Damien woke late in the day, just as the sun was casting its last streaks of orange. Above him, the sky was a radiant, deep blue and the stars mocked him with their clear beauty. He sat up, wiping the fog from his mind. His memory came in bits and pieces, but he remembered enough of what had happened. The dark veins along his arms, chest, and ribs were proof of it.

"You are not welcome here." 

He flinched at a feminine voice that seemed to come from nowhere, and when he turned, he saw Lothira standing near the Elder tree. Her figure blended into its grayish bark.

“We have lost much to the Hand of Death,” she said solemnly. “Girithane, our brother, is no more. And our ward…” she turned to gaze at the barren tree that sagged behind her. Damien felt his stomach and chest clenching as the woman stepped toward him. She bent down, her brassy eyes threatening. “Do not come back here,” she warned. Sparks fizzled around the stunted point where her horn had been snapped off. Though Damien was unsure, he sensed by Lothira's hateful demeanor that he was the one who had broken it. “There will never be a place for you in our sacred Heart." The woman straightened. "Return to your Lor elves now."

Damien hung his head. But before he could pick up and leave, he had to ask, “What about Drekaan? He’s still alive down there—I think.”

“Drekaan is lost to us also. I went to his aid but…there is nothing to be done. We shall mourn him and let his body revive the roots of this tainted place. In time, it will be a strong ward once again. Until then, it will serve as a warning against such black power. All who use it will surely share our brothers' fates."

“I’m sorry.” With a heavy sense of guilt, Damien gathered himself and made his way out of the meadow. Several meters upstream, he found Ashlyn lying unconscious. Her body sat in the trickling water, sprawled over a few rocks.  Her skin was gray and scarred like his. Deep purple veins were tangled like branches along her figure, the worst of it centered toward her neck. If not for her moving chest, Damien would have thought her dead. He cursed himself for doing this. The sight of Ashlyn was too much like the foreboding picture Girithane had conjured. 

“Ash?” Damien knelt down and picked her up by cradling her head. She did not twitch or move at his touch, her dark-rimmed eyes remained closed. He pressed his forehead to hers, listened to her faint breath. Her lips, once red and full, were now the color of lavender. “Ash?” He gently shook her, hoping she would come to in his grasp. He yearned to kiss those lips, to awaken her like the man in her tale. 

His chest sank upon realizing this was not a tale. This was not the story he wanted for her. His touch had scarred her, brought her close to death. If she were to heal, she needed to be far away from him. If she were to one day be queen, there was no place for a monster at her side. 

"I'm sorry, Ash." He scooped the girl into his arms, supported her head against him, and began walking. 

"Leave her!" Lothira's anger roared from behind. "She is not yours to care for!"

"I know." Damien turned to the Druid. "But she belongs in the mortal world. Allow me to return her to it."

Lothira's eyes closed before she agreed with a subtle nod. "Go."

10 May

Ashlyn woke in the late morning with the sun glistening through the slit in her pale curtains. She blinked a few times to attune her senses, and after fighting through the sludge of headache and blurred memories, she sat up in her bed. A sigh of relief left her lungs. She was grateful to be back in her own room, with her books and possessions. 

The thin garments she wore exposed her arms and all the damage she had taken; faint purple bruises like branches. Her throat held the darkest bruise of them all. In a mirror she saw how sunken and shadowed her eyes were. 

After donning a simple white dress and soft wool shoes, she came out of her room and found her mother, Calda, relaxing in the common area. In the woman’s grasp was a cup of warm tea and a leather-bound book. 

“Mother?” Ashlyn moved slowly because her legs didn’t seem trustworthy. “Where— where is he?”

“You mean Damien?” her mother asked, closing her book. “Kallus took him back home with him.”

“Back home?” Ashlyn puzzled. “Why?”

Calda shrugged. “Because they both wanted it.”

That made no sense. Something was amiss. “Is he alright?”

“Yes, I tended to him when he came. I suppose being resilient to such a dark ritual has its perks. He’ll make a normal recovery, scrapes and all. You on the other hand… How do you feel?”

Ashlyn still felt a bit weak, but that was to be expected. “I feel much better,” she said, plastering a smile. Then she turned on her heels. “I'm going to check on Damien.”

“No,” Calda said behind her. “You’re not going to see him. That boy is literally poison to you. Kallus and I seem to agree; no relationship is worth what you both have suffered.”

“Mother…” But Ashlyn could not think of the words in that moment. It was true, Damien was much stronger than she had suspected. She had never met a person like him before, so formidable yet so vulnerable under the influence of the bazjur. She knew she would never conjure the courage to face him down like that again. Unable to argue, she dipped her head and said, “I know. If anything, I just want the chance to say goodbye.”

Calda stood and closed the gap between them. Her face was truly saddened. “Ashlyn…that’s not in your best interest either. Damien doesn’t wish to put you at risk again. You should respect it.”

“And who is he to decide that!” Ashlyn fumed. “Surely he can withstand a goodbye! There are no more dark rituals running amok are there?”

“Oh, child.” Calda pulled the girl into an embrace. “I’m sure his reasons are his own. Perhaps there will be a time when he is not so afraid. Perhaps he can learn some control, but for now, I beg you to give him space. The Fates know he needs it.” A long pause grew thick between them before Calda said, “Surely you can understand how difficult it is to learn control. We can so easily hurt the ones we love.”

Ashlyn pulled away from her mother’s grip and stared at a point on the ground. If it had been different, if it had been reversed, perhaps she would’ve done the same thing. It took her a long while to come to terms with it. “Fine.” Her face hardened. “I’ll keep my distance.” 

She turned and went back to her room, closed the door. 

***

Damien sat at breakfast, content to be silent at the table. The news of him destroying the Elder tree had been traveling fast around Gumber. All sorts of gossip had come and gone, rumors about how a portion of the Heart was now devastated and barren.

Damien had explained the account to his family, how he had been captured and exploited by Girithane, but of course they badgered him with endless questions. Naelen being the worst. 

“So how did you get out?” Naelen asked at the table. “Did you fight? Did you kill?”

Damien gave the young elf a hard stare before answering. “Girithane is dead, yes. I suppose that’s the ultimate cost of blood magic, isn’t it?” He flashed Kallus a cold smirk. 

Kallus folded his hands under his chin and cleared his throat. “I suspected that girl would only place you in danger, I warned that nothing good would come of getting close.”

“She didn’t put me in danger, you did.” Damien held up his arm, marked out the faded rune on his wrist. “You left me there.”

“I had every intention of coming back for you,” Kallus argued. “How was I to know the Druids were plotting against you? Or why?”

“Just one Druid,” Damien corrected. “Apparently, no amount of my blood could appease that raven man.” He gauged the audience; Lanara who seemed bewildered by concern, Kallus who seemed embarrassed, and Naelen who was utterly fascinated. 

“You went up against a Druid and won.” Naelen nodded in approval. “That’s no easy feat.”

“Yes, but I also got myself banished from the Heart.”

“Still, the adventure, the danger!”

Damien scoffed at his brother. “You’ll never change.”

When the table fell silent, Lanara filled it with her remarks. “We’re just glad you are safe again, Damien. Blood magic is a grim ordinance, it could have been worse.”

“Much worse,” he agreed, clearing his throat. He could still picture Ashlyn back there in his arms, with poisoned scars all over. But he didn’t wish to dwell on what could have been different. He made a choice, and could only move forward. 

It was later in the afternoon when Tenila delivered a letter to him while doing his studies in the library. He easily recognized the shimmering stationary, the elegant handwriting. “Oh…” he held his breath while opening it. He skimmed the invitation, but this time Ashlyn wasn’t so discreet or formal in her message. It read more like a love letter, dripping with emotion and heartache. 

Damien, 

I feel the need to apologize. When we first met, I believed your boundaries were in place to protect yourself, that you needed to remain closed off for your own selfish reasons. I understand now that your boundaries were in place to protect me and everyone around you. I’m sorry that I pushed you so much. I’m sorry for digging where I had no right. Though it makes me sad, I respect the reasons why you wish to stay in Gumber. You deserve a good future, one that you can craft for yourself.

I’m bound for Tauros tomorrow. My mother tells me a royal escort has been deployed to retrieve me. Perhaps it’s too much to ask, but I would like to see you one more time. To make a proper farewell. Come and see me off tomorrow? It would mean the world to me, just like you do. 

With love and tears, 

Ashlyn

Damien folded the letter into his pocket and took a sharp inhale. The word ‘love’ echoed in his mind more than he would have liked it to. She was so shameless in saying it, even in the form of a letter. She probably did love him, but it changed very little. It didn’t change the truth that he couldn’t be with her, nor the fact that she was going away. 

Hunching forward, he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. 

I should at least say goodbye.

11 May

Ashlyn’s eyes blinked open at the sound of her mother’s muffled voice. 

“Darling, you have a prestigious visitor.” Her mother beckoned from the other side of the door, and Ashlyn knew this was it. The time had finally arrived. 

Rising, she slipped on a comfortable dress and her wool shoes. She wished she could have presented herself better, but she was merely grateful to be in any sort of condition to travel. Her legs still moved slowly as she wobbled over to her door and stepped out. Calda greeted her with a smile and supported her the rest of the way. 

Standing in the entryway was a young woman, probably no older than eighteen. Her hair was soft and red, styled in a side braid that flowed down to her waist. Her eyes were a gleaming teal, and her fair skin was adorned with freckles. A human, Ashlyn realized. But not just any human, a young lady from Tauros. The noble was dressed in regal garb, complete with a velvet green cape that draped over her left shoulder and a beautiful shortsword fastened to her leather belt. Long hunting boots ran up to her shins, accents of gold were dotted everywhere: her earrings, her necklace, her belt and shoe buckles, to name a few.

“Good afternoon,” the noble greeted, taking off her gloves. “You must be Ashlyn. I am Miriam, Princess of Tauros, niece of King Angar.”

Ashlyn blushed under the Princess’ stare. She could have definitely presented herself better, but her worn dress and loose hair would have to do for now. 

“It’s an honor, your highness.” Ashlyn gave a curtsy as she was taught. “Thank you for coming all this way.”

“It’s not that long of a journey,” Miriam quipped. “I was merely delayed by an appointment. I must say, you look a bit ill. Have I come at a bad time?”

“No,” Ashlyn stammered. “But, I mean, yes, I’m recovering from—an illness.”

“By the Fates.” Miriam stepped back. “Is it contagious?”

“No.” Ashlyn swallowed, then glanced at her mother. “I should be well enough to travel now.” She omitted that she was still waiting—hoping—for Damien to turn up.

Miriam gave a slow nod. “You don’t look ready to go. My entourage would be happy to help pack your belongings if you require.”

“That is most kind.” Ashlyn accepted with a smile. “Please forgive my lack of preparation, a lot has happened these past few days.”

“Apparently.” Miriam blinked. “I look forward to hearing your tales on the way.” She signaled for her two guards to come and flank her. The small entryway was now crowded, so Ashlyn led them to her room and started gathering her books, her potions, and general belongings. 

Miriam seemed fascinated by all the ‘mage’ things that filled out Ashlyn’s room. 

“Wow, you must keep busy,” the Princess said. “Do you make all these potions yourself?”

“My mother and I do, yes,” Ashlyn replied. “She’s a bit of an alchemist.”

“And you’re a Sorceress so I hear?” 

“Yes.” Ashlyn closed one of her suitcases. “That reminds me…” She retrieved her focusing staff and placed it on top of a pile of clothes. “I’ll need that.”

Miriam must have felt no shame in touching all of Ashlyn’s things. “This is a beautiful staff,” she said. “Who crafted it?”

“I did." Ashlyn scanned the weapons at the Princess’ belt. “Do you have any magic?”

“Magic? I’m afraid not,” Miriam answered. “Though, it’s not for a lack of trying. My tutor had me light a piece of paper on fire once. All I got was smoke and lots of warm air.”

“Hm. You must have a wind affinity then.”

“What?” Miriam giggled. “No, I’ve given up on channeling any mana.”

“If you can produce heat, you must channel mana to some degree,” Ashlyn told her. “It’s how you channel it that makes the difference. Perhaps your tutor paired you with the wrong element. Try wind next time, see what happens.”

Miriam hid the fascination that brightened her face, then stroked her long, red braid. “Ha, I can’t imagine why he paired me with fire to begin with!” When her laughter died down, she asked, “And what are you, Ashlyn? Are you a wind mage?”

“It’s…different. No element is beyond my ability.”

“Interesting.” Miriam shifted her weight. “I hardly understand the Sorceress class.”

“Very few do. I...have a rare skill set that goes unmatched by a lot of peers, but I have also studied an arsenal of general skills. Fire, water, air, lightning…I’ve been trained in them all.”

Miriam shook her head in disbelief. “And here I am wondering why my Uncle wants you to have the crown. You’re clearly so capable.”

“If I may ask… You’re a Princess; why not you take the crown?”

“Because it’s not my birthright,” Miriam said. “My Uncle was generous to give me the title but, I am no heir. He does not choose me. He knows there's an obligation to uphold, as do I.”

“But do you want it?”

Miriam let out a breath, eying her guards nervously. “I know my role; and that is to deliver you to your throne.” She held out her hand. “Now, will you take it?”