Useless. Completely useless!
"Bàistec! Bàistec! Run! Now!"
I knew it. I knew we couldn't trust him.
"Bàiiiiisteeeeeeeec!"
-----
"Huh? What—? What's going on?"
If my dear wife sounds this agitated, there's only one possible reason.
Something has happened to Dorcha.
I throw on a robe and rush toward her.
-----
"Urchoicha, love… what's—?"
"Dorcha is teaching that stupid brat how to fight. And how to use magic!" she snaps, all in one breath.
I stare at her, stunned.
"No. That's impossible. You must be mistaken."
"I'm never mistaken. Look."
She points at her cauldron.
Inside, a thick liquid boils, releasing dark violet fumes.
The Potion of Sight.
I step closer.
Shapes take form within the smoke—my son, and an awkward little flea of a kid.
I can't help it. I laugh.
"What exactly do you think he can teach her? Can't you see she can barely hold a sword?"
My Queen grows even angrier.
I shouldn't have laughed.
I didn't mean to.
But I honestly don't understand her panic.
"You don't see it. But then again, you never have," she says coldly. "Look at me and repeat this: he must not learn to be kind. He must not learn to be selfless. And above all—he must never learn to love."
Oh.
Then… it is worse than I thought.
But why?
I'm confused. Truly confused.
She paces back and forth like an arrow in flight, her agitation rising with every step.
"The seals I placed on him leave no room for affection. He's changing. And near that clouder girl, he's changing far too fast. If this continues, my spell will unravel."
At last, she stops.
She turns.
Looks straight at me.
It sends a chill through my spine.
Still—gods, she's beautiful.
"If that girl manages to awaken his true essence… Dorcha will return to himself. And we will lose him."
Lose him?
What does that even mean?
No.
No, no, no.
That can't be true.
Sweat beads along my temple. I feel dizzy.
Lose him…?
No. No. No. No. No.
"So what do we do?" I ask, shaken.
She stares into the rising vapor, as if weighing something.
Then again, she's always weighing something.
"I can't summon him by magic. The land of those cursed elves is shielded. Send one of your men. Your most loyal. Fast. Merciless. Have him brought back."
No.
Not this.
I was the one who gave Dorcha the order to go.
"But… what if he refuses to return?"
She steps closer.
Slow. Threatening.
Is she casting a curse on me?
"He will return. Alive… or dead. He cannot remain there one moment longer."
Has she lost her mind?
"Alive or dead? Love—"
She doesn't listen.
"Now," she says, each syllable sharp as a blade.
No. This can't be happening. I have to make her see reason.
"Please, listen—the Parchment—"
"If he reclaims his original nature, Bàistec, the Parchment is lost. Our Kingdom will be lost. Go."
The Parchment.
Our Kingdom.
Yes. I go.
-----
I climb the stairs, pass through the tunnel leading outside, and head toward the training grounds.
I have to call Dorcha back.
Take away the trust I gave him.
And I don't like that.
Not at all.
His first true mission—his first real responsibility—cut short like this.
Even if that kid is useless… there's something majestic about him when he teaches her to fight.
It reminds me of when I used to spar with my companions.
Those days…
Tch. My wife is right. I must stop this.
Pride in my son's actions won't earn us absolute power over the Great Kingdom.
Now then… let's see. Where has he gone…
Ah. There.
"Grogher. Come here."
He turns and approaches.
He's no orc. No troll.
But all the same, he's my finest soldier.
"I have a mission for you. You leave at once."
-----
In the end, I had no choice but to give in.
Doing this alone was impossible.
So here we are again—back with those pointy-eared types.
And of course, the friendliest one comes to greet us.
Wonderful.
"Back again?" he asks.
That does it. I'm officially irritated.
I step in front of him.
One more word and I'll knock him flat.
"Does our presence bother you?" I say.
The kid steps up beside me.
"Inmus… forgive us, but we don't have much time. We need to speak with His Majesty."
Such a regal tone.
She takes my hand and, without offering the elf any further explanation, heads straight toward the King's tree.
Strangely enough, I'm impressed.
"And where did that confidence come from?" I ask her.
She flashes a knowing smile.
"Maternal inspiration."
-----
Baelkers is waiting for us at the base of his tree.
"Welcome back. Ready to begin?"
Begin what?
Does he mean to train both of us?
He isn't afraid to share the elves' knowledge so freely?
Urchoicha always said they were arrogant, possessive, jealous of their wisdom.
Yet their King looks ready to place the knowledge of his entire people right in front of us.
So where's the trick?
"Master Baelkers—may I call you that?"
He nods.
"Aren't you afraid to spread your people's knowledge so openly?"
He studies me, calm and piercing as ever.
"Why should I be? Knowledge is not meant to be locked away. To do so would stop it from growing. And that would be a terrible waste, wouldn't it?"
What a strange way of seeing wisdom.
So different from my stepmother's.
This elf is unlike the others.
Powerful. Wise.
Maybe… just maybe, I could try to trust him.
He lifts a finger.
Three chairs appear. A small table. Three steaming cups of herbal infusion—and a plate of pastries.
"Help yourselves. You must be hungry."
No need to tell me twice.
I could eat a troll.
-----
He waits until we finish sipping the infusion.
Then he folds his hands in his lap and begins.
"Let's start with the basics. Many of these things, Dorcha, you already know. Still, a reminder never hurts. First of all—magic and combat are not so different. Both must be practiced to cultivate oneself, to learn how to defend—not to cause harm. Both require focus. Wisdom. Respect for oneself and for one's opponent. And composure. You cannot cast a spell while fearing failure, just as you cannot fight while being ruled by rage or hatred. In either case, the result would be the same. Failure. As for magic, there is one more factor you must consider…"
"What is it, Master?" Aileen asks, curiosity lighting her voice.
I was wondering how she'd managed to stay silent for so long.
This time, though, I'm curious too.
"We Elves call it Dlì nà cruinne," he says. "The Law of the Universe. There is no magical act—good or evil—that does not demand its price, returning to the world in countless ways. That is why it is better not to act at all than to act for harm."
What is he even talking about?
"And if someone wants to kill us?" I ask.
"If someone seeks your life, defend yourselves. But if possible—do not kill them. Never."
He has to be joking.
"What do you mean, never? That makes no sense. What if we were at war?"
I nearly snap at him, but he doesn't flinch.
"Even then, it is not so different. The eyes of someone about to die hold an unbearable weight—terror, despair… the memory of those they are about to leave behind. Regret. Pain. Do you truly believe it is right to take that from them?"
What utter nonsense.
It doesn't make any sense at all.
"That's not how the real world works!" I snap. "If you're fighting and you gain the upper hand, you kill your enemy. That's it. You don't have time to imagine what they're feeling or indulge in that kind of foolishness. You'd get yourself stabbed by someone else! There are people who live to kill. A killer is a killer!"
I know exactly what I'm talking about.
I am a killer.
I was raised to be one. I live to kill.
He falls silent.
He looks at me—like he's reading straight through me, down to the bone.
I shift, uneasy.
"Your parents were murdered," he says quietly. "But not even a pain so great can justify the killing of other living beings."
What…
What is he saying…?
"Murdered…? My parents…?"
That's not true!
They weren't murdered!
It's a lie.
A cruelty! A fabrication!
But he nods.
"Before your eyes. You were still a baby… but I can see it in your memories. The ones you buried because they hurt too much. Vengeance will not bring them back. Nor will the darkness you embraced ever avenge them. Revenge does not exist, Dorcha. It is an illusion. Live. Live for yourself—for who you truly are. For who you were. Not for what they turned you into."
A shiver tears through me.
I start trembling, unable to stop.
My eyes burn with tears.
My stomach feels like it's on fire.
He's just a mad old fool.
I won't listen to him for another second!
I get to my feet and whistle.
Hercules comes at once.
He's the only one in this world I can trust.
I swing onto his back.
"Go!"
We plunge into the thick of the forest.
"Dorcha!" the kid shouts after me.
What does she want from me?
She needs to leave me alone.
Hercules and I race through the trees.
Air.
I need air. I need to think.
Damn elves.
I hate them.
I won't let anyone see me cry.
Anyone.
-----
I don't understand why Dorcha ran away like that.
I tried to go after him, but Baelkers stopped me.
"No, Aileen… not now," he said gently. "He needs to be alone."
I can only hope he's all right.
And that nothing bad happens to him.