Rytha woke up with a dull ache in his head, his body still sluggish from the events of the night before. The faint morning light filtered into the cave through the cracks, and for a brief moment, he wondered if everything he remembered was just a bizarre dream. He sat up slowly, rubbing his temples, but the strange sensations and flashes of memory still lingered faintly in the back of his mind.
Determined to shake it off, Rytha got out of bed and made his way toward the main room. The soft crackling of a fire reached his ears, accompanied by the faint smell of tea. When he entered, he found Quiver sitting on a cushioned chair with her legs tucked comfortably beneath her, her head bowed over a book.
The book's cover was black, void of decoration except for one word etched into it: Essence.
Quiver's usual armor was nowhere to be seen; instead, she wore a plain white tunic that hung loosely over her figure. For the first time, Rytha noticed just how much her appearance shifted without the imposing armor—how the soft curve of her body contrasted with her usual commanding aura. His gaze instinctively drifted downward, his cheeks immediately flushing red when he realized what he was staring at.
"When will you stop staring, boy?" Quiver's voice broke through his trance without her even looking up.
Rytha coughed awkwardly, stumbling backward a bit before snapping, "W-Why didn't you tell me you were a woman?"
Quiver finally glanced up, her expression unreadable. She gestured casually to the seat opposite her. "Sit down, Rytha."
Rytha hesitated but did as he was told, sitting stiffly on the chair while still shooting her incredulous looks. Quiver shut the book with a soft thud, placing it beside her.
"Not many people know I'm actually a… woman," she said, the words slipping out almost hesitantly. Her eyes narrowed slightly, as though reflecting on something long buried. "And not many know I'm also not the real Quiver."
The weight of that statement hung in the air, crashing down on Rytha like a boulder. His eyes widened, his mind racing to process what he just heard. "What… what do you mean you're not the real Quiver? You're a saint, aren't you?"
"I am," Quiver answered with a faint, melancholic smile. She leaned back into her chair, her gaze drifting toward the flames of the fire as if searching for answers within them. "But titles… they can be deceiving."
Rytha didn't know what to say, so he simply stared, waiting for her to continue. After a long pause, Quiver exhaled deeply, her fingers tapping the armrest of her chair in thought.
"Listen closely," she finally said, her tone softer but heavy with importance. "I will tell you a story of two brothers. This is not a tale I share lightly."
Rytha leaned forward unconsciously, drawn in by the solemn atmosphere.
"Many years ago, there were two brothers born on the same day," Quiver began. "Both were destined for greatness—or so it was believed. The firstborn child had green eyes, vibrant and full of life. The second had purple eyes, the mark of something… otherworldly."
Rytha tilted his head. "Purple eyes… like yours?"
Quiver nodded faintly but didn't elaborate further. "The firstborn, the one with green eyes, was given away at birth. He was sent to a powerful elven clan as part of an alliance—a political move between continents. That clan, known as the Sáverine Elven Court, was one of the most formidable in the Elven Kingdom, but also one of the most ruthless."
Rytha felt a chill run down his spine. "They gave away their own child?"
Quiver's expression darkened. "Sacrifice for power is a common practice among the elite." She paused, then continued. "The firstborn was named Garumi Shirohaga. He was raised far from home, subjected to the harshest training imaginable. The elves were masters of wind magic, but Garumi was… different. He lacked their affinity for magic, and for that, he was scorned, beaten, and molded into something cold. Something unrelenting."
Rytha's chest tightened as he imagined the boy enduring such cruelty.
"And what of the second brother?" he asked quietly.
Quiver's gaze met his, her purple eyes carrying a weight that felt ancient. "The second brother was named Quiver Shirohaga."
Rytha blinked in confusion, staring at her. "Wait… you mean—"
"Yes," she interrupted. "The name I carry belonged to the younger brother. The real Quiver Shirohaga."
Rytha felt his mind reel. "Then… who are you?"
"I'll get to that," she said, waving his question off for now. "Unlike Garumi, the younger brother Quiver was raised with everything. The finest magic tutors, combat masters, books filled with the world's knowledge… everything he could ever need to become the perfect heir." She paused, her eyes clouded with unspoken thoughts. "But power… power does not choose sides. It does not care for lineage or birthright."
Rytha leaned back slightly, trying to comprehend the implications of her words. "What happened to them? The brothers?"
Quiver's lips pressed into a thin line. "They crossed paths, and when they did…" Her voice trailed off as though she were weighing how much to say. Finally, she added, "The clash of their fates was inevitable, but the story is far from over."
Rytha stared at her, his curiosity burning brighter than ever. "But why are you carrying Quiver's name? What happened to him?"
Quiver didn't answer immediately. Instead, she turned her gaze back to the fire, the glow flickering across her face. "That, Rytha, is a story for another time."
The silence that followed was thick and heavy, leaving Rytha feeling as though he were only glimpsing the edge of a much darker truth.
As he sat there, the flames crackling between them, Rytha couldn't help but feel as though the shadows of the past were creeping closer—ready to swallow them whole.
Quiver, still staring into the fire, murmured softly, almost to herself.
"The tale of two brothers is not just a story, Rytha. It's a warning."
Rytha's throat went dry as he felt an invisible weight settle on his shoulders. He knew, deep down, that whatever came next would change everything he thought he understood.
The fire crackled louder, the shadows dancing wildly on the walls of the cave. Outside, the wind howled, as if mourning a long-forgotten truth.
And in the silence that followed, Rytha heard his master's final whisper, a chilling promise that sent a shiver through his very soul.
"This world does not need heirs. It needs something… more."
End of Chapter 27