Oliver sighed, staring blankly at the letter in his hands. He had been reading it over and over, hoping to make sense of it, but every word felt more cryptic than the last. Why can't I understand this? He pressed on, hoping the teacher had left something more, something he could grasp.
At the very least, he thought, maybe I'll find something that makes me look a little less clueless.
His eyes scanned a passage, though it offered little clarity. "What can I say about the two sisters?" it began. "They're such a mystery. Both of them royal, but neither of them acting the part. If you have any spare time, lend me a hand with them, will you? I'm completely out of ideas."
Oliver frowned, puzzled. The teacher had always spoken in riddles, but this felt different; more distant, more disconnected.
"And your junior apprentice, Aegnor," the letter continued, "what can I say? Don't be too hard on him. It wasn't his fault, it was mine. I volunteered for it."
Volunteered? Oliver thought, his brow furrowing deeper. For what?
The letter rambled on about an ancient technique. "What Aegnor used wasn't anything extraordinary. It's just that our power as elves is... unique. We're mostly composed of elements, apart from the blessings we receive. So reviving someone using a gem infused with another's soul isn't impossible; it's just... rare. And dangerous. We haven't attempted it in ages, so it's no surprise no one wants to try it anymore."
Despite the casual tone, Oliver couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. The words seemed carefree, but there was an undercurrent of regret. He could almost picture his old teacher, with her constant smirk and sharp tongue, still very much alive, teasing him from across the room.
And then, as if reading his thoughts, the letter shifted.
"Of course, I saved the last part for you, Oliver."
His heart skipped a beat. He had been waiting for this; what would she say to him? He could hardly contain his anticipation.
"I'm sorry," the letter began, and his chest tightened. "I left without saying goodbye. I'm sure it worried you. I truly apologize."
The apology seemed to echo in his mind, as if the teacher herself were standing in front of him, voice soft, but her presence fading.
"I know it's too late for you to see this now, but I'm sorry for making you worry."
A pause. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat growing.
"Now, I'm going to nag a bit. Feel free to skip this part if you'd like."
His lips twitched into a bittersweet smile. Always the same, he thought.
"Make sure to eat three proper meals every day. Don't be lazy; dress warmly in the winter and take off your heavy clothes in the summer. Go to bed early, wake up early, and don't eat too many sweets. They'll ruin your teeth."
Oliver could almost hear the ticking of the clock in the silence that followed. His hands trembled, and he blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill.
"And stop eating so fast! No one's going to steal your food," the letter scolded. "Oh, and make sure you find someone you like. When you do, promise me you'll tell me. I want to know."
His throat tightened further, and his hands shook as he continued to read.
"I think you'd look better in long clothes," the letter added. "And that mask of yours; change it. It's too scary."
The paper crinkled slightly under his grip, and he realized he was holding the letter with just one hand now, the other having dropped to his side in numb disbelief.
"There's not much time left," the letter went on. "I can't let anyone find this place, so I'll stop here. Don't say I'm just an old woman nagging."
You are our old woman, he thought bitterly.
"Goodbye, my apprentice."
The final words hit him like a punch to the chest. He had been running, fleeing, emotions buried deep under layers of instinct and survival. But now, facing these familiar words from someone he had lost, it was too much to bear. The dam broke, and the tears he had so carefully kept hidden spilled over.
In front of others, Oliver was always composed; laughing, arguing, showing his feelings as though nothing could touch him. But he never cried. He had learned long ago that tears were a luxury he couldn't afford.
But now, in the solitude of this moment, there was no one to hold them back for. No one left to impress or reassure. She was gone; the one person who had told him it was okay to cry had left him behind.
The tears dripped onto the letter, smudging the ink. He bit down hard on his lip to keep from making a sound, his hand swiping at the wetness on his face in a futile effort to stop it.
It was only now, as the salty droplets blurred his vision, that the truth hit him fully. She was really gone. Gone, like the stars falling from the sky, destined to rise again; but not here, not with him.
And all that remained were these fragments; her words, her guidance, still glowing, still shining, even in the vast darkness she left behind.
Oliver carefully folded the teacher's notes, tucking them securely into his travel bag. The cave was silent as he stepped outside, greeted by the cool embrace of nightfall. The stars above blinked like distant memories, indifferent to the weight in his heart. He took a deep breath. There was nothing left to do now but rest. Tomorrow would bring its own challenges, but tonight, he needed sleep.
"As for the future," he murmured to himself, "we'll figure it out. Just do your best, right?"
---
In another quiet room, Aegnor sat alone at his desk, surrounded by an almost suffocating silence. He fidgeted with a small badge, its sharp edge cutting into his palm without him even noticing. His thoughts were a tangled mess, swirling like leaves caught in a storm.
"This is such a mess," he muttered, the sound of his voice bouncing off the walls. "I can't say anything... not really."
The empty room gave no answers. It wasn't that he couldn't speak the truth, he just didn't have the courage to. The teacher had never forbidden him from explaining, but the truth was... too much. Too strange. Too unbelievable. He wasn't sure Oliver would understand.
But more than that, he didn't want to be misunderstood. He didn't want his feelings to get twisted into something they weren't. He clenched the badge harder, even as the edge cut deeper into his skin.
Perhaps, somewhere along the way, he had fallen for Oliver; not as some means of comfort or because he needed someone to connect him to the outside world. No, it was simpler than that. He just... liked him. And that made everything more complicated.
"Why does the world have to be so difficult?" he sighed, his voice heavy with frustration. "Why can't things ever just... be better?"
---
In another part of the world, Nisha curled up beside her sister, her voice barely a whisper. "Sister... I miss the teacher."
An, her older sister, didn't hesitate. "I miss her too." There was no pretense in her voice. She reached over, gently brushing Nisha's hair away from her face.
"Sister," Nisha asked quietly, "do you think... one day, humans and elves will live together, like in the fairy tales?"
An paused, her hand still resting on her sister's head. "When the day comes that fairy tales become real."
Nisha pouted. "You're just talking nonsense."
"Maybe," An admitted with a soft chuckle. "But honestly, I don't know."
The two sisters huddled together, gazing up at the sky in shared silence. The soft fragrance of herbs wafted through the room from the corner where their potion-making equipment sat, its subtle scent calming their restless hearts. Outside, the road stretched out, empty, waiting for someone; someone worthy, to walk it. But whoever that was remained a mystery.
Above them, the night sky shimmered. The moon hung high, casting a gentle white light over the world below, while the stars twinkled like tiny, scattered diamonds. Yet, even surrounded by all those stars, the moon felt a lonely presence, only truly illuminated by the distant sun.
It had always been like this; lonely, despite all the light.
---
"Where do you think Oliver is now?" Enola asked, glancing over at her companions.
Chris shrugged, sipping from a cup of water. "Doesn't matter, as long as he's alive."
Lesley, who had remained silent, furrowed his brow. He had been curious about Oliver, sure, but he hadn't expected to get caught up in this whirlwind of events. It was all too much, unexpected and overwhelming.
"Should we try to find him?" Lesley asked, a trace of hesitation in his voice.
"Of course," Enola replied, "but not yet. We need to prepare first. Gather whatever you think might be useful for the journey. There's no rush."
The others nodded in agreement, each lost in their thoughts. Enola didn't know how much time they had, but she knew they couldn't afford to waste it.
---
Tom stood by the window, his gaze fixed on the vast night sky. "It's strange," he murmured. "When I first arrived here, the night looked just like this. But back then, all I could hear were the cries of humans; so many of them, ravaged by hunger and disease. It was like a living hell."
The elf beside him, one who had seen it all before, shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, didn't you bring that hell upon them?"
Tom chuckled, though there was no humor in it. "Maybe. But no one can force that kind of suffering on everyone at once. Not even me."
The elf smirked. "True, but when a group ignites the flames of anger, it's not just the guilty who burn, is it?"
Tom turned to him, his eyes empty, devoid of desire or ambition. "No, you're right," he said with a bitter smile. "The innocent always get caught in the flames too."
The elf said nothing, his eyes narrowing slightly as he considered the man before him. There was something in Tom; a spark, perhaps. A reason he hadn't yet disbanded the Black Crows. Something deeper, hidden behind that cold exterior.
But for now, it remained just that; a spark, flickering faintly in the darkness.