The world around Jack and Elyra shifted again, fading into a vision that felt like it was painted with a dark brush. They found themselves standing on the edge of a lush meadow, the sunlight streaming through the trees in warm rays, but there was an unsettling heaviness in the air, as though something was wrong. The laughter of children echoed around them, high-pitched and carefree, but it carried an unmistakable cruelty.

  Ahead of them stood a group of elven children. Their features were delicate, graceful, like porcelain statues, and they were gathered in a circle. At the center was a girl, tall and poised, her black hair cascading like a dark waterfall around her shoulders. Her gaze was sharp, like a predator’s, and she was smiling, though the smile held no warmth.

  As Jack focused on the scene, he could feel the familiar weight of sorrow emanating from the other figure present—the young Celia. She stood a few paces away, her posture slumped, her eyes downcast. Jack’s heart tightened as he saw how young she appeared, no older than twelve or thirteen.

  The elven girl at the center of the group spoke, her voice ringing out with a mockery of kindness.

  “So, Celia,” she began, the name falling from her lips with an edge of disdain. “Still can’t awaken your Light Attunement, huh?”

  Celia’s face twitched, her shoulders stiffening as though the words had struck her like a physical blow. She said nothing in response, though her lips trembled slightly, as though the taunting were wearing down her resolve.

  The children around her snickered, some of them whispering among themselves in hushed tones, while others openly watched, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and schadenfreude. Jack could see the hurt in Celia’s eyes, though she tried to hide it. The girl was standing in front of them, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, her fingers digging into her palms.

  The elven girl, who was clearly the leader of the group, took a step closer to Celia, her smile widening.

  “Such a shame,” she said, tilting her head to one side, her icy blue eyes gleaming. “With your heritage, you’d think you’d be able to awaken it easily. But here you are, still without any Attunement. Not even a flicker of light.”

  A few of the other children laughed, the sound cold and dismissive.

  “I heard your mother had the same problem, you know,” the girl continued, her voice dripping with sweet venom. “She didn’t have it either, and that’s why she was so… weak. It’s in your blood, isn’t it? The failure to rise to the expectations of the Light.”

  Celia flinched, her head snapping up as if struck. Her gaze clouded with hurt, but she remained silent. Jack’s fists clenched at his sides, the image of her pain hitting him like a physical blow. The words, so casually cruel, were working to chip away at everything Celia had ever believed in. Her heritage, her mother’s death, all twisted into something monstrous by the malice of these children.

  “You’re nothing like your father,” the elven girl went on, her voice high and mocking. “He was always talented. Everyone always knew he had potential. But you… you’re nothing.”

  Celia’s breathing quickened, her hands shaking now as she fought back the tears, her voice barely audible. “That’s not true.”

  “Oh, but it is,” the girl sneered, her smile stretching wider, almost too wide. “Otherwise you would have inherited his Aptitude for Light, wouldn’t you?”

  The words cut through the air like a blade. Jack’s heart ached as he watched Celia’s face crumple under the weight of the taunts. Her shoulders hunched, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths, but still she stood there, silent. Her hands clenched tighter, her nails biting into her palms. She wasn’t giving them the satisfaction of seeing her break, but Jack could see the effort it took just to hold herself together.

  The elven girl’s voice rang out again, sharper now, a cruel whisper almost lost in the wind.

  Your mother? She failed you in the end, didn’t she? A weak woman, unable to wield any real power. If she hadn’t been so… pathetic, maybe she could’ve saved herself.”

  The group of children laughed again, louder now, each giggle digging into Celia’s spirit. She flinched with each one, her face pale, her breath shallow as though the words were suffocating her.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Despite himself, despite the fact that Celia would one day attack him, Jack’s chest tightened. He couldn’t stand to watch it anymore. This cruelty, this distortion of truth. But just as he was about to step forward, to confront these children and put an end to their torment, a sudden movement caught his eye. A figure stepped into the clearing, pushing through the circle of mocking children with an air of quiet authority.

  The new arrival was a boy. Though younger than the elven children, he was noticeably larger than most, his build broader, more muscular. His skin was a warm tan, his features rougher, coarser than the delicate elves around him. His hair, a deep brown, was slightly longer than most boys of his age, wild and unkempt, and his eyes—a mix of hazel green and gold, like the earth and the sun—burned with a fierce determination.

  His eyes locked onto the elven girl who had been leading the taunts. His expression was calm, but there was a heavy weight in his gaze, as though he carried the burden of seeing something broken and wanting to fix it. His voice, when he spoke, was low and steady, but it held a quiet power that immediately commanded attention.

  “Enough, Belshara.”

  The name was said with a quiet authority that made the girl freeze in her tracks. The group of children around them fell silent, their eyes flicking from Irivan to the girl and back again. The atmosphere shifted, the tension palpable as Irivan took a step closer to Celia.

  “You’ve made your point,” he continued, his voice no longer calm but edged with a controlled anger. “But you don’t get to tear her down like this.”

  Belshara sneered, her lips curling in a mockery of a smile. “And what will you do about it, Irivan? You think you can stop me? You’re just a half-blood, a mix of human and elf. You’ll never be as good as either.”

  Irivan’s eyes flashed, but he didn’t lose his composure. Instead, his gaze softened slightly, and he turned to Celia. His expression became one of empathy, his eyes gentle yet resolute.

  “Celia,” he said, stepping closer to her. “It doesn’t matter what they say. You’re more than they’ll ever understand. You don’t need their approval, or anyone’s, to know who you are.”

  Celia’s eyes flickered up to meet his, her gaze filled with confusion, but also with the faintest spark of hope. The taunts, the lies—Irivan’s words were the first real balm for her wounded spirit. For the first time, she didn’t feel entirely alone in the midst of the cruelty.

  Belshara’s smile faltered, but she quickly regained her composure, turning back to Irivan with a sharp retort. “And what exactly are you going to do? Are you going to stand there and preach to me about kindness? I don’t need your lectures. Your human blood makes you just as weak as she is.”

  Irivan’s lips twitched, as if fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “You really don’t get it, do you, Belshara? It’s not about power or Light Attunement. It’s about strength in here.” He pointed to his chest, then gently placed a hand on Celia’s shoulder. “You don’t get to break someone just because they don’t fit your narrow view of what makes them worthy.”

  The elven children watched in stunned silence as Irivan stood protectively at Celia’s side. The weight of his words hung in the air, and for a moment, it was as if Belshara didn’t know how to respond. She was used to being the one in control, the one who could manipulate others, but now she was the one who felt vulnerable, unsure of how to retort.

  “You’re not like the others, Irivan,” Belshara finally spat, her voice laced with venom. “You don’t belong here. You’re just a freak, a disgrace to your elven blood.”

  Irivan’s eyes hardened, but his stance remained calm. “You’re wrong, Belshara. I belong here more than you think. And so does Celia.”

  For the first time, Belshara’s confidence cracked. She stood there for a moment, staring at Irivan, her expression shifting between anger and uncertainty. She was still holding onto her belief that power, that Light Attunement, defined a person’s worth, and anyone who couldn’t live up to that standard was beneath her. But Irivan’s words were like a slow tide eroding that belief, breaking it down bit by bit.

  The elven children, seeing their leader falter, began to whisper among themselves. The group was starting to shift uneasily, the atmosphere growing less charged with malicious intent and more uncertain. The seeds of doubt had been planted, and it was clear that Irivan’s intervention was having an effect.

  “I’m not going to let you break her,” Irivan said, his voice steady now. “And I’m not going to stand by and let you turn her mother’s death into a joke. You don’t know what you’re talking about, Belshara. You never did.”

  Celia, still trembling, found herself drawing strength from Irivan’s words. His presence, his defiance, was like a shield around her, protecting her from the poison of Belshara’s venom. She could feel the pressure in her chest begin to ease, just a little, as she finally allowed herself to breathe without the weight of the mockery pressing down on her.

  The taunts had been loud, but now, in the silence that followed Irivan’s declaration, the words seemed to lose their power. For a brief moment, the meadow seemed to breathe with her, as if nature itself was taking a stand against the cruelty of the children.

  Irivan turned to Celia, offering her a small, reassuring smile. “You don’t need their approval. You’re worth more than that.”

  And as the scene began to fade around them, Jack could feel Celia’s gaze lingering on Irivan, not in awe or admiration, but in something deeper—an unspoken gratitude. For the first time, someone had stood up for her. Not just in words, but with the quiet strength to back it up.

  All this time, Jack had been staring at the boy, trying to place him. When he finally did, the realization struck him like a knife to the gut.

  Irivan was the armored fighter who had battled alongside Celia. The man he had fought. Fought… and killed.