Chapter 9 - Meara, The Tavern Keeper

The larger man's jaw worked, his scarred face twisting into something ugly and mean. For a moment, it looked like he might actually swing—but then a voice cut through from behind the bar.

"Hey!" All heads turned toward the source—a red-haired girl who appeared to be a bit shorter than Sylvanie stood with her arms crossed as she stood in front of the bar. "Grog!" She stomped forward, her brown boots echoing throughout the tavern as her black and white barmaid's outfit flailed as she moved, her yellow eyes narrowing at the oversized man.

Oreon blinked for a moment. "Lena?" His eyes rose at the sound of her voice as he caught her stomping towards them.

Lena—the barmaid—stopped just short of Grog, planting her hands on her hips as she glared up at him despite being significantly shorter. "Are you deaf or just dumb today?" She snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. "Just what the hell do you think you're doing?" Lena questioned him.

Grog turned his head slowly toward her, his expression shifting from anger to annoyance. "Stay outta this, brat. This ain't none of your business—"

"No, but it is mine—" Another voice came from the back as the sound completely stopped, and the residents who took up the tavern quickly turned their heads to look at the back side of the tavern, where the kitchen door was. Standing there was an elderly woman, her weathered face framed by thick auburn hair streaked with gray, her eyes holding a hint of weariness. Her body appeared to be that of an elderly lady, but her slightly muscular arms betrayed any thought that she was defenseless. Her brown eyes scanned the room, her eyes locking onto Oreon's for a brief moment before drawing attention to Grog and his men.

The old woman walked forward with slow, deliberate steps. Despite her age, there was an undeniable presence about her—something that made even Grog take a half step back.

"Now then..." She said quietly, her voice carrying an authority that didn't need volume. "Would someone care to explain why my establishment is about to be turned into a brawling pit?" Her gaze swept across Grog and his companions before settling on the large man himself. "Well? I know I spoke loud enough?"

"Meara...I..." Grog's voice lost some of its bravado, though he tried to maintain his posture. "We were just—" He stammered, suddenly looking far less intimidating than he had moments before.

"You were just what?" The old woman interrupted, her tone deceptively gentle. "Harassing paying customers? Making a scene in my tavern? Or perhaps you were about to start a fight that would end with my furniture broken and blood on my floors?"

Grog opened his mouth, then closed it again, his face flushing red. "I...They're elves, Meara." He finally managed, gesturing roughly toward Celestia and Sylvanie. "Slaves, by the look of 'em. Ain't right, them walkin' in here like—"

"Like what?" Meara cut him off sharply, her brown eyes narrowing. "Like people? Like customers who might need a room and a meal?" She took another step forward; her hands held casually behind her back. "Last I checked, this was my establishment, and I decide who's welcome here. Not you."

Grog's mouth opened and closed a few times, his scarred face reddening. "I—They're elves, Meara! This boy here walked in with—"

"I can see perfectly well who walked through my door." Meara cut him off sharply, her brown eyes narrowing. "And unless you've suddenly become the proprietor of this establishment, I don't recall asking for your opinion on who is and isn't welcome here."

Grog's jaw clenched, his pride clearly warring with the reality of who he was dealing with. However, his attitude remained unchanged. "Meara...They're knife ears, you know they aren't—"

"Say it again," Meara warned, her voice dropping a bit, and suddenly the air in the room felt heavier. She stepped even closer to Grog, craning her neck to look up at him, staring at him coldly despite the height difference. "Go on, repeat yourself; I swear I believe with my old age; my hearing isn't what it used to be."

Grog swallowed hard, his bravado crumbling under the weight of Meara's stare. He shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting to his companions—who suddenly found the floor very interesting.

I...I didn't mean..." He stammered, his voice losing its edge entirely.

"Didn't mean what?" Meara pressed, not giving him an inch. "Didn't mean to insult my guests? Didn't mean to threaten violence in my tavern? Or didn't mean to make yourself look like a complete fool in front of everyone here?" She paused, letting the silence hang heavy for a moment. "Because you've successfully managed all three in the span of a few moments."

The tavern remained deathly quiet—only the crackling sound from the fireplace could be heard.

Lena stood off to the side, her arms now crossed with a satisfied smirk on her face as she watched Grog squirm under Meara's gaze.

Sylvanie felt a flicker of respect for the old woman. She glanced at Celestia, who met her eyes briefly—there was surprise there too, as she tried to maintain a neutral composure.

Oreon, still supported between the two elves, let out a slow breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"Now then," Meara continued, her tone returning to normal. "Before you take your poor mannerisms out of my tavern, clean up that spit off my floor."

Grog's face went from red to nearly purple, his humiliation complete. For a moment, he looked like he might argue—his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides—but one more glance at Meara's unwavering expression killed whatever protest he had brewing.

"You...You can't be serious—" he started, but Meara simply raised an eyebrow, making it abundantly clear that she was, in fact, deadly serious.

"Would you prefer I ban you permanently instead?" she asked mildly, as if discussing the weather. "Because I assure you, Grog, I have no qualms about doing exactly that. Your coin spends the same as anyone else's, but it's not worth the headache you bring with it."

Grog's jaw worked silently for a moment, his pride clearly at war with common sense. Finally, with a grunt of frustration, he bent down stiffly and wiped at the spit with a rag that he pulled from his pocket—a half-hearted attempt at best, but enough to satisfy the bare minimum of Meara's demand.

"There," He muttered through gritted teeth, straightening back up. "Happy?"

"Thrilled," Meara replied dryly, her expression unchanging. "Now get out. And take your friends with you, I don't have patience for disrespect in my tavern."

Grog's face twisted into something ugly—humiliation and anger warring across his scarred features—but he knew better than to push his luck any further. With a sharp jerk of his head, he motioned to his cohorts. The two men quickly scrambled to their feet, clearly eager to leave before things got worse. "...Come on...Let's get out of here before the knife-ears cast a spell on us or something." He spoke with disgust.

As they made their way toward the door, Grog paused just long enough to shoot Oreon with a venomous glare. "This ain't over, kid, not by a long shot." He said quietly, his voice was low enough that only Oreon and the sisters could hear.

"Looking forward to it," Oreon replied flatly, meeting his gaze without flinching despite the pain still radiating from his ankle.

The door slammed shut behind them, and for a moment, the tavern remained silent...until someone let out a low whistle from one of the corner tables.

"Well then," Lena said brightly, breaking the tension as she clapped her hands together. "That was fun! Anyone else wanna try their luck tonight?" She glanced around the room with a cheeky grin—but no one seemed eager to test Meara's patience any further.

The other patrons quickly returned to their drinks and conversations, the hum of the tavern gradually returning to its previous rhythm. A few curious glances still drifted toward Oreon and the two elves, but the open hostility had evaporated.

Meara let out a small sigh before turning her attention to the trio, her brown eyes softening just slightly as she took in Oreon's pained expression. "Well now," she said, her tone considerably gentler than it had been moments before. "You look like you've had a rough out there."

"That's putting it mildly..." Oreon replied, the exhaustion evident in his voice.

Meara nodded almost imperceptibly, never taking her eyes off of them. "Lena." She called out.

"On it!" After a swift response, Lena took Sylvanie's place and gently put Oreon's arm over her shoulder. "I'll take it from here," she said, eyeing the sisters for a moment, locking her gaze with them for a moment before glancing back down to Oreon. "By the gods, look at you, what did you get yourself into this time?" 

"You know, the usual," Oreon let out a weak chuckle, wincing as Lena shifted his weight. "Would you believe me if I said it was just bad luck?"

"Not even for a second," Lena shot back, her warm tone filled with sarcasm. She glanced down at his ankle, her expression turning serious. "That looks nasty...how long have you been walking on it?"

"Long enough," Oreon admitted, teeth clenching.

Rolling her eyes, she guided Oreon towards the back. "Come on, let's get you in the back before you do something else we told you not to do."

Celestia watched as Lena guided Oreon away, her blue eyes following them with a bit of concern. She took a small step forward, as if to follow, but hesitated—uncertain if she should or even if she'd be welcome to.

Her sister, however, had no such reservations. "Hold on—" She started, her voice sharp as she took a step forward, causing Meara to direct her gaze towards them.

"Don't cause a fuss," Meara stated firmly as she turned her back to them. "You two come along as well, I believe you've been gawked at enough," Meara stated calmly, already heading in the same direction as Lena and Oreon.

"But..." Celestia spoke up softly, followed by a shaky sigh. "My apologies, but we don't have anything to give you." She lowered her gaze, causing Meara to stop for a moment, keeping her eyes forward.

"Did I ask for payment?" Meara spoke firmly; her comment was met with silence. "You brought the boy here, believe it or not. That's good enough for me." She said as she continued her walk towards the backroom. "Now come, you'll need to be patched up as well."

Surprise was evident on the faces of both Celestia and Sylvanie as they exchanged a glance. Both sisters were questioning whether it was a good idea to follow behind the elderly lady or not.

Meara stopped halfway towards the door, her hands still behind her back, glancing behind her at the two elves. "Save your suspicions for later, come and heal your wounds now, or continue standing here being gawked at. Your choice. "She said as she walked through the door in the back of the tavern.

Celestia's fingers twitched at her sides, her instinct to follow warring with the caution that had kept her alive through everything she'd endured. Sylvanie, however, let out a quiet scoff—though there was no real malice in it.

"Well..." Sylvanie muttered under her breath, glancing sideways at her sister. "What's the worst that could happen? We were already slaves." Her tone was dry, almost bitter, but there was a hint of dark humor in her voice.

"Now is not the time, Sylvanie," Celestia replied, but Sylvanie shrugged, already moving toward the door Meara had disappeared through.

Celestia hesitated for only a heartbeat longer before following her sister before following her. The moment they stepped through the doorway, the atmosphere shifted—the noise of the tavern faded to a muffled hum behind them.

The back room was surprisingly spacious, lined with shelves stocked with various supplies—bandages, salves, bottles of herbs, and other medicinal ingredients. A large wooden table sat in the center, and nearby. Lena was already helping Oreon settle onto a sturdy chair, carefully propping his injured ankle up on a small stool.

"Alright, now let's get a good look at that ankle," Lena said, staring at it for a semi-long moment, before quickly grabbing to see if it was broken, causing Oreon to howl in hilarious pain.

"Ah! Lena—what the hell!" Oreon yelped, his hands gripping the sides of the chair. "A little warning would have been nice!"

"Oh, stop acting like a baby!" Lena shot back. "You're lucky it's not broken—just badly sprained." She prodded at it again, more gently this time, though Oreon still winced. "You've been walking on this for long?"

"A few hours at best." Oreon winced again through his teeth. "Didn't really have time to stop and rest..."

Lena rolled her eyes at the response. "Stubborn idiot," She turned her head towards him, crossing her arms. "What were you out there doing this time? Taking on bandits? Stopping Order caravans?"

"Um...Well...No, not exactly." Oreon scratched the back of his head nervously. "I...Um,"

"He broke into the Order's stronghold some miles away from here," Sylvanie remarked, crossing her arms and sounding blunt.

Lena's head snapped toward Sylvanie so fast it was a wonder she didn't give herself whiplash. Her eyes went wide, her mouth falling open in disbelief.

"He did WHAT?!" She practically shrieked, whirling back to Oreon with a look of anger and disbelief. "Are you out of your damn mind?! The Order?! You broke into the Order's stronghold?!"

"I—well—" Oreon stammered, his face flushing red as he tried to find the words. "You see...I well...I just..."

"You just what?!" Lena threw her hands up in the air. "Just thought you'd waltz into one of the most heavily guarded places in the region! Gods above, Oreon, what were you thinking?!"

Oreon slightly turned his gaze away from her, his eyes looking at the ground. "I had my reasons..." He said in a low voice, but still heard by everyone in the room.

"Reasons?! There's nothing reasonable about breaking into the Order's stronghold, Oreon! You're lucky that you even made it out of that place alive at all!" She added as Meara stared at him for a moment before turning her head towards the two elves and then back to Oreon once again, letting out a small sigh.

"You are indeed your mother's child." She said with a light smile as she took a step forward. "Lena, please go grab the herbs from the garden; I'll take care of things from here."

"But Grandmother," Lena whined.

"No buts," Meara said firmly, though her tone wasn't unkind. "Go. I'll need fresh Moonbell and silverleaf—and don't dawdle."

Lena opened her mouth as if to argue, but one look at Meara's expression told her it would be pointless. She huffed, shooting Oreon one last exasperated glare before stomping toward the back door.

"We're not done talking about this..." She called over her shoulder before disappearing outside.

The room fell into heavy silence once Lena was gone. Meara moved with slow, deliberate steps toward a nearby shelf, her weathered hands reaching for a small jar of salve.

"You'll have to forgive my granddaughter," Meara spoke calmly. "She can be a bit emotional sometimes, theatrical, especially with this foolish boy."

"...Meara..." Oreon let out in a whisper.

"Oh, hush, boy, every time you go out there, I pray that death doesn't take you." She said, grabbing the jar off the shelf. "And yet, here you are again—walking through that door with fresh wounds and fresh trouble. "Meara's voice was steady, but worry was clearly spoken in it as she slowly knelt beside his ankle. "Your mother would have my head if she knew half of the things you've gotten yourself into. Although I can't say she was any different."

Oreon shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his gaze remaining on the floor. "I'm sorry..." He muttered quietly. "I didn't mean to worry you."

"And yet you do," Meara replied, her tone softer now as she carefully began applying the salve to his swollen ankle. Her movements were gentle as she pressed on certain sides, almost as if she had done this plenty of times before. "Every single time," She sighs as she glances back at the two elves standing by the door, who look at the two watching the exchange in silence. "And not only that, but you also bring the daughters of Vel'Andria to my doorstep."

Celestia's breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening in shock. Beside her, Sylvanie tensed immediately, her hand instinctively sticking out to her side, ready to summon her scythe.

"How...." Celestia started, her voice barely above a whisper. "How do you—"

"Know you are?" Meara didn't look up from Oreon's injured ankle, her hands continuing her work as she spoke. "I may be old, but I've lived long enough to know your mother's features when I see them. I knew exactly who you were the second you stepped into my tavern." She continued to apply salve to Oreon's ankle. "Xalith was a remarkable woman—beautiful, fierce, and far too clever for her own good."

Sylvanie's eyes narrowed, her hand slightly dropping, but she remained on her guard. "You knew our mother?" She asked with a bit of suspicion in her voice.

"I did," Meara confirmed, her tone neutral. "Though it's been many years since we last spoke. She used to visit before her untimely passing." Meara's voice saddened a bit as she finally finished applying the salve and slowly rose to her feet, her joints protesting slightly with her movements. "She would always talk about her daughters, Princess Celestia, and you as well, Princess Sylvanie."

"We're not princesses anymore," Sylvanie said sharply, her voice bitter as the truth remained hurtful to her. "Not since—"

"Since the Order destroyed Vel'Andria and enslaved those they could? I'm well aware," Meara finished for her, her expression unreadable as she reached towards the shelf again, pulling down a roll of clean bandages. "The fall of Vel'Andria was felt far beyond your borders, child. The world is a darker place without it."

Celestia's hands trembled slightly at her sides. "Then you understand why we cannot simply—" She paused, taking a shaky breath. "Why we can't trust so easily anymore?"

"I understand perfectly," Meara replied, her tone remaining neutral. "Trust is a luxury that none of us can no longer afford." She turned her attention back to Oreon, beginning to wrap his ankle with practiced efficiency. "But standing in my doorway like frightened animals won't do you any good either..."

Sylvanie let out a low, humorous laugh while waving her hand dismissively. "Oh, silly old woman. We're not—"

"You are," Meara interrupted gently, though her words carried weight to them. "And you have every right to be. We are all afraid." She emphasized finally finishing wrapping Oreon's ankle.

"There," Meara said, giving the bandage one final pat before stepping back. "That should hold for now. Keep off it as much as you can, boy. And for the love of the gods, stop throwing yourself into danger like you're invincible."

"Thanks, Meara," Oreon let out an exhausted sigh. 'I'll...Try."

"You'll do more than try," Meara said firmly. She looked down at him, her expression hardening for a moment. "Now, remove your shirt. I can see the cuts and bruises all over you." She turned away from him for a moment, glancing at the two sisters. "And you two, sit; you will need your wounds tended to as well." She finished as Oreon sat there in his seat, with a hard look on his face, not wanting to remove his shirt again, knowing the scars on his back.

Oreon's jaw tightened, his hands gripping the edge of the chair. "I'm...fine," he said quietly, though his voice lacked conviction. "Really, Meara. It's nothing serious—"

"Boy." Meara's voice cut through his complaints as she turned to face him fully, her gaze sharp and unyielding. "I've known you since you were barely tall enough to reach my counter. Don't insult me by lying now." She stated as both Celestia and Sylvanie sat down, as Meara went back to the shelf, grabbing another jar. "Since when did little ones become so mouthy?" She asked as Oreon slowly removed his shirt, this time the Elven sisters catching the full scale of what they had previously seen. The glimpse that they had caught when Oreon's shirt had lifted in the woods was nothing compared to what they actually saw now. Scars reaching from his lower back to his shoulder blades, a symphony of whip marks and gashes across his back that showed repeated beatings.

Celestia's breath hitched audibly, her hand moving to her mouth as her eyes widened in horror. Beside her, Sylvanie copied her sister's reaction. Both had only caught a glimpse earlier, but now the full scale of Oreon's back now imprinted in their mind.

As their eyes took in the scene, Lena came walking through the door. "Hey, I got the—Oh," she said as her expression dropped, as she quietly closed the door. "Grandmother, I got the stuff that you asked for," Lena said softly, setting the basket down on the table beside her.

"Good," Meara replied as she kept her gaze on Oreon, who remained quiet. "Lean forward." She instructed him.

Oreon hesitated for only a moment before doing as he was told, leaning forward slightly to give Meara better access to his back. His jaw was clenched tight, his eyes fixed on the floor as if refusing to meet anyone's gaze.

"Lena," Meara calmly called out. "Start mixing the silverleaf with the rest of the Salve, and once you're done, mix the Moonbell with the water from the Silver Springs. It'll help these three heal faster and clear their exhaustion."

Lena nodded silently, her usual energy subdued as she moved to the table and began working. The sound of grinding herbs filled the quiet room, a soft, rhythmic noise that somehow made the silence feel heavier.

Meara dipped her fingers into the fresh salve that she opened and slowly began to apply it over the scars and some bruises and cuts on Oreon's body. He flinched at the first touch, his shoulders tensing, but he didn't pull away.

"Do they know?" Meara asked him calmly as Oreon just slowly nodded his head in silence, causing Meara to continue at a steady pace. "Fate is always unusual." She began. "Alaric, the purifier, the man who was behind the fall of Vel'Andria, and also the same man who put scars on his son. However, the former is not a secret to the region, but the latter is only known by the Order itself." She continued to trace his scars along his back.

"Yeah, we crossed the bridge of that conversation," Sylvanie replied, crossing her arms as she kept her eyes glued to Oreon. "Never in my life did I think that the son of the purifier would come and break our chains. Irony is putting it lightly."

"I agree," Celestia added, her hands resting in her lap as she looked on as well. "We were shocked once we found out as well. However, we couldn't discuss the matter further because we were attacked by one of our own."

Meara's hands paused for just a moment, her fingers hovering over a deep scar. "One of your own?" She repeated, her tone sharpening slightly. "An elf?"

"Dark elf, to be exact." Sylvanie corrected.

"Correct," Celestia confirmed, her voice low and quiet. "He was...corrupted. Or...The corruption that claimed him only seemed to deepen his insanity." She hesitated for a moment as if she was trying to gather her thoughts. "He was using decaying magic, but even that felt wrong." She finished. "Like it...It was twisted beyond what regular dark magic could accomplish."

"He was already too far gone before the Order even got to him, sister." Sylvanie huffed, crossing her arms. "They took a psychopath who was banished to the outer regions and gave him power, and he used that power to turn on his own people."

Meara's expression darkened, her hands resuming their careful work on Oreon's back. "Corrupted dark elves are rare," She spoke softly. "However, not out of the Order's tactics. They've been known to experiment and convert those into their rankings, thus becoming nothing more than weapons themselves. Especially those with malice already in their hearts."

"He claimed to go willingly with the Order, that our kingdom's structure was flawed, but still—" Celestia lowered her gaze to the floor.

"Still, he was one of yours; criminal or not," Meara finished for her, her tone gentle but firm. "And that makes betrayal cut deeper." She applied more salve to a particularly nasty scar near Oreon's shoulder blade, her movements slow and deliberate. "Treachery from within is always the sharpest blade. I'm sure we've all learned that lesson."

Celestia nodded slowly. "He...reveled in it. In what he'd become. As if the corruption had given him purpose." Her voice trembled slightly. "He took pleasure in the thought of dragging us back and locking us back up. We even watched him kill one of the Order's soldiers."

"Some people don't need corruption to be monsters, sister. As I said earlier, that bastard was already too far gone before the Order even got to him." Sylvanie muttered bitterly. "He just needed an excuse, and the Order was perfect for it."

Lena, who had been quietly working at the table, paused in her grinding. She glanced over at the group, a conflicted expression on her face as she turned her head back towards her work. "So...What happened to him?" She asked cautiously. "This...corrupted elf?"

"He's..." Celestia paused, trying to figure out the right words to say. "He's..."

"Dead," Sylvanie stated plainly. "We made sure of that."

Lena's hands stilled completely, her eyes widening slightly as she turned to look at the sisters. "You...killed him?"

"We had no choice," Celestia said softly, her voice carrying a bit of guilt. "He would have dragged us back, and after everything he'd done—" She paused again, closing her eyes for a moment. "After everything he'd become...There was no saving him."

"Hmph, I say that bastard got what he deserved." Sylvanie leaned back into her chair, an unapologetic tone in her voice. "He made his choice when he sided with the Order and turned his back on us." Unlike her sister, her expression was resolute. "And I don't regret it."

"Death is often the only mercy left for those who've been consumed by such darkness," Meara spoke as she continued to work the salve on Oreon's back and the few cuts and bruises she did see. "You did what needed to be done, during times such as these, those decisions come more often than naught."

Oreon's voice was raspy when he finally spoke again. "He wasn't going to stop." He mouthed. "No matter what we did, he just kept getting stronger, faster, not to mention everything he touched decayed, died, withered away. He was carrying this old rusty knife, but it felt like fighting against someone with a sword in his hand."

"Yeah, the only thing that seemed to hold him off was the human's daggers that he was swinging around," Sylvanie added. "No matter what me or my sister did, we couldn't get close to him without risking turning into a pile of—" She thought for a moment. "—Whatever you turn into."

"A pile of ash and bone," Meara said quietly, her expression grim. "Decaying magic at that level doesn't just kill—it unmakes. Reduces everything organic to nothing but dust and remains." She paused, her hands stilling on Oreon's back for a moment. "It's a cruel, twisted form of dark magic. One that requires not just power, but a complete absence of humanity."

Celestia's hands tightened in her lap. "I've never seen anything like it before." She admitted softly. "Even among the darkest practitioners in our kingdom, no one would dare touch magic that corrupted."

"Because it corrupts the user just as much as it corrupts their victims," Meara replied, resuming her work. "Dark magic, when used properly, is simply another tool—a blade that cuts both ways, yes, but still a blade. But decaying magic? That's not a tool. It's a plague. It consumes everything it touches, including the one wielding it." She applied more salve to a deep scar near Oreon's lower back. "The fact that this elf was using it so freely means he was already lost long before the Order found him."

"That's what I've been saying!" Sylvanie threw her hands up in exasperation. "The bastard was already a monster! The Order just gave him permission to be one openly!"

"Sylvanie..." Celestia's voice was soft, almost pleading. "Even so—"

"Even so, nothing," Sylvanie cut her off sharply. "You're doing it again, Celestia. Trying to find some silver of good in someone who deserved none." She leaned forward in her chair, giving her sister a hard look. "He tried to kill the human and drag us back to those chains. Stop mourning someone who didn't deserve mercy, let alone yours."

Celestia flinched at her sister's words, her gaze dropping to her lap. "I'm not mourning him," she said quietly, though her voice wavered. "I just..." She trailed off, struggling to find the right words. "I can't help but wonder if there was ever a chance—if we could have done something before he fell so far."

"There wasn't," Meara said firmly, drawing the attention of the sisters to herself. Finally finishing up with Oreon, she wiped her hands with a cloth before she spoke again. "Some people are beyond saving, child. Not because they can't be saved, but because they don't want to be." Her tone softened slightly, though it remained steady. "Your compassion is admirable, Princess, but don't let it blind you to reality. That elf made his choices—choices that led him down a path of destruction. You didn't put him there. He did."

Celestia's eyes glistened slightly, but she nodded slowly, her hands still trembling in her lap. "I know...I know you're right. It's just—"

"Hard," Meara finished for her gently. "It's hard to accept that not everyone deserves your kindness, but you must learn when to hold onto that kindness and when to let it go. Otherwise, it will destroy you, and everything you hold dear."

"Now then," Meara turned her head towards Lena, leaving Celestia to continue looking down at her own hands resting in her lap. "Lena, how is coming over there? I'm sure our guest could use a drink."

Lena glanced up from her work, her hands still moving methodically as she ground the herbs together. "Almost done, Grandmother," She replied softly. "Just need to let the Moonbell settle for another minute or two." She poured the shimmering water from the Silver Springs into three cups, the liquid catching firelight in an almost ethereal way.

Meara nodded approvingly as she turned her attention away from Oreon, who was putting his shirt back on. "Alright then, let me get a good look at you two," Meara said as she walked over to the elven sisters, her eyes scanning their bodies for any injuries that she couldn't see. "Hmm..." She hummed to herself as she noticed the faint outline that the chains and collars left on their wrists and necks. The dirt stains on their faces and small cuts, but nothing too concerning. "It's as I thought, you two may not need anything other than some food, a bath, and a good night's rest." She turned away from the with her hands held behind her back. "Elven bodies and their durability," She shook her head. "Your magic is drained. Once that is restored, you both should return as good as new."

Sylvanie let out a short, bitter laugh. "Well, that's one advantage of being an elf. I suppose, sucks for you, human." Sylvanie shot Oreon a glance.

Oreon, now fully dressed again, leaned back in his chair with a faint grimace. "Yeah, yeah...rub it in," he replied sarcastically. "At least I don't glow in the dark."

"Excuse me?" Sylvanie's eyes narrowed, though the corner of her mouth twitched upward. "I do not glow—"

"Your eyes literally glow red in the dark," Oreon interrupted, raising an eyebrow. "I saw it back in the forest when we were running. It was like having two little lanterns following me."

"You stupid little—" Sylvanie growled. "I was trying to use my magic, you arrogant fool!'

"And yet, you still glowed." Oreon shot back, a faint smirk tugging at his lips despite his exhaustion. "Like a pair of angry fireflies."

Sylvanie's face flushed slightly, her jaw tightening. "You...insufferable human!" Sylvanie yelled as she kicked him in his sprained ankle, causing him to howl hilariously in pain as he fell out of the chair, holding his leg as she crossed her arms, closing her eyes as she turned her head away.

"SYLVANIE!" Celestia gasped, her hands flying to her mouth in shock. "He's injured!"

"Good!" Sylvanie snapped back, though there was a faint hint of satisfaction in her voice. "Maybe that'll teach him to keep his mouth shut!"

"But that was uncalled for!"

Lena let out an involuntary snort of laughter before quickly covering her mouth, her shoulders shaking as she tried to stifle her amusement.

"Children," Meara said slowly, taking a deep breath. "Just children."

Time passed as everyone had settled down and was drinking the Moonbell silver spring water that Lena had prepared.

The cups of the Moonbell water glowed faintly in their hands, the liquid shimmering. Oreon took a careful sip, wincing slightly as the cool water touched his lips—but almost immediately, he felt a soothing sensation spread through his body. The ache in his muscles dulled, and the throbbing in his ankle became more bearable.

"This is..." He trailed off, staring at the cup in wonder. "This is incredible."

"Moonbell water mixed with Silver Springs," Lena explained quietly, her voice soft but proud. "It's not a cure-all, but it helps with pain and speeds up recovery a bit. Grandmother taught me how to make it a few years back."

Celestia took a delicate sip from her own cup, her eyes closing for a moment as she savored the taste. "It's wonderful," she said gently, her voice showcasing her gratitude. "Thank you, Ms. Lena. It's been a while since we've had anything refreshing in our systems." Celestia smiled. "Isn't that right, Syl—" Celestia turned her head towards her sister, who was already gulping the entire cup down her throat.

Sylvanie drained the cup in one long gulp, her head tilted back as she finished every last drop. When she finally lowered it, she let out a satisfied sigh and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Finally," She sighs happily, setting the empty cup down on the table with a soft clink. "Something decent for once," She leaned her head back.

Celestia stared at her sister, clearly embarrassed by her sister's actions. "Sylvanie, you're supposed to sip it slowly—"

"Why?" Sylvanie interrupted, raising an eyebrow. "It's water, not wine. And I was thirsty." She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. "

"It's not just any water, child. It's actually an old Elven elixir, one that I'm pretty sure doesn't get passed around your kind anymore, but I'm glad you've had your fill."

Sylvanie paused mid-stretch, her crimson eyes snapping to Meara. "Wait...What?" Her arms lowered slowly. "An elven elixir? What do you mean it doesn't get passed around anymore? And how do you know about it?" She narrowed her eyes curiously.

Meara walked over to the counter with a faint, but knowing smile on her face. "The knowledge of the Moonbell water has been fading for centuries," she explained calmly. "Most Elven kingdoms abandoned the practice—too time-consuming, too difficult to cultivate the flowers properly, and the Silver Springs are rare enough as it is, but Moonbells?" She shook her head slowly. "They require specific conditions. Moonlight, pure soil, and a delicate hand. Most modern elves have forgotten how to grow them. Most of them are just impatient." Meara smiled, glancing over her shoulder at the trio. "As to how I know about them, I've seen my fair share at my age, child; I've probably seen more in my lifetime than you have in your youth."

Celestia's eyes widened slightly, her cup pausing halfway to her lips. "You're right." She admitted softly. "Even in Vel'Andria, Moonbell cultivation was considered a lost art. Only a handful of our oldest herbalists still knew the proper techniques." She glanced down at her cup, her expression thoughtful. "My mother once told me that our ancestors used to grow entire gardens of them, but over time...the knowledge faded."

"She used to say elves of today were lazy and don't appreciate the old ways," Sylvanie spoke up, as she kept her eyes on Meara, her expression stuck between curiosity and suspicion. "But you're human. How does a human know more about the Elven practices than actual elves?"

Meara chuckled softly, her back still turned as she began arranging herbs on the counter. "I've traveled far and wide in my younger years, child. I've learned from many different people—elves, dwarves, even a few wandering mages who didn't mind sharing their secrets." She glanced over her shoulder again, her green eyes glinting with amusement. "Age has its advantages, you know. When you live long enough, you tend to pick up a few things."

Oreon, who had been quietly sipping his water, finally spoke up. "So...this is the stuff that elves used to drink to feel better?"

"Among other things," Meara replied, turning back to face them properly. "Moonbell water wasn't just for healing wounds or reducing pain. It was used in rituals, ceremonies—sometimes even as a blessing for newborns." She paused, her expression growing more serious. "The Silver Springs water amplifies its properties. Together, they create something that can restore not just the body, but the spirit as well—"Meara looked up at a nearby window and then back towards the door they had come in, before turning to Lena.

"I say it's about time we wrapped this up. Lena, do me a favor and start closing up shop, tell those ruffians it's time to pack it up and go home. The tavern is closing for the rest of the night, no freeloading around." Meara stated, her serious tone not changing. "Once I'm done with these three, I'll be in there to help out."

Lena nodded quickly, setting down the pestle she'd been holding. "Yes, Grandmother.' She moved toward the door leading back into the tavern proper, pausing only briefly to glance back at Oreon with a small, sympathetic smile before disappearing through the doorway.

The moment the door clicked shut behind her, the atmosphere om the room shifted subtly. Meara's expression hardened just a fraction—not unkind, but one that a serious mother would give when it was time to talk about the root of a problem.

"Now then," She began slowly, her eyes sweeping over each of them. "Let's talk about what happens next." She states that before her eyes land on Oreon. "Oreon, you've been gone for a while and don't know what's been going on around here lately." She began. "So let me start by saying that your father, the purifier, has been busy; soldiers have been coming in and out of town a lot as of late. An increase in security, but for what reason? I do not know. But we all know it's nothing good."

Oreon's expression darkened, his jaw tightening as he set his cup down on the table. "So he's been making moves then," he said quietly, "Figures, it's not like he has anything better to do with his time."

"More than just simple moves, boy." Meara continued, her tone steady but grave. "There's been talk—whispers, amongst the villagers and across the region — that the Order itself is prepping for something big." She closed her eyes for a moment. "I don't know the details myself, but whatever it is, it's got the soldiers on edge. They've been looking for something or someone. Nobody knows, but the increase in soldiers visiting every town and village for surveillance suggests that something is going on."

Oreon's eyes met Meara's for a moment before he turned to look at the two elves that he had rescued. "Something big that's going on?" He repeated to himself. "It can't be us; we just escaped a few hours ago." Oreon placed a hand on his chin, then slowly lifted his gaze again. "Hey, you don't think this has anything to do with what that elf said before he died, right?"

Celestia's eyes shot up instantly as her eyes met Oreon. "The Divine Season...Down falls the Elves." She began to repeat Rot's final words. "Corruption chases the dwarves."

"Judge the beasts for the sins, For they are a cause no more." Sylvanie crossed her arms, gritting her teeth as she looked to the side. "Purify the lands, the non-humans will do." She added the next line as Oreon looked at the ground himself, knowing the final line of Rot's cryptic message.

"And to the humans who don't believe...Death will come to them to..." He finished grimly, his face deadly serious.

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of those words hanging in the air like a death sentence. Only the sound of the fireplace could be heard from the fire cracking within it.

Meara's expression remained unreadable, her weathered hands folding together in front of her as she released a heavy sigh. "So..." She began slowly as she turned around and walked towards the counter. "That's what this is about." She exhaled through her nose, her gaze distant for a moment. "A prophecy—or at least, something your father is treating like one."

"Sounds like an excuse to show the world how he really feels," Oreon added, looking up at Meara. "Even more so, this is just sounding like a prelude to war."

"More like a full-scale purge." Sylvanie crossed her arms. "They already made their move against our kingdom."

"And they won't stop there," Celestia added softly, her voice trembling slightly as she gripped the edge of the chair. "If what Rot said is true...if the Order truly believes this prophecy, then every non-human race is in danger. The elves, the dwarves, the beastkin—" Her eyes mirrored her sisters as she looked down at the floor. "They'll justify it all under the banner of divine will."

"A hive full of zealots with mindless intentions, following those with even more dangerous desires." Meara closed her eyes for a moment before reopening. "Well, we won't get anywhere skulking about it." She turned around to face the three. "It's time for your three to get some rest," Meara stated firmly.

"Rest?" Sylvanie's eyes narrowed in suspicion at Meara. "Just like that? Are you not going to ask us anything else? No questions about what happened to us? What we were doing, or—"

"I know enough child." Meara calmly replied. "Besides, the boy wouldn't have brought you here if he thought you were a threat. He may seem impulsive, but there is no lack in his judgment. Now, enough of this false need for suspicion. Talking about 'what ifs' and 'prophecies' makes this old woman's bones weary," She finished as Oreon looked up at her.

"I'll sleep in my old room, that is...If it's not stuffed with storage by now." Oreon spoke up.

Meara let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head. "Your room's exactly as you left it, boy. Dust and all." She waved a dismissive hand toward the hallway. "I don't go in there much--figured you'd come back eventually, even if it took you longer than I'd hoped."

Oreon's expression softened just slightly, though he tried to hide it. "Thanks, Meara."

Meara slightly turned her head back towards Oreon. "Don't thank me yet, boy, because you're taking the elves with you."

Silence dawned for a moment.

"WHAT?!" All three voices rang out in unison, though each carried a distinctly different tone.

Oreon shot up from his chair—immediately regretting it as his ankle protested—and gripped the edge of the table for support. "Meara, wait, my room is—"

"You heard me," Meara said calmly, not even bothering to turn around fully. "They're staying with you. Your room is big enough, and I'm not about to put two escaped elves in a separate room where anyone could stumble upon them." She crossed her arms, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Besides, you're the one who brought them here. You're responsible for them."

Sylvanie's face flushed a deep red, her crimson eyes widening in disbelief. "You can't be serious— "She started, but Meara cut her off with a raised hand.

"I'm perfectly serious, child." The old woman's tone was firm, brooking no argument. "This isn't some grand estate with rooms to spare. It's a tavern. Space is limited, and right now, discretion is critical right now." She turned fully to face them now, her eyes sharp. "Besides, if soldiers come knocking in the middle of the night, it's better that you're all in one place. Easier to hide you that way."

Celestia's face had turned a delicate shade of pink, her hands gripping the fabric of what was left of her tattered clothing. "B-But..." She stammered softly, clearly flustered." Surely there must be another arrangement—"

"There isn't," Meara stated flatly, cutting off any further protest. "And frankly, you don't have the luxury of being picky right now." Her tone softened just slightly. "Look, I understand this isn't ideal for any of you, but we're working with what we have. The room is large enough, there's bedding, and it's out of sight from prying eyes."

Sylvanie opened her mouth to argue again, but found herself at a loss for words. Her jaw worked silently for a moment before she finally let out an exasperated huff and slumped back in her chair. "This is ridiculous..."

"Welcome to reality, child," Meara replied dryly. "Now, enough talk," She walked over to a drawer, rummaging through clothes. After a moment, she pulled out a few simple garments—plain tunics and trousers that looked well-worn but clean. She turned back to the group, holding them out toward the sisters. "Here. These should fit well enough for now. Can't have you walking around in those rags."

Celestia accepted the clothing with a quiet. "Thank you," her cheeks still faintly colored as she held the fabric against herself, checking the size.

Sylvanie took hers with less grace, holding the tunic up skeptically. "Human clothes..." She muttered under her breath. "Degrading..."

"I didn't know there was a difference between the clothes of elves and humans," Meara stated, going back to the drawer to search a bit more. "You would think one would be grateful for the kindness that's been shown to them." She paused for a moment. "Kindness that doesn't come around often these days."

Sylvanie's eyes narrowed, but she bit back whatever retort was forming on her tongue. Instead, she just clutched the clothes tighter and looked away with a scowl.

"She is grateful," Celestia said quickly, shooting her sister a pointed look. "We both are…truly." She gave Meara a small, apologetic bow of her head. "You've done more for us in one evening than we had any right to expect."

Meara waved a hand dismissively as she continued searching through the drawer. "I'm just glad to know that not everyone has lost their manners." She said as she pulled out another tunic—this one slightly larger—and tossed it toward Oreon. "Here, boy. Change out of those bloodstained rags while you're at it."

Oreon caught it, wincing as the motion jarred his injured shoulder. "Right…thanks."

Meara nodded her head and glanced over at the two sisters. "There's a washroom that connects to the bedroom. You three should get washed up; the first thing to a good rest is a good bath." She paused as she quickly turned a quick glare at Oreon. "Separately, of course."

Oreon's face immediately flushed. "I—of course, separately!" He nearly hopped out of his chair. "What do you take me for?"

"A young man who's been living rough for months and just brought two beautiful Elven women into his room." She said bluntly. "So, forgive me if I feel the need to be explicit about expectations."

Oreon gasped, as if he was offended by Meara's statement. "Meara…I wouldn't…Why would you even…"

"As I said, you're a growing boy, Oreon. It's not uncommon for one your age to want to see a woman's body without its garments." Meara stated with her voice still firm. "Which is why I'm reminding you, I have rules in my establishment."

A smirk appeared on Sylvanie's face as she found an opportunity to get under Oreon's skin. "Oh," She leaned lightly on her right foot with her left hand on her hip. "Don't we know. On the way here, he commented on our garments. I wonder how long he's been looking." She showcased a Cheshire cat grin.

Oreon's face went from pink to a deep crimson in an instant. "I—that's not--!" He sputtered, his hands raising defensively as he shot Sylvanie a glare of his own. "I was not looking! I said you needed to change your clothes because they were torn and you couldn't walk around like that!" He pointed at her. "And at the very least, I was making an observation!"

"You were eyeing our bodies." Sylvanie's smirk widened.

"I WAS NOT!" Oreon combated. "I was merely suggesting that your current attire was not suited for traveling, and people would notice you!" He turned his head to Celestia. "Hey! Big sister elf!" Oreon called to her. "Tell them. Tell them I wasn't having intrusive thoughts and staring at you." He pointed at both Meara and Sylvanie, who slowly turned their heads to Celestia.

Celestia's face turned an even deeper shade of pink as all eyes suddenly shifted to her, but to Oreon's surprise, a slight mischievous smirk appeared on her face. Her lips twitched, her usual composure cracking just slightly as a playful glint flickered in her eyes. "Well…" She began slowly, her voice soft but deliberately teasing. "I wouldn't say you were staring…exactly." She continued. "However," Her smirk now shown on her face. "If I remember correctly, I noticed your eyes wandering a bit too much every time you looked in our direction." She closed her eyes and gave Oreon a sweet, devious smile. "Shame on you."

Oreon's jaw dropped. "You—you too?!" He looked utterly betrayed, his hand clutching his chest as if he'd just been stabbed in the heart. "I thought you were supposed to be the reasonable one! The mature one! The—" He failed his arms at his side. "You're supposed to be on my side here!"

Celestia's smile only widened a bit. "I am being reasonable." She said sweetly, tilting her head just slightly. "I'm simply recounting what I observed—"

Sylvanie burst into laughter, rolling on the floor behind Celestia as Oreon glared at her.

"Shut up, you crazy elf!" He comically yelled at her with no real malice in his voice.

Meanwhile, Meara just watched the spectacle unfold, her body softening at the scene as a small smile slid across her face before she lightly clapped her hands together. "Alright, Alright…Enough of this nonsense." She said gently.

The laughter died down slowly, though Sylvanie still had a wicked grin plastered across her face as she wiped an imaginary tear from her eye. "Oh…That was good," She muttered, her voice still tinged with amusement.

Celestia cleared her throat delicately, her cheeks still faintly flushed as she regained her composure. "My apologies," she said softly, though there was still a hint of mischief dancing in her eyes. "That was…unbecoming of me."

Oreon crossed his arms, still looking thoroughly flustered. "Unbecoming is right," he grumbled under his breath.

Meara shook her head with that same gentle smile that still lingered on her lips. "It's good to see you three still have some spirit left in you," She said warmly. "Laughter is medicine too—sometimes better than any herb or potion anyone can brew." She gestured towards the hallway again. "Now then…off with you all. Get cleaned up and get some rest while you can."

She paused for a moment before adding more seriously. "And boy—" Her tone sharpened just enough to make him straighten slightly. "I meant what I said earlier about expectations. Keep it decent."

"I know, I know," Oreon muttered quickly, avoiding eye contact as he grabbed the tunic Meara had tossed him earlier and limped toward the hallway.

Sylvanie followed behind him with an exaggerated sway in her step—clearly still enjoying herself—while Celestia trailed after them more gracefully, clutching the clothes Meara had given them both.

As they disappeared down the hallway toward Oreon's old room. Meara let out a quiet sigh and turned back toward the door that Lena walked through, and followed suit herself.

The trio walked down the hallway that led to a narrow flight of stairs at the back of the tavern. The wooden steps creaked softly under their weight as they ascended, the sounds of the common room fading behind them. The hallway upstairs was dimly lit by a single lantern hanging from a hook on the wall.

Oreon led the way—limping slightly but determined to make it all the way to the room on his own. Finally. Stopping in front of a door near the end of the hall. He hesitated for just a moment. His hand was hovering over the handle.

"…This is it," he said quietly, pushing the door open.

The room beyond was modest but clean—surprisingly so, considering Meara's comment about it being littered with dust. A large bed sat against one wall, covered with simple linen sheets and a thick woolen blanket. There was a small wooden table near the window, a chair tucked beneath it, and a wardrobe in the corner that looked like it had seen better days. The washroom Meara had mentioned was visible through an open doorway on the far side—a cramped space with a basin, a mirror, and what looked like a small copper tub — and by the large window, which was covered with drapes, was a seated window cushion with a pillow at both ends big enough to fit a person.

"Well, we got a roof over our head, even if it's for a day or two…" Oreon walked slowly to the window seat, the soft cushions yielding beneath him as he leaned back against the cool wall, gazing out the window and speaking quietly. "I'm hoping we can stretch it to two and then leave.

Celestia stepped inside carefully, her eyes sweeping over the room with quiet observation. It was…humble. Far removed from the grand chambers she'd once known in Vel'Andria. She clutched the borrowed clothes against her chest and moved toward the bed, running her fingers lightly over the fabric of the blanket.

"Two days," Sylvanie repeats as she circles the room, checking the lock on the door leading outside, testing the floorboards for creaks, and examining every corner as if expecting something to jump out at her.

"What the hell are you doing?" Oreon asked simply as he watched her search the room. "It's a bedroom, not a fortress," Oreon added.

Sylvanie shot him a flat look over her shoulder. "Checking for secret spots, human." She said curtly. "You don't survive as long as we have by trusting every safe space you're given." She pressed her palm against the wall near the wardrobe, testing its sturdiness. "Besides, if soldiers come barging in, I'd rather know if there's a way out besides the front door."

Oreon raised an eyebrow. "Through the wall?"

"Through the window," Sylvanie corrected, pointing at the large draped opening where he sat. "Or the floor if it comes to it."

"You're not tearing up Meara's floorboards," Oreon said flatly.

"Hmph, you don't tell me, human; I'll do what I must," Sylvanie stated as she walked towards the window, peering at the locks. "Hmmm, the window opens up to the alley, and the back door most likely leads to the same place." She reports to herself. "Narrow, but navigable. Good escape route if needed." She gives the place one more thorough inspection, satisfied with her own findings. "This place has seen better days, but it'll do for now."

"Again, it's a bedroom, not a fortress," Oreon told her again.

Sylvanie turned towards Oreon, crossing her arms as she fixed him with a sharp look. "And you're a fool if you don't think we need to understand our surroundings in this—"

"Sylvanie, please, I do believe we're safe for the time—" Celestia's voice stops as she walks into the washroom, peering inside her eyes, landing on the wooden tub placed against the wall. "A bath," She murmured, forgetting her previous sentence. "It's been so long since I've been truly clean." She turns back to the room, an almost childlike hope in her eyes at the prospect of washing away days, perhaps months of grime and dirt. "Would you mind terribly if I…?"

"I don't mind." Oreon sat with his arms lightly crossed on the seat cushion, as Sylvanie waved her hand dismissively.

"Go ahead. I'll keep watch," she said, moving to position herself near the window where Oreon is seated. She settles into a chair, angling it to see both the door and Oreon.

Celestia's face brightened—just slightly, but enough that it softened her whole expression. "Thank you," She said quietly, her voice carrying relief. She glanced toward Oreon one more time, as if confirming he wasn't going to suddenly change his mind, before slipping into the washroom and gently closing the door behind her.

The sound of water being poured into the tub followed shortly after—

"You can relax, you know?" Oreon pointed out, closing his eyes for a moment. "Nothing is going to happen right now; it's best to let the tension go for a bit." He opened one eye a slit, giving her a sideways glance as he spoke his piece of advice.

Sylvanie didn't respond right away. She just sat there, her eyes fixed on the door. She leaned back in the chair, one leg crossed over the other, her eyes turning their attention towards him. "Relax?" She repeated. "You think I'm going to drop my guard, just because you say it's ok, human?" She shifted her attention towards the door once again. "Humans and their optimism, Tch."

"You're going to run yourself into exhaustion," Oreon told her. "Look at yourself, you're in no better shape than she is, and that's not helpful to either of you; so…breathe a little."

Sylvanie glanced back over at Oreon, her body still stiff as she turned her attention back towards the door. "…You don't get it." She muttered finally, her voice lower now. "We both may have lost something to Order, but you didn't see what I saw. You were there when they tore through our home—When they dragged us out and killed whoever decided to fight back." Her gaze remained fixed on the door, her eyes slightly narrowing at the memory. "My sister is kind-hearted, damn near naïve sometimes if you ask me." She shook her head slowly. "But I know better. The moment we let our guard down…" She bit lightly down on her lip.

"And what happens if you never let your guard down?" Oreon opened both eyes now. "What happens when you're so tired you can't even swing that scythe of yours anymore? When you collapse before the enemy even shows up?"

Sylvanie didn't answer immediately, but you could tell the words were slowly getting to her as she gritted her teeth. Her eyes remained on the door, almost as if she was expecting the Order itself to come through it at any moment.

"…I won't burn out, if that's what you're implying." She said, finally, "I can't…."

Oreon let out a slow breath, shifting slightly on the cushioned window seat. His ankle throbbed a bit, but nowhere near the pain that he was once in thanks to Lena and Meara. "You say that now," He responds, tilting his head back against the wall. "But I've seen soldiers who thought the same thing. They pushed themselves until they couldn't anymore—and when the moment came that they needed to fight? They were too broken to even do anything."

Sylvanie glanced at him for a second, returning to the door. "I'm not one of those precious soldiers you humans like to associate yourself with."

"No," Oreon agreed quietly. "You're not. But you're still human—well, elven—but you know what I mean." He paused, watching her carefully. "You need rest just like anyone else."

"I'll rest when we're safe."

"And when will that be? What does safe even look like to you?" Oreon questioned her.

Sylvanie fell silent at that, her jaw tightening. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest as she thought about the question. Her free leg was dangling back and forth, but slightly forced.

"…When we're far enough away that they can't find us." She answered him. "When there's no one looking for us or trying to chain us up and drain us for some sick purpose. When my sister can sleep without waking up in some forsaken dungeon." She exhaled slowly through her nose, looking up at the ceiling for a moment. "That's when I'll rest."

Oreon studied her for a long moment, his expression softening. "So…Never, then."

Sylvanie's eyes snapped toward him, narrowing. "What?"

"You heard me," Oreon responded evenly, meeting her glare without flinching. "The way you're talking? You'll never feel safe enough to let your guard down. There will always be another threat—another reason to stay on edge. Especially with the Order around." Oreon gestured towards the window. "Look, I can only imagine what you've been through. Anyone that crosses paths with the Order, not even just my old man, is sentenced to something horrible and unforgettable." Oreon shifted his weight again, slowly turning his head to look out the window. "The Horror stories I've heard don't hold a candle to what he's actually done…" He paused. "Besides, I know firsthand how cruel he can be."

Sylvanie kept quiet, not even bothering to look at him as Oreon took a deep breath. "I know it's not much, but I can't apologize enough for the trouble my father caused, not just to you and your sister, but to all the different races out there. The fear on people's faces when the sound of my father's name is mentioned. How quickly people run away when they know the Holy Order is breathing down their necks. It's all horrible, everyone is living under my father's heel, threatened to be crushed if they breathe the wrong way."

A deep sigh escaped Oreon's lips as he kept his gaze looking out the window, his eyes landing on the fortress they had just escaped from that sat far into the distance, the structure barely visible. "You may not trust me, nor care, but I didn't ask you two to come with me. My goal was to finally do enough to face my father on my own if I had to."

Sylvanie's eyes slowly shifted toward him, her expression unreadable. She didn't interrupt—didn't snap back with some sharp retort like she normally would. She just listened as the sound of her sister making soft splashing in the water echoed as a backdrop to their conversation.

A moment passed as her eyes shifted from him to the window, looking out as well.

"…Your father," She repeats. "Alaric the righteous. The Purifier. The Order's Divine Hand." Her voice drips with venom on each title. "The man who burned our home and slaughtered our people while claiming divine purpose." She leans forward slightly, her gaze turning back to Oreon. "And now we have his son here, trying to right his father's wrongs by challenging him all by his self."

She leaned in closer, her face now only mere inches from his as he looked at her nervously.

Her eyes bore into him, searching for something—weakness, maybe. Or perhaps honesty. The silence stretched between them before she calmly lifted her hand and thumped his forehead. "Stop being stupid."

Oreon blinked, wincing slightly as her finger connected with his forehead. "Ow—What the hell was that for?"

"You heard me, human," Sylvanie said flatly, leaning back into her chair. "You're being stupid." She crossed her arms again, her eyes remaining on him. "Fifty. I killed fifty of your father's men before they took me." She breathed. "And it was nowhere near enough." She closed her eyes as she continued to speak. "You saw what we were up against when you helped us escape that dungeon. Soldiers with blessed weapons, knights, paladins, and now even some elves that apparently turned their backs on us. All of this before you even reach him."

Oreon wanted to respond, but found that he was unable to.

"You'd die before you even got the chance to see his face again." Sylvanie continued as she kept her eyes locked on his. "Understand something, human." She gritted her teeth lightly. "Your father didn't just take our kingdom. He took our dignity. Our future." Her voice hardens. "So, when you speak of stopping him. Know that I don't care about your redemption fantasy or your guilt. I care about what he took from my sister and me. I care about making him pay that debt back in blood." She leaned forward again, almost as if she was trying to emphasize her point. "What you're suggesting is nothing short of simple suicide. That man commands an army with divine power or whatever passes for divinity in this twisted world. Not to mention the Holy Order itself. You wouldn't even make it past the paladins on your own."

Her eyes burned into Oreon's, her words hanging heavy in the air between them. The sound of water gently sloshing from the washroom seemed distant now—muted against the weight of what she'd just said.

Oreon opened his mouth, then closed it again. What could he even say to that? She was right. He knew she was right. The idea of facing his father alone had always been… short-sighted. But hearing it laid out so bluntly—fifty men before she fell, and it wasn't enough. Fifty men with weapons blessed by the Order—That fact alone made the reality of it sink in deeper than he wanted to admit.

'…I know," He finally managed, his voice quieter than before. "I know it's stupid. I know I'd probably die before I even got close to him." He rubbed the spot on his forehead where she'd thumped him. "Holy Order soldiers, Generals, knights, Paladins, and who knows what else...Hell, probably demons at this point." His eyes slightly narrowed as he turned his attention back towards Sylvanie. "But it doesn't matter, I plan on walking my father down all the same."

 A small, almost unseeable smile appeared on Sylvanie's face. "Bold words, human. Bold words." She replied as she reached up and thumped him again.

"Ow…Could you stop doing that?" Oreon slightly raised his voice.

"Then stop being stupid." Sylvanie lifted herself out of her seat. "Besides, you'd be dead three times over without someone watching your back." Sylvanie tilted her head slightly, her arms still tightly crossed. "Listen up, human."

"It's Oreon." Oreon interrupted her.

"Human…" Sylvanie gave him a deadpanned stare, as if solidifying her name for him.

Oreon sighed, rubbing his forehead again. "Fine. Whatever."

"Now, as I was saying," A faint smirk appeared on her lips as she placed one hand on her hip. "This isn't just your fight." She gestures her head towards the washroom. "Obviously, my sister and I have our own score to settle with your father, then the Order. Do not let her soft nature fool you. Even if it was brief, she did run a kingdom and still had to make decisions on who lived and who died." Sylvanie continued as now both hands rested on her hip. "She's not abandoning this fight, and neither am I."

Suddenly, the washroom door opens, releasing a cloud of steam. Celestia emerges, transformed by her bath. Her pale blonde hair, now clean and combed, cascades down her back. The simple green dress Mira provided fits her surprisingly well, highlighting her graceful figure while providing modesty appropriate for a common traveler. Her Elven features are still unmistakable up close, but with a hood or scarf, she might pass unnoticed in a crowd. She looks refreshed, though exhaustion remains evident in her eyes as she carries her old, tattered clothes towards a small trash bin, dropping them in gently.

"That was…" She paused, searching for the words. "Heavenly." Her eyes close briefly in appreciation before she notices the slight tension between Oreon and Sylvanie. "Have I interrupted something?" She asked, her eyes blinking a bit.

"Nothing important," Sylvanie answered. "Just brainstorming our next move."

Celestia's preceptive gaze shifts between both Sylvanie and Oreon, clearly understanding more than Sylvanie admits. She moves to sit on the edge of the bed, combing her fingers through her damp hair.

"The human here was just explaining how he plans on facing his father alone," Sylvanie added as she folded her hands behind her head and simply walked away from him, grabbing the clothes that Meara had given to her previously.

Celestia's hands pause in her hair as her queen-like gaze falls on Oreon.

"Don't be stupid," Celestia said uncharacteristically, causing a comedic shocked expression from Oreon.

"I—What?" Oreon blinked, completely taken aback. "Did you just—"

"I said, don't be stupid," Celestia repeated, her tone calm but firm, her eyes meeting his without hesitation. She resumed combing her fingers through her hair, as if what she'd just said was the most natural thing in the world. "Humans can sometimes say the most ridiculous things."

Sylvanie let out a short, surprised laugh—the first genuine one Oreon had heard from her since they'd met. "See? Even my sister agrees with me." She smirked as she held up the clothes Meara had given her, examining them briefly. "And with that, I believe it's my turn to take a bath." Sylvanie walks towards the washroom, stretching as she reaches for the door, but stops just as her hand touches the handle, glancing back at Oreon. "Celestia, make sure the human doesn't peek." She instructed as a light shade of pink quickly crept up Oreon's face.

"I wasn't—I mean, I wouldn't—" Oreon shouted at her as Celestia gave a small lighthearted smile before nodding her head as Sylvanie walked into the washroom, closing the door behind her. "God, what is her problem?" Oreon said out loud as he crossed his arms, pouting as he looked out the window.

Celestia watched him for a moment, her smile lingering just a little longer before fading. She shifted on the bed, adjusting the simple green dress as she tucked a strand of damp hair behind her pointed ear.

"She's…protective," Celestia said gently. "And worried. More than she'll ever admit." She glanced toward the washroom door, then back to Oreon. "She's been like that since we were young. Always the one to throw herself into danger first, always the one to question everything-especially the kindness of others."

Oreon turned his head slightly, still looking out the window but clearly listening.

"She doesn't trust easily," Celestia continued, folding her hands in her lap. "But…I think she's starting to trust you. In her own way." She paused, tilting her head thoughtfully. "Otherwise, she wouldn't joke with you as much as she has been."

"And I think she left a sore spot on my forehead," Oreon whined, rubbing his forehead gently.

A slight laugh came from Celestia as she gently covered her mouth with her hand. "She does that," Celestia said, a smile returning to her face. "To me as well, actually. Though usually when I'm being too lenient or not listening or…as she puts it, 'too soft." She shook her head fondly. "She means well, even if her methods are…unconventional is one way to put it…"

"That's one way to put it," Oreon muttered, finally lowering his hand. "Someone should thump her on the forehead." Oreon pouted like a small child.

Celestia's smile widened just a fraction, her eyes softening as she watched him. "You're welcome to try," she said lightly, though, with amusement in her voice. "Though I suspect she'd break your finger before you got closer."

Oreon huffed, tightly crossing his arms. "Probably," he admitted reluctantly.

The sound of water splashing came from the washroom again—Sylvanie clearly making herself comfortable as a light hum can be heard from the door, causing Celestia to glance towards the door briefly before returning her attention to Oreon.

"She's not wrong, you know," Celestia spoke calmly, her tone shifting to something more serious. "About facing your father alone." She leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees as she clasped her hands together. "I understand the desire to confront him—to right the wrongs he's committed. But martyrdom won't undo what's been done. It won't bring back those we've lost. Those who…You lost."

Oreon's jaw clenched, but he stayed silent.

"Alaric commands not just an army, but the faith itself—twisted as it may be. The Holy Order sees him as divinely chosen, and that man wields political influence and has convinced more than half the continent that his crusade is divinely sanctioned." She paused, letting her words settle. "You cannot fight that alone. No matter how strong your resolve is."

Oreon's gaze dropped to his hands, his fingers curling slightly against his palms. "Even so, He has to be stopped. He's gotten away with too many things, and in his reign, he's managed to instill fear into damn near everyone who isn't blinded by their divine vision." He breathed. "When people find out I'm the son of the purifier." Oreon gazes up at the ceiling. "They become reserved, fearful, hateful, angry, as if I'm the one who condemned them." He sighed. "But I guess it's easier to take out that frustration on someone else rather than the source of the problem."

Celestia's expression softened further. "Being judged for the sins of another." She responded calmly. "I understand that burden. Being held accountable for blood you never spilled. Being responsible for pain you never caused, while others remain oblivious to the travesty that you've endured."

Oreon's eyes met hers, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

"My mother," Celestia continued quietly, her voice barely above a whisper, "was a dark elf. My father, a high elf. Their union was…controversial, to say the least." She slowly stood up from the bed and made her way towards the window where Oreon sat, looking out as her gaze fell upon the small village buildings that surrounded the tavern. "Many in our kingdom never fully accepted me. They saw my mother's bloodline as a stain, despite my father being their king. Sylvanie got it worse—she inherited more of our mother's features, her magic, her…intensity."

Her eyes shifted downward to Oreon. "So yes, I understand being judged for who you are rather than what you've done. But…" Her voice strengthened slightly. "That's precisely why you cannot face your father alone. Because you're not just fighting him—you're fighting an idea. A belief system. A crusade built on fear and false righteousness."

Oreon looked up at her, his expression conflicted. "Then what do you suggest?" He asked, but before Celestia could answer, the washroom door opened with a burst of steam, with Sylvanie emerging wearing the clean tan clothes-fitted trousers, and a loose black tunic that did little to disguise her athletic figure. Her violet hair hangs damp around her shoulders as her eyes immediately narrow at the sight of her sister standing close to Oreon.

"Did I miss something?" She asked, her tone a bit lighter than before. "Already plotting without me?" She tilted her head slightly.

"Discussing strategy." Celestia corrects gently.

"Just coming up with a plan." Oreon followed right behind her.

Sylvanie crosses the room with the grace of a cat, droplets of water still clinging to her hair. She settles herself on the bed, leaning back against the headboard.

"Which is plotting?" Sylvanie responded. "Just with fancier words." She tosses a small white towel aside and fixes her gaze on both Celestia and Oreon. "So, what's the verdict? Did we convince the human that is plan is dumb?"

Celestia glanced at Oreon, then back to her sister. "We were discussing the impossibility of facing his father alone," She said calmly, her hands folding neatly in front of her. "And I was about to suggest an alternative, then. You showed up."

"An alternative?" Sylvanie raised an eyebrow, clearly interested. "You mean besides the obvious 'don't be an idiot and throw your life away' option?"

"Precisely." Celestia's lips curved into a calm but happy smile as Oreon slowly shook his head as he gently rose from his seat.

"How about we talk about that when I get back," Oreon stated as he walked towards the washroom. "It's my turn." He said as he walked into the washroom, grabbing the clothes that Meara had given him as well, before walking in and closing the door behind him.

Not long after, the sound of water could be heard, followed by a scream and a crash, with the sounds of things falling on top of Oreon could be heard.

"YOU CRAZY ELF!" Oreon screamed from his crashed position on the floor. "You used the last of the hot water!"

The sudden outburst from the washroom breaks the serious atmosphere, causing both sisters to react in starkly different ways. Celestia's hand flies to her mouth, attempting to stifle a surprised laugh that escapes anyway. Sylvanie, by contrast, doesn't even try to hide her satisfaction. A wicked grin spreads across her face as she crosses one bare leg over the other.

"Did I?" She called back sweetly, though there was absolutely zero remorse in her tone. "How terribly inconsiderate of me, human."

Celestia still giggling. "Sylvanie," She chided softly.

"What?" Sylvanie replied innocently, "I needed to make sure I was properly clean. I can't walk around smelling like some old, outdated dungeon, can I?" Stretched languidly on the bed, clearly enjoying herself. "Besides, cold water builds character."

'YOU'RE TRYING TO FREEZE ME TO DEATH!" Oreon's voice echoed from behind the door, as the sound of him slipping and falling into the tub came after, followed by a low groan and a muffled 'I hate you."

Sylvanie's grin only widened at that. "You'll survive," She called back, lazily stretching her foot in the air before crossing back over her leg again, dangling it as she lay with her arms behind her head. "I've seen you take worse."

Celestia shook her head as the sounds of Oreon muttering curses under his breath could be heard from the door. "You really are terrible sometimes," She spoke, moving to sit beside her sister on the bed. "We should probably go in and at least heat the water back up for him."

"Absolutely not," Sylvanie replied immediately, her grin widening even further. "Let him suffer a little. Builds character, as I said." She glanced at Celestia with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Besides, he needs to learn that actions have consequences—or having idiotic ideas has consequences, whichever comes first."

"You could stand to be at least a little nicer to him," Celestia responded. "I think he's been through enough for one day."

Sylvanie glanced over at her sister for a moment, her eyes blinking at the statement she just made. "Nah, I think it builds trust."

Celestia blinked, tilting her head slightly. "Trust?" She repeated, genuinely confused. "How does freezing him in cold water build trust?"

Sylvanie shrugged at the question, completely unbothered. "Simple. If he can put up with my antics and still stick around, then I know he's serious." She picked at a loose thread on the bed's worn blanket. "Besides, actions speak louder than words, sister, and we've only known each other a day. Nowhere near enough time to completely trust someone."

Celestia placed her right index finger on her chin, head still tilted, but with a coy smile on her face. "Yet, in this one day, he broke us free from the dungeon the Order kept us in; help us dispatch of some of their soldiers, ran tirelessly through the Order's corridors because we couldn't figure out what way was the right way; helped us escaped the fortress, and takedown one of our corrupted traitors, alongside meeting a Voidborne together. I'd say it's a little bit different for us."

Sylvanie's fingers paused mid-pick at the thread. Her crimson eyes flickered toward Celestia, narrowing slightly as if weighing on her sister's words. For a moment—just a brief, fleeting moment—something softened in her expression before she masked it with a dismissive scoff.

"Fine," She muttered, rolling onto her side to face away from Celestia. "When you put it like that, it sounds like…a lot."

"More than any regular human could handle, I'm sure," Celestia responded.

From the washroom, another muttered curse came from beyond the door, 'Stupid dark elf, making me freeze in cold water.' Although Oreon's insult only made Sylvanie snicker at his comment before she glanced back over her shoulder at her sister.

"See? He's already complaining about me specifically," Sylvanie said with a smirk. "That means he's comfortable enough to insult me. Progress."

Celestia shook her head, though her smile remained on her face. "That's…Not quite how trust works. Sylvanie."

"Sure it is," Sylvanie replied, shifting to prop herself on one elbow. "You don't complain about someone unless you think they'll actually listen—or at least not kill you for it." She paused, her expression growing slightly more serious. " And let's be honest…after everything he's risked for us, the least I can do is give him a hard time. Keeps things from getting too…sentimental."

"You're deflecting." Celestia's eyes studied her sister.

"I'm being practical." Sylvanie corrected.

"You're starting to warm up to him." Celestia countered.

"Shut up." Was Sylvanie's only response.

Celestia's smile widened knowingly as she watched her sister's ears turn just slightly pink at the tips—a telltale sign that always gave Sylvanie away, no matter how hard she tried to hide it.

"You are," Celestia pressed gently, teasing her. "It normally takes you a lot longer to 'joke' with someone, and I can always tell when you're—"

"I said shut up," Sylvanie interrupted, burying her face into the pillow with an exaggerated groan. Her voice came out muffled. "You're reading too much into it."

"Am I?" Celestia tilted her head, clearly enjoying this rare moment of having the upper hand over her usually unshakeable sister. "Because earlier today, you were ready to, what did you say?" She thought playfully. "Oh? Rip his throat out with your teeth when he freed us, and now you're…Oh, what was it? Building his character? Making sure he's serious?" She used air quotes around the last word.

Sylvanie tilted her head just enough to glare at Celestia with one eye visible. "That's different. At the time, I didn't know if he was genuine or just playing some cruel trick on us, and given our circumstances, I wasn't going to let him get the jump on us." She shifted her weight again, this time resting on her side as she faced her sister. "People lie all the time, Celestia. Especially humans."

"Elves are no different, you know?" Celestia raised an eyebrow. "No one race lies more than the other."

"I know, but still…Trust isn't built in a day. Not real trust anyway." She glanced at Celestia. "You know that better than anyone."

Celestia's expression softened at that, her smile fading slightly. She knew exactly what Sylvanie meant—knew it all too well. Trust was a fragile thing, especially in the elven kingdom.

"You're right, I—"

Before Celestia could finish her sentence, the washroom door opened with Oreon's hair dripping slightly with a white towel over his head. He wore a white shirt and some dark trousers that covered his legs as he made his way towards Sylvanie, eyes glaring at her.

"Next time," Oreon pointed at Sylvanie. "I'm bathing first." Making his statement clear as he grumbles, as he limps his way back towards the window seat, calmly lying himself down, his head lying on the pillow that was propped up against the wall.

Sylvanie sat up slightly, her eyes following Oreon's limping form with an expression that looked mixed between half-amused and half-satisfied. "Oh? So, there's going to be a next time?" She asked, her tone mocking him a bit. "That's awfully presumptuous of you, human."

"Sylvanie," Celestia warned gently, though her tone was no different than her sister's,

"What, I'm just clarifying. He's already making plans for us to do this again. That's quite forward. I don't remember the elven men being this upfront." She snickered.

"That's not what I meant!" Oreon shouted back.

Sylvanie's grin widened, clearly delighted by his flustered response. "Then what did you mean?" She retorted. "Because it certainly sounded like you were planning to stick around long enough for there to be a 'next time."

Oreon opened his mouth, then closed it, clearly searching for the right words. His fingers were gripping the edge of the towel around his neck as he shifted uncomfortably against the pillow. "I just meant—if we're stuck like this, then that means we're going to be traveling together for a while, then—"

"Ah, so you are planning on sticking around," Sylvanie interrupted smoothly, leaning forward slightly. "Interesting."

"Stop putting words in my mouth," Oreon muttered, his ears turning slightly red as he avoided her gaze.

Celestia simply watched the exchange, her hands folded neatly in her lap. There was something…endearing about watching her sister tease someone who actually seemed to hold his own against her, even if he was clearly embarrassed. Most people either cowered or got angry when Sylvanie started her games, but Oreon seemed…annoyed. Frustrated, maybe. But not hostile in any manner.

"You're impossible,' Oreon finally grumbled, setting himself more comfortably against the cushion. "I'm trying to rest here."

"Then rest," Sylvanie replied, though her smirk remained. "No one's stopping you."

"You're still talking."

"Technically, you're the one who keeps responding," She pointed out. "If you really wanted to rest, you'd just ignore me."

Oreon's jaw clenched slightly, and for a moment it looked like he was going to argue further—but instead, he just turned his face toward the window, deliberately closing his eyes.

It didn't take long before exhaustion claimed the three. Celestia was properly under the covers, while her sister, Sylvanie, slept wildly with half the covers off her body, with her leg and arm sticking out. Oreon, still propped up on the window seat, slept peacefully, despite having no cover on him at all. And like that, the rest of the night carried on without incident.

-Meanwhile, back in the forest they escaped from-

Rot's body was left in the forest that the trio had escaped from. His face, smashed in thanks to Sylvanie's final stomp to end his life. His right arm remained detached a few feet away from the corpse as the large X that Sylvanie and Celestia had cut into his chest in their last attack remained fresh.

Footsteps could be heard as shadows appeared above the fallen corpse. No one said a word as the scene shifted to six cloaked figures that surrounded Rot's body. They all looked down at the deceased, with the figure standing in the middle, its red eyes narrowed slightly.

The figure knelt beside Rot's mangled corpse, tilting its head as its eyes studied the damage. A slow, deliberate breath escaped from beneath the hood.

"Pathetic," The figure murmured, voice smooth yet laced with disdain. "To think he fell to elves and a human…Blessings wasted, how disappointing."

One of the cloaked figures to the left shifted slightly. "Should we retrieve what remains of him?" A feminine voice spoke under the hood.

"No," The response was immediate, sharp. The red-eyed figure reached down, bleached grey fingers with sharp nails hovering just above the gaping wound in Rot's chest. Dark energy began to seep from the corpse—wisps of shadow that coiled upward like smoke. "Let the forest claim whatever is left of him." The figure said, turning their gaze towards the direction where the trio had fled hours ago. "He failed his task. There's no reason in bringing back the corpse of a failure."

Another figure spoke up; this one's voice was higher-pitched and eager. "What about the elves? And the human who helped them?"

The center figure continued to stare in the direction that undoubtedly led to where the escapees were, as a sick grin slowly appeared on its face. "We succeed, where this fool has failed." The figure licked its lips, a pale pink tongue slithering out of its mouth, rolling in a slow circle. "It's our turn."