It’s been two years since that dreadful event, two years without a proper night's rest, two years of drowning my sorrows in elven wine to find some semblance of peace. After we returned to the kingdom and explained what had transpired, the king permitted me to go back home. It felt incredible to be among my own kind again.
Aeloria, my elven village, welcomed me with smiling faces and joy. “Welcome home, hero!” they cheered, but I didn’t care for that title. My involvement with the hero party had been a result of a vision shared by the elders; they claimed the World Tree had called out my name to end the great tyranny that plagued our land. I didn’t question it, and perhaps that was my first mistake.
For three long months, I watched Tina go to Leon’s room night after night. I observed as he plotted the downfall of our companion; I witnessed Dante abuse Alex relentlessly, trying to break his spirit. Everything changed so quickly after that night on the rooftop, and I stood by, paralyzed returning to the corner I had retreated to, the only thing I cared about was getting home. I didn't care why the church wanted Alex dead. I didn't care that Tina was unfaithful. I didn’t care that Dante was using Alex like a training dummy.
I slept in my own room, my own bed, my own tent. I cooked my own meals, and during those three months, Alex constantly questioned why things were happening. He didn’t fight back, nor did he beg for his life; he accepted everything Leon said and still asked, “Why?”
My answer remained the same each time: “I just want to go home.” Leon sought power. Dante wanted to be king. Tina… she never had her chance to explain; the binding contract silenced her.
Now, here I was, back home, sitting on my roof surrounded by empty wine glasses and cups, each one a reminder that every time I closed my eyes, I saw the faces of everyone men, women, children I could have saved, appearing before me in gruesome detail. Every night, I relived visions of Alex being cut down, slaughtered like an animal. I even asked our elder druid to check me for curses; he just shook his head, telling me he sense nothing amiss. Perhaps I was fine, or perhaps it was the guilt that haunted me. The words from Siera echoed in my mind endlessly, every single day.
I couldn't even hunt anymore. I picked up my bow, eyes fixed on a buck in the distance. I drew, aimed, steadied my breath then tears flooded my vision. Everything I once enjoyed now felt like torment. “I can’t take this anymore,” I murmured.
In a burst of frustration, I ran to my room, grabbed a dagger, and looked at myself in the mirror with the blade pressed to my wrist. With one slash, I could finally find peace, finally sleep, finally escape this relentless pain. I pressed the dagger against my skin, feeling the thump of my artery beneath the blade. But at that moment, a voice at the back of my mind cried out, “You deserve this; you deserve to suffer. If you slide the dagger across, you’re just taking the easy way out.”
In a fit of anger, I threw the dagger. It struck the wall, embedding itself there as I had practiced countless times.
I started pacing my room, hugging myself tightly, as the rain began to pour outside. Then I stopped. “I have no other choice,” I thought.
I jumped from my window, sprinting through the muddy streets, not caring that the rain drenched my clothes. I ran until I reached the center of the village, where the guards stood watch under their hut.
“Do you have an appointment to see the Queen?” one of them asked.
“No, but I don’t think I need an appointment to see my mother.”
They exchanged glances, then looked back at me. “You may pass.”
I bolted inside. “Mother! Mother!” I called out as I searched the building.
I finally burst into the grand library, where I found her sipping tea. She looked me up and down, her expression shifting from curiosity to worry. Setting her cup down, she rushed to me.
“Dear, what’s wrong? Why are you so wet?”
She motioned to one of the guards. “Bring me a coat… and some warm tea… to her room.”
As she wrapped her arms around me, I felt something other than fear and guilt, a warm comfort. She led me to her room, where the guards swiftly wrapped me in a thick fur blanket and handed me a cup of silverpine tea.
“What’s wrong, love? I’ve never seen you like this before,” she said. I dropped to my knees beside her, resting my head on her lap, tears spilling down my cheeks. “I killed them, Mother... I killed them. It’s all my fault.”
She started to stroke my hair soothingly. “What do you mean you killed them?”
“Mother, I killed them!” I sobbed, pouring out my soul to her. I narrated everything that had happened the missions we embarked upon, the failure to save those who perished, the torment inflicted by Leon and Dante, and how I had stood by, doing nothing.
She continued to stroke my hair as I recounted my tale, and before I knew it, I had drifted off to sleep, exhaustion taking over. When I awoke, I found myself in bed, wrapped in my mother’s embrace. It was the first time in two years that I had been able to rest.
“My baby… my sweet, sweet baby…” Her voice was like a soothing melody.
“Mother, I killed them...”
“No, child, you didn’t. You were blinded by love, broken... Sometimes in life, we tend to forget our way, our lessons. He took advantage of you. The church took advantage of you. We knew something was wrong when the letters stopped coming, but we didn’t question you because, darling, it’s your life, and you must live it as you see fit. You will have to live with the decisions you made. The guilt, the regret, the sadness I won’t lie to you, baby. It might not ever go away, but you can change. Every day is a chance to change.”
“What should I do, Mother?”
“I… I don’t know, but I would start by trying to forgive yourself before trying anything else. The goddess watches over her children, and you are no different. Seek and pray every day. Cleanse yourself daily in the moonlit waters and kneel before the World Tree to seek her guidance.”
As she placed a hand on my heart, she looked deeply into my eyes.
“If your prayers come from here, she will answer.”
She cried, but her tears were different free of fear, free of sorrow, filled with pure regret.
“I’m sorry, Alex…”