A Story of More Woe

Dad sat on the porch with a bottle he swore he wouldn’t open again.

The sky was half-pink, half-sickly gold.

She was still young. Young enough to not know better, old enough to start seeing through him.

Her mother was inside. Quiet.

“I have a vision for the future,” he said, voice rough.

He looked over at her—not at her, really, but past her. Somewhere out on the horizon.

“With your mom, and you, and me… we could make Highcliff what it used to be. Before the Concordant. Before I helped in its demise.” He took another swig. Didn’t wince. “Far from those damn Concordians and their treaties and their taxes. Far from their soft hands and softer words.”

Elisa bristled. “Damn… damn right!”

“'Atta' girl…”

\\

Elisa shook the memory off.

Kael told her this was stupid. Any other plan—literally any—would’ve been better.

But there were too many unknowns. Right now, the rebels held a power too vast, too unpredictable. And if the forest decided to go full apocalypse on the demonkin’s glorified treehouses? That would be it.

Elisa had to go alone. There wasn’t time to commission mercs. Macel and his boys were off playing savior elsewhere.

And frankly, she didn’t know a single ex-rebel the tree would recognize in her place.

It had to be her.

Thus, her current predicament.

Elisa had been asking around, going off a rough physical guess of what he might look like now. Honestly, it wasn’t that hard. The median age around here hovered somewhere around twenty, give or take, and he stood out.

People were that scared of working for demonkin? Usually when you joined a rebellion, it’s because you don’t have any other obligations, or feel you see no other option. Well, of course they are. Still...

So Pauline hadn’t been lying after all.

Elisa wasn’t sure if that made her feel better or worse.

People kept pointing her further in—“Deeper,” “Old Otto’s past the old garden,” “Just through the grove, keep going.”

Every time she thought she’d reached the heart of it, someone sent her another layer down.

It was awful. If things went sideways… well.

And now, here she was. Nearly at the center. One breath away from the truth—or whatever version of it her father had decided to live with.

When she saw what she approximated was an old man that resembled her father, he was in the middle of what looked like a grove. With so little natural light coming in this deep, the tree provided. In many forms of green and purple.

He stood on a rock, arms crossed behind his back. No armor, no flag behind him.

“I’m not here to rouse you.”

That silenced the shifting bodies around him. A few smirks died in the throats of the younger ones.

“You’ve heard enough speeches from people who want to be remembered. I don’t care if you remember me.”

He looked out at them. Not with pride. Not quite with shame, either.

“Some of you are angry. Some of you are scared. Most of you, if you’re honest, are just tired—tired of being told that compromise is peace. That obedience is prosperity.”

He paused.

“I used to believe in parchment. In proposals. That we could negotiate our way to freedom.”

A breath.

“Then I watched a town disappear in one night.”

He scanned the faces in front of him.

“You want to know why I’m still here? Why I didn’t just walk off into the woods and stay gone?”

A few heads nodded. He didn’t smile.

“Because Highcliff is still bleeding. Still being sold off like a pretty little border town. They want us to forget who we were before the roads, before the banners, before the treaties.”

He looked at a girl sitting up front. Seventeen, maybe. Still had dirt under her nails.

“They’ll say we’re dangerous. That people like me are relics. That we’re the reason things haven’t healed.”

His voice dipped.

“They might be right.”

Silence.

“But we didn’t start this to be remembered kindly. We started this because we knew what it felt like to lose everything. And we knew that if no one stood up, we’d lose what little we had left.”

He stepped down from the rock.

“So don’t fight for me. And don’t fight for my mistakes.”

A beat.

“Fight for the land under your feet. For those who never got the chance to speak before they were silenced.”

He picked up his coat, slinging it over one shoulder.

“Don’t forget why we began. My name is Otto, and welcome! Welcome to the Obsidian Tide.”

With that, he was done. The applause was short but no less impassioned.

The recruits began to disperse. Quiet chatter, a few lingering stares.

He stepped off the rock, brushing dirt from his palms. Reached for his coat—

And froze.

Across the clearing, framed between two trees, Elisa stood watching him.

He hadn't seen her in over a decade.

She’d changed. Changed and moulded into something else.

Or maybe she had. A grown woman now. But he’d know her anywhere.

His mouth opened. Nothing came out.

Then, low—too low for the others to hear—he muttered:

“Not here.”

He stepped forward and motioned for her to follow.

“My room. Now.”

\\

Elisa thought there’d be more catharsis.

Maybe a confrontation in front of the crowd. Maybe her cover blown mid-speech, someone drawing steel. At the very least, something loud.

But no.

Just a quiet room, half-lit by a single oil lamp, and her father sitting in a worn chair like he hadn’t gutted her entire world ten years ago. She had plenty of time to put things into perspective over the days leading up to this encounter. She didn’t know why she was so enthused to begin with…

It was all so easy. Too easy.

“Elisa.”

His voice hadn’t aged. But it had thinned.

“You look well.”

She didn’t sit.

She waited.

He sighed.

“I didn’t want it to come out this way.”

She stared.

“No drink?” she asked flatly.

He gestured at the empty side table. “I stopped.”

She nodded. Once.

“Ten years,” she finally said.

“Elisa—"

“You lied. For ten years.”

He didn’t answer. She took a step forward.

“Why lie?” Another step. “What could you possibly gain from lying?”

Her breath hitched—just once. She shook it off.

But the words kept coming.

“Do you know how long I missed you?” She stepped back, hands clenched. “I mourned you.”

He looked up again.

“I cried myself to sleep for a year. A whole year. I’m not afraid to admit because that’s the truth. That’s what happened. And all this time, you were here. Talking about honor and land like you weren’t the one who vanished without a word.”

He didn’t speak. Just watched her. Quiet. Guilt settling into his shoulders like old armor.

She looked away, jaw clenched tight.

“Pauline told me to come here,” she said finally. “Said you had answers.”

His voice had dropped, low and gravel-thin. He didn’t look at her when he started. “When you were unconscious, your mother was already dying. She didn’t just fade away. She begged me not to let her pass in a Concordant bed, with Concordant doctors, Concordant rites.”

He looked up then. “She wanted to die at home. So I took her back. I pulled strings. Then time passed…”

A beat.

“As you know, she hasn’t died yet. You visited nearly every month before your… arrangement with the Count. Bizarre how you stopped being loyal so quickly.”

You don’t get to fucking say that you—

“The forest… it did something to her. And I didn’t know how to undo it.” He rubbed his hands together. Worn fingers. “The spirits said they were giving her peace. I believed them.” A pause. “Maybe I wanted to.”

Elisa’s jaw clenched.

“So you left?”

“You wouldn’t have understood back then. And I was no good to anyone. Every day she just… stared. I kept thinking she’d come back. That we could fix it together.”

He looked at her then. “But you were too young. And I was ashamed.”

But Elisa just stared at him. Then shook her head. “You could’ve sent a letter.”

He blinked.

“Again, you let me mourn you.” Her tone sharpened. “You let me hate myself for not doing more. And you’re saying you did that because you were... sad?” He opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “No. You don’t disappear for a decade to protect someone. You do it to bury something.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“I’m done pretending it was your grief.”