Not everyone deserves your kindness

“How....” Celestia started, her voice barely above a whisper. “How do you—”

“Know who you are?” Meara didn’t look up from Oreon’s injured ankle, her hands steady as she worked. “I may be old, but I’ve lived long enough to recognize your mother’s features when I see them. I knew exactly who you were the moment you stepped into my tavern.” She smoothed more salve over Oreon’s ankle. “Xalith was remarkable—beautiful, fierce, and far too clever for her own good.”

Sylvanie’s eyes narrowed, her hand lowering slightly, though she stayed on guard. “You knew our mother?” she asked, suspicion edging her voice.

“I did,” Meara said, her voice calm, though a faint sadness softened it. “It has been many years since we last spoke.” She paused, but only for a moment. “She often came here, before her passing.” She finished spreading the salve, then rose slowly, her joints stiff with age. “Always going on about her daughters and how proud she was of them. How the princesses would steer the kingdom in a new direction and cleanse the old ways”

“We’re not princesses anymore,” Sylvanie said sharply, her voice bitter as the truth remained hurtful to her. “Not since—”

“Since the Order destroyed Vel’Andria and took anyone they could as slaves?” Meara finished, her expression unreadable as she reached up and pulled a roll of clean bandages from the shelf. “I know. Vel’Andria’s fall was felt far beyond its borders, child. The world became darker without it.”

Celestia’s hands trembled faintly at her sides. “Then you understand why we cannot simply—” She stopped, drawing in an unsteady breath. “Why we cannot trust so easily anymore.”

“I understand perfectly,” Meara replied, her voice even. “Trust is a luxury none of us can afford anymore.” She turned back to Oreon and began wrapping his ankle with practiced care. “But standing in my doorway like frightened animals won’t help you either.”

Sylvanie let out a low, humorous laugh while waving her hand dismissively. “Oh, silly old woman. We’re not—”

“You are,” Meara interrupted gently, though her words carried weight. “And you have every right to be. We’re all afraid.” She finished wrapping Oreon’s ankle at last.

“There,” Meara said, giving the bandage one last firm pat before stepping back. “That should hold for now. Stay off it as much as you can, boy. And for the gods’ sake, stop throwing yourself into danger like you’re invincible.”

“Thanks, Meara,” Oreon let out an exhausted sigh. ‘I’ll...Try.”

“You’ll do more than try,” Meara said firmly. Her gaze hardened as she looked down at him. “Now remove your shirt. I can see the cuts and bruises all over you.” She glanced toward the sisters. “And you two, sit. I’ll tend to you once I’m finished here.” Oreon remained in his chair, his expression tense. He did not want to remove his shirt again—not when he knew the scars on his back would be seen.

Oreon’s jaw tightened, his hands gripping the edge of the chair. “I’m...fine,” he said quietly, though his voice lacked conviction. “Really, Meara. It’s nothing serious—”

“Boy.” Meara’s voice cut through his protest as she turned to face him, her eyes sharp and unyielding. “I’ve known you since you were barely tall enough to reach my counter. Don’t insult me by lying now.” As Celestia and Sylvanie sat down, Meara returned to the shelf and took another jar. “Since when did little ones get so mouthy?” she muttered. Oreon slowly removed his shirt, and this time the Elven sisters saw everything. The brief glimpse they had caught in the woods was nothing compared to the truth before them—scars stretching from his lower back to his shoulder blades, a harsh pattern of whip marks and deep gashes left by repeated beatings.

Celestia’s breath caught, one hand rising to her mouth as her eyes widened. Beside her, Sylvanie went still, mirroring her sister’s shock.

As they took in the sight, Lena stepped through the door. “Hey, I got the—” She stopped short, her expression falling. Quietly, she closed the door behind her. “Grandmother, I brought what you asked for,” she said softly, setting the basket on the table.

“Good,” Meara said, keeping her eyes on the silent Oreon. “Lean forward.”

Oreon hesitated only briefly before obeying, leaning forward so Meara could reach his back more easily. His jaw clenched, and his eyes stayed fixed on the floor, as if meeting anyone’s gaze would make the moment harder to bear.

“Lena,” Meara called calmly. “Start mixing the silverleaf into the salve. Once that’s done, blend the moonbell with Silver Springs water. It should help the three of them heal faster and ease their exhaustion.”

Lena nodded without a word, her usual brightness dimmed as she moved to the table and began working. The soft rhythm of grinding herbs filled the room, making the silence feel even heavier.

Meara opened the fresh salve, dipped her fingers into it, and slowly spread it over Oreon’s scars, bruises, and cuts. He flinched at the first touch, his shoulders tightening, but he didn’t pull away.

“Do they know?” Meara asked calmly. Oreon only gave a slow, silent nod, so she continued at the same steady pace. “Fate has a strange sense of humor,” she said. “Alaric the Purifier—the man responsible for Vel’Andria’s fall—is also the one who left scars on his son. The first truth is known across the region. The second is a secret kept within the Order.” Her fingers continued tracing the old wounds across his back.

“Yeah, we crossed the bridge of that conversation,” Sylvanie said, folding her arms as her gaze stayed fixed on Oreon. “Never in my life did I imagine the Purifier’s son would be the one to break our chains. Calling it ironic barely does it justice.”

“I agree,” Celestia added, her hands resting in her lap as she watched him. “We were shocked when we learned the truth as well. But before we could speak of it further, one of our own attacked us.”

Meara’s hands stilled for a moment, her fingers hovering over a deep scar. “One of your own?” she repeated, her tone sharpening. “An elf?”

“Dark elf, to be exact.” Sylvanie corrected.

“Correct,” Celestia said, her voice low. “He was... corrupted. Or perhaps the corruption only made his madness worse.” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “He used decaying magic, but even that felt wrong—twisted beyond what ordinary dark magic should be capable of.”

“He was already too far gone before the Order ever touched him, sister.” Sylvanie huffed, crossing her arms. “They took a psychopath banished to the outer regions, handed him power, and he used it to turn against his own people.”

Meara’s expression darkened as her hands resumed their careful work on Oreon’s back. “Corrupted dark elves are rare,” she said softly. “However, not out of the Order’s tactics. They have been known to experiment on people and convert them into their ranks, turning them into nothing more than corrupted weapons—especially those who already carry malice in their hearts.”

“He claimed to go willingly with the Order, that our kingdom’s structure was flawed, but still—” Celestia lowered her gaze to the floor.

“Still, he was one of yours—criminal or not,” Meara finished gently, though her voice stayed firm. “That kind of betrayal cuts deepest.” She spread more salve over a nasty scar near Oreon’s shoulder blade, her movements slow and careful. “A blade from within always hurts the most. I imagine we have all learned that by now.”

Celestia nodded slowly. “He... reveled in it—in what he had become. It was as if the corruption had given him purpose.” Her voice trembled. “He enjoyed the thought of dragging us back and locking us away again. We even saw him kill one of the Order’s own soldiers.”

“Some people don’t need corruption to become monsters, sister,” Sylvanie muttered bitterly. “As I said, that bastard was already too far gone before the Order ever reached him. He only needed an excuse, and the Order gave him one.”

Lena paused mid-grind, her hands stilling over the herbs. She glanced at the group, conflict flickering across her face, then quickly looked back down. “So... what happened to him?” she asked carefully. “The corrupted elf.”

“He’s...” Celestia paused, trying to figure out the right words to say. “He’s...”

“Dead,” Sylvanie stated plainly. “We made sure of that.”

Lena’s hands went completely still. Her eyes widened as she turned toward the sisters. “You... killed him?”

“We had no choice,” Celestia said softly, guilt weighing on her voice. “He would have dragged us back. After everything he had done—” She paused, closing her eyes for a moment. “After everything he had become... there was no saving him.”

“Hmph. If you ask me, I’d say that bastard got exactly what he deserved.” Sylvanie leaned back in her chair, unapologetic. “He chose the Order. He turned his back on us.” Unlike her sister, her expression did not waver. “And I don’t regret it one bit.” She leaned back and crossed her leg over the other, dangling the foot she crushed his head with.

“For those swallowed by darkness, death is sometimes the only mercy left,” Meara said as she continued working the salve over Oreon’s back and the few cuts and bruises she found. “You did what had to be done. In times like these, choices like that come more often than they should.”

Oreon’s voice came out rough when he finally spoke again. “He wasn’t going to stop,” he mouthed. “No matter what we did, he kept getting stronger and faster. Everything he touched decayed—withered like it was being drained of life. He only carried an old, rusty knife, but fighting him felt like fighting someone with a sword.”

“Yeah, the only thing that seemed to hold him off was the human’s daggers that he was swinging around,” Sylvanie added. “No matter what me or my sister did, we couldn’t get close to him without risking turning into a pile of—” She thought for a moment. “—Whatever you turn into.”

“Ash, bone, and organs, child,” Meara said quietly, her expression grim. “Decaying magic at that level does not simply kill—it unmakes. It reduces living things to a pile of remains. Nothing more.” Her hands paused against Oreon’s back. “It is a cruel, twisted branch of dark magic, and wielding it takes more than power. It takes a heart that has abandoned its humanity.”

Celestia’s hands tightened in her lap. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” she admitted softly. “Even the darkest practitioners in our kingdom would never dare touch magic that corrupted.”

“Because it corrupts the wielder as much as the victim,” Meara replied, returning to her work. “Dark magic, when controlled, is still a tool—a blade that can cut both ways. But decaying magic is no tool. It is a plague. It devours everything it touches, even the one using it.” She spread more salve over another deep scar near Oreon’s lower back. “If that elf used it so freely, then he was already lost long before the Order found him.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” Sylvanie threw her hands up in exasperation. “The psychopath was already a monster! The Order just gave him permission to be one openly!”

“Sylvanie...” Celestia’s voice was soft, almost pleading. “Even so—”

“Even so, nothing,” Sylvanie snapped. “You’re doing it again, Celestia—searching for a spark of good in someone who had none left.” She leaned forward, her stare hard. “He tried to kill the human and drag us back into chains. Stop mourning someone who never deserved your mercy.”

Celestia flinched at her sister’s words, her gaze dropping to her lap. “I’m not mourning him,” she whispered, though her voice trembled. “I just...” She trailed off, struggling to find the right words. “I can’t help but wonder if there was ever a chance—if we could have done something before he fell so far.”

“There wasn’t,” Meara said firmly, drawing the sisters’ attention. After finishing with Oreon, she wiped her hands on a cloth and continued. “Some people are beyond saving, child—not because they cannot be saved, but because they refuse to be.” Her tone softened, though it remained steady. “Your compassion is admirable, Princess, but don’t let it blind you. That elf chose his path, and it led to ruin. You did not put him there. He did.”

Celestia’s eyes glistened slightly, but she nodded slowly, her hands still trembling in her lap. “I know...I know you’re right. It’s just—”

“Hard,” Meara finished gently. “It is hard to accept that not everyone deserves your kindness. But you must learn when to hold on to that kindness, and when to give it. If you don’t, it will destroy you—and everything you hold dear.”

“Now then,” Meara turned her head towards Lena, leaving Celestia to continue looking down at her own hands resting in her lap. “Lena, how is coming over there? I’m sure our guest could use a drink.”

Lena glanced up from the herbs, her hands still moving with practiced care. “Almost done, Grandmother,” she said softly. “The Moonbell just needs another minute or two.” She poured the Silver Springs water into three cups, the shimmering liquid catching the firelight with a faint, otherworldly glow.

Meara nodded approvingly as Oreon pulled his shirt back on. “All right, then. Let me have a proper look at you two.” She walked over to the Elven sisters, her sharp eyes searching for injuries. Her gaze lingered on the faint marks left by chains and collars around their wrists and necks, then on the dirt, bruises, and small cuts across their skin. “Just as I thought,” she murmured. “Nothing too serious. Food, a bath, and a good night’s rest should do more for you than any salve.” She turned away, hands clasped behind her back. “Elven bodies are stubborn things. Your magic is drained, but once it returns, you should both recover well enough.”

Sylvanie let out a short laugh. “Well, that’s one advantage of being an elf, I suppose; sucks for you, human.” Sylvanie shot Oreon a glance.

Now fully dressed, Oreon leaned back in his chair with a faint grimace. “Yeah, yeah... rub it in,” he muttered dryly. “At least I don’t glow in the dark.”

“Excuse me?” Sylvanie’s eyes narrowed, though the corner of her mouth twitched upward. “I do not glow—”

“Your eyes literally glow red in the dark,” Oreon interrupted, raising an eyebrow. “I saw it back in the forest when we were running. It was like having two little lanterns following me.”

“You stupid little—” Sylvanie growled. “I was trying to use my magic, you arrogant fool!’

“And yet, you still glowed.” Oreon shot back, a faint smirk tugging at his lips despite his exhaustion. “Like a pair of angry fireflies.”

Sylvanie’s face flushed, her jaw tightening. “You...You... INSUFFERABLE HUMAN!” she snapped, then kicked his sprained ankle. Oreon yelped and tumbled out of the chair, clutching his leg as Sylvanie crossed her arms, shut her eyes, and turned away with a huff.

“SYLVANIE!” Celestia gasped, her hands flying to her mouth in shock. “He’s injured!”

“Good!” Sylvanie snapped back, though there was a faint hint of satisfaction in her voice. “Maybe that’ll teach him to keep his mouth shut!”

“But that was uncalled for!”

Lena snorted before she could stop herself, then quickly covered her mouth. Her shoulders shook as she fought back a laugh. “Sorry,” she muttered, not sounding very sorry.

“Children,” Meara said slowly, taking a deep breath. “Just children.”