Chapter 21 - The Road Ahead
Elarion stirred awake with a low groan, the weight of obligations clinging to him before his feet touched the floor. He dragged himself to the washbasin, where a splash of frigid water startled him sharper into the day, and with practiced efficiency, he styled his silver hair. His garments were plain, chosen without thought for flair, only for ease. The small table in the kitchen welcomed him with Nymeris’s lively chatter and Ayda’s quiet smile, the meal swift but steadying. Slinging his cloak across his shoulders, he exhaled once, as though to brace against the world, and stepped outside, his path leading him straight toward Mr. Thavendir’s modest yet dignified tailor shop.
The little brass bell above the door jingled as he pushed it open. The familiar smell of pressed linen and cedar oil wrapped around him. Mr. Thavendir looked up from the counter, spectacles perched on his nose, and his expression broke into a warm smile.
“Ah, Elarion. Just in time. I received your letter and had everything prepared. Your order is ready.”
He disappeared into the back, returning moments later with neatly folded bundles tied with string. One set of crisp semi-formal wear in deep forest green and silver, two casual but well-tailored outfits that would pass in Leuthilspar without raising an eyebrow, and a practical set made to be worn beneath his leather armour. Mr. Thavendir laid them out with the care of a man presenting fine treasures.
“These should serve you well,” he said. “Leuthilspar has its own style, of course, but you will not look out of place. Still—” He reached into a drawer and pulled out a small slip of parchment, writing quickly before handing it to Elarion. “This is the name and address of a colleague I trust. A tailor in Leuthilspar who will treat you fairly. Should you need more, go to him.”
Elarion accepted the note with both hands, bowing his head in thanks.
Mr. Thavendir studied him for a moment, his tone softening. “You are stepping into a larger world, my boy. It will be very different from Selathryn. At times it will challenge you, unsettle you, perhaps even make you long for home. But it will also teach you more than you can imagine. There is no experience quite like walking among strangers, learning what lies beyond the horizon. It will shape you, in ways no one else can.”
Elarion swallowed, his chest tightening as he carefully packed the folded clothes into his bag. “I hope so,” he murmured.
Mr. Thavendir clasped his shoulder firmly. “I know so. And I wish you the best of luck, Elarion. May this be the start of something greater than you ever thought possible.”
Elarion smiled faintly, bowing his head again before stepping back out into the sunlit street, the bundles of new clothes tucked safely under his arm, the tailor’s words lingering like a blessing in his ears.
On his way through the market square, Elarion stopped by the florist’s stall. The woman there greeted him warmly, and he chose two simple bouquets of white blooms, their fragrance gentle and clean. With the flowers carefully wrapped and tucked under his arm, he made his way toward the graveyard.
It had been too long since his last visit. The sight struck him as he stepped through the white stone arches, ivy curling over the edges like nature’s embroidery. Tall trees lined the path, their leaves filtering sunlight into soft, shifting patterns across the ground. The air was still, carrying only the faint rustle of wind and the distant call of birds.
When he reached their resting place, his steps slowed. Two graves, side by side, carved with names he had never stopped carrying in his heart. Corvellen. Serelune. He lowered himself to his knees and placed the bouquets gently at the base of each headstone. From his pack, he drew two small candles, setting them into their holders and striking a flame until both wicks glowed steady against the breeze.
He lowered himself carefully onto the grass, the weight of his body settling into the earth as though it, too, understood what this place meant. His legs folded beneath him, his hands resting loosely in his lap, and for a long moment he did nothing but stare at the two names carved into stone before him. Time seemed to draw close around him, pressing on his chest, carrying the quiet ache of years that had slipped away.
When at last he spoke, his voice was low and unguarded, meant not for ceremony or for the air around him, but as though he were seated at a long table sharing a meal, leaning into laughter, trading stories with those whose ears could no longer listen. The words came gently, halting at first, then with ease once memory took hold. He spoke of small, vivid pieces of the past that no wind or age could erode; the way Corvellen would ruffle his hair without warning, half-teasing, half-affectionate, a gesture that once made him sputter with indignation but now left his throat tight with longing. He remembered Serelune’s laughter, bright as sunlight through branches, when he tripped over his own feet during training drills, their chuckles mingling at his expense, filling the world with warmth. These fragments, once so fleeting, now glowed sharp and precious in his telling.
As he went on, his words carried further, moving from the past to the years that followed. He told them about the battles he had fought, the griefs that marked him, and the slow process of finding peace in Kolvar’s company. He spoke of the small victories and the quiet closures, of scars, both seen and unseen, that finally began to lose their sting. And then, softening, a wistful curve touched his lips as he said her name. Iris. He let it linger there, weighted with affection, as though by uttering it aloud he lent shape and presence to the bond that had carried him forward.
For a moment his voice faltered. He lowered his gaze, breath trembling, the air heavy as his heart pressed against the unspoken. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, as though confessing something too fragile to be carried on a stronger tone. “For that day. For all the days that followed. For making you worry, because I hid away, because I stopped living the way you’d have wanted me to. A whole decade I shut myself away. I can see now what I lost, and I can feel how much you would have hated that.” Each word seemed to deepen and release some tether, lifting weight from him only as it cracked something vulnerable inside.
He lifted his gaze again, eyes blurred against the brightness of the sun, the world shimmering where sorrow pressed too keenly. “I want to believe you can hear me. That somehow, beyond stone and soil, you can still listen. Corvellen, Serelune… I’m asking for your blessing. I’m asking for your guidance. I’m leaving the grove at long last, and I want — no, I need — to live that life I once dreamed of. Not only for me, but for you as well.” Silence followed, fragile yet profound. He rose slowly, brushing stray blades of grass from his palms. Between the graves he lingered, feeling the air hum with the raw edges of parting. At last he turned away, though his feet resisted, heavy with reluctance. Then, almost at the tree line, he looked back.
“I love you both,” he said softly, the words almost breaking in his voice. “And I miss you both. Every day.” And with that, he walked forward, carrying both ache and blessing into the waiting world beyond.
And with that, he stepped away, the white blooms and glowing candles the only traces of his visit, the memory of their smiles carried with him as he walked back toward the living world.
Elarion returned to Nymeris’ home, and climbed the stairs to his room, setting his pack on the bed and carefully folding the last of his belongings into place. At the bottom of the pile he laid Serelune’s little sketchbook, its worn cover soft under his fingertips. He tucked it away with reverence, then added a pair of well-used leather gloves that had once belonged to Corvellen. The familiar weight of them made his throat tighten.
He was fastening the straps of his pack when a knock came at the door.
Turning, he found Nymeris framed in the doorway, her kind eyes resting on him. “You have a visitor,” she said softly.
A flicker of curiosity crossed his face as he followed her downstairs. But when he stepped into the living room, his steps faltered. Kolvar stood by the door, his gaze lowered, fingers brushing the frayed edges of the tattered cloak draped over a chair. The same cloak Kolvar had given him all those years ago, when he was barely eighteen.
Nymeris, sensing the gravity of the moment, excused herself quietly, retreating toward the kitchen with a murmured note about preparing food for his journey. The two men were left alone.
“What are you doing here?” Elarion asked after a pause, his tone cautious.
Kolvar glanced up at him, then reached under his arm to produce a folded bundle. He stepped forward, holding it out. “I have something for you.”
Elarion hesitated before accepting the weight in his hands. When he unfolded it, a new cloak unfurled in the dim light of the room. Dark green, finely made, with the emblem of Selathryn embroidered in silver thread along one edge.
“I will not have you wearing that rag anymore,” Kolvar said, nodding toward the old cloak. His voice was steady, but his eyes softened in a way that betrayed more than the words carried. “If you are to carry Selathryn with you, do it with pride.”
Elarion’s throat worked as he smoothed a hand across the fabric. It was heavier, sturdier than the first, but it stirred the same spark of memory. How thrilled he had been to receive his first cloak, to stand a scout at last. “Thank you,” he said quietly, an awkward smile tugging at his lips. “Truly.”
Kolvar inclined his head in farewell, his hand already brushing the edge of his cloak as he turned to go. Yet he paused, the weight of unspoken truth pulling him back. His gaze, sharpened by years and shadowed by memory, settled on Elarion, and when Kolvar spoke, his voice carried the gravel of regret beneath its steadiness. “If you love the girl, do not squander the time you are given,” he said. “I once believed forever would wait for me. I believed it stubbornly, foolishly. With Serelune, I thought I could take my steps slowly, that tomorrow would always be there. And when at last we stood together, the world proved cruel and tore her from me before I could keep her long.” He exhaled, a sound edged with sorrow. “Do not let time steal from you what it stole from me.”
The words hung in the room like a weight between them. Elarion opened his mouth, then closed it again, the rush of feeling too tangled to put into words. Kolvar shifted, his gaze flicking briefly toward the door. “Stay alive,” he muttered, softer now, almost as if speaking to himself. Then he pulled the door open and stepped out, leaving only the scent of cool evening air in his wake.
Elarion stood in the living room a moment longer, the new cloak folded in his arms, his chest heavy with unspoken gratitude and the ache of a bond neither of them knew how to name.
The morning sun stretched pale gold across Selathryn as Elarion stood by the door with his pack secured and his new cloak settled on his shoulders. Nymeris was already there waiting, fussing over him with all the force of a mother sending her son into the world. “I packed food for the road,” she said, pressing a bundle into his arms before he could protest. “Make sure you eat it, and not all at once. Eat properly, Elarion. And write often. I want to hear from you as soon as you arrive.”
He smiled, a little sheepishly. “I will.”
She fixed him with the kind of stern look that could cut through stone. “And when you get to Leuthilspar, find yourself a proper place to stay. A roof, a bed. Do not sleep under trees as if you were still scouting in the wilds. Promise me.”
The corners of his mouth lifted, amusement flickering in his eyes. “I promise.”
Her expression softened then, her voice gentling. “Remember, Selathryn will always be your home. No matter where you go, no matter what you choose, you can return here. All I want is for you to be happy, and healthy. That is all.”
Before he could answer, Ayda clung fiercely to his sleeve, her face blotchy and red from crying. “I’ll be fine,” she hiccupped, “because I’m a big girl. But you have to promise to write to me, and send me little trinkets from everywhere you go. Promise!”
Elarion knelt to her height, brushing a tear from her cheek. “I promise.”
“And I’ll study hard,” she went on, her little fists tightening on his sleeve. “I won’t miss any classes, and I’ll be a spectacular cleric like Nymeris one day.” Her voice cracked, though her eyes shone with determination. “But don’t you dare get married to Iris unless I’m there for the wedding!”
That drew a laugh out of him, light and genuine, and he ruffled her hair fondly. “Alright, I promise that too, if it ever happens.”
She sniffled and finally let go, though her eyes stayed locked on him, unwilling to blink away the sight of him even for a heartbeat.
Elarion stood and turned to Nymeris, his voice quiet but certain. “I’ll leave her in your care. Help her when you can, Ayda. And take care of yourself.” He hesitated, glancing between the two of them, then added with a teasing lilt, “And if you ever want to wander the borders of the grove, maybe you can ask Kolvar.” His eyes flicked apologetically toward Nymeris, the unspoken plea for help clear enough.
Nymeris gave the smallest sigh, but her lips curved upward.
With his goodbyes said, Elarion shifted the weight of his pack and turned toward the gates. Each step was heavy with parting, yet tinged with the pull of something new ahead. When he looked back, Nymeris stood with her hand on Ayda’s shoulder, both of them waving, their figures framed by the soft light through the trees. Elarion raised his hand in return, carrying the sight of them with him as he passed through Selathryn’s gates and onto the road that waited beyond.
Elarion paused at the edge of the grove, familiar Selathryn paths behind him. For a moment, he questioned his decision. Was he abandoning more than he could ever find beyond these woods? His thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Iris. Even in the hush of the grove, her presence lingered like a half-remembered melody, beautiful yet beyond his grasp. Loving her had never been easy; she was quick to retreat when he drew near, her words layered with careful distance. Every time he thought he understood her, the ground shifted, leaving him clutching at shadows. It was like trying to cup rushing water in his hands; inevitably, escape came, leaving only the echo of what might have been.
Still, the pull remained, a desperate anchor against the tide of frustration. It wasn't a yearning for comfort, but for the raw, untamed truth of her. Iris, with her sharp edges and fierce spirit, was the most vibrantly alive thing he’d encountered. To yield now, to let her slip away without one last, earnest attempt, would be to collect another ghost, another silent accusation of a life unlived, a burden he’d already carried far too long.
This quest, however, was not a singular pursuit of her. He had to anchor that truth within himself. The boy who had been silenced by shadows was gone. He was a man now, a man who craved the world’s vast, unwritten stories, who yearned to break free from the confines of the familiar grove, to architect his own existence, not merely inherit it. Iris was a luminous thread in this tapestry, but she was not the entire design.
And although the thought pains him, should she turn away, should she not end up choosing a life with him, he tells himself that he wouldn't falter. Even if his heart broke, he would endure. This journey was primarily for himself, a path for the lost boy and the man who finally believed he deserved more. That he should let nothing make him believe once more that he's not worthy of the beauty and wonder the world has to offer.
He adjusted the strap across his shoulder, fingers curling tighter as if anchoring him to purpose. The air filled his lungs, steady and deliberate, urging him forward. This was no simple step, it was a declaration. A movement toward her, toward the fragile vision of a life he dared to claim, and more profoundly, toward the man within who had long waited to be acknowledged. Each motion carried both fear and hope, but above all, the unshakable belief that his worth would guide him onward.