Elegy For An Epilogue

The next day soon came. Cecillia stayed in bed in her tiny tent as the morning sun’s warmth trickled in through the opening gap. She guessed that she had slept around five hours as her mind felt energized and relaxed. Although, she wasn’t sure that the measly amount would be enough for her current body. Afterall, could stat-points really amount to a rigid decade of harsh training?

Health: 204/230

Stamina: 63/100

Her brows lifted slightly. ‘I guess it does…’

Raising her body, she stretched her arms and released a shallow yawn. Blackie it seemed was still asleep and a smile appeared on her face. The wolf’s sleeping figure and its aloofish expression was a type of cute unbefitting its massive size.

Outside, the encampment was almost completely silent as the earliest of morning-persons stirred from their rest to start the day. Pots and pans clanked against each other in the near distance as Cecillia assumed that they would be preparing the breakfast. Her stomach made a little growl, and as she glanced down, she contemplated whether she should’ve eaten just a little bit more the previous night.

Sighing, she slipped into her boots and left the tent to find a certain someone. As she looked around, she couldn’t help but admire the magical new world. The air in the valley was crisp and the morning had left droplets of glistening dew hanging from the long blades of grass. Flowers had turned upward, their soulless faces yearning for the sun. And the mountains, oh the mountains that lifted up her precious blue sky, the clouds, the billowing winds.

How she wished that her wings existed in this very moment. The bare thought of the boundless freedom was beyond enticing, and she hoped that when the day came that she unlocked her second class would be the day she would regain her flight.

Walking through the camp, Cecillia passed countless tents which served as homes for the people of Willowmere. She imagined how they would re-adjust once they arrived at Windhaven—being country-folk. Perhaps though, she should worry about how she herself would live her new life. But when she thought about it, the options Cecillia had available were spread far and thin. Large amounts of people living in close proximity already caused her to feel suffocated. Mundane jobs like office work didn’t sound too bad, but would her sister want her to settle?

‘What to do…?’

Alice’s gift of granting her a new life was an odd concept to wrap her head around. Maybe her sister had sent her here on a far-fetched quest to save her, or maybe it really was just a chance to live a normal life. Regardless, Cecillia couldn’t see herself settling down anywhere for the meantime. Her body tempered by war, unfortunately craved and lusted for battle. Whether it was with monsters, or other humans, it didn’t really matter. All she needed was for something to release her urges on, or rather something similar to the structure of her past..

‘Maybe I’ll just join the army.’

The idea intrigued her, but a grating screech soon brought her out of her thoughts. Her destination was roughly in this area after she saw the man heading there last night. And there Doran sat on a wooden stool, not necessarily the person she was looking for, but it was close enough.

He was dressed in a simple woolen tunic that was cut off at the biceps and Cecillia was able to see numerous scars along the length of his well muscled arms. The clothing he wore definitely changed her view on the man just because of how different it was to the armor he had been wearing a day prior.

Standing in front of him, she silently watched as he ran the edge of his slender blade along a leather strap. Doran didn’t bother to glance up at her, but Cecillia was easily able to tell that his weapon was astonishingly well made. At a surface glimpse, she could see that the steel had been tempered multiple times while the pommel consisted of a carefully cut gem. There was an engraving etched into the jewel, but from her position she wasn’t able to catch a distinct image.

Doran continued with the sharpening, allowing himself several more deliberate strokes before he finally paused. The man lifted the blade, inspecting the edge before his eyes drifted onto her frame.

“...Why are you here?”

Cecillia looked past him, noticing a faded booklet on a table before her gaze settled on the tent.

“Is your son awake?”

Her innocent question caused the man’s eyes to flicker, and a crease appeared in his forehead. Cecillia didn’t understand why he was being so grumpy, but her face remained impassive.

“Why are you looking for Laen?” Doran asked with a frown. “Shouldn’t you be preparing food with the other cooks?”

Cecillia shook her head. “I want to kill monsters.”

The man blinked and stayed quiet for a little while before finally releasing a heavy sigh. “That is a man’s job. You are but a little girl. Why do you insist on something so useless?”

She stared blankly at the man, locking eyes with him. He looked at her, holding her gaze for several seconds before turning away.

“You shouldn’t go out there like this. The Elendar Forest isn’t as forgiving as it seems, you’ll only get yourself killed,” he stated, glancing back at her. “What would be the point, then?”

A faint smile appeared on Cecillia’s face and she looked up at the skies where a lone bird flew high above the clouds. For some reason, the sight made her happy.

“Even so… why should you tell me how to live my life?” Cecillia murmured.

Doran’s eyes widened a little at that, and the crease in his forehead deepened. The light in his emerald eyes darkened and his grip on his blade tightened. Yet he didn’t reply.

“So what if I end up dead,” Cecilia said as Doran’s face turned to stone. “Alone even. Who would care?”

Her vision dropped, the slight upward curve of her lips staying the same as she centered on the man.

“If I died. Would you care?”

***

—Would you care?

The girl’s dainty voice pierced Doran’s chest. His voice caught in his throat and he could not properly go on. There was no word that could describe this enigma of a girl, much less a part of her. Yet when he thought about it, just maybe it was him that had been wrong after all this time.

“I…” Doran’s voice started, but his mouth abruptly closed. He tried again, but nothing wanted to come out and his lips turned down into a scowl.

Cecillia watched as his face went through a turmoil of emotion and her eyes wavered in a display of confusion. Silence ensued for the next several seconds until a tranquility passed over her.

“Thank you,” she told him.

Her voice was barely louder than the whisperings of the wind, but Doran heard it loud and clear. His eyes shook with anger as he saw those blue eyes staring at him. They contained no emotion, no feeling, and as she continued with her fixated gaze, he raised his sword.

“Your life means nothing to me.”

The tip of the blade was pointed directly at her heart, its sheen gleaming in the direct light of the sun. His eyes were cold, harsher even but the girl was unflinching. With her frail body and short stature, Cecillia was but a young girl. It made him want to ask why she wasn’t scared. Why she always seemed to radiate indifference. Why…

—did she… thank me?

For the first time in a very long time, Doran felt fear. His heart was crushed as the girl’s words echoed endlessly in his mind. He wanted to reject it, to run away, to hide away from the feeling; but no matter what he did, Cecillia only gazed at him with the same blank expression.

In the end, his arm fell and his blade clattered to the grass. He could see the reflection of his own pitiful appearance within her eyes. The levels he had spent decades to build, the battles he fought, the blood on his hands. It was meaningless and he knew that. Yet in that moment, why did he feel so free?

“You have a ring,” Cecillia spoke.

Doran glanced down at his hand, where a thin silver band wrapped around the ring finger of his left hand. The once invisible jewelry was now as clear as the midday sky and his eyes trembled.. Just how long had it been?

His eyes returned to her face. “...I see. Thank you.”

From the moment her rosy lips had mentioned the ring, Doran understood. A hollow memory stirred, surfacing from the depths of hatred and he started to remember. Just what did it mean?

His eyes lingered on the ring and his fingers moved almost unconsciously. They traced along the cool silver before drifting upwards to brush against his lips. The words of an oath that he had uttered long ago, a sentence that he had almost forgotten, had finally regained its meaning.

“You said you wanted Laen?” Doran asked. He sheathed his blade and looked up at her.

Cecillia nodded. “I wanted to see if I could borrow an extra bow.”

“Why didn’t you just ask me?” The man frowned. There was a tinge of annoyance in his voice

“You…” The girl hesitated. “You’re too grumpy.”

Doran stared at Cecillia wordlessly before he turned his head to the side. That way, he could no longer see her face. Then again, wasn’t he acting exactly as she described.

“...”

Sighing, Doran stood and entered the tent. The sound of rustling gear echoed before he returned a moment later, holding a wooden bow and a quiver of feathered arrows. It was the same set that the boy was using yesterday.

“Laen’s sleeping. He overdid it yesterday, protecting you,” he said and placed the pair on the table. As he did, his eyes glanced over the booklet and his brows furrowed slightly. Although, whatever thoughts he had soon dissipated as the girl’s voice entered his ears.

“...Is that so?” Cecillia mumbled as her gaze lingered over the tent’s entrance. “Tell him I said thanks.”

Doran grunted and motioned for her to come. “Do you know how to use a bow?”

He watched as the girl stepped up to the table and inspected the weapon. There was no doubt that someone like her wouldn’t know, but a little something told him that he would be wrong.

Quietly, Cecillia glanced at him, pausing as if choosing the right words to say.

“It doesn’t look that hard,” she said as Doran’s head dipped.

The hunter gestured for her to hold the weapon, and she complied. Wrapping her fingers around the smooth wood of the bow, Cecillia drew an arrow from the quiver and nocked it against the string with practiced ease. Doran’s eyes immediately narrowed. The fluid movement was performed with grace, as if repeated a thousand times and he wondered what kind of life she had lived before the seal.

“Can I shoot?” The girl asked.

Doran didn’t answer right away. He took a second to look her over and noticed the level of comfort within her stance. It was unlike any style that he was familiar with but its effectiveness would be proven shortly.

Finally, Doran gave a small nod. “Aim high.”

He trusted the girl to avoid the tents, but a look of amusement soon appeared on his face. As Cecillia pulled the string back, her muscles tensed and in a single smooth motion, she released. The arrow flew with a whistle, cutting through the air before embedding itself into the ground just six meters away.

Doran heard the girl grumble before another arrow was released, landing only inches further from the first.

“If you have extra points, put them into strength,” he suggested. There was the beginnings of a smile creeping onto his face, but as Cecillia turned towards him, he wiped his expression clean.

The girl squinted at him for a moment before turning back around, her tiny back seeming just a little larger. Again, she pulled the drawstring but this time her arm was able to fully extend. Releasing the arrow, the sound it made was multitudes sharper. And this time, instead of only cutting, the projectile sliced through the winds before soaring outside the camp’s perimeter.

Doran nodded, a flicker of approval passing through his eyes. The girl would be just fine, that is as long as that big black dog was with her.

“Good job,” he said and Cecillia turned, craning her neck upwards.

On her face was a genuine smile, and it could only be described as breath-taking. Yet Doran wasn’t able to physically breathe. The girl was too charming with her black hair hanging below her shoulders. She was a beauty that could steal the time away from others. And he choked…

—If she was still here… would she…

Would she still be smiling? A cold pang tore through his chest and the edges of his vision grew hot. Doran was unable to process why he reacted like this, at the simple sight of a woman smiling. And he pressed a hand against his head. The pain was unbearable.

Suddenly, a refreshing coolness brushed against Doran’s hand. It was like a splash of water and all his previous torments had been washed away. He looked down and there was a delicate hand wrapped around two of his fingers.

“What are you doing?” Doran ripped his hand away and shot her a glare.

“I’m sorry…” she trailed off. “It just… felt right.”

The man’s jaw tightened and his lips twisted into a grimace. His breathing became bated and he suddenly strode past her into the tent. In the corner on the bed Laen, and as Doran saw the sleeping boy’s figure, his eyes softened.

“What am I doing,” he muttered.

Doran let out a heavy breath and grabbed a small backpack that hung from a chair. He quickly emptied the existing contents before throwing in several pieces of tightly wrapped bread. Glancing one last time at the boy, he exited the tent with a rustle.

Thankfully, Cecillia had not yet left after his childish outburst. The girl looked up at his approaching form, eyes drawn to the pack he held in his hands.

“...There’s food in there. Breakfast won’t be ready for another couple of hours,” he said and tossed the pack at her feet.

Cecillia didn’t immediately pick up the bag, but instead stared at the man. The expression on her face was filled with confusion. “Why?” her eyes seemed to say.

“Return before nightfall,” Doran said, ignoring her gaze. “Else the boy would be disappointed.”

Only until after several seconds, the girl finally relented.

“Thank you,” she murmured faintly.

She knelt down and quickly secured the pack onto her back before slinging the bow and quiver into place. Straps existed which she fastened with a set of quick clicks, and soon she was all set. Standing up, Cecillia gave a grateful bow just as Doran settled back onto his stool. He watched her for a brief moment as she turned and left, but after only a few moments he called out to her one last time.

“Girl.”

The single word cut through the air. He waited as Cecillia’s steps paused and she turned around to face him with a strange expression.

“What does the word love mean to you?”

The question hung gently, followed by a deafening silence. For the first time, Doran could see the girl’s composure crack. Her eyes widened, and a muted flicker of uncertainty crossed her face.

“I do not know.”

Her voice was soft, almost to the point of being fragile. But she said nothing more, and those were the final words she chose to say. With that, she turned and left, her figure slowly fading into the distance.

Doran watched her go and he smiled. His hand reached for the leather-bound booklet on the table and as he brought it before his face, he brushed his thumb against the surface. A thin layer of dust stuck against his skin and the book’s blank title revealed itself to him.

He could barely remember its contents but as he opened it up, there was a pen right next to its spine. It was nearly forgotten, and its tip that had been darkened by ink that dried long ago brought back flashes of memories.

“Thank you, Cecillia Black.”