Than This of Elisa and Her Otto

Otto rubbed his face, exhaled sharply, and straightened.

“You know what? Fine.” His voice lost its softness. It didn’t need it anymore. “I’ll tell you the truth.”

He met her eyes, and for once, didn’t look away.

“Your mother is helping the war effort.” That hung there. Sharp and wrong. “She was dying. Slow. And the forest gods made an offer. Half her soul, for half her life back. Enough to keep her here. Not fully—but enough.”

He said it like it was a transaction. No poetry. No tragedy.

“What use is a dead woman when we could have her alive and serving the cause?”

Elisa didn’t move.

“The forest gods gained a foothold. We gained a base of operations. Access to magick we didn’t have before. It strengthened the rebellion. It gave Daniel a fighting chance against people like Kael and Pauline—people like you.” He didn’t even say it with spite. Just certainty. “It was a good enough decision as any.”

Elisa didn’t speak at first.

She stared at Otto like he was something rotting behind glass.

Her voice, when it came, was quiet. Too quiet.

“You turned her into a war asset.”

Otto didn’t blink. “We gave her a second chance to redeem herself. She’s helping—”

“She’s suffering.” The words landed like a slap. Her hands were shaking now, clenched so tight her nails bit into her palms. “She wasn’t yours to bargain with. You're not even from Highcliff!”

Otto frowned. “She was my wife. I did what I could to save her given the circum—”

“You reduced her.”

She took a step back. Then another.

Otto reached for her. She jerked away.

“Don’t.”

Silence stretched, thick and ugly.

Then, lowly: “How low will you go?”

Otto didn’t answer.

“How low, Otto?”

No one used his name anymore. Not like that.

“You thought you could fix everything! Because you wanted to control, you wanted to feel good and better about yourself. Now look at what've done!” She pointed at the shrine. “Is this what saving looks like to you?”

His voice dropped. “Highcliff is still suffering.”

“I know! Does it merit this kind of response?! I’m the one out there trying to hold it together while you sit in your treehouse making deals with things that don’t bleed!”

A long silence.

Then he said the worst thing he could’ve said. “If I could do it again… I still don’t know what I would’ve chosen.”

She didn’t say anything.

Not right away.

Then—very quietly—

“You make me sick.” Then louder. “You coward. You bastard. You selfish, godsdamned psychopath.”

She turned, already moving.

“I’m going to find her,” she said, almost to herself. “And I’m going to end this. I’m going to set her free.”

A pause.

“You'd kill her for this? Your own mother? Just to send her to the Pits for eternity? You'd let her not get the redemption she deserves?" Otto asked. "I am not the one who's been warped, or had forgotten their morals."

She said nothing.

"I can’t let you go, Elisa.” Otto’s voice was still calm. Too calm. “You wandering into the den of an enemy was remarkably foolish of you. And naïve. What were you thinking, who came up with this plan?”

“On the contrary, I left with more than I expected to gain. That not much has changed for us. This is going in one possible direction, and everyone can see it. And as for going straight to you…” Her eyes narrowed. “I guess you can say I’m an optimist.”

But he was already moving.

His fingers flicked in a signal—old rebel code. A flash of metal sailed through the air.

A knife.

She twisted, just in time. It nicked her shoulder, sharp and shallow—but enough to draw blood.

“You bastard!”

She didn’t wait.

She bolted.

Out the door, down the path, the trees warping around her like something alive. She heard footsteps behind her. Two. No—three.

The forest wasn’t on her side anymore.

Her legs burned. Her arm throbbed. She didn’t stop.

She cut through the underbrush, breath ragged, darting through roots and vines until the trail dipped—and the roar of the Falls hit her ears.

Still too far.

Another knife grazed her leg. She stumbled, caught herself.

“Come on, come on—”

She broke the treeline.

Ahead—the Basin. Its waters shimmered something holy. The village just beyond it.

She kept running.

And then—

People. Locals.

They saw her. Saw the blood. Saw who was chasing her.

They moved. Without orders. Without questions.

Hands pulled her forward. Others raised their tools, their voices, their bodies.

“Get away from her!”

Behind her, the chase slowed. Then disappeared into wisps, as if they were never there.

She collapsed by the water’s edge, chest heaving, blood soaking her sleeve.

But she was alive.

“Are you alright?”

Not many people knew what the Lady of Highcliff looked like still, she supposed. Especially in her current get-up. Kael was never fond of statues or grand demonstrations.

Elisa swatted the hand away. “I will be.”

She grabbed a potion from a small pack, still secure. Groaned as the putrid thing went down her gob, but relieved to see her wounds close before her very eyes.

No, she wasn’t, random stranger.

But time right now was for the privileged. And she was flat out broke. If she wanted to stand any chance of helping her mother and freeing her from this mortal coiling around her neck, she needed to move—now.

She had to get to Mom before they did.

\\

ELSEWHERE…

Kael barely flinched when the necklace flared against his chest.

A pulse of magick. Subtle. Sharp.

Elisa.

Injury. Panic. He stood immediately.

“Well, gentlemen—” He didn’t bother hiding the edge in his voice. “My apologies. It appears I have an emergency to attend to.”

One of the older lycan delegates narrowed his eyes. “You would leave mid-talk?” A scoff. “The disrespect...”

Kael’s eyes flashed—just briefly.

“It’s my wife.” He let that settle. “My mate.”

A pause.

Then the eldest lycan only nodded once, solemn. “We understand.” One of the younger ones was about to protest, but the eldest lycan shot a glare at him with the weight of a thousand knives. That cub piped down. “Go, Kael.”

That was all he needed.

By the time they finished blinking, Kael was gone—cloak snapping behind him, wings of flame and air bursting from his back as he tore into the sky.

He was already flying toward the Basin.

May the Lords help whoever did this to her.

\\

Otto stood at the tree’s edge, watching the canopy tremble where she’d vanished.

She was gone.

The chase had failed. Two of the runners came back limping, one clutching his side, the other too out of breath to speak.

He didn’t say anything. Just stared into the trees, jaw tight.

Behind him, the others shifted awkwardly. No one looked him in the eye.

Then—quietly, from his left:

“Was… was it true what she said?”

Otto didn’t turn.

He didn’t ask which part they meant.

He closed his eyes, and for a second, something like bile tried to claw its way to the surface. He pushed it back down.

“Does it matter to our cause?”

It came out flat.

“N-no…?”

“Then leave it there, youngling.”

But even to his own ears, it sounded thin.

“Oh fuck, Otto…”

It started as a whisper. From the same boy.

“Oh my gods…”

Otto’s eyes closed.

“Oh gods,” the boy said again, louder this time. He began pacing, stumbling over roots, eyes wide.

His voice cracked.

Hands clutched at his hair.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DO—”

Steel flashed.

It was quick. Brutal.

The boy dropped mid-cry, his body slumped against the roots, the sound cut short like a torn thread.

The chaser who’d done it didn’t flinch. He yanked his blade free and wiped it on the boy’s cloak.

“This is bigger than her,” he said coolly. “Or… him.”

His eyes lingered on the corpse. Then flicked to Otto.

“We need to stay focused.”

Others nodded in agreement.

Otto still hadn’t moved. The trees, it seemed, were more deserving of his attention than anything behind him.

The wind shifted. Somewhere deep in the forest, birds scattered.