Edward approached the elderly elf who was now standing up to greet him with a calm, knowing smile. The flicker of the candlelight, which hung next to the entrance to his hut, made Thyrion's silver hair shimmer faintly. The lines of his age were soft yet deep, like a tree that had weathered far too many winters.
Edward lingered for a moment, his expression uncertain. Why had he come here again? He didn't entirely know—only that the questions had clawed at his mind since their last meeting.
He exhaled slowly, then finally spoke up.
"You didn't mention being the father of the Elven King," Edward said.
Thyrion's lips curled into a faint grin. He waved a hand in a casual, almost dismissive motion.
"Ahh… just luck of being born into the royal family," he said lightly. "Come in, young man. I'm sure you have more interesting questions than the family I was born into." Thyrion said before turning and disappearing into his hut, his steps slow but deliberate.
Edward stood there a moment longer, his memories tugging at him—the last time he had entered this place, the strange tea, the trip into the spirit realm, and the haunting whisper of that world. He still wasn't entirely sure what was real and what had been a dream.
"Come in, come in," Thyrion called again, his voice carrying from within.
Edward stepped forward, pushing open the half-shut door. The inside was dimly lit by the same amber lamps as the one outside, their glow washing over the wooden walls etched with faint runes. The scent of dried herbs lingered in the air, sharp but oddly calming.
He took a seat opposite Thyrion, across a small table marked with scratches and stains of countless brews before.
"Seems like you've had quite a day," Thyrion remarked, eyes narrowing slightly as he noticed the smears of dried blood on Edward's shirt.
"Yeah," Edward muttered, leaning back in the chair. "Elarien and I were ambushed by the Crimson Oath."
Thyrion's brows lifted. "Ahh, Elarien. How is she doing these days?"
Edward's jaw tightened, half surprised that he knew Elarien but half torn by the bad timing of the question.
"Her brother's dead," he replied in a flat tone.
The old elf froze. The soft warmth in his expression vanished, replaced by quiet gravity.
"How?" he asked.
"Killed by an elf named Vael."
Thyrion's gaze flickered, his tone changing instantly.
"Vael?" he repeated, almost whispering the name. "Could it be…" he muttered under his breath, too low to catch—except Edward did.
"You've heard of him?"
Thyrion hesitated, fingers drumming lightly against the table. "Well… I can't be certain," he began slowly. "But there was an elf by that name that I once knew."
"Who was he?" Edward pressed.
Thyrion sighed, leaning back as if the memory itself was heavy. "An old pupil of mine,"
Edward blinked. "Pupil?"
"Yes. Centuries ago," Thyrion said softly. "We were… experimenting with spirits. He was dissatisfied with his own spirit—he called it too weak. I had my own curiosities... And so together, we sought to understand more about the spirits and their realm."
He paused for a moment, then continued, his voice growing quieter.
"At first, we succeeded. He managed to contract another spirit. It was unprecedented—an elf wielding two spirits? It could have rewritten everything we knew. But…" He trailed off, his eyes dimming. "Things went wrong. His second spirit killed the first. It began to consume him, slowly, from within. I should've stopped him, but... I... I couldn't. I let him go."
Guilt weighed heavily in his tone, each word slower than the last.
Edward said nothing for a long while, letting the silence stretch. The fire in the small hearth crackled softly between them.
Then, he finally spoke up.
"Do you know a place called Nightveil Mountains?"
Thyrion looked up, meeting Edward's gaze.
"Nightveil Mountains? Who hasn't heard of them?" he asked.
"That's apparently where he's hiding," Edward said. "We'll seek the King's approval to go there—and bring justice for Elandir's murder."
The old elf's expression turned grim.
"It won't be easy," he said, "Other than the countless white-stage beasts that ran around that place, the terrain itself is treacherous. Those who wander too far never come back."
Edward sighed. "That sounds about right," he muttered. Elarien had said almost the same thing. But they had no choice—if Vael was there, they had no choice but to follow.
He looked at Thyrion again. "Why were you so interested in me drinking that tea last time?"
A faint, wistful smile crept back onto Thyrion's face. "A curse of mine," he said softly. "Endless curiosity."
"Curiosity about what?" Edward asked.
Thyrion's eyes seemed to glimmer faintly in the dim light. "About what lies beyond what we're meant to reach. Spirits, realms, and the bridges that once connected them. Seeing you—a human—step into the Spirit Realm and return alive…" He leaned forward slightly. "That was extraordinary."
Edward frowned. "Survive? So you gave me that tea expecting me to die?"
Thyrion gave him an apologetic smile. "Ahh, well, I had a good feeling you see."
Edward stared at him for a moment, utterly blank.
"He gambled my life on a good feeling? He really is a lunatic…" he thought to himself as he stared at the old elf.
Thyrion chukled quietly, unbothered.
Then, as if suddenly remembering something, Thyrion stood up and shuffled toward one of his shelves. His hut was cluttered with scrolls, dusty tomes, and jars filled with strange substances. He reached for a small cloth bag, tied with a dark green string, and returned to place it in front of Edward.
"What's this?" Edward asked, staring at the small bag from which a faint smell of herbs came.
"It's the tea," Thyrion said. "I won't force it on you, but if you wish to visit that place again, this is the way. Of course…" He smiled. "I can prepare some right now if you wish."
"That won't be necessary," Edward said quickly, pocketing the small satchel. "But thank you."
Thyrion nodded, his tone soft. "You have a strange fate about you, Edward. The kind that pulls at things best left untouched."
"So it seems," Edward muttered, having questioned his luck himself more than once.
The two sat quietly for a little while, the silence not uncomfortable but heavy with unspoken thoughts.
Eventually, Edward rose to his feet. "I should take my leave," he said, "It's late, and I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be a long day."
Thyrion inclined his head, his eyes thoughtful. "Take care, young man. And… be cautious. The Elven Kingdom is not as safe as many tend to believe."
Edward lingered on those words for a moment, then nodded his head once.
"I'll keep that in mind,"
He turned and left the small hut, stepping into the cool embrace of night. The air of the elven kingdom was crisp—pure in a way that no human city could replicate. Each breath felt like it cleansed a piece of his fatigue.
He lingered outside for a few seconds, eyes tracing the faint glow of lamps hanging along the winding path and enjoying that cool night air.
Then, with a deep breath, he started walking toward his quarters.
The streets were silent at this hour. The moon hung high, its pale light spilling across the cobblestone paths and shimmering faintly against the polished wood of elven architecture. The faint hum of mana drifted in the air like a lullaby.
When he reached his chambers, he noticed a faint glow bleeding from beneath the door.
He frowned slightly.
"Did the prince forget to put out the lamp?" he wondered, but didn't dwell much on it.
As he pushed the door open, he was met by a wave of warmth. The faint scent of lavender lingered in the air, and a small oil lamp still burned quietly in the corner of the living room.
He looked around, but nobody was there.
"I guess he really did", he noted as he stepped forward, toward the lamp and extinguished it.
The room dimmed instantly, covering the living room in almost complete darkness.
Edward didn't pay that darkness any mind, and instead, he turned and walked instinctively through the dark and toward his room.
His hand found the doorknob by memory. Without delay, he twisted it open and slipped inside the dark bedroom. The familiar shadows of the room greeted him—the outline of the bed, the soft shimmer of moonlight cutting through the curtains.
A low sigh left his lips as he closed the door behind him with a soft lick.
He began unlacing his boots as he walked toward his bed. He sat down on the edge as exhaustion finally began catching up to him. His mind was a blur of events that happened—Vael, the ambush, the Nightveil Mountains—all swirling in fragments.
He reached down to remove his boots, but at that moment, something beneath the sheets of his bed shifted.
Edward froze.
He turned slightly, eyes narrowing—but before he could react, a soft, familiar voice whispered right beside his ear.
"Hii,"
And with it, two slender arms slid around him from behind, warm and gentle.
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