"Ellie!" Alea yelled, shaking Ellie with a force that didn't belong to her thin body. Her fingers dug into Ellie's shoulders. "Wake up."
But there was no response. Alea checked for Ellie's pulse. Her pulse was normal but her body was cold to the touch.
Her worst fear had come true. Her daughter's core character had already manifested and a promise was being made.
"The flame."
Without hesitation, Alea rushed for the lantern, picking it up. She lifted it over her head before slamming it down onto the floor of the washing chamber.
Glass shattered. A golden flame burst out brightly, surging upward in a brilliant inferno. But then its form twisted, shifting from fire into crimson blood. The blood twirled in the air, emitting a faint red glow, looking for the closest human, or in Ellie's case—half-human.
The enclosed space kept it from escaping, but something was wrong. Its movements were erratic, darting back and forth in frantic confusion.
'Why is it moving like that? Ellie is right here.'
Then, as if realizing there was no other choice, it plunged downward, aiming for Ellie's mouth. And Ellie unknowingly became the recipient of the Character 'Thief of the Divine Light'. She shone brightly as soon as the blood entered her body.
At this moment, Alea's vision shook. The washing device trembled. The air grew heavy, thick with malice. The inscribed rune flickered violently as the spirits were rejecting its purpose. Suddenly, the wind howled. Like invisible knives, it cut into Ellie, causing her to bleed. The wind spirits. They were trying to kill Ellie.
"Not my child."
Alea threw herself over her daughter, using her fragile body to shield Ellie. The unseen hands lashed against her back. Each strike was like a whip, cutting through her garments. The pain was searing but Alea remained strong. She gritted her teeth, anchoring herself between Ellie and the raging room.
Beneath her, Ellie's body swung wildly between two extreme temperatures. One moment, scorching like the desert sun—Alea swore she could feel her skin blistering from the heat. The next, it plummeted, dropping to a deathly cold, like the heart of a winter storm, chilling her to the bone.
Alea knew what was happening.
A battle.
A battle between two Characters—Ellie's developing Character and Thief of the Divine Light—each vying for dominance, for the right to become her core Character, to give her their Promise. It raged on for some time. Alea could feel it. The violent clash threatened to rip her daughter apart from the inside.
Then, finally. The cold won. The winter storm had swallowed the desert sun. The heat trailed along her body, retreating from the advancing cold to her heart, and settled there. At the same time, the hostility from the wind spirits had also died down. The washing device stabilized, and rune shone brightly.
***
It took a while, but eventually, the escape pod reached the shore, announcing its arrival with a loud thud. Tattered and barely holding together, it had served its purpose. Ellie and Alea were free. For now.
A small group of three approached the washing device slowly. Their shells were a darker shade of blue than most Dwarphs, resembling thunder in the dark night. With just a single jump, they managed to get on top of it—something elves needed a ladder to do. One figure, smaller than the others, reached for the hatch door. They gripped it, pulling the hatch door open but instead accidentally ripping it off the frame. The door tore clean off.
"Oops."
"How many times do I have to tell you this? Be mindful of your strength." A feminine voice coming from one of the taller figures, sharp with irritation.
"Sorry... I didn't mean to."
"Don't be so harsh on her, Periola. She's just recently molded. Give her time to adjust," the other taller figure responded, voice rougher.
"Sure. But in the meantime, I won't let her anywhere near them."
After saying that, the taller female stepped forward, grabbing the edge of the hatch. The taller male passed her a touch, which she took with a free hand before throwing her body in. Six arms worked in perfect tandem, sticking her body to the inner wall of the washing device. Her fingers dug deep. She descended to the bottom with effortless grace, her movements like those of a dancer.
The torchlight revealed two unconscious figures. A woman and a girl.
The woman was lying over the girl, and her back was littered with wounds. Both of them had blonde hair, though the girl's locks were better kept.
Periola already familiarized herself with the woman since their encounter at the Moldrivore Academy.
'Princess Alea. The once-pride of House Gemma. One of the few level eight rune masters reduced to such a pitiful state.' Periola thought as she examined the wound on Princess Alea's back.
To challenge for the throne, a princess had to attend Moldrivore Academy. There, Alea had met the current leader of Clan Thunderspine and the two had become the best of friends. It was expected that they developed feelings for each other when they started to go on private dates and late-night discussions, without the presence of bodyguards such as Periola. To this day, Periola still couldn't understand why Princess Alea ran away from House Gemma.
But she didn't need to understand why. Periola was just a simple soldier, she couldn't possibly understand the political maneuver of its players. All she needed to do was follow orders.
Periola placed the torch on the floor. Then she bent down, grabbing the mother and daughter in each of her lower arms with ease. But something was odd.
"This must be Princess Zelris. She's large for a fifteen-year-old elf girl."
Broader frame than expected. Not the delicate, slender build typical of elven blood.
"Heavy bones. Thick muscles. And not only that." Periola glanced down, brow furrowing as her arm, the one holding Ellie, became stiff. "Why is her body so cold?"
Normally, climbing down was harder than climbing up. But Periola found the opposite was true, with her body becoming sluggish from the cold.
Reaching the hatch, she gritted her teeth and called out, her voice sharper than she intended.
"A little help. Doread."
Before she could even steady herself, Doread was already moving. The large figure reached down with all hands, his grip firm but careful, and in one swift motion—He lifted Periola who was holding Ellie and Alea out like she weighed nothing at all.
"I'd got you."
Immediately, Periola barked a command to the young Dwarph, not even sparing Doread a glance.
"Give me your torch, Stensa. Hurry."
Stensa flicked, caught off guard by the sudden urgency in Periola's voice, almost dropping the torch—which would have earned her another scolding. Thankfully, she managed to catch it just in time with her second lower pair of arms.
"Phew."
"Hurry," Periola yelled, one of her left-side hands reached out toward the bewildered Stensa, fingers twitching impatiently, while the lower hand beneath it still supported Princess Alea.
"I am coming. I am coming." Stensa rushed forward to Periola, thrusting the torch out.
Periola yanked the torch out of Stensa's grasp, hovering it over the cold side of her body. As warmth seeped back in, she slowly regained control against the stiffness and released Princess Zelris from her grip.
Being the gentleman he was, Doread reached out to take Princess Alea from her hold. He adjusted Alea's weight onto his broad shoulder, securing her in place. Then, without hesitation, he turned to do the same for the other Princess.
"Don't." Periola flexed her fingers, opening and closing her hand. "Go get the mounts first."
A moment of silence followed.
Periola turned to Stensa, her sharp gaze enough to make the youngster jump.
"On it!" Stensa blurted, before leaping off the roof of the washing device
"I am worried for the future of our clan. The quality of larva surviving the first molding has plummeted greatly," Periola exhaled.
Doread said nothing, only tilting his head slightly in acknowledgment.
"Some can't even mold to extend their lifespan," Periola continued. "They live useless, short lives."
"Don't you think so? Princess Alea."
***
"You can stop pretending now."
Alea let out a slow chuckle as Doread let her down from his shoulder.
"It has been long, Princess Alea," Doread said, lowering himself before Alea.
"It's has been a long time, Doread."
"It's good to see you too, Periola. You're as sharp as ever."
"No, you're just getting shabbier."
"Perhaps so."
Alea's gaze dropped to the unconscious Ellie. Her daughter had always been bulkier than her peers, due to her human heritage. But now, the difference was starker than ever. Strands of white hair stood out amidst the golden forest, a quiet omen of what was to come.
A chill settled in her chest.
The Church of Three had always ensured that no Saints existed beyond their control. If they caught even the faintest news of Ellie's awakening, her daughter would surely be hunted.
"Our champion is better than I expected." Periola's voice pulled Alea back to the present. "Still lacking compared to Methild, but stronger than most challengers from other Houses. However, I find her condition to be quite peculiar. I've never seen an elf so sick before. That makes me wonder—" her eyes flicked up, sharp and questioning. "Can she carry out our deal?"
Indeed, there was a deal. One where Ellie would become a challenger, with Clan Thunderspine as her backing. They would help her escape, and shield her until she could attend Moldrivore Academy, where political influence was strictly prohibited. Once inside, Ellie could challenge for the throne without outside interference.
However, that wasn't the full extent of the deal.
"The shock from Velkan's death made her sick. She must blame herself for the boy's death."
"You elves are too emotional," Periola said.
Doread let out a deep sigh, placing three hands over his chest. "He accomplished much for the clan in his short lifespan."
"His loss pains us dearly as well," he continued, his tone solemn. "His sacrifice will not be in vain. May I know—what were his last words?"
Alea didn't hesitate. "He wished for the betterment of your clan."
Doread nodded, eyes dark with something unreadable. "A noble wish."
That was a complete lie.
In his final moments, Velkan did not speak of honor.
He did not whisper noble wishes for the clan's future.
He begged.
Gasping, choking on his own blood, he clawed at Alea's arm with what little strength he had left. His fingers were trembling, weak, but they would not let go. Alea had seen warriors die before—stoic, proud, accepting of their fate. Velkan was none of those things.
"I can still mold," he had pleaded, his voice raw with desperation. "I just need time—just a little more time. Please..."
His breath hitched, chest heaving, as his eyes—too young, too filled with terror—searched Alea's face for mercy, calling for his mother.
"Please... Mom... don't let me die. I can do it. I swear. I swear—"
He had sworn it again and again, the words breaking apart in his throat, growing fainter with every passing second. His body was failing him, betraying him, no matter how hard he fought against it.
"I don't want to die... Mom"
A child's last wish.
A wish that would never be granted.
And it was she who had made it so.
"Indeed, it was a noble wish," Alea replied, her voice as calm as ever.
At this moment, a young Dwarph returned with three out of her four arms holding the leash of three horses, oblivious to the conversation that had taken place.