Chapter 117 - 116: What Remains of Her

Chapter 117: Chapter 116: What Remains of Her Later - Village square Krivex stood beside his Lord, eyes following the elf women as they disappeared behind the lodging doors. Silence lingered between them, thick with questions. "My Lord... what’s the plan?" he finally asked. "What do we do with them?" Lumberling exhaled slowly, rubbing the tension from his temples. "I don’t know yet. We’ll do what we can. For now, make sure everyone follows. No one is to provoke or interfere with the elves. Not a word. Not a glance." Krivex nodded, his expression hardening. "Understood." Lumberling’s voice dropped lower. "Also... send word to Skitz and the others. Have them return immediately. I want everything they can dig up on Sylra’s past." Krivex gave a quick salute and melted into the shadows. Lumberling remained, alone beneath the darkening sky, the village square hushed and still. He stared upward, the clouds thickening above. He’d chosen to save Sylra months ago. But was it the right choice? Now they were entangled with an Earl’s wrath... and the fury of a different race. Elves. Mages. He didn’t have answers. But this was the weight of a single choice. The past had finally caught up with Sylra. And now... it demanded justice. Or blood. ..... The Next Morning Lumberling stood in the early light, shadows still stretching across the earth. He called for Jen and Celine. "We’re going to speak with the elves," he said quietly, his voice low but steady. "I need your help." Jen tilted her head, blinking sleep from her eyes. "Brother... we’re really meeting them? The ones like Sylra?" He nodded. "Yes. And I need you both to speak for her. You spent more time with her than I did. You saw how she lived, how she changed. They need to hear that, from someone who actually knew her." Jen looked at Celine, searching her face for hesitation. But there was only calm resolve. Celine nodded. "We understand. Leave it to us." The three of them set off, the path to where the elves’ stayed. When they reached them, Lumberling slowed. A line of warding stones marked the boundary, carved with runes that hummed faintly in the morning air. Just beyond, the elves stood waiting. Poised. Still. Watchful. At their front was the green-haired elf, Thessalia, her hand resting on the hilt of a curved blade slung across her back. Her gaze locked on Lumberling, cold and sharp. "You again, human," she said, arms crossed. Lumberling didn’t flinch. He nodded his head slightly, then gestured to the two women beside him. "I’ve brought those who knew Sylra best. This is Jen. And Celine. They lived with her these past months. They can tell you about Sylra." Silence stretched. Then a voice, clear and cool as water, rose from within the elven group, the blue-haired one who had spoken little before. "Let them enter." The warding stones shimmered faintly as they stepped aside. Then the blue-haired elf stepped forward, Sylra trailing just behind her, silent, distant as always, her hand nestled tightly in hers. Her presence radiated quiet grace, but her gaze, sharp and unblinking, lingered on Jen and Celine, as though weighing every unspoken truth behind their eyes. "Thank you... for taking care of my friend," she said at last, her voice soft, yet carrying the calm weight of a still storm. Her fingers curled tighter around Sylra’s hand, as though anchoring them both to the moment. The words caught them off guard. Even Lumberling’s eyes flickered with surprise. Jen hesitated, then gently cleared her throat. "Um... how should we address you?" The elf turned her head slightly, the sun brushing the edges of her beauty. "My name is Vaenyra Syltharien." She offered no titles. No explanations. Only the name, and it was enough. They stepped inside the house. Jen and Celine began to speak, voices quiet but earnest. They told her of Sylra’s strange habits, how she would curl her fingers unconsciously, as if clutching something long gone. How they tried to cheer her up, to heal whatever had broken inside her. But it was like trying to warm a statue. Sylra rarely made an expression. Barely spoke. Vaenyra listened in silence, her expression unreadable. But her hand unconsciously tightening around Sylra’s. They spoke of feeding her, keeping her company, letting her sit in silence when words felt too heavy. Nothing brought her back. Except one thing. "Evelyn," Celine whispered, glancing down at her arms as though her child were still there. "Whenever my baby laughed, Sylra’s eyes would flicker, just a little. A blink. A breath. It was the only time she ever seemed... alive, as if the sound of new life stirred something buried beneath her eyes." Vaenyra blinked, taken aback for a moment. Then a soft smile touched her lips. "If it’s alright... may I see your baby too?" "Of course," Celine said, her expression warming. "She’s beautiful, and endlessly cute." Lumberling stood quietly, arms folded, listening without interruption. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. Their words were enough. Vaenyra spoke again, there was sorrow in her voice. And something else, something gentler. "...Thank you. Truly. For everything you’ve done for her." Vaenyra’s voice softened. "I tried reaching her again yesterday... but her wounds run deep. Far deeper than even I can touch. Perhaps... it will take much more time before she finds her way back to herself." Then, her gaze turned, finally, to Lumberling. "And I’m sorry. For our actions yesterday. I’ve searched for Sylra for years... and when we found her, I wasn’t thinking clearly. You saved her. Truly. For that, you have my deepest thanks." Lumberling nodded slowly. "I understand." He hesitated, then asked, "Are you from the Empire of the Aetherborn?" "Yes," Vaenyra replied. "We reside in that Empire." "Are there other races there? Besides elves and humans?" She shook her head. "No. Only the two." Lumberling nodded again, falling into silence. He had more questions, many more, but now wasn’t the time. Not while their emotions still lingered so close to the surface. These were mages. The very people he had long searched for. But for now, he would wait. Let the storm settle first. ..... In the silence that followed, Vaenyra’s thoughts drifted, backward, inward, into memories too sacred to share. Sylra had once been more than a friend. She was light. A girl of no noble name, no storied bloodline, yet brighter than any lineage Vaenyra had ever known. They’d met as children, back when Vaenyra still wore her hair in unruly braids, before duty and titles had dulled her joy. Sylra’s laughter had been like sunlight filtered through the trees, warm, irreverent, untamed. But time, as it always did, had drawn a cruel line between them. Vaenyra had been sent away to a noble academy. Sylra had remained behind. Years passed. And when Vaenyra finally returned, eager to reunite, she found only ashes. Sylra’s home had been razed. Her family, slaughtered by pirates. The destruction had been swift and complete. No survivors. No graves. Only rumors whispered by wind and ruin. Fury had ignited in her chest like wildfire. She rallied her warriors and gave chase, across coasts, across seas, hunting the pirates down one by one. No quarter was given. No plea was heard. She became a storm of vengeance, and the sea ran red in her wake. And then, as the last of them lay dying, blood bubbling on his lips, he whispered words that turned her rage into ice: "We sold her." Sylra. The girl she thought long dead. Sold to human merchants from a foreign empire. That was the moment hope twisted into unyielding resolve. She chased every whisper, clung to every broken trail, piecing together a path across foreign lands. One step after another, she crossed into the Pentaline empire, facing resistance at every turn. City by city, she and her companions carved a bloody path forward, clashing with the knights of the Pentaline Empire. The ongoing war with Sengolio worked to her advantage, drawing attention away from her movements, opening cracks in the empire’s armor. But their actions marked them as fugitives. Hunted. Hounded. And still, Sylra remained out of reach. The more blood they spilled, the fainter her hope became. Doubt crept in. Perhaps Sylra truly had died long ago. Perhaps this chase was only madness cloaked in duty. Weary, they fled into the Blackroot Forest, to vanish from the empire’s gaze, if only for a while. And then... they found this village. Strange. Quiet. Hidden from the world. And in that moment, beneath weathered trees and unfamiliar sky, Vaenyra saw her again. Sylra. Alive, but broken. She didn’t speak of any of this. Not yet. She only stood still, her expression unreadable, as Jen and Celine began recounting the girl’s habits she’d kept, the silences she’d fallen into, the shadows she could not shake. Vaenyra closed her eyes as they spoke. Letting their words become memory. Letting grief come quietly. Letting herself remember the last warmth Sylra had once given her, before the world took it away.