Moments later...
The thick, nervous tension saturating the lift did not abate until its bronze cage safely came to an abrupt stop. And after a short battle with the lift’s stubborn latch, Lurian was pushed out into the hall, almost a straight shot to The Drop from the elevator.
Claire—still eager—pushed him through the far more decorated corridors of the fourth floor, and out onto the spacious terrace.
The sight that greeted them was that of nebulous twilight; the star’s light—only now breaking free from the tyranny of day.
Invigorated by the fresh breeze sweeping in from the west, Lurian let out a sigh at the vast and wondrous vista before him.
‘The Drop’ was what the castle servants liked to call the fourth-floor’s terrace. It faced out over the Bowgine River, into the northern valleys. Originally built to entertain the guests of the human viscount who ruled these lands before the elven migration—and then—their later occupation. It boasted quite the view, with a sheer drop of 80 feet awaiting anyone brave enough to make the leap of faith into its fast-flowing waters.
Finally coming to a stop at the castle’s edge, Lurian leaned back into his seat, resting his head against Claire’s breast as he sat there, admiring the tragic beauty present in the dying of the day. ‘And what a day it was,’ he thought, ruminating on all that had transpired.
As he relaxed into the softness of Claire, the weight of the day’s burdens eased for but a moment. He took a moment to just breathe and enjoy the sweet, crisp air...
Suddenly—
“...Oh? Why—hello,” said a rich feminine voice to Lurian’s right.
Startled, they turned, only to find the lord’s guest seated with her maid at a small table, tucked away to the southeastern corner of the terrace. Between them, a picked-clean wooden tray—much like their own.
‘A highborn, sharing a meal with a maid? How unusual,’ Lurian thought. He frowned; sure no such table existed here the last time he braved ‘The Drop’. It looked odd, the color was off, and it was all a little unreal—as if the strange new furniture was woven from magic and mist.
Wary, Lurian looked up, locking eyes with their highborn guest.
The elf’na-fae was a vision even under the half-moon’s scant light; a true product of her blood—radiant in a way that felt ancient—yet somehow ageless. She sat there; her fair-skin aglow; her piercing blue eyes, that of a bored predator. A predator awaiting the next unlucky soul to wake its slumbering interest.
Holding the Alf’na-far’s gaze felt like holding the gaze of a rousing lioness readying for the next thrilling hunt, as she hungered for the feast that followed.
Feeling a spike of nervous dread, Lurian cursed his own stubborn pride, for it was his hubris that forced him to meet the beast’s gaze. And seeing that mischievous spark that dwelt within its eyes, he feared he would soon prove unlucky enough to become the target of its burgeoning interest.
‘Fuck. We have to escape,’ he thought, by no means ready for such an encounter.
Aware of the formalities expected of him when meeting a na-fae of such status, Lurian offered his best attempt at a seated bow. “Good evening, my lady. I apologize for interrupting your evening supper. We were not aware that my lady was making use of the terrace. Please, excuse us—we will take our leave—so you may dine in peace.”
Sadly, Claire was not quick enough to make their escape...
Seeing this, her placid smile morphed into a playful smirk. “That won’t be necessary, young Lurian. I see—like me, you intend to enjoy your supper under the light of the stars.” She playfully chuckled. “I will not rob you of this chance. Come, join me,” she beckoned, her maid standing to make room for Lurian at the small two-person table.
Doing his best to hide his growing irritation, Lurian once more tried to assuage her interest so he might politely flee: “I fear, my lady, that in my current condition I would not make the most pleasant of company.”
He really did not want to interact with this strange and mysterious fae. For two days, the castle has been abuzz with gossip over the woman’s identity. Some guessed her to be the lord’s estranged wife. While others argued that she was a past love, here in secret—hoping to reignite an old flame.
Sadly, the lack of fanfare upon her arrival only added credence to the gossip’s whispers, as they spun tall tales of the woman’s origin and her purpose in the relatively inconsequential lands of the kingdom’s south.
Lurian, however, knew better...
He suspected her to be a powerful relative here to discuss secret business with the lord, for she was clearly a noble, and one of considerable rank—given the small signs of deference shown by the lord upon her arrival. Guessing that those propagating such rumors simply mistook these signs for those offered by nobles when courting.
His eyes flicked to the woman’s ears. They were long, longer than any elf Lurian had ever met; save for perhaps Til’ven, a man well into his third century; it was a clear indication that the elf that sat before him was much older than her youthful appearance might suggest.
This elf’na-fae was a mystery, and he was in no mood to pry into her secrets...
Given her amusement at his reluctance, it became blatantly clear that she was aware of his obvious discomfort in her presence. In fact, he would go as far as to say that she derived some perverse pleasure from his suffering, as she prompted him to come and sit at her side.
He once more wondered why all the elders he had the misfortune of meeting seemed to enjoy tormenting him so. Was it his poor luck? Or was it a symptom of centuries of life? Did all those long years twist them in some fashion, leading them to delight in such games?
He didn’t know, and perhaps he never would...
Holding back a sigh, he took hold of the wheels at his side and pushed himself forward—occupying the indicated space.
The na-fae smiled, looking slightly smug as he surrendered to his fate. “Please, eat,” she said, gesturing at his tray, happily playing the gracious host. “I am sure you’re quite famished after the day you’ve had.”
Lurian, not knowing what to do, tentatively picked at his food. Though social convention deemed it his role as a male to take the initiative to start the conversation by engaging her in small talk, Lurian made no attempt at doing so, fearing it would only encourage her further.
He glanced back, his eyes meeting Claire’s, futilely searching for a chance to escape. Only to feel an irrational spike of betrayal when she seamlessly transitioned into her role as a dutiful maid; his only ally becoming nothing more than a silent spectator to the awkward discourse about to unfold.
“...”
As the silence stretched, his discomfort only grew. She sat there, as if every twitch, every clumsy bite—was absolutely fascinating. She watched him, studying him as if he were some grand puzzle to be solved.
The entire experience was an all-new kind of torment, a torment that he—with all his training, his years of study—was ill-suited to combat.
Just when he was about to fully surrender to his fate, she spoke: “You did not cry out.”
Stunned at her abrupt statement, Lurian couldn’t help but blurt out, “I beg your pardon?”
“You did not cry out. Why?” she repeated.
“Why what?” he asked—rather dumbly. “I’m sorry, my lady, but I don’t follow.”
“When that hairy brute of a man stomped in your knee, you did not cry out, and I want to know why.” She paused, as if to taste the words as she uttered them. “You see, throughout my long life, I have witnessed many great and seasoned warriors suffering as you did. Some in times of war, and some while spectating violence intended to entertain. But throughout my long memory, few have kept such composure—while suffering to such a degree... And none quite so young. You are still but a child, yet you showed such fortitude...”
She frowned; her playfulness all but vanishing as she leaned forward—an all-new hunger burning within her eyes. “I’m curious. Are you incapable of feeling pain? Or is it just muted for you? Or perhaps you did try, but the blood filling your lungs prevented it... You were very impressive today, and I wish to know how one so short of ear could have such spirit.”
He sat stunned by the question. At first, he thought to lie—to spin a tale of fiction—or offer an answer of half-truths. But as he sat there, staring into those crystal blue eyes—filled with honest, unconcealed curiosity—Lurian stopped, taking a moment to consider his words...
...Deciding to give her an answer worthy of her fascination, he sat up, locking eyes with the older elf. “What good does crying do?” he said, the statement a raw, wounded lament—filled with a bone-deep bitterness he refused to hide.
Frowning, she nodded; her keen eyes bidding him continue.
Feeling the intensity of her gaze, his eyes drifted down to his own callous hands. “For all of my life, I have experienced little else but pain. It began as far back as I can remember. A hollow ache, an absence—or hunger—that ate away at me from within... At the time, I was merely a child. I didn’t know what ailed me, nor did my carers. They told me it was growth pains—just a normal part of growing up... and for a time, I believed them...”
“The lie—however—did not last,” he said, clenching his fist as he bitterly shook his head. “You see, my lady... The pain, it grew, it grew as I grew. At the age of about six, that ever-present ache—became a small fire, a fire that burned at my very core... I cried then... I cried, begging the pain to stop. But it never did. It only continued to grow...”
Lurian’s gaze drifted out into the darkness. “It was then I heard stories of the monsters that dwelt in the east. Monsters that spread corruption in their wake. Because of those stories, I, a child, believed myself blighted; that a day would come when I would turn into some kind of profane horror.” Bitterly he let out a morbid chuckle. “Those were some of the worst years of my life.”
He could still feel the toll of those years on his spirit. It ached, like aged bone, slowly fracturing under the weight of an ever-present burden. “Children… were not made for such torment,” he muttered.
He paused, and for a moment he was lost in distant memory...
“...Later, I began my arcane studies, learning what I could of such corruption. To my relief, the symptoms didn’t match. But to this day I still have no idea what ails me. I suspect the lord and some in his inner circle are aware, but for reasons their own, they refuse to enlighten me, claiming ignorance of my plight.”
He paused, lost in the haunting bitterness of those torturous years. Find the original chapter at g.com.
Finally, with something resembling a sneer, he continued, “Even now—I feel it—an angry blister on my soul. A blister that does not cripple or impede like simple wounds of the flesh. No. Instead, it torments my spirit, robbing me of all of life’s joy.” He let out a long, weary sigh as his spirit drowned in the phantom agony of his affliction.
Turning her way, his sharpness returned—as his steely gray—met with her icy blue. “So, to answer your question. With time—and significant suffering, one can grow accustomed to a lot of things... including pain...”
He paused, letting the moment breathe...
Then, clenching a callous hand, he continued: “After all these years, the once raging fire now feels like a light simmer, a simmer that burns deep within my breast. It has long become something that I have learnt to ignore. Now, it only becomes an issue when my blood is up, when my heart is pumping. You see, it wasn’t that I could not feel it when Torvous stomped in my knee. It is just that I was already in so much pain, and have experienced so much suffering, that a little more—is of no consequence.”
Feeling both bitter and hollow, Lurian finished—and the silence returned—broken only by the whistle of the wind, sweeping in from the western mountains...
She just sat there, her eyes filled with a mix of awe and disbelief as they stared into his. Then, her expression slowly became contemplative. As her eyes sharpened, Lurian could see the moment her mind snared a possible answer.
“Give me your hand, child,” she said, a hint of gentleness creeping into her tone.
Lurian was now the one overwhelmed with curiosity, feeling compelled to comply. She took his hand in hers, while muttering what Lurian could only assume was some sort of diagnostic spell. Once she completed her incantation, a wave of visible blue mana washed over him, leaving his skin feeling unbearably itchy.
He gritted his teeth as the pain of his inner fire spiked—as if protesting the spell's intrusion. Lurian could not help but feel an anxious anticipation for what her magic might uncover.
The very instant he felt her spell had run its course, the woman looked up, her eyes wide in shock.
“What is it? What did you discover?”
“A moment, child; let me think on this,” she said, sinking back into her chair in contemplation... “I believe I have discovered what ails you... but—but it is not my place to interfere in such a matter. All I can say is that it’s a miracle you still breathe.”
“Please, please tell me. I have to know.”
He hated the weakness present in his voice as he begged for answers he felt owed. He could see the swell of pity in her eyes; that look, as if—after hearing his explanation—she somehow understood a fraction of his pain. It irked him; his pride protesting such bare, exposed weakness.
But in the face of answers—his pride mattered little.
“It’s a curse, Lurian. And that’s all I will say. I know not why you have been kept in the dark, but sometimes, it truly is better to remain ignorant of such things. For some truths are better left unknown.”
“That’s not enough!” Lurian roared, weakly slamming his fist, rattling the small table. “I have a right to know!”
Her eyes flared. “You don’t have a right to anything, young one,” she rebuked, her volume rising to match his own. “It is the way of our people to follow the decrees of their elders, and your elders have decreed that it is best you remain ignorant, so ignorant you shall be.”
She rose to her feet, her slender frame seeming to grow larger as she loomed over him, dwarfing him with her presence. He could feel the release of her arcane might; its weight, pressing down on his shoulders; its magnitude—enough to steal away his breath.
With her glowing blue eyes staring into his, she warned with a touch of heat: “Always remember this, Lurian: you are but a child, and it is not a child’s place to demand anything of his elders; least of all those of a much higher station, such as I. I shall forgive you this once, and only this once, and this, this disrespect, shall not happen again. Is. that. clear?”
The power, the weight of her presence, it squashed his pride—reminding him of his place. He instantly abandoned any hope of answers and bowed his head after realizing just how far he had overstepped. Though it might seem minor, he was both young and male, meaning she was well within her rights to see him harshly punished for such transgressions.
He could handle physical punishment, but sadly such punishments tended to be more humiliating than physically painful. Her wish to remain cordial with the lord was likely the only thing sparing him from such an undignified fate.
Clenching his teeth, he swallowed his pain, and the impudent rage, for he knew it meaningless before such power. “Yes... My lady.”
The woman turned Claire’s way. “Girl, take the boy to bed; we are done here.”
“Ye-Yes, my lady,” Claire stammered, sounding equally chastised for the slight.
She stepped forward, performing a panicked curtsy before grabbing hold of Lurian’s wheelchair, taking the chance to whisk Lurian away from the oppressive weight of the elf’na-fae’s unleashed—near all-encompassing presence...