The Tears of Kas̆dael

Aphora slumped on her throne as the young mage finally disappeared down the hallway following Nūril. She had never enjoyed the complex political games her station required, preferring the freedom of solitude. She absentmindedly smoothed her slightly rumpled gown as she waited to receive confirmation that the boy had signed the contract.

A smidgen of guilt ate away at her, but she forcefully cast it from her mind. She was only doing what was necessary. She shifted in her seat uncomfortably as the minutes ticked by, keeping a watchful eye on the door. Damn it all, why am I so nervous? When Torin finally entered the room, a wave of relief washed over her as she caught sight of the handful of papers clutched in his hand. Selene’s Grace, they took the contract.

She watched with fondness as the elderly elf approached her. He hid his years well. His jet black hair was flecked with only the faintest hints of grey, and no sign of infirmity plagued his confident stride. But she knew the truth. Few elves lived past a thousand, an age that Torin had transcended long ago. To the elves in the enclave, he was known as Torin the Undying, but his age was not a blessing but a curse.

Her loyal servant stopped in front of her and bowed low. “My lady, everything is in order. The mage and his friend agreed to accompany you in a week.”

A genuine smile flooded her face. “Thank you, Torin. You may go now. Why don’t you give the rest of the staff the day off?”

But Torin did not immediately depart. Instead, he hesitated before her, his hands moving restlessly as he screwed up his courage. “My lady, are you sure you want to do this? The risks are…” He trailed off, searching for the right words. “The risks are almost unimaginable if this fails.”

A pang of disappointment sprang up in her heart as she studied Torin’s face. After all this time, he still doubts me? But she did not allow her hurt to seep into her words, as she gently replied.

“Do you remember when you first rescued me?”

Torin’s eyes glazed over, as his mind flew past the centuries. “Aye, I recall that dreadful day all too well. It seemed as if the very world had ended. We were fleeing for our lives, daring not to stop for anything, and then - there you were! A little girl walking all alone down the abandoned streets of the city. A dolly was clutched tightly in your hands, and your cheeks were streaked with tears, but even back then you were a defiant little thing. You were determined to find your mother, even if you had to search the whole damn city. It was all we could do to drag you off to safety that day.”

Aphora smiled. She had heard the story many times before, and she knew the old man harbored some guilt over that day.

“You did the right thing, Torin. There was only death for us there.”

He nodded his head, but she knew he had not taken his words to heart. He never did.

She sighed, leaning forward. “And since that time, have I given you cause to doubt me?”

He shook his head. “No, my lady, but…” He cut himself off and bowed before her. “As always, my lady, I will pray for your success. May Ayyalu himself watch over your steps.”

Aphora watched as Torin left the room. She knew her words had not changed his mind and, despite herself, doubt blossomed in her heart. She stamped it down ruthlessly. This was a goal she had pursued her entire life. How could she turn back now?

With shaking hands, Aphora again smoothed her gown, brushing away imaginary wrinkles. There’s no other way. I have to do this.

I’m coming, mother.