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Healer No. 222 had been right. The Blood Moon Tribunal was indeed the only chance a death row inmate ever had to trade spirits.
Ashe looked down at the three spirits in his hand. For a moment, it felt as though Varkas's cold, gaunt face still lingered before his eyes.
The sword that had pierced Ashe's throat had concealed five spirits, all of which were freshly released from Varkas's contracts. If Ashe had been even a fraction slower, if his consciousness had faded even slightly, all five would have fled at once. He had moved as fast as he could, yet two still escaped. For all he knew, they might already be riding Finger Sharks, savoring the freedom of surfing across the Shattered Lake.
As for why Varkas had passed those spirits to him, there could have been many reasons. Perhaps it was because Ashe had defeated him. Perhaps it was vengeance against Syrin. Perhaps gratitude for Ashe's care in his final moments. Or perhaps Varkas had simply enjoyed watching the chaos unfold.
A dying elf could do anything, and none of it would have surprised Ashe, save for the blade through his throat. Ashe strongly suspected that act came from lingering resentment and served as a payback for having his throat cut during the Death Match.
Even so, Varkas's final actions left Ashe with a dilemma.
He hadn't been in this world long, yet he was already...
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