence, but we are alone.

  “Yes, you, fae. I mean you.”

  Shock flits through me. He sees me. Somehow, my magic has failed to veil me from his sight. But I recover quickly. There is no sense in maintaining the illusion now.

  With a shimmer of light, I make myself visible, taking the form of a magnificent white dragon, twenty meters long, my scales glistening like freshly fallen snow, my eyes an enchanting, icy blue.

  “How may I serve you, Lord Voltheron?” I ask smoothly, my voice honeyed with false reverence.

  “You came to reap my soul, did you not?” he states matter-of-factly.

  “Yes.” There is no point in lying—not that I am even capable of it. “But in exchange, I can make your death painless.”

  I am so close. Thousands of lifetimes’ worth of energy, the soul of a god within my grasp. I am almost salivating at the thought. He only needs to accept my offer—an offer that costs me nothing and gains me everything.

  “I can put you to sleep,” I purr, stepping closer, “and grant you the most joyous, vivid dream, a dream where you are among everyone you have ever loved, where you drift into the beyond with peace, without pain. A gentle death, in exchange for the life you are planning to forfeit anyway.”

  I wait.

  But the dragon does not answer right away.

  After a moment of viewing me thoughtfully, he rumbles, “If the fae had joined me, we would have been far more powerful than Celestia. If you had aided me, we could have defeated her.”

  “We could have saved so many lives.”

  I scoff. “And what would I gain from that?” The thought is absurd. Expending my own life force, the very source of my power, to fight a god, for what? No promise of reward, no benefit to me? It is a fool’s gamble, and I am no fool.

  “Are you not spirits that value the balance of nature?” Voltheron asks.

  “Yes, we do.”

  He tilts his massive head, the glow of his molten eyes sweeping across the battlefield, the vast wasteland, the smoldering ruins, the endless expanse of corpses stretching in every direction.

  “Does this seem balanced to you?”

  I flick my tail dismissively. “You’d be surprised how much order exists in chaos. Sometimes, you just need to step back far enough to see it.”

  “Even if I wanted to help, Mother forbade us from interfering. Perhaps you didn’t realize, but your actions over time have brought about a famine for the fae. You created an imbalance that threatened to destroy us.”

  Voltheron exhales slowly. “So that is how it is.” There is a sadness in his voice. A quiet resignation.

  I sense his weakness. His desperation.

  Here it comes.

  “I would like to offer you a contract, Lady Fae.” Voltheron says.

  “What do you desire?” I ask, slinking down from my perch atop the mound of corpses. Bones crunch beneath my clawed feet as I step closer to where Voltheron’s massive head rests against the blood-soaked earth.

  “I want you to preserve all my knowledge, wisdom, memories, and what remains of my power within a vessel,” he rumbles.

  I blink, momentarily thrown. “What?” His request is so unexpected that it catches me off guard.

  “The vessel must be enchanted to integrate with a member of my family—should they have the potential to defeat Celestia. Until that day, it must guide any mortal who touches it on how to restore the god of knowledge and wisdom.” He explains.

  This is… not at all what I anticipated. However it is within my power to grant his request. It will be costly, yes, but even with the energy I would expend, I would still claim far more than I would lose.

  “The full details of my request are written in this contract,” he adds, exhaling a golden mist. The vapor drifts toward me, swirling before condensing midair into a stack of thick, leather-bound tomes. Resting atop the highest book is a golden crystal pendant, set within a mithril bracket shaped like a dragon’s head. The miniature beast clasps the hexagonal gem between its teeth, its tail curling elegantly around the crystal’s perimeter.

  I narrow my eyes. “What is… all this?”

  Reaching out with my magic, I lift the top book and the pendant, suspending them in the air before me. With a thought, the book flips open, its pages turning in a steady rhythm as I begin to read.

  “It is the contract for my life.” There is a note of humor in his voice. “I know how your kind operates. Every loophole, every possible misinterpretation—you’ll find them all accounted for.”

  My gaze flicks across the pages as they turn, reading as fast as inhumanly possible. The text is thorough and precise, making it impossible to twist it’s meaning to my advantage. I click my tongue in irritation.

  “Why are these all bound in leather,” I mutter.

  “This is my life we’re bargaining for. It demands the highest quality,” Voltheron chuckles.

  “There are ten volumes.”

  “I had it translated into Elvish, Dwarven, Primal, and Abyssal.”

  “Why would you do—” I stop myself, my frustration mounting. “When did you even write all this?” I demand, still rapidly scanning through the labyrinthine text.

  “Wise creatures prepare for all eventualities,” he answers smoothly.

  I grit my teeth. "And I’m supposed to finish reading all of this before we finalize anything?"

  “We are short on time,” Voltheron reminds me. “Take it or leave it.”

  My claws tighten around the book. “Are there any hidden clauses I should be worried about?”

  “Of course not,” Voltheron replies smoothly.

  I shoot him a skeptical glare before returning to skimming through the book.

  “And what is the purpose of this little trinket?” I ask, casting a wary glance at the pendant. A soft glow pulses from within the golden crystal, as if it holds a life of its own.

  “That is no mere trinket, Lady Fae,” Voltheron replies, his voice tinged with pride. “That pendant grants access to an interdimensional space of my own creation.” He pauses, as though expecting me to be awestruck.

  In awe, I am not. Confusion would be a more fitting reaction.

  “Sounds valuable, but that doesn’t explain why you’re giving it to me.” My skepticism remains, though the claim that it holds powerful magic has earned my full attention. I extend my right foreleg, reaching to grasp it.

  “Well, that is where the rest of the contract is, of course.” His words barely register before my clawed fingers close around the pendant.

  The world around me vanishes.

  The putrid stench of death disappears, all sound is swallowed by an unnatural silence, and a blinding light stings my eyes. I recoil, instinctively shielding my face. The book I had been levitating plummets to the ground with a dull thud—but instead of landing on dirt and blood-soaked corpses, it meets a solid, pristine floor.

  I blink rapidly, adjusting to the overwhelming brightness. When my vision clears, I find myself standing in an endless white expanse. Beneath me is a smooth, stone-like floor, unblemished and unmarked. Ahead, four towering rows of bookshelves stretch endlessly into the distance, filled with countless tomes.

  “What did he do to me?” I mutter, scanning the strange, silent space.

  Was this some sort of teleportation trap?

  “Damn that lizard.” I snarl, tossing the pendant away in frustration.

  The moment it leaves my grasp, the battlefield rushes back around me. The oppressive smells return, the distant sounds of crackling fire and—

  Tink.

  The pendant strikes the side of Voltheron’s head.

  The dragon lets out an exasperated sigh. “Like I was saying…” he continues, unfazed. “If you hold the pendant tightly, it will transport you—and anything you’re holding—to my interdimensional library. Anything left there will remain, and anything taken will return with you.”

  I stare at him, momentarily stunned. “That is… incredible.”

  Voltheron smirks, clearly pleased with himself. “Yes, well, I made it myself.”

  I extend my claw once more, focusing on the pendant where it lies in the mud beside Voltheron. It lifts from the filth and streaks through the air, landing neatly in my grasp.

  Instantly, the battlefield vanishes.

  Once again, I am surrounded by the infinite white space, the same towering rows of bookshelves stretching before me. The book I had dropped earlier still rests on the pristine floor. I summon it back into my grip, then release the pendant.

  The transition is immediate.

  I am back on the battlefield, the stench of death filling my senses, but this time, the pendant and the book hover in the air before me, both having traveled with me.

  Voltheron barely has time to raise an amused brow ridge before I grab the pendant again.

  Another flash of light, another shift in reality.

  I repeat the process several times, moving back and forth between the battlefield and the interdimensional library, testing the pendant’s limits. Each time, I find my belongings remain exactly where I left them, and anything I hold in my grasp returns with me. After the final trip, I stand on the battlefield once more, a slow smile spreading across my face.

  “Done yet?” Voltheron asks dryly, his golden eyes narrowing. “Kinda running low on time here.”

  This pendant is an invaluable prize, a tool of immeasurable worth. To acquire it in addition to the life force of a dragon is like icing on an immortality cake.

  It’s too good to be true.

  No, I do not believe in good fortune. There must be a catch.

  With a flick of my fingers, the pendant floats into place around my neck, the mithril chain settling against my skin. I return my attention to the tome hovering before me, scanning its contents with meticulous care. The remaining nine books rise into the air, forming a slow orbit around me, waiting their turn to be read.

  Flipping through another page, I find yet another tedious clause defining the precise meaning of each word used in the contract.

  “Tick tock,” Voltheron chimes in impatiently.

  “This won’t bring you back,” I point out after some thought. “Celestia controls reincarnation in this world. This vessel will grant your kin your knowledge and wisdom, but it won’t resurrect you.”

  “This isn’t for me.” Voltheron’s voice remains steady, but there’s a weight behind his words. “When you have a child, you’ll understand. It changes your priorities.”

  I know it is risky to accept this contract without reading it in its entirety. However, this is an unprecedented opportunity—no fae in history has ever had the chance to claim the life force of a god. It is an unthinkable prize, a power beyond reckoning, and I cannot let hesitation rob me of it.

  I don’t have time to comb through every word of the contract. The risk is great, but the reward is greater. This is a chance I cannot afford to pass up. And despite the contract’s length, all its stipulations seem designed to prevent misinterpretation rather than conceal hidden dangers. Everything aligns with what Voltheron has already stated: he seeks only to ensure his hoard of knowledge is passed on to his kin so they may one day seek vengeance on Celestia.

  The dragon god has a reputation for wisdom, not deception. There would be no logic in him including a clause that would harm me when he needs me to fulfill his request. If anything, his desperation ensures that I am his best and only option.

  I reason all of this as Voltheron clicks his massive tongue in irritation, his golden eyes narrowing at my hesitation.

  “Fine. I accept your offer.”

  The moment I confirm, Voltheron takes a deep breath—a slow, deliberate inhale that seems to shake the very air around us. Then, with visible effort, he exhales, expelling a radiant golden mist. As it leaves him, the luster of his golden scales fades to a dull, lifeless sheen. His massive form sags, and with a heavy thud, he lowers his head to the ground.

  He has surrendered his immortality.

  The great dragon, who has lived through unknown eons, has chosen to cast aside his eternal existence on the faintest hope that it will spare his children from suffering.

  Other creatures might find such a sacrifice moving, even tragic. It might give them pause.

  I am not such a creature.

  Without hesitation, I weave my spell. A torrent of black energy swirls around us, the very air thickening with raw power. Wisps of brilliant white light begin to siphon from the dragon’s body, flowing into me in shimmering strands. Voltheron lets out a final, wide-eyed gasp before his body goes still, his great, unfocused eyes staring into eternity.

  Then the dark magic takes hold.

  His massive form is wrenched onto its back, the weight of his corpse sending tremors through the battlefield. A sickening crack echoes as his chest is forcibly torn open, his colossal heart ripped free by the tendrils of my spell. The heart, twice the size of a human, hovers in the air, wrapped in shifting shadows.

  As it draws closer, it begins to condense, the immense organ shrinking as the dark energy compacts its essence. By the time the mist dissipates, what remains is no longer flesh.

  A massive, gleaming heart-shaped crystal, nearly a meter tall and just as wide, now hovers before me.

  Inside, swirling like a spirit trapped within a bottle, is golden energy—the remnants of Voltheron’s power, his knowledge, his final gift to his kin.

  As my spell completes, a wide, toothy grin spreads across my face. A surge of power floods through me—intoxicating, exhilarating. The equivalent of twenty thousand years of life force now courses through my being. Though most of Voltheron’s essence was consumed to create and fill the vessel, what remains within me is beyond anything I have ever experienced.

  I feel invincible. Unstoppable.

  I take hold of the pendant around my neck and quickly store the Dragon God’s Vessel and the books inside the library for safekeeping. I will examine the full contract later—there is no time for that now. Celestia will return soon, and I have no intention of being here when she does.

  As I prepare to leave, a lingering thought gnaws at me.

  When you have a child.

  What an absurd idea. I have no intentions of creating a child. Voltheron himself proved such entanglements are dangerous.

  Not wasting another moment, I restore my veil of invisibility and vanish into my spectral form, darting away from that place as fast as my magic allows. The ground below me blurs into indistinct streaks of color as I race away, the desolate valley of the Dragon’s Cradle vanishing behind me, giving way to the forests of the north.

  Only after I have safely absconded with the Dragon God's life force and hidden myself in a secure sanctuary do I allow myself to breathe. It is only then that I turn my attention back to the contract—the contract I so recklessly agreed to without reading in full.

  Though I reasoned that Voltheron was unlikely to have hidden anything dangerous within the terms, a gnawing anxiety has taken root in my mind. What began as mild unease has mutated into full-blown terror. A fae's existence is defined by the contracts they make, and if I have overlooked something—if I have bound myself to something truly disastrous—I may have already doomed myself.

  Without delay, I return to the interdimensional library. This time, I take the form of a human woman—pale white skin, long silver hair, and bright blue eyes. The endless white void stretches before me, the Dragon God's Vessel and the tomes I left earlier waiting beside the towering bookshelves.

  I am in the midst of summoning the stack of books to resume my reading when a memory slams into me with the force of a four-story dragon.

  "That is where the rest of the contract is."

  My voice comes out in a whisper, repeating Voltheron’s words as dread wells up inside me.

  Slowly, my gaze drifts toward the four towering bookshelves stretching into the distance, each one packed with rows upon rows of leather-bound tomes—each eerily similar in appearance.

  “Oh… my… gods…”

  My legs give out, and I collapse to my knees.

  I had been so caught up in the instant teleportation that his words barely registered when he first spoke them. I heard them, but I hadn’t processed them. Not until now.

  And now, the full weight of their meaning crashes down on me like a four-story dragon.

  Because of my rash decision, my fate is no longer my own. The path ahead has already been carved into stone, stretching far beyond my sight, dictated by a god who is no longer even alive. I have become Voltheron’s unwilling agent, ensnared in a scheme of vengeance that will unfold over centuries.

  And I have no way out.

  The fae are bound by magic to honor their contracts.

  Failure to uphold them is not an option.

  Failure means death.