Voices Of The Past

⭑ · · ᯓ 𐃈 ᯓ · · ⭑

An elf floated naked in a void, her arms and legs curled inward, and her mint green hair stretching out. Her pale skin shone amidst the darkness, a warmth surrounding her like an embrace from a dear friend.

In acceptance of the strange man’s words, she had found bliss, and in bliss came the echoes of years long past.

. . .

Elora Greenbriar wasn’t a gifted child.

She was the third of three siblings, already an unusually high number for a family of wood elves. Their lifespans were long, and so lofty were their pursuits. They would often spend millennia on one or two passive interests at a time, but Elora’s was anything but.

She had spent much of her five hundred years in the world studying unorthodox ways to gain strength, in hopes that she could catch up to her two older brothers, two of Crestalis’ strongest mages.

Carrying a natural affinity for two magicks, a rarity, her mana capacity was still average back then by elven metrics. Despite the opportunities afforded to her by being in the direct service of the royal family, nobody counted on her ability for anything, asked for anything.

Elora had no purpose to her existence, outside of watching others shine in her place.

However, it wasn’t until combing the archives in the World Tree, Yggdrasil, that she chanced upon something extraordinary, something unexpectedly ancient—even by the standards of her people.

Something she could see herself devoting the rest of her life to the study of.

Blood magic.

More specifically, a tome with instructions on invoking it, in a language that had been lost to their civilization for millennia, and in a dusty corner of the archives that had been left untouched for who-knows-how-long. It was as if fate had guided the book into her inquiring hands.

Elora sought to unearth the methods within to add to her magic arsenal. Something to give her an edge in battle beyond her standard incantations and hand-to-hand combat skills. More than anything, she sought purpose in an otherwise aimless existence.

That tome became her only friend, but the issue remained… She couldn’t read a word of it.

Elora consulted the Spirit Elders, a group of the oldest and wisest elves in Crestalis who ran the nation as the young crown princess Almira continued to mature. They gave Elora linguistic training in the ancient tongue. Each elder only knew a few words at most, but with all their knowledge combined, it produced enough to grasp the tome’s basics.

The elders offered a warning, however, about the use of blood magic upon learning what the book contained. It was not mana by which it derived its power, but life force.

In other words, the user’s own time.

Learning this, Elora was undeterred. Even at the cost of her lifespan, to gain the strength needed to protect her people from invaders was Elora’s greatest dream. With the Hundred-Year-War with the Mad God raging on, she became a champion amongst her people, known far and wide for her grace in battle—even in other kingdoms.

It was unfortunate, then, for that dream of hers to be crushed completely at the hands of one who had made killing her people his lifelong ambition.

She could see his face, even as she floated within the void. An inscrutable butcher, an orc whose very name brought to mind her overwhelming defeat. His enormous black sword, used to rend countless elven bodies, women and children included, stopped just short of piercing her neck.

“Your life is yours, spearwench of Crestalis.” The dark knight sneered down at her through his helm. “Live the rest of your days as a failure.”

Elora’s brothers perished to that very same man and his army, as did many of Crestalis’ finest warriors. It wasn’t until a boy, no older than fifteen, succeeded where Elora and those warriors could not that she realized the futility in her quest for strength.

How many years had she wasted practicing blood magic, and how many more yet had it stolen from her life with every spell cast?

Damn it all!

She couldn’t save her family, her homeland, or anyone for that matter.

Someone like that should just die, she thought.

She spent the better part of a decade trying to drown her sorrows in taverns around Crestalis’ pleasure quarter, depressed and lost. With no family left to speak of besides two ashamed parents, and too embarrassed to face the royals she had once served, Elora drifted.

However, on a day like many others, with Elora deep in her cups at the establishment nearest to the palace, Lady Almira, crown princess of Crestalis, burst in with something unusual to present to her former champion.

“My lady?!” Bewildered, Elora stumbled into a kneeling position.

“Hahaha~” The princess, just a teenager, laughed heartily. “That’s me!”

“What—hic—brings you here at this hour…?”

“Ah, so Lora, since you’re not busy with anything, I thought you’d help an old friend out. We’re in a pinch with this war, ya see. That Mad God guy’s craaazy~” The pink-haired girl twirled her finger, explaining in a singsong voice. “So are you in or not?”

For someone raised in the heart of Crestalis’s royal court, Almira spoke like she’d learned etiquette only so she could ignore it. Her parents, the retired king and queen, were flabbergasted with where she'd even learned to speak the way she did.

“Pardon me, but ‘in’…?” Elora tilted her head. “In on what, my lady?”

“My future papa-in-law, Dynas, is assembling a party in the Human Magic Kingdom, ya see, and your talents have been specially requested.” Almira beamed a childlike smile. “Look happy, won’t ya!”

“…If it would please my lady, I would do anything, but…”

Elora was deeply unsure.

“Ya won’t?” Lady Almira pouted. “I know you said you’d had enough of fighting, but will you at least meet this kid they found? He’s got something special.”

Special? If my lady is saying that, it must be true, but…

“It’s just…” Elora began. “Why me? I failed.”

She still couldn’t grasp why anyone would single her out to join a campaign against the Mad God. Surely there were stronger fighters available. Ones with less baggage, certainly. Ones who hadn’t quit on themselves and their people.

She expected a reprimand from her lady, but what she got instead surprised Elora…

“Yeah, you failed. So?”

“…Huh?”

“I said… SOOO WHAT?!” Lady Almira’s voice carried throughout the crowded tavern. “Golg beat ya. He beat plenty of people, but that doesn’t mean you forgot how to hold a spear. Or use your magic.”

“But any elf warrior can do such things…” Elora shook her head. “So why…”

The young princess sighed deeply, a warm smile sweeping across her face. Clearing her throat, she took on an air of regality in a rare display.

“Archmage King Dynas made it his whole life’s work to plan this campaign, Lora...” She explained, “The Hero and his friends are inexperienced; they’ve never been on the same battlefields you have. Dynas chose you to guide them.”

Elora thought about that for a moment.

He picked… me…?

“Won’t ya meet them and see? If you think it’s a waste of your time, you come right back, and I’ll buy your next round.” Lady Almira beamed. “Right from the Royal treasury!”

“Please don’t joke like that, my lady…” Elora smiled exasperatedly. “But…”

She stared at the reflection in her drink, her lips pressed together.

“What is this Hero like?”

Lady Almira closed her eyes, smiling sagely.

“Kind of an idiot.” She replied. “You’ll like him!”

. . .

“They made the worst first impression, didn’t they?”

Especially that farm boy.

Elora smiled, recalling the aftermath of her first meeting with the other three members of her party, from arriving in Aberdeen to every campfire story and argument, and every victory thereafter. In the end, she had chosen not to use blood magic again. She found strength in her newfound friendship with Felix, Prim, and Victor instead.

Rather than treat her like the failure she believed she was, they relied on Elora, making her feel needed. That ten-year campaign became the rarest and brightest treasure in a long life of research, battle, and sorrow.

And now she could relive those precious memories for time immemorial within the confines of her mind. It was promised to her by the strange man, and she saw little reason to refuse it. After all, the Hero who would go on to give her life purpose again was gone—replaced by another.

Her eyes remaining closed, she began to drift off into another long dream, but a voice suddenly breached the quiet space.

“Elora, snap out of it!”

This is where I belong now.

“I’m him, Elora. I’m Felix!”

No, you’re not.

Her face stung sharply. Kite’s punch rattled Elora from the outside, making her feel it even within the void. Rather than get upset, she smiled once more. Even though the space around her had begun to grow colder, more cramped even.

“You’re in good enough hands, imposter.” She smiled bitterly, “It’s not my responsibility to look after that body you’ve taken over any longer.”

Then why…

“It’s not…”

Why were there tears streaming down her face? And why did she suddenly desire to see him again? Not the recreations that soothed her mind and soul, but the actual thing. Even devoid of his memories of their time together, she still felt it when she heard him from under that cloak.

Even though she still thought of him as a fake.

“It’s not fair...” Elora sobbed, holding herself tighter.

She couldn’t help it anymore, letting out a wail.

“WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME?!”

The words echoed endlessly, the darkness suffocating every syllable. It seemed like that’s where it would end, filled with regret and longing for something that could never return.

. . .

. . .

. . .

Until she heard one last voice in the dark.