Faelar Falters

 It had been nearly a week since Fredreich riled up the emotions of every diplomat, almost guaranteeing support for his new tax policies with his calculated lies. Amber’s insight—that only the Urian royal family specialized in that level of fire magic—only confirmed my suspicions about the King’s desperate need for vengeance.

I stood in one of the many courtyards as the moonlight reflected off of the marble fountain in front of me, the quiet splash of water doing nothing to soothe my nerves. I felt unsure and uneasy about what to do next. Fredreich paid no heed to my requests to speak to him; he was King, after all, and I was merely a diplomatic representative whose use had, apparently, run its course.

Right as I turned to head back to my room for the night, Faelar’s familiar voice stopped me in my tracks.

“Enjoying the night, are we?” he asked.

“Something like that,” I replied, turning to face him.

Faelar walked over to me, gesturing for me to take a seat on one of the stone benches next to the fountain beside him. He looked up at the moon, his eyes dazzling rather unnaturally in the silvery light, his hair flowing gently with the cool night wind. A serene quiet took hold over the both of us as we watched the starlit sky for a few minutes.

“I heard from some of the guards that you gave our King a rather tough time swallowing his food,” he smirked, his eyes still fixed on the sky above.

“Amber and I just shared some concerns regarding the taxes, that was all,” I replied, keeping my tone deliberately neutral.

“So, what were you doing here this late? You weren’t snooping around the castle, were you?” he pressed, the smirk still playing on his lips.

“Just frustrated,” I admitted.

“With what?”

“I’ve been trying to meet with His Majesty for over two weeks now—trying to work together for a solution that benefits everyone, not just one side.”

“You’re already a pretty lucky bastard,” he chuckled lightly. “He’s met you more times than the other diplomats that have been waiting months.”

“I suppose you’re right about that,” I conceded.

“How are your wounds now?” he asked, pointing a long, slender finger toward my gut.

“Oh, they’re almost gone thanks to you,” I said, pulling up my shirt slightly, revealing only minor scars where the deep wounds had been. The speed of the healing had been startling.

Faelar’s brow tightened, and his jaw dropped, his hand reaching out instinctively to feel the residual scars.

“What?” I asked, confused by his reaction.

“Woah, there,” I pulled down my shirt quickly. “I’m a married man, you know,” I joked to break the sudden tension.

Faelar looked up at my face, and then at the palm of his hand as if trying to make sense of something I couldn’t quite place. He then placed his hand on my chest and recited a low, rapid incantation. A soft green light emanated from his hand, sending a calming sensation throughout my body. As he pulled his hand back, both of our eyes fixed on a light that had begun shining from inside my coat pocket.

I pulled out the pendant—the smooth, green stone—which was now glowing intensely, its bright light reflecting off both of our faces.

Faelar’s jaw dropped, his eyes widened, fixed on the stone I held before him. “Where did you get that?” He snatched the pendant from my hands, his usual composure utterly broken.

“Oh, well, I helped out a girl in Luxion,” I replied, trying to choose my words as carefully as possible. “She got in trouble for stealing.”

“The girl, what was her name?” His voice was urgent.

“Oh, Samira,” I responded.

Faelar pulled out a pendant from underneath his chest plate, holding it before me. The two stones were identical, down to every minor detail. The both of them glowed a bright green, like fireflies held captive.

He smiled, handing me back the pendant and putting his own underneath his chest plate again. “Elvenstones. They amplify our magic,” he explained, patting the pendant hidden beneath his armor. “Seeing your wounds heal so quickly made me think I suddenly gained some unexplainable power.”

He sighed and looked back up at the starlit sky again, a deep breath settling his agitation.

“So it appears you’ve met my niece,” he looked back towards me, a rare, genuine smile spread across his face. “I last saw her around twenty years ago.”

“TWENTY YEARS?” I exclaimed, the Elven longevity still surprising me.

“We age much differently to you humans,” Faelar laughed softly. “For you, she’d probably have been around four years old at that time.”

“I knew that, but I didn’t know it was that slow,” I muttered, clasping my head.

“Wait, so that means your brother—” I stopped before I could continue my sentence, fearing that I might inadvertently offend him.

“Yes, he was killed a few years ago,” Faelar’s gaze dropped towards the floor. “Joined a rebel front in the Great Forest.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said, placing my hand gently on his armored shoulder.

“We had different ideals, you see,” he continued, staring at the marble fountain. “He believed the Kingdom should pay for what they did to our people all those years ago, but I urged him to get with the times.”

“I’m not so brushed up on history, but what exactly did the Kingdom do?”

“It was over three thousand years ago, so I don’t blame you,” he sighed heavily. “Perhaps history itself is starting to forget.”

He took a moment to compose himself, his gaze fixed on the cobblestones, as if searching for answers in the crevices.

“The Kingdom of Mittengrad was established by a mage, the Great King, as they like to call him,” he began, his voice taking on the measured, historical cadence of the archives I had just visited. “He united the human settlements in the south, and then, his eyes were set on taking the Great Forest.”

“Aren’t Elves naturally much more skilled at magic than humans?”

“We are,” he confirmed. He read a silent incantation and made the flowers in a nearby pot wilt in mere seconds. “However, our magic was limited to improving agriculture, healing, and making our lives easier. We were cultivators, not conquerors.”

“And humans?”

“Well, human mages excelled in offensive magic, often without the need for complicated incantations. They made magic a weapon. And soon enough, the forest fell into human hands.”

“Humanity did what it does best, then,” I said, the bitterness rising in my throat. “Pillaged and destroyed.”

“We lost nearly half of our population, and the distance we had kept from humans soon vanished,” he said. “But there are a few, who still foolishly hold onto the notion that the Great Forest must be freed.”

“I wouldn’t call it foolish,” my words caused Faelar to sit bolt upright and raise an eyebrow sharply.

“Careful, Mr. Aizawa,” he stood up, the easy camaraderie instantly dissolving back into the guarded formality of the Commander. “Heretics are heretics, even if they might be my own people.”

“Apologies, Commander,” I said, mockingly placing a hand to my chest in a small, disrespectful gesture of deference.

Before Faelar could leave, my voice called out for him, making him stop dead in his tracks in the corridor entrance.

“Another war won’t bring peace,” I stated, my gaze meeting his retreating back. “Death, destruction, enslavement of people for the sake of one man’s ambitions isn’t justice, Commander.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Aizawa,” he uttered, his voice cold and final, his footsteps echoing through the empty corridors of the castle, leaving me alone with my thoughts, the silent truth of history hanging heavy in the cool night air.