Chapter 17: A Story About a Father

Dusk draped the city in a soft haze, the magical crystals on the platforms glowing with golden light, casting intricate shadows across the wooden bridges. Milliscent and I walked slowly to her house after the council meeting, the air between us heavy, charged with electricity. Her cloak swayed in the evening breeze, her fingers nervously tugging at its edge as if trying to hide the anxiety gnawing at her from within. I sensed she was hiding something—not just from the elders, but from me. The voice in my head, which I tried so hard to silence, whispered that she knew more than she let on, but I didn’t dare ask. Not after she’d gripped my hand in the elders’ hall, as if afraid I’d vanish if she let go.

The city hummed with quiet life: elves dimmed the crystals on the lower platforms, a flute’s melody drifted from afar, and the air carried the scent of damp earth and night-blooming flowers unfurling under the starry sky. Milliscent walked in silence, her face pale, her eyes fixed somewhere distant, as if seeing something I couldn’t. I noticed her shoulders trembling slightly, as if she were holding back a shiver, and I wanted to hug her, but I feared she’d push me away. Her usual confidence—the kind that made me smile when she teased or playfully shoved my shoulder—felt far away, dissolved into the twilight.

We entered her house, the door creaking softly as it let us into a warm silence. The fireplace crackled, casting soft light on the wooden walls, and the faint scent of herbs, which Milliscent always kept on the table, lingered in the air. She shed her cloak, tossing it onto a chair, and approached the table, where scattered parchments, a few quills, and a small glass vial of blue liquid lay. Her movements were sharp, as if she were trying to busy herself to avoid thinking. I stood by the door, watching her. Her hair, still damp from her morning bath, cascaded over her shoulders, and in the light of the crystal hanging above the table, her skin seemed almost translucent. She looked exhausted, but her eyes held that same fire I’d seen in the hall—a mix of fear, anger, and something I couldn’t decipher.

“Why are you so restless?” I began cautiously, sitting on the edge of the bed and resting my elbows on my knees. “After the meeting, you look like you’re ready to either fight Eldrian or run off into the forest. Maybe both at once.”

She froze, her fingers pausing over a parchment, and I saw her shoulders tense. She glanced at me, her eyes so deep they made my heart skip a beat. For a moment, I thought she might say something, but she only sighed and turned away, her fingers nervously fidgeting with the parchment’s edge.

“It’s not about Eldrian,” she said softly, her voice barely audible, as if afraid her words would betray her. “It’s… everything. My magic. The ritual. The elders. I… I don’t know how to handle it. So much has piled up lately… Just endless uncertainty…”

Her words cut like a knife. I remembered the voices I’d heard at Talir’s—Failure. Pathetic. Ugly. Trash.—and I grew more convinced they were an echo of her soul. Not thoughts I’d somehow overheard, but a reflection of her pain. I wasn’t certain, though, and the idea that she saw herself that way tightened my chest. I wanted to ask, but I feared it would break her further. Instead, I stood and stepped closer, stopping just a step away from her. Her scent—a mix of herbs and something warm, intangible—hit me, and I felt my hand twitch involuntarily.

“Milliscent,” I gently touched her shoulder, and she flinched but didn’t pull away. “You don’t have to keep it all inside. I can see it’s weighing on you. Talk to me. I might not be a mage, but I’m a good listener. In my world, we call it ‘lending a shoulder.’ Want to try it?”

She turned to me, and her eyes glinted—not with anger, but with some deep, inner pain. She opened her mouth, as if to protest, but her shoulders slumped, as if she’d given in. She sat slowly on the chair, her fingers gripping the table’s edge, and I noticed her hands trembling.

“You wouldn’t understand,” she said quietly, her voice quivering on the edge of tears. “My magic… it was everything to me. I could read minds, sense enemies, know what people hid. It was my strength, my armor. And now…” She stopped, her fingers clutching the parchment so tightly it crinkled. “I feel like I’m losing myself. Without it, I’m… nothing. To them, I was only valuable because of it.”

I recalled how she’d defended me against Eldrian, how she’d gripped my hand in the hall, as if I were her only anchor. She seemed so strong, but now I saw a girl who feared she was worthless without her magic. My fists clenched, and the voice in my head, which I’d been ignoring, whispered: She’s afraid of you. You’re the reason for her weakness. I gritted my teeth, silencing it. This was too personal to share with anyone but her, but I wasn’t ready to tell her about the voice. Not yet.

“Listen,” I gently took her hand, feeling her fingers tremble under mine. “You think magic is all you are? I saw you fight a Shadow Beast, refuse to give up when everything went to hell. You dragged me out of that forest when I could barely stand. Magic or not, you’re still you. And you’re not nothing. You’re a fierce warrior… You’ve got a great sense of humor, you’re smart, you pick up everything I tell you so quickly… And you’re someone close to me! I won’t let you talk about yourself like that. A wave of weakness might hit, but it’ll pass. The good and the bad—it always passes. It won’t be like this forever!”

She looked at me, her eyes so close I could feel the warmth of her breath. Her lips trembled slightly, as if she wanted to argue, but instead she whispered softly, “It… won’t always be like this… Maybe you’re…”

Her voice warmed, but her eyes filled with sorrow. “My father… he was like you. He always said I was strong, even without magic.” She smiled, but it was fragile, like glass. “He was the best. He could do anything—fight, read minds, create spells no one else knew. He taught me how to listen to the world, how to find truth in chaos. We lived in a small house at the edge of the forest, and every morning he’d take me for a walk, telling stories of ancient heroes.” Her smile faltered. “I think about him every day. They say time heals, but his love, his acceptance, his warmth… It was so wonderful, so vital to me, that when it was gone, it’s like I stopped living. I’m just sleepwalking now.”

She paused, her voice breaking. “A monster… killed him. Attacked our house when I was a child. I saw him fight, but… he couldn’t win. He was caught off guard, and he was protecting me…” She swallowed hard. “I hid under the table, listening to him scream. I couldn’t do anything, but I didn’t even try… I don’t know what I was thinking then…”

Her words struck at my core. Her story felt strange—something didn’t add up, as if she were leaving out part of the truth. A monster attacking the house? It sounded like a tale to cover something worse. But I didn’t press her. Her pain-filled eyes stopped me. I only squeezed her hand tighter, trying to offer some warmth.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly, my words feeling too weak. “Losses… they don’t define us, you know. They just happen. And the fact that you’re still here, still fighting, means you’re stronger than you think. I’m not saying it’ll be easy. Life’s not about easy. But I’m here. Right here. And I’m not going anywhere. That monster… it won’t take me. If it shows up and tries to tear us apart, I won’t let it.”

She looked at me, and something new flickered in her eyes—not just pain, but warmth she tried to hide. Her fingers gently squeezed mine, and I noticed her cheeks flush faintly. She looked away, as if afraid I’d see too much, and whispered, “In your world, things must be simpler. No monsters attacking homes. No magic fading. No…”

She stopped, her voice breaking, as if she’d nearly said too much.

I smiled, trying to lighten the mood. “Oh, we’ve got plenty of monsters,” I said, winking. “They’re just called ‘rent bills,’ ‘traffic jams,’ or… But you know what I’ve learned? It’s all just part of life. And when you’re with someone who gets you, it gets a little easier, a little simpler… Maybe one day, you’ll even dare to say you’re… happy?”

She snorted, her smile widening, though her eyes still held sadness. “You really think I’d understand your world?”

“You’d charm everyone there,” I winked, feeling the tension between us ease slightly. “Picture it: you, me, coffee, and a movie on Netflix. No Shadow Beasts, no elders. Just… us.”

Her smile softened, almost tender. She stood slowly, her movements hesitant, as if fighting herself. My heart raced as she stepped closer, her face so near I could see every eyelash. Her breath was warm, and for a moment, I thought she’d pull away, but she suddenly leaned in and pressed her lips to mine.

My first kiss was at 21… Pretty late, especially for the times… Watching kisses in movies, I had a completely different idea of this… activity. In reality, it wasn’t as pleasant… But not now. I don’t know why, I don’t know for what… But the universe, maybe for my pretty eyes, decided to gift me this perfect moment. A beautiful moment when I was truly happy.

It was a quick, almost desperate kiss, filled with sorrow and heat. Her hands trembled as they touched my shoulders, and my heart skipped a beat. I instinctively wrapped my arms around her waist, but she pulled back quickly, her cheeks burning, her eyes avoiding mine. Her breath was uneven, as if she didn’t understand what she’d done.

“I… I don’t know why…” she mumbled, her voice trembling. “Just… don’t say anything, okay?”

I nodded, still feeling the warmth of her lips on mine. Her eyes were a mix of fear, shame, and something deeper—desire she tried to hide. She turned away, her fingers nervously fidgeting with the parchment on the table, her shoulders trembling as if she were trying to hold herself together. But no matter what she said or did next… I was happy, at least for those few awkward moments.

“Damn…” Milliscent kept spiraling over her impulsive act.

“Is that a crime here?” I teased.

“No! What! Idiot!” she snapped.

“Don’t call me that with those lips…”

“Ugh, I’m leaving, I can’t look at you…” she groaned.

“Wait.”

I couldn’t let her go like that. I grabbed her hand. She tried to pull away, but I held on.

“What are you—”

I stepped closer and hugged her. I don’t know… Maybe it was always leading to this. If I could’ve hugged her from the start, things might’ve been easier. Feeling dampness on my shirt, I realized Milliscent was crying.

“It’s okay… Shh, I’m here… It’ll be alright.”

Finally, she let out everything she’d been holding in. With each passing minute, her sobs grew stronger, releasing all the pain, sorrow, and despair that had built up.

“It’ll be alright, you hear me…”

“Really?” Milliscent looked up, her red eyes meeting mine.

“Really.”

For now, at least, she didn’t have to worry. She could just be herself, free from thoughts. Our little house was a fortress of warmth and stability, unyielding against any dark forces. It wouldn’t let anyone or anything through.

“You’re a miracle,” I couldn’t help but say.

“Sorry… your shirt’s wet…”

“Really? Didn’t notice,” I teased.

“Are you laughing at me?”

“Maybe just a little…”

“If you keep laughing…”

“What’ll you do?” I chuckled softly.

“I warned you.”

And Milliscent kissed me again. This time, she didn’t pull away.