Elijah's Pilgrimage

[PrinceTheDM 275]

 

Spoiler

Hello there! If you are reading this, I hope you enjoy! This was kind of a test run to see if I had the determination to be able to write a full length novel and with the many ideas I had for the future I think I came to a conclusive answer. This had to be pruned quite a bit to really focus in on the story I wanted to tell. It's only been through 2 revisions but I had a lot of fun writing it and those who know Elijah will have a lot of fun getting insight into his backstory!

He has a full backstory on this new continent and I may do a prequel story about his parents or his grandparents! Who knows!

I am dedicating this to my love - the one who inspires me everyday to write bigger and better and more beautiful words. One day I'll find the right combination of words to thank her for all she's done for me, but for now I will stick with a simple 'Thank you'. Until then, I'm going to keep writing and one day I'll figure it out.

 

I also dedicate this to my wonderful irp daughter and friend Sylvia Root aka @Little_Kitty48. She's a wonderful writer in her own right (get it?) and has inspired many of the arcs and stories that Elijah has gone through.

 

Some honorable mentions are @clearlynoko , aka Andromeda- @DevilPaws, aka Terminus/Avello/Onyx and @Smol aka Isadora (hi mom!).

 

Thank you to everyone who has roleplayed with me and everyone who will interact with me in the future! I would not have been able to do this without LOTC and it's community. The amount of dedication that people have to writing a good story has been such a huge driving force in my time here.

With all that mushy stuff out of the way - please enjoy "Elijah's Pilgrimage"
 

 

Elijah's Pilgrimage

Chapter 1 – Olmstead

Elijah arrived at the port town, adjusting his backpack as he walked off the ship and across the wooden docks. The sun was just rising and the smell of saltwater hung in the breeze as the wind carried it along the harbor. Seagulls cried overhead while crates were hauled onto waiting ships, and merchants called out to those who had just come ashore. It was a familiar sight to behold; one he had seen many times growing up as he used these docks to explore lands beyond the horizon.

His first order of business was to find a place to stay. Luckily, not much had changed since he last left Olmstead, and the ‘Angry Anchor’ was still up and running. He knew the owner of the inn, a short man named Cedrick, who could not have been taller than a wine barrel.

Regardless of his stature, no one dared mess with him. He was an ex-mariner of the Sailor’s Guild, and the tavern had been named after him. Cedrick earned that nickname long ago, when he and his crew were attacked by a giant squid from the abyss during their time aboard a merchant’s vessel. They fought hard, but the squid was formidable, and with the cannons out of commission, all hope seemed lost. Then, like lightning to a rod, Cedrick had a brilliant idea. He grabbed the anchor chains and, with the strength of an Olog, swung them into the creature’s head, badly wounding it and making it retreat back into the murky depths. At least, that’s the story he tells. To this day, the anchor still hangs above the bar, just in case a rowdy patron decides it’s their turn to rock the boat.

The doors swung open as Elijah walked in, and Cedrick perked up from behind the bar.

He rushed forward without hesitation and scooped Elijah into a crushing bear hug, squeezing his arms tight against his chest. From this angle, Elijah could see the salt threaded through Cedrick’s hair.

“Elijah, lad! How are ya?” Cedrick cried, hardly giving him a chance to respond before finally letting go. “How’s the new world treatin’ ya?”

Elijah patted himself off and readjusted his glasses.

“I’ve found a new place to call home, if that’s what you’re asking.” He said with a smile.

Cedrick laughed and bobbed his head.

“Glad t’hear it. But what’re ya doing back then?”

“Ah,” Elijah said softly, “I’m here to visit my mother.”

Cedrick’s laughter faded at once, a solemn look settling over his face.

“Oh. I’m sorry, lad.”

“No, don’t worry about it,” Elijah replied, offering Cedrick a small pat on the shoulder. “I just need a place to rest and a tasty meal in the mornings.”

Cedrick huffed out a laugh.

“Ha! Ya get a room and that slop Jorgan calls food.”

Elijah scoffed, but before he could reply, a voice roared from the kitchen.

“IF YA DIDN’T SCIMP OUT ON THE INGREDIENTS, I COULD COOK A HALF-DECENT MEAL!”

“AH, SHADDUP, JORGAN!” Cedrick shouted back with a grin only a blind nana could love. “ME NANA COULD COOK BETTER THAN YA, AND SHE’S BLIND IN BOTH EYES!”

Elijah laughed, took the keys from Cedrick, and quickly made his way upstairs as the two men resumed their bickering.

The room was surprisingly neat, far more so than anyone would think for such a place. A single bed stood against one wall, accompanied by a dresser, a nightstand, and a modest desk. It was everything one could reasonably need. He set his bag down and began to unpack. Out came his trusty journal, then the second, the third, and finally the fourth, each laid out with careful familiarity. Quills and loose papers soon made their home upon the desk as Elijah prepared to write a letter.

 

---

Dearest Sylvia,

          I have made it to Anarcadia, to the port town of Olmstead. I will be staying here for a couple of days in a modest inn. The owner, Cedrick, is an old friend from the capital and has kindly offered me a room free of charge. Still, I fear this is only a brief respite. Tomorrow, I will make my way to Hampton, where my mother is buried. I miss you dearly, and I miss your mother as well. I hope this letter finds you safe and well, my beloved daughter.

Sincerely,

Elijah

 

---

Elijah set the quill aside and furled the parchment, tying it neatly with a length of twine. After locking the door to his room, he headed back downstairs, where the earlier bickering had already faded into the background noise. Cedrick was busy tending the bar as more patrons filtered in, mostly consisting of dock workers and sailors. Elijah caught a raised hand from him and returned the gesture before stepping out into the streets of Olmstead.

The cobbled roads reminded him of Alba, as did the rows of merchant stalls lining the street. However, there was no Won-In cuisine to be found here, and he found himself missing the quiet hours spent at a certain bar in Alba, warming his hands around a cup of tea as patrons talked about the square. His thoughts drifted, briefly, to An Cheong-Won. She had been his first friend and had given him more than she ever knew. She had healed his companions time and again, but the first gift she ever gave him was his journal. Those days were long behind him now, but they remained fond memories all the same.

After a brief walk across town, he arrived at the stables on the outskirts. An old man clad in overalls and a cloth shirt looked up from his wooden stool. Elijah couldn't help but be reminded of Uncle Hick. He eyed Elijah up and down and offered no greeting, instead jerking his chin to the wooden signboard.

Steeds and Stouts – 80 gold / Ferry – 10 gold per county

Elijah walked on foot for most of his expeditions and wanted to save as much gold as he could. Something he learned from Eliseth in their time at the academy.

“How much to Hampton?” He asked.

“Eh? Hampton? That’s past the boonies. Ye got family there or somethin’?”

Elijah only nodded in reply. The old man scratched the back of his greying hair.

“Not as young as I used to be, can’t make it that far. But I won’t turn ye away.”

Rising from his stool, he banged on the large red stable doors, suddenly barking up at the rafters in a language new to Elijah- a strange feeling wormed its way into his chest as he failed to decipher the words, an almost bittersweet melancholy. The rosary in his pocket suddenly began to warm. Quickly, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. As he exhaled, he could feel the warmth that spread against his chest begin to cool.

The sound of shuffling followed and when Elijah opened his eyes what met him was a beansprout of a boy. He wore a similar outfit to the old man, overalls and a cloth shirt. But his hair was shaved off. Elijah furrowed his brows but before he could speak, the old man snorted.

“He’s so short the horses mistake his hair for hay.” He said, as if anticipating Elijah’s concerns, “Figured it best he shaves it till he’s tall enough t’not be mistaken for feed. And don’t get any ideas- he’s not a worker.”

Elijah stopped himself and let out a small sigh. “I wasn’t going to question it. I’m no city guard… but is this child supposed to take me to Hampton?”

The boy straightened, eager to speak.

“That’s right, sir! My name’s James, er Jameson, a pleasure t’meet you!” He smiled, one of the teeth missing from his grin. “Grandpa said you needed a guide. I know the road real well, so I can take you!”

He hesitated for a moment and glanced up.

“Of course, for… however much it costs.”

“Thirty gold,” The old man said flatly. “Not a coin less. And don’t let him talk you down with a sad story. Thirty gold. Clear, Jameson?”

Jameson nodded quickly, “As crystal, sir.”

Then, a bit more proudly, he added, “I can count good too now, Pa-Pa. All the way to a hundred. So, I’ll know if it’s right, don’t worry!”

The old man rolled his eyes, but Elijah could see a hint of a smile coming from the old-timer’s face. He turned back to Elijah and echoed once more, “Thirty gold.”

Elijah nodded, “Thirty gold. First light tomorrow, then. I’ll be here just before dawn.”

Jameson smiled brightly up at Elijah, “Oh boy! Another adventure!” and without warning ran off into the stable faster than a startled doe.

His grandpa gave a curt dip of his head and followed soon behind.

Leaving the stables, Elijah headed back towards the inner city to prepare for tomorrow’s trip.

Chapter 2 – The Road to Brookstead

Elijah awoke early in the morning. The sun had yet to rise. He reached for his glasses and cleaned them with a small piece of cloth before turning on the lamp. As a warm light flooded the room, Elijah let out a deep exhale.  He went downstairs where the only sounds were of Jorgan beginning to prep for the morning meals. Outside, next to the outhouse, was a small washroom. He turned the faucet and the rainwater that collected in the large barrel on the roof began to pour out of the spout. He washed his hands with a bar of lye soap. Thankfully, Elijah always keeps some bars with him just in case there aren’t any provided by the establishment.

Heading back inside, he waves good morning to Jorgan who was setting up the tables and chairs. Jorgan gives a small grunt as he jerks his head to a small plate of sausage and toast, along with a filled waterskin. Elijah grabs the plate with a grateful smile and stows the waterskin away. He takes a seat to eat as Jorgan continues to work. After the small meal, Elijah heads back up to his room. He begins to pack his things once more for the journey ahead. Scrolls and maps folded carefully and arranged in his pack. Then his precious journals, delicately stowed between his clothes and his papers. With everything packed, Elijah heads to the stables.

The morning air was cool as it passed Elijah, lights dim as he walked to the edge of town once more. Elijah could see a bright torch that lit the stables. In the light, he could make out the silhouettes of Jameson and his grandfather. As Elijah got closer, it became more evident they were doing some packing of their own. Jameson was the first to notice Elijah approaching.

“Hello, mister…” Jameson trailed off, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

“Elijah.”

“Mister Elijah, you’re a little early. We’re just about finished packing up.”

The old-timer came out and gave a quiet grunt in greeting to Elijah as he began to quietly murmur to himself, counting out the supplies on the carriage. It seemed he was doing his last-minute inspections of the horses and supplies.

As Jameson climbs to the front of the carriage and gets settled, he is handed a candle and some dried meat wrapped in an embroidered handkerchief. Jameson bows as his grandfather puts his palm to the boy’s forehead, muttering some sort of prayer.

“May you be blessed by Deuvia with a safe journey. Bene…” The old man intoned.

“…Dicte.” Jameson replied in kind.

“Stay safe Jameson. Don’t do anything reckless…”

“I won’t, Pa-Pa. Promise.”

Elijah could tell there was a level of worry that seemed to stem from more than familial bonds. The old man seemed nervous or uncomfortable. From what, well, Elijah could not tell.

Despite his discomfort, the old man waved them off as Jameson leaned forward and shook the reigns. Elijah settled into the carriage with a quiet sigh, as he took his journal and began to write.

 

---

I make my way once more towards the lands I once fled. The road is quiet, and yet my thoughts refuse to be still. I find myself caught between two fears. One, that when I stand before her resting place, I will break completely. That I will fall to my knees and weep until there is nothing left in me but grief.

The other fear is worse.

That I will feel nothing at all.

That time has not healed the wound but hollowed it out. That what I feel now is not pain, but its echo. Something distant and unreal, like a limb long gone that still aches in the cold.

I wonder if I am wrong for this careful life I have built. For trimming my thoughts and emotions so precisely that nothing sharp is allowed to grow. Is this restrained wisdom, or cowardice? Am I protecting myself, or avoiding what I owe the dead?

I tell myself that gardens must be tended, that left alone they become overrun. Still, I cannot help but wonder what I have cut away in the process. What might have bloomed, had I been braver.

I do not know what I will find when I return. I only know that I am afraid of what waits for me there, whether it greets me with sorrow or with silence.

 

---

Suddenly, Jameson spoke up, “Look, Mister Elijah. The sun’s rising.”

Elijah looked up from his journal, pulled back from the spiral of his thoughts. Ahead of them, the horizon was beginning to glow, pale gold spilling across the meadow as the sun crested the distant hills. Dew caught the light like scattered embers.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Jameson said, turning just enough to grin back at him.

Elijah paused, then nodded. “It is.”

Jameson’s smile was unguarded, bright in a way that felt effortless. For a moment, Elijah saw another face in its place, another child craning forward with the same boundless curiosity. Orange hair and yellow eyes… The thought lingered just long enough to ache.

He shifted forward on the carriage bench and rested his hand briefly against Jameson’s back.

“You’re a good kid,” Elijah said quietly. “Don’t let the world take that away from you.”

Jameson snorted. “You’re just saying that. Don’t think I’ll give you a discount for flattery.”

Elijah laughed, the sound surprising even him. Jameson glanced back to Elijah, eyes wide.

“I’m glad you’re laughing now,” Jameson said. “I was worried you’d be grumpy the whole way. Would’ve been a terrible ride.”

“I just had a lot on my mind,” Elijah replied.

“Oh. Yeah. Me too, sometimes.” Jameson shrugged. “Pa-Pa says I’m too young to be sad though. Says I’ll have plenty of time for that later.”

Elijah smiled faintly. “Your grandfather sounds like a wise man.”

“He is,” Jameson smiled proudly. Then, after a moment, “So… why’re you going to Hampton anyway?”

Elijah’s hand tightened on the edge of the bench.

“To visit family,” he said.

“Oh!” Jameson nodded, eyes back on the road. “Me too, kind of. I mean obviously, I’m escorting you… but my parents are buried near there. Grandpa and I go when we can. So, I decided I should visit them too while I’m at it.”

Elijah did not respond at once.

“They died in the Clover Hill tragedy,” Jameson continued, his voice quieter now. “We moved away after. Grandpa doesn’t like going more than once a year. Says his bones ache or the weather’s wrong.” He hesitated. “I think he just doesn’t like remembering.”

Elijah drew in a slow breath.

“I understand that.” he said.

The carriage rolled on, wheels rolling softly against the dirt road. Birds stirred in the hedgerows. For a while, neither of them spoke.

“I’m sorry,” Jameson said at last. “If that was… I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s all right,” Elijah said, a little too quickly. Then, more evenly, “Some things are better left undisturbed.”

Jameson nodded, relieved, and turned his attention to the path ahead.

They rode in silence after that, the early morning warmth slowly settling in. Elijah watched the road pass beneath them; his journal closed now at his side. The weight in his chest had not lessened, but it had steadied, pressed back into something manageable.

The sun had risen high above them by the time they stopped. The road dipped towards a shallow pond that was fringed with reeds and low grass. Jameson knew this spot and took the horses off the carriage, allowing them to rest.

As he began to feed them, Elijah decided it was time to stretch his legs. He got up and went to inspect the reeds and water. He couldn’t help but look into the water, inspecting his own reflection. “You look tired.” Elijah said. The reflection offered no retort of its own. He sighed and leaned back, looking up at Jameson who had rolled up the bottom of his overalls to step into the water. Jameson noticed Elijah’s gaze and waved with a bright smile.

“The water’s always really nice to play in!” He said with glee.

Elijah couldn’t help but smile but before he could say anything, a fluttering of wings was heard as a bird landed softly next to Elijah. It cocked its head to the side, as if scrutinizing him, before pecking away at the twine wrapped around its feet. Once it had delivered its letter, it set off back to its original owner.

“Was that for you?” Jameson called out, wading over to Elijah.

“Yeah.” Elijah said, beginning to unfurl the parchment to read it.

 

---

Dear Maln,

I am glad you are well! Things in Cerulia are the same as always. I have been practicing more of my voidal magic, every so often going on hunts too. Is the place you are in like Cerulia at all? Are you eating well, sleeping well? You better be taking care of yourself! Truth be told, it’s been weird not having you around. People keep moving in and out of Cerulia, the bards are playing their music too early in the morning, and the sun keeps rising and falling. The world has not stopped and yet it feels like a piece is missing. Anyways, hope to hear from you soon.

Signed,

Sylvia

 

---

Elijah read the letter once. Then again. His shoulders eased, a small sigh escaping his lips as they curled into a smile.

Jameson perked up seeing Elijah’s mood had improved. “Who is it from?”

“My daughter. Sylvia.”

“Oh. What did she say?”

“That she misses me.”

Elijah began to tuck the note away in his journal, folding it neatly between the pages. Jameson watched the careful way he did it, his mouth opening as if to speak before closing again. He shifted his weight, eyes flicking back to the water. He sat next to Elijah and offered him a piece of dried jerky.

Elijah took it with a smile and after a bite, “Jameson.”

“Yes, Mister Elijah?”

“Do you know how to read?”

“No, Mister Elijah.”

“Jameson.”

“Yes?”

“You can just call me Professor.”

“Okay, Mis- Professor.” Jameson said with a grin, his feet kicking up more.

After a few more quiet moments by the lake, the jerky finished, Elijah rose and Jameson followed suit. As Jameson untethered the horses from the tree and hitched them with practiced care, Elijah stepped into the back of the carriage. He took out some papers and notes from his bag and began Jameson’s first lesson.

Chapter 3 – Brookstead

“Professor,” Jameson called out, “We’re coming up on Brookstead.” He turned to face Elijah who was sitting behind him again. He looked up from his journal and nodded, as he peered past Jameson.

The sun hovered low, evening settling across the fields as the road ran parallel to a river. The river moved towards a wide waterwheel turning steadily at its edge.

Brookstead was small, half farmland and half water. The mill stood at its heart, old and well-kept, its wheel groaning with a patient rhythm. Attached to it was a two-story building with warm light in the windows. A simple wooden sign swung above the door, carved with a waterwheel breaking the surface of a river.

The carriage rolled to a stop, but before any of them could dismount, a woman stepped out from the mill building. She used her apron to dust her hands as she approached the pair. Jameson’s face lit up.

“Miss Amelia!” he called, hopping down. “It’s me.”

She smiled at once, pulling him into a brief embrace. “Jameson, I barely recognized you with how big you’re getting.” She said with a small laugh.

Then she looked towards Elijah still in the carriage.

“And who’s this?” she asked.

Jameson straightened, “This is Mister Elijah. I’m escorting him to Hampton.”

Her smile did not vanish, it simply closed.

“I’m sorry,” Amelia said, after a beat. “You’ll need to move on.”

Jameson blinked. “What? Why?”

“We don’t lodge travelers headed for Hampton, anymore.” She said evenly.

Elijah stepped down from the carriage. “Might I trouble you for an explanation?” He asked, approaching the two.

She glanced towards the mill, then lowered her voice.

“Anyone who needs to go that way always seems to bring trouble… And Brookstead doesn’t need that kind of attention.”

Jameson frowned, “What kind of attention?”

Amelia pinched the crease of her nose, “The not good kind. I mean just a week ago, an elvish couple came through here looking to get to Hampton. They started asking folks about Clover Hill. They stayed for one night before leaving. Next thing I know, elven guards come the next day demanding information.” Her jaw tightened slightly, “They turned the room upside down looking for the pair that had just left the night before. Then they started asking about it too.”

She sighed and continued, “Of course, they didn’t find anything and no one here knows anything about that damn place other than the people they lost. They told me that if anyone else comes looking to head to Hampton to inform them. They’re not city guards, hell, they aren’t even human. I wasn’t going to tell them anything. But like I said, Brookstead doesn’t need that kind of attention. Not from the capital, not from investigators and especially not from tourists.”

Elijah met her words with a frown. He was about to interject, but suddenly Jameson interrupted him.

“Wait,” he said. “We’re not- I mean that’s not why. I’m delivering supplies to the clinic. And he’s-” Jameson swallowed. “Elijah’s my teacher. He’s helping me learn to read and write on the road.”

Amelia studied him.

“Reading,” she said.

Jameson nodded quickly. “Yes, ma’am. Letters. Numbers. I can even count up to a hundred now!” He added proudly, “We’ll be gone by morning, and we won’t bother anyone. Promise.”

Amelia looked back up at Elijah, and he nodded. “I’m a Professor of Literature and Language Arts. I’m doing a small favor for his grandpa since he couldn’t make the trip.”

The mill wheel groaned and turned. Water rushed past.

At last, Amelia exhaled.

“One night,” she said. “No talk of Hampton. No talk of Clover Hill. You don’t talk to anyone. You leave at first light.”

Jameson nodded, “Yes ma’am.”

Amelia led the pair to their rooms inside, and as she turned to leave, she gave one last look at them before saying, “Be careful… The both of you.”

Elijah only offered a silent nod, but Jameson rushed over before she could react and embraced Amelia once more.

“Thanks Miss Amelia…”

“Yeah, yeah… If you need me, I’ll be by the mill.”

Jameson pulled away and looked to Elijah, “I’m going to sleep now. I’ll see you in the morning! Goodnight, Professor!”

Elijah, once again, only offered a silent nod before turning away and closing the door behind him.

Jameson’s smile faded as Elijah closed the door. He lingered for a moment, considering a knock, then thought better of it and turned in for the night.

Chapter 4 – Hampton

The moon had barely begun to set by the time Elijah awoke. Jameson was waiting outside, already having prepared the carriage to leave. Amelia was nowhere to be seen, but Elijah was a man of his word.

“Before dawn?” Jameson said looking up to Elijah coming out of the inn.

“Before first light.” Elijah replied, as he hopped into the back of the carriage, “We can start your next lesson after Brookstead.”

As they began to roll away, Elijah looked back at the quiet town, the roads still dark, barely illuminated by the waning moonlight. Then, he spotted it. A small orange glow coming from the window on the top floor of the mill. A shadow passed briefly across the window, and then the light was gone.

Elijah gave a small exhale, turning back to face the front of the carriage. He tugged at the edge of his cloak as the wind picked up. He shook his head and opened his journal once more to write.

 

---

 

I believed I had buried Clover Hill deep enough that its roots could no longer reach me. That time and distance had thinned them, starved them of soil. Yet here, even strangers flinch at its name, and towns close their doors rather than risk remembering.

Hampton lies ahead, quiet and waiting. I tell myself it is only a place. That stone and earth cannot accuse or forgive. Still, I feel as though I am walking toward something that has been watching and waiting for my return.

I am afraid not of what Hampton holds, but of what it may draw out of me. Grief, I have kept trimmed and orderly. Questions I have left unasked. If the roots have grown this far without me, I do not know what I will find at their source.

 

---

Eventually, the dirt road gave way to cobblestone as Hampton came into view. Tall stone walls rose ahead of them, their gates already crowded with travelers waiting to be admitted. Guards moved along the line with practiced efficiency, calling out instructions and inspecting papers as the city stirred awake. Elijah reached into his coat and produced his travel documents, while Jameson unfurled the papers from his grandfather.

The line was a mosaic of movement and color. Merchants, pilgrims, laborers, and foreigners of every shade and species passed beneath the guards’ scrutiny. Elijah’s gaze drifted across them without pause, until it caught on one figure near the front. A sun-kissed woman stood apart from the others, clad in a black-and-gold naval uniform that looked too pristine for the road. Her dark curly hair was pulled into a high ponytail, though loose strands escaped to frame her face. She spoke quietly to one of the guards, her posture relaxed, assured. Whatever business had brought her inland, it was not something she intended to announce.

Jameson caught Elijah staring and nudged him with an elbow.

“You got a crush on her or something, Professor?”

Elijah snorted and looked away. “Interesting people interest me,” he said evenly. After a beat, he added, “And besides, I already have a lock back home. I’m more curious why a naval officer is conducting business this far from the sea.”

Jameson grinned, unconvinced, as the line began to move again.

“Maybe she’s on vacation?” he said. “What is it called? Shore leave? I heard some of the sailors talking about it.”

“Maybe,” Elijah replied.

The rosary at his chest warmed faintly, a familiar pressure settling beneath his ribs. He closed his fingers around it without looking down. Curiosity stirred, sharp and insistent, but it did not overtake him. It never did anymore.

Old habits die hard. Some lessons are learned the same way.

Finally, it was their turn to pass through the gates. The front guard took a cursory glance at their documents while his companions checked the back of the carriage. Elijah offered no resistance to their inspections, and they were able to pass without incident.

Within Hampton’s walls, the city revealed its purpose quickly. Clinics, storehouses, and administrative halls lined the streets, districts arranged less for comfort and more for necessity. The town was alive, but in a strangely measured way, every street seemed to bend toward some obligation.

Jameson guided the carriage to the clinic and unloaded the supplies as promised. Elijah remained behind, seated on the bench, watching as Jameson spoke with the head physician. The exchange was brief, but whatever was said left Jameson unsettled. His shoulders drew in, his voice low.

When he returned, he did not meet Elijah’s eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Elijah asked.

Jameson hesitated. “The doctor said… they’re running out of space.” He swallowed. “They’re offering gold to the families willing to give up individual plots. Move them into the memorial ground instead.”

Elijah stiffened.

“They’re starting with Clover Hill,” Jameson continued quietly. “Most of the graves there don’t have anyone left to speak for them…”

Silence settled between them.

“I’m sorry,” Jameson said after a moment. “I didn’t mean to dump this on you.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I need to take care of it. I should send a bird to Pa-Pa, let him know what they’re asking.”

Elijah nodded once.

“You can go visit your family,” Jameson added quickly, as if afraid he was being rude by prioritizing this. “I’ll meet you back here after. Or-” He paused. “However long you need.”

“That’s fine,” Elijah said evenly. “Take your time.”

Jameson searched his face for something, then seemed to find enough. He nodded, more firmly this time.

“I’ll be back soon,” he said.

Elijah watched Jameson disappear down the street toward the aviary, the weight in his chest shifting, settling into something heavier. Once the boy was out of sight, he turned back toward the clinic.

The physician Jameson had spoken with was still standing near the entry desk, organizing a stack of forms. She looked up as Elijah approached and offered a polite, practiced smile. Up close, she reminded him of Thalis Thornfield, the esteemed physician of Cerulia.

“Hello,” she said. “Dr. Aileen Eckleberg, you can call me Dr. Aileen. How can I help you? Are you injured?”

“No,” Elijah simply replied. “I overheard your conversation about the grave consolidation. Who would I speak to about that?”

Her expression softened slightly, “Ah. Are you a family member?”

“Yes.”

“I can assist you then,” she said after a moment. “Ordinarily, these matters are handled by the grave keepers, but as the consolidation began as a clinic proposal, I’ve been meeting with the next of kin personally- or at least trying to.”

She gestured toward a small desk nearby and retrieved a ledger, flipping it open. “And what name are you looking for?”

“Lyra Nastoria,” Elijah said. “She was my mother. I’m Elijah Nastoria.”

Dr. Eckleberg’s hand stilled. She looked up at him more carefully this time, her gaze searching his face rather than the page.

“… Nastoria,” she repeated. “As in Joseph Franz Nastoria?”

Elijah hesitated. “Yes.”

Her expression changed, subtle but unmistakable. Recognition, followed by something like restraint.

“I see,” she said quietly. “You’re his son.”

Those words pierced Elijah like a dagger. “Yes, that’s correct.” He said through gritted teeth.

She glanced back down at the ledger, her finger tracing the page with renewed attention.

“Your father was well known here,” she added after a moment. “Respected. His work reached far beyond Hampton.” She paused. “Many still speak of him, as I’m sure you are aware.”

Elijah shifted, the words scraping against him. “Yes. He was… gifted.” He said, each syllable carefully measured.

Dr. Aileen hummed as she turned a page.

“I’m afraid I only have your father listed under the Nastoria name,” she said. “If your parents were legally wed, they would ordinarily be recorded together. This ledger is recent, I received it from the records office just last week.”

She glanced up, “Did your mother ever use a different surname?”

Elijah swallowed, “I don’t know.”

“I see,” she said gently. “In that case, you should check the citizen records at the town hall. It’s possible her file reverted to her maiden name.”

She scribbled a note and tore the page free.

“Take this,” she said, handing it to him. “They’ll know the request is coming from the clinic.”

Elijah accepted the slip and nodded, already turning away.

“Good luck!” She called out but her words fell on deaf ears.

***

The records clerk wasted no time. He led Elijah into the archives and retrieved a thin file from the shelves.

“Oh,” the clerk murmured, scanning the page. “That’s odd. I would have expected this to be much older.”

Elijah leaned forward.

“It seems her name was updated just last week,” the clerk continued. “Lyra Fleur Aelthariel. The record indicates she is being processed for return to Sylvonia.”

Elijah felt the air leave his lungs. This made no sense.

“By her parents,” the clerk replied. “Louis Epee Aelthariel and Cecilia Fleur Aeltharial.”

Elijah closed the file. For the first time since arriving in Hampton, he felt truly out of his depth.

He left the records office without a word and made his way through the city, the noise of Hampton dulling as his thoughts narrowed. By the time he reached the cemetery gates, the weight of the file in his hands felt heavier than the stone walls around him.

It wasn’t difficult to find his father’s grave.

As he approached, the first thing he noticed was the offerings left behind by others. Letters folded with care. Small tokens. Quiet expressions of gratitude from those Joseph Nastoria had saved. Proof of lives continued, of futures preserved.

Elijah’s stomach twisted.

He knelt and picked up one of the newer letters tucked openly beside the grave, its edges pristine and sharp, untouched by weather or time.

 

---

Dear Dr. Nastoria,

Thank you for saving my life. I was only a little girl when you came to our village, but you saved my parents and made sure they could work again. Because of that, I was able to pursue my dreams, and now I serve in the military.

I wanted to help people like you, in my own way. I can’t heal the sick like you did, but I can stand between innocent people and the monsters that threaten them. I hope you are resting in peace.

Amber Beuregardt

 

---

 

Elijah folded the letter back into place.

The world tilted.

He turned aside and retched onto a patch of grass beside the grave, his body betraying him before his mind could catch up. His heart hammered violently against his ribs, breath coming shallow and sharp as the dizziness crept in.

A small hand pressed against his back.

“Professor?” a voice asked, “Are you alright?”

“Sylvi-” Elijah gasped, lifting his head. “N-No… sorry… Jameson.” He swallowed hard. “Yes. I’m… I’m alright.”

Jameson glanced toward the headstone, reading the name there before looking back at Elijah, his expression subdued. “You’re here to visit family too, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s okay.”

Elijah nodded, still unsteady, as Jameson rubbed his back once more.

After a moment, Elijah drew a slow breath. “Have you… visited your family yet?”

Jameson shook his head. “No. I was heading there when I saw you on the ground.”

“Oh.” Elijah said, “Then let’s go say hi to them.”

Jameson’s face softened. “Okay, Professor.”

He turned and led the way toward the nearby graves. Taking out the embroidered handkerchief, he folded it and tucked it under the votive holder, replacing the older one which was put back into his pocket. Then he removed the spent candle and replaced it with the new one. A small match flared, the flame catching and steadying despite the breeze. He set out the jerky, dried fruits, and nuts, arranging them neatly at the base of the stone.

Then he clasped his hands and bowed his head.

“May your souls find peace and eternal happiness,” he murmured “that you may be together forever and ever. Bene-”

“Dicte,” Elijah finished softly.

Jameson glanced up at him. “Thank you for being here, Professor.”

Elijah shook his head, and patted Jameson’s shoulder as they stood watching the candle flicker in the cool wind.

“No,” He said quietly, “Thank you, Jameson.”

Chapter 5 – Hampton II

Jameson nodded once, then straightened and hooked his arm around Elijah’s sleeve with surprising insistence.

“I think that’s enough of being sad for today,” he said, smiling despite the redness around his eyes. “Don’t you?”

Elijah blinked. “Jameson-”

“Come on,” The boy insisted, tugging harder. “Let’s go eat. I know some great places in town. You can’t leave Hampton without trying them.”

Elijah let out a soft breath and relented, allowing himself to be pulled along as they left the graveyard behind. The iron gates closed with a dull clang that echoed longer than it should have. The knot in his stomach eased only slightly, still tight with worry, but movement helped. Noise helped.

Hampton greeted them with the low hum of daily life. Vendors called out prices from shaded stalls, the scent of fresh bread and herbs drifting through the streets. Jameson walked with an ease that told Elijah this was familiar ground.

“My parents used to bring me here,” Jameson said, gesturing toward a cluster of stands near a fountain. “Pa-Pa still does… sometimes. Says it’s good to keep moving.”

Elijah only hummed in acknowledgement.

“And the food,” Jameson added quickly, brightening. “That’s why Pa-Pa moved to Olmstead, I think. All the imports.”

Elijah suspected there was more to it than that, but he kept the thought to himself.

They eventually ducked into a small café tucked between two taller buildings. Sunlight spilled through the front windows, catching dust motes in the air. They took a seat near the wall.

Elijah ordered a small fish fillet over rice. Jameson ordered a slider with cut potatoes and leaned back in his chair, satisfied.

“Told you,” Jameson said after the first bite. “Worth it.”

Elijah took his own bite and nodded. “I’ll concede the point.”

Jameson grinned. “High praise. Coming from a Professor.”

For a while, they ate in comfortable silence. The clatter of plates and muted conversations filled the space between them.

Jameson was the first to speak again.

“They asked me today,” he said quietly, eyes fixed on his plate.

Elijah looked up. “The clinic?”

Jameson nodded. “About my parents’ graves. They said they’d give me gold if I let them move them. Make room.”

Elijah didn’t interrupt.

“I know Pa-Pa will tell me it’s my choice,” Jameson continued. “He always does. But… I think he doesn’t want to think about it at all.”

“That’s understandable,” Elijah said gently.

“Yeah.” Jameson shrugged. “But it still feels like I’m deciding for both of them.”

Elijah considered that, then spoke slowly. “You don’t have to decide right away. But whatever you choose… make sure it’s because it feels right to you. Not because it’s easier for someone else.”

Jameson glanced up. “Even if it hurts?”

Elijah met his gaze. “Especially then.”

Jameson nodded, chewing thoughtfully.

After a moment, he said, “Pa-Pa says people leave things behind because they’re heavy.”

Elijah smiled faintly. “Sometimes carrying them is the point.”

Jameson leaned back in his chair, legs swinging slightly beneath the table. “Then I think I know what I want to do.”

Elijah exhaled, something inside him shifting as the words settled. He realized, distantly, that the advice he’d just given was meant for more than just one of them.

“When you’re ready,” Elijah said, “we can speak to Dr. Aileen together.”

Jameson brightened. “Really?”

“Yes,” Elijah replied. “I think… I have a few questions of my own.”

Jameson nodded, resolute. “Okay let’s go.”

***

The pair arrived at the clinic shortly after and what met them was immediate motion.

Assistants moved quickly through the entry hall, voices low but urgent. A pair of nurses ushered a bloodied man toward one of the side rooms while another steadied a woman whose arm had been hastily bandaged. The sharp scent of antiseptic hung heavily in the air.

Jameson slowed, eyes wide. “What happened?”

“A carriage accident,” Dr. Aileen said as she passed them, sleeves already rolled. “One thrown wheel. No need to worry.”

She paused surveying the room, then turned to one of her assistants. “I’ve got this for a moment. Tend to the others.”

Only then did she turn back to them.

“Did you find what you were looking for, Elijah?” she asked, her voice steady despite the chaos.

Elijah simply nodded, as Jameson shifted beside him, then spoke up. “And I made my decision.”

Dr. Aileen’s attention shifted to him, “Have you?”

Jameson took a small breath in before saying, “I have. I don’t want my parents’ graves moved.”

She didn’t question it. She didn’t rush him. Instead, she nodded once, “Very well, I’ll make note of that.”

Jameson exhaled, shoulders loosening. “Thank you.”

“There’s no penalty for keeping what matters,” she said gently. “If anything changes, you or your grandfather can reach out.”

Jameson nodded again and stepped back, eyes drifting to the bustle of the clinic as if suddenly aware of how small his own problem might seem by comparison.

Elijah took that moment to step forward.

“If I may,” he said quietly. “I had a question as well.”

Dr. Aileen turned fully to him. “Go ahead.”

“Regarding the consolidation,” Elijah continued. “Do I have any standing when it comes to my mother’s grave?”

Her expression softened, but there was something careful in it now.

“Your mother,” she said. “Lyra.”

“Yes.”

She hesitated. Somewhere behind them, a patient groaned softly.

“The process is already underway,” Dr. Aileen said. “Your mother’s remains are being prepared for transfer.”

Elijah felt his chest tighten. “I was told her parents initiated the request.”

“That’s correct,” she replied. “They are still in Hampton. They wished to oversee it personally.”

Jameson’s head snapped up. “They’re here?”

Dr. Aileen nodded. “They are.”

Elijah drew a slow breath. “If I wanted to speak with them… would that be possible?”

She studied him for a long moment, seeming to weigh more than just policy.

“Yes,” she said at last. “But I would need to notify them first. They were not expecting another claimant.”

“I understand,” Elijah said.

Dr. Aileen reached for her ledger. “If you wish, I can send word today. Whether you meet them after is your choice.”

Elijah glanced briefly toward Jameson, then back to her.

“Please do.”

She made a short note, then closed the book. “Very well.”

A nurse called her name from across the room. Dr. Aileen looked up, already shifting back into motion. “I’d suggest finding an inn to stay tonight if you wish to speak to them…” She called back before turning to tend to the patients.

Elijah and Jameson stepped back out into the street, the noise of the clinic fading behind them. Neither spoke, but the silence felt different now.

They returned to the carriage. Jameson hopped up onto the bench, but Elijah did not follow.

He looked down. “Professor?”

Elijah reached into his satchel, drawing out thirty gold pieces and a small tome. He held them up, offering them to Jameson.

“I think you should head back home now, Jameson.” Elijah said, a faint smile touching his lips.

“What? Why?” Jameson asked, clearly not expecting it.

“You’ve more than fulfilled your duties,” Elijah replied. “I’ll find my way from here.”

Jameson chewed at his lip, then nodded and took the gold and the book.

“Keep practicing your writing,” Elijah said. “I hope you get a letter from you one day.”

“I will, Professor. You better come visit…” Jameson trailed off as he opened the pouch. “Wait. This is way more than thirty.”

Elijah was already walking away. He raised a hand without turning back.

“Keep the change.”

Jameson sighed but said nothing. After watching Elijah disappear into the crowd, he shook the reins and turned the carriage toward home.

Finding an inn was easy enough. Hampton was large, and travelers passed through constantly. He chose one near the inner wall, modest and clean, its sign bearing no name beyond a painted lantern. The innkeeper barely glanced up as Elijah paid for a single night and received a key.

The room was small but serviceable. A narrow bed, a wash basin, a shuttered window that looked out over the stone roofs of the city. Elijah set his bag down and removed his coat, folding it with care. For a moment, he simply stood there, listening to the muted sounds of Hampton beyond the walls.

Eventually, he sat at the desk and opened his journal.

 

---

I have spent most of my life convincing myself that I was alone by necessity. That solitude was safer. Cleaner. That it spared others from the weight I carry.

Today, I have learned that the past does not remain buried simply because we refuse to look at it.

My mother has a name I did not know. Parents who are still alive. A home I never saw. And they are here.

Close enough that the distance between us is no longer measured in miles, but in courage. I tell myself that I am prepared. That I have faced worse truths.

I have walked through hell and back. Yet my hand trembles even as I write this.

What do they see when they look at me? A grandson? A stranger? A reminder of what they lost, or of what was stolen from them?

I am afraid that once I speak to them, something will be taken from me that I cannot recover. Or worse, that I will gain something I do not know how to carry.

I have run from many things in my life. This time, I will not.

But I do not know who I will be when this is done.

 

---

Elijah closed the journal and rested his hand atop the worn leather cover. The room felt smaller now, the walls pressing in with the weight of what awaited him.

He lay down without undressing and stared at the ceiling, listening to the distant sounds of the city until sleep finally claimed him.

Chapter 6 – Hampton III

Elijah awoke before the city fully stirred. He washed himself at the basin, the water cold enough to chase away the remnants of sleep, then dried his face and cleaned his glasses. His satchel was already mostly packed; he checked its contents out of habit more than necessity.

Downstairs, the inn was quiet. The innkeeper accepted the key without comment.

As Elijah turned to leave, the innkeeper placed a small envelope on the counter.

“This came for you,” they said, voice flat.

Elijah paused. The letter was sealed with red wax, unbroken.

“From whom?” he asked.

The innkeeper shrugged. “Didn’t say. Paid for delivery. That’s all.”

Elijah hesitated, then took the letter. The wax bore no crest he recognized, only a clean, deliberate seal. He broke it carefully and unfolded the parchment.

 

---

To whom it may concern,

It has come to our attention that you have presented yourself under incomplete truths. Be advised that deception toward elven nobility carries consequences.

If you wish to clarify your position, you will meet us this morning at the winery in the upper district.

Future delays will not be appreciated.

 

---

Elijah folded the letter once, then again. His jaw tightened, but his hand was steady.

“Thank you,” he said to the innkeeper.

They were already looking away.

Elijah stepped back into the street, the words of the letter echoing with every step as he moved towards the winery.

The upper district was farther than Elijah had anticipated. By the time he arrived, the sun was already cresting the rooftops, its light catching on polished stone and wrought iron. The streets here were cleaner, quieter, and watched more closely. He felt eyes on him as he approached the winery, subtle glances that lingered a moment too long.

The building itself was unmistakable. Pale stone, arched windows, and a carved sigil above the doors. Elijah had barely stepped onto the threshold when a host intercepted him, placing themselves squarely in his path.

“Excuse me,” they said politely, though their eyes were already dismissive. “You appear to be lost. The nearest inn is back the way you came.”

Elijah opened his mouth to respond, but before he could speak, a presence settled behind the host.

An armored hand came to rest on their shoulder.

“He was invited by the Lord and Lady of Aeltharia,” a voice said, low and firm.

The host stiffened. They glanced sideways, then stepped aside at once. “I see. My apologies. Right this way.”

“No,” the armored elf said. “I will escort him.”

The host inclined their head and withdrew without another word.

Elijah said nothing as he was led inside. The winery’s interior was cool and hushed, the air scented faintly with crushed grapes and polished wood. They ascended an arrow staircase, footsteps muted by thick carpeting, until they reached a private suite at the top.

The guard knocked once.

“Lord Aelthariel,” they called. “I have the guest you summoned.”

There was a pause, then a measured voice from within.

“Let them enter.”

The doors opened.

The room beyond was elegant without being ostentatious. A low, whitewood table sat at the center atop a blue carpet threaded with gold. Tea steamed gently from porcelain cups, flanked by delicate confections arranged with deliberate care. Two lounge chairs faced the table.

Elijah’s gaze was drawn immediately to the pair seated in the leftmost chair.

They seemed to catch the light differently, their silver-and-crimson attire reflecting with a subtle, unnatural sheen. Their presence filled the room more thoroughly than any decoration. Both watched him with quiet attention.

One of them gestured to the empty chair opposite.

Elijah moved forward and sat, setting his journal carefully on the floor beside him. The guards took their places, one at the door and the other directly behind him.

The elfess was the first to speak.

Her hands rested neatly in her lap, fingers laced together. An ornate silver chain traced from one ear to the other, crossing the bridge of her nose like a mark of station. When she looked at Elijah, her gaze was steady and intent, lashes dark against her eyes that reflected the light too cleanly.

“You call yourself Elijah Nastoria,” she said. It was not a question.

“Yes.”

She studied him for a long moment, her eyes drifting briefly to the sides of his head before returning to his face.

“And you say you are Lyra’s son.”

Elijah’s jaw tightened. “I know who my mother was. Lyra Nastoria.”

At that, the male elf let out a quiet scoff, lifting his cup to take another sip of tea. The elfess placed a hand against his knee, stilling him without looking away from Elijah.

“Our names,” she said calmly, “are Louis Epee Aelthariel.” She inclined her head toward the man beside her. “And I am Cecilia Fleur Aelthariel.”

The man did not look at Elijah. His gaze remained fixed on the tea before him, as though it had personally offended him.

“Our daughter,” Cecilia continued, “was Lyra Fleur Aelthariel.”

 Elijah felt the name settle in his chest, heavier than he had expected. Not sharper. Not louder. Just… real.

“And you,” she said, her eyes never leaving his, “have called yourself Elijah Nastoria.”

“Yes,” Elijah replied. His voice was steady. He did not know for how long he could manage it.

“You were raised under that name,” she went on. “You were taught it. Fed it. Protected by it.”

The man scoffed quietly. “Conditioned by it.”

Cecilia lifted a hand, and he fell silent.

“Elijah,” she said gently, “tell me. When you were a child did your father allow you to seek other physicians when you were ill?”

Elijah frowned. “I… I didn’t need to. He treated me himself.”

“And when you asked?” Louis interjected without looking up. “Even once.”

Elijah hesitated. The memory surfaced unbidden. “There was one time. A fever. He wasn’t in town and someone suggested another doctor.” He swallowed. “My father was very upset when he found out but he said it was because he couldn’t trust anyone else to treat his son.”

Cecilia closed her eyes briefly.

“And your studies,” she asked. “Did he permit you to learn medicine?”

“Yes,” Elijah said at once. “He encouraged it.”

“Alchemy?” Louis asked.

Elijah paused. “No. He said it was too dangerous. He would have taught me when I got older but…” His voice faltered, then steadied. “He died tragically before he could have the chance.”

Louis’s hand tightened around his teacup.

“Tragically,” he repeated, without heat.

Cecilia opened her eyes again, her gaze gentler now, though no less intent.

“Elijah,” she said, “your father did not fear alchemy because it was dangerous.”

She leaned forward slightly.

“He feared it because it would have taught you how to recognize what he had done.”

Elijah frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Alchemy,” Louis said, finally looking at him directly, “is the study of transformation. Of materials, yes, but also of systems. Of cause and consequence. Exchange.” His jaw set, “If you had learned it then, you would have learned to see the seams.”

“The seams…” Elijah echoed faintly.

“The points where something has been forced to become what it is not,” Cecilia said.

The room suddenly felt too still.

“Elijah,” she continued, “your father was not human.”

Elijah shook his head immediately. “No. He was.”

Louis’s voice was flat, final. “He was elven.”

The word struck harder than Elijah had expected. He laughed once, sharply. “That’s not possible.”

“It is,” Cecilia replied. “And it is why we suspected you might still be alive.”

She drew a slow breath. “Joseph Franz Nastoria was condemned by the Sylvonian Conclave for crimes committed under the guise of care. He altered himself to flee judgement.” Her mouth tightened. “His true name was Yosef Hanz Weber.”

Elijah’s hands curled into fists. “Did she know?”

“She knew he was hiding,” Cecilia said carefully. “She did not know how deep the rot went. We began to suspect when she wrote that she was growing weaker, even as the pregnancy progressed.” Her voice softened. “We begged her to come home and get treated here. He convinced her it was a trap. We don’t know what lies he wove.”

Elijah exhaled sharply. “Then why was she there? In Clover Hill?” The two words hung in the air as they escaped Elijah’s lips. It was the first time he had spoken the name aloud in years. It tasted bitter.

Cecilia hesitated, turning away for the first time.

Louis met Elijah’s gaze. “We had arranged for her to strengthen ties with a royal faction,” he said evenly. “She was young. They were insistent.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Cecilia spoke again, quieter now. “She wanted a life of her own. Something simple. She believed she had found it.”

Elijah swallowed, “And me?”

“You were loved,” Cecilia said at once. “Fiercely.”

Louis nodded once. “She would not come home. But she wrote to us often. About you. About the life she wanted to give you.” His gaze lowered. “It was the only way we were allowed to keep our daughter.”

 Elijah turned away, biting his lip. He felt himself shrink against the chair, the word settling deep into his chest.

Cecilia reached into a small satchel at her side and withdrew a vial sealed in pale crystal.

“This,” she said gently, setting it on the table between them, “is a reversion potion.”

Elijah’s eyes flicked to it and away again.

“It would undo the alteration placed upon you,” Louis said. “It is stable. Refined. There would be no harm.”

“It would restore what was taken,” Cecilia added. “Nothing more.”

Silence stretched again.

Elijah shook his head. “I can’t.”

Neither of them pressed him.

“I’ve lived my entire life as I am,” he said quietly. “I was raised human. I built a family that way. I don’t even know what it would mean to be… anything else.”

Cecilia inclined her head. “We did not expect you to accept right away.”

Louis folded his hands, “Only that the choice be yours.”

Elijah finally looked at the vial. His breath caught, just slightly.

“I need to go home. To Azuras.” he said. “I need to talk to my family. My lover. My daughter.”

Louis’ eyebrow raised, “Is she-” and just as quickly as he spoke, Cecilia’s hand tightened sharply against his knee. A small yelp came from him before he fell silent.

“That is fine, dear.” She said, “And when you are ready, if you ever are, we will be here.”

Louis nodded once more. “Or we will come to you. Azuras, you said?”

“Yes.”

“Then that is where our line continues,” Cecilia said quietly. “Even if it is not here.”

Elijah stood. His legs felt unsteady, but he did not falter.

“I won’t disappear,” he said, “I promise.”

Cecilia smiled, small and aching. “That is all we ask.”

As Elijah turned toward the door, Louis spoke once more.

“When you are ready to learn the full truth of what your father did, and what was done to you,” he said evenly, “we will help you see it clearly.”

Elijah paused at the threshold, the guards holding the door open for him. Their posture had changed. Straighter now. More deliberate. He nodded without turning back.

“I need time,” he said.

“Time is all we elves have.” Louis replied.

The door closed softly behind them.

For the first time since arriving in Hampton, Elijah did not feel like he was running.

He was going home.

Spoiler

Wow! You made it to the end! 

Surprise! This was all to retcon Elijah into an elf. HA! Gottem!

 

In all seriousness, thank you for reading. If you scrolled down here to comment or just scrolled to the end to cheat then uh... valid I guess. You do you.

 

Tell me what you thought! I've still got a ways to go but I think I'm on my way to writing something great one day.

 

I can't wait to dedicate the LOTC community in my future book! Yeah that's right nerds. You're all getting mentioned.

 

For real, thank you.

 

[Wolfy-D 467]

I didn't actually read it because it was really long but I bet it was amazing 

[Arianthe22 242]

Read parts, scanned others but realized halfway through that it was to retcon Elijah into an elf XD

 

Lovely writing and welcome back o/