'Tabula Rosa'. This was the name of a philosophy known even back in the times romans had fought.
Are humans born with innate knowledge? No. We came into the world scared and unable to think.
Seeing the world for the first time and unable to grasp reality. Unable to move it to our whims.
Bare naked and lacking in every aspect.
However, in a fantasy world where creatures besides humans existed, it wasn't strange to think there would be something other than emptiness etched into the brains of newborns of Mystics.
For elves, that innate disposition was shown when at the moment of their births, they would not deem it rational to cry. They'd hold a wholly dignified appearance and attitude throughout their lives.
This wasn't something taught.
Even after hundreds of years of being used as human playthings, they did not forget favours.
When they saw a human run around and comfort them. When they were brought out of that hellhole.
The true nature of Elves were revealed.
Some stayed careful around him, but a majority looked past their prejudices towards men and bravely came forward to thank him. Wearing the traditional elven clothes Talia made for them.
She had changed that day.
The cold look that Talia always wore had vanished after she had time to mingle with her own people.
Acting like a daughter to many of them.
"We thank you for what you did." This was the fifth time today that Pal was given a deep bow by an elf.
The gratitude was endless.
"We will not forget you." Many of them ingrained his appearance into their minds. Afro included.
But that only made Pal feel uncomfortable.
He didn't do this to be thanked by anyone. This was the first time his mission entailed 'saving'.
Most of the time, he was killing people.
And they saw him drive a knife into many of his own kind. Making him wonder if they despised him.
A disgusting hypocrite like him.
Despite what he thought, Pal could only see right eyes following him and sincere looks of gratitude.
'Weird…' Pal wondered if they had some agenda.
He wasn't sure if the dignity of an elf was the same as human pride. If so, they'd forget his face soon.
Because humans never remembered goodness.
They always latched onto the problems they suffered and the criminal who caused that.
In the face of these 'fake' relationships, Simon started to feel hunger for something more.
This feeling burned deep inside.
It had been a long time since Simon came over. He almost thought his mentor had forgot about him.
If so, then why not surprise him?
He had no gifts for Simon on hand, but since when did friends need to be formal? He'll just talk a bit.
Maybe they could hit it off or something.
…..
….
…
..
.
There used to be a time when Elves were feared as much as Dragons. Especially in their own territory.
You don't fight a dragon in their lair, but even worse than that was fighting an elf in a forest.
The latter was a mistake many wouldn't make.
In the immemorial era when elves flourished, the High Elf named Bertha was a respected elder.
In their homeland 900 years ago, High Elf Bertha was smoking using an ordinary cigarette of the time. Having become acquainted with many humans, she had been affected by their culture.
She wore t-shirt and baggy pants with numerous pockets. Letting her skin breath without a jacket.
Above her was the remains of a human soldier, the body was ripped apart by vines from the trees.
"Little one, you must leave here now." Rather than taking the child she saved back home, Bertha resolved to send the little High Elf girl abroad. She gave her a letter with an address in the ducks.
"I don't want to go! They hurt mom and dad. Dad isn't moving anymore. Mom went to make him move again. She said she's going home!" Bertha listened to the child, but did not give comfort.
"Your father was betrayed by his people. Your mother is likely dead. If you want to have the chance to avenge them, then run." Bertha pushed the little girl outwards from the elven homeland.
"No! I'm going home no-!" Smack.
The little girl's words were interrupted by a heavy slap. The little elf held her reddened cheek.
Unable to understand what happened.
As children were loved and never hurt by adults in their homeland, this action bewildered the girl.
Unable to understand what happened.
"Leave." Bertha spoke with authority. Enough that a child like the one before her couldn't ignore.
Instead of showing pathetic clinginess, the child lowered her head in understanding. She left.
Holding her cheek in fear and helplessness.
As that little girl had strode away, Bertha turned around and entered the heart of their forest.
There, soldiers held civilian the elves at gunpoint.
"Sister…!" Bertha's twin, Girtha, screamed in hopes her voice could convey the terrors they faced.
When Bertha saw what her sister was strapped to at that point, the war between races had ended.
"…You would all die too." Bertha spoke to the soldiers that held everyone in the forest hostage.
No, the entire race itself had become captive.
What Girtha was strapped to was the radiation bomb of nuclear force. Humans called it a 'Nuke'.
They had brought a Nuke to their ally's home.
That was the end of what Bertha remembered to be their past prosperity. From there, it ruined.
The lives of the young and the old were ruined.
No, the young had never stood a chance.
To stop the prosperity from returning again, those who rebelled in their humanity showed cruelty.
Indulging in sadism and indifference.
But Bertha remembered their faces.
The flames burnt their homes to ashes, and those women who lost their husbands were mistreated.
It was a stereotypical story.
What was more human than the rejection of another's humanity? To see elves as elves.
Not people. Only cattle.
There was no way pointy-eared fossils that could bend steel had the right to be called humans.
Listen to the cries of the pointy-eared devils, and you'd realise they weren't the prophesied demons.
But purges didn't happen to promote empathy.
Insignificant as the soldiers were, they had become the perpetrators of a tragedy lasting 900 years.
Even after their death, the tragedy had continued.
Bertha didn't choose to be a bystander. She had no choice but to be passive in order to abstain mercy.
In hopes they'd spare someone.
It didn't matter if few died, all the mattered was that not everyone was shot through the skull.
That much was enough.
She didn't feel resentment towards her kind, nor did Bertha blamed the foolish short-lived species.
The old High Elf blamed herself for trusting.
To have faith that the children of good-natured humans would also be raised to be charming.
Instead, all she saw was the ugliness of man.
Quite literally, since the survivors were mostly women and only a handful of civilian men.
The time of the immemorial had ended, and the start of their eternal suffering had started.
Centuries became a near millennia.
The modernised High Elf had held hope of still being saved. Or find a route towards their survival.
Because the life they lived was no different from being dead. It'd perhaps be better to be dead.
Maybe then would they regain their freedom.
Liberty was for the people, and High Elf Bertha had never fallen for brainwashing that they were not.
Revolution will bring them liberty!
One day, that dream of liberty had came true.
Suffering was not the final era of the Elves. To save them from men, a man donned in black appeared.
His big hair and wide grin etched into the minds of the fallen Elves. He lead them out of their cages.
"Follow me!" That man spoke two words, and those once suffering from anxiety were filled with courage. The dignified hearts of the Elves had never died, and they were bound by their dreams.
No illness was able to topple the minds and bodies of those refugees. The pointy-eared prostitutes.
The first rebel towards this cage of a system that bound them for a near millennia… was a man.
Those words might have caused some unrest if it was spoken beforehand, but the situation differed.
Regardless of whether it was appropriate or not, it was the Elves who chose to accept this outcome.
They were not opportunists. When he opened the door for them, many hesitated to leave by his side.
But when the first person, Bertha, walked out of her cage to follow him, the rest did the same.
If one of them could accept him as their saviour, it would be immature for the rest to not show ego.
The initial first to follow, Bertha, became ten.
The ten who followed became twenty.
And the twenty multiplied into a hundred.
Everyone had fallen under the man's banner.
The liberator would never be forgotten by these women who knew gratitude. His face etched in.
Voice, attitude, eyes, and overall atmosphere was remembered in their memory spanning millennia.
From the flames of their undoing became the fires of insurrection. No more were they the real dolls.
When the hope of escape from the undergrounds was given, that light burned like the evening sun.
This became the story of their homecoming.
They once walked the forests as hunters, and now they walked the burning building as predators.
Their return was destiny.
The deaths of their captors was fate.
The door to the world that had been their lives throughout countless centuries had been closed.
They stood within a dungeon and embraced the survivor that had escaped all those years ago.
Bertha saw that the child was now a woman.
She was no longer dainty and plump. Those shaking eyes held a warmth beyond her years.
And with their liberation successful, the saviour they had so admired vanished into a puff of smoke.
A few days after they had rested and regained their usual faculties, they searched around for him.
Only to see he was nowhere to be found.
Bertha wasn't accepting of this. She couldn't allow their saviour to leave without giving him gratitude.
Talk to him and see him as more than a mortal.
She and many hadn't been able to get that person out of their heads. They wanted to know more.
Maybe they could be friends.
Alas, their hopes were dashed by the reality.
"Girtha died on the way here, and your saviour left through the front door to return to his roots." Talia spoke to them. Her words speaking as if this man was but a mere mercenary. He didn't deserve it.
Their love and affection weren't meant for him.
"She died…?" In light of her sister's demise in the dark, her thoughts about her hero had waned.
"I'm sorry for your loss." Talia consoled the weakened High Elf that lost strength in her legs.
Girtha might have been a frail woman, but she was still the sister of someone who everyone admired.
The grief Bertha felt became the only place they could give attention to for a while. It was too tragic.
Bertha had held on for the sake of her only sister in life. The only person she could be sincere with.
But not that beloved sibling was gone?
She hadn't cried centuries, but the notice of her sister's death was enough evoke misery.
None of them had noticed the coldness returning to Talia's eyes when they mourned their family.
The sister of their clan.
The only evidence to show what had happened not long ago was the trace of blood hid on her palm.
They did not know the story of their liberation was only the backdrop to a tragedy about betrayal.
How even though Girtha was loved by Bertha, there was one individual who deemed her as worthless.
Nothing compared to the wider arcs and stories.
It was what humans called 'the bigger picture'.
The hands bloodied by betrayal could not be washed off. One day, karma will return to her.
And enact vengeance beyond dignity.
Would the new and aspiring 'Calamity Crusher' of the current era protect her? Or will it be over fast?
The answer will one day fall in Bertha's hands.