Evening was breaking in the day, having been a long one. The sun felt particularly powerful on this day, breaking through the crowds and shining a blinding golden light on the world. Far off in the distance, the rolling clouds were coloured red and purple, and small clouds dotted the sky. If Amara had to correlate the view to a scene in her past, it reminded her blossom trees in full bloom.

Closing her eyes, the young elf put her hands on the wooden railing in front of her. She stood there for a while, tasting the breeze and listening to the jolly chatter of old folk and children below her as they went about their daily lives. It was a bright sight, as they went about competing in small games or ran about merrily.

The platform that Amara was standing on was connected to the hollow insides of a rather large tree. She stood around ten meters above the ground, surveying the village below her.

Cyril slept behind her, on a soft bed inside of the spacious tree. He had been sleeping for the entire day, ever since they had arrived. For his body, it needed as much rest as it could get.

The tree itself had been made into the likeliness of a home, and a very cozy one at that. Bookshelves lined the rounded interior along with small lamps and furniture strewed about.

Outside of the tree, many other such homes could be seen. They were built upon trees that lined the walls of a relatively tiny valley. It was a fairly make-shift village, but it served its purpose as a home well. While the construction wasn’t particularly luxurious or extravagant, the scene still served as a scene of wonder that few outsiders would ever be able to set their eyes on.

This was how the Morrow clan, one of the three main elven clans, lived. At least, it was one of the ways.

Most of the Morrow clan’s members were often out controlling the major events of the world, keeping cosmic balance. It was why their village was so makeshift, so that the clan could move at will, and it was also why the village was full of children and older elves. Occasionally, the stray adult could be seen walking around, but they were rather uncommon.

The Morrow clan had a deep connection with the Tide clan, the last and most important main elven clan of the three. They were rare, unseen, and deeply valued by the major forces in the world. Not even the Yore clan, the clan Amara belonged to, could easily talk with a member of the Tide clan.

This was the reason the young elf had decided to make the sudden change to their travel plans, postponing travel to her own clan to visit one of the Morrow clan’s villages on the way.

While travelling, her mother had sent her a letter via dove, telling her of the visitation of a certain member of the Tide clan to this specific village on official business. This particular elf not only knew Amara from her youth, but also owed her mother a heavy favour.

Learning of the news, she had wasted no time in rushing to the village. While the Yore clan among the three clans were by far the most knowledgeable, they could never match up to the specified abilities of the Tide clan.

Thinking about it, Amara let out a nervous sigh. She must’ve used up at least a hundred year’s worth of luck for such a coincidence, and the trial hadn’t ended yet. She did not even know if he would accept her request, not to mention whether her request even had an answer.

Did he contain the answer to the question of immortality she had been desperately searching for?

“…?”

After another deep breath, the young lady realized that her hands which had been gripping the wooden railing were trembling slightly. She had also been tapping her foot in anxiety.

Following Cyril’s habit, she chuckled slightly, chastising herself internally at her foolishness. If there was one thing that her over two-hundred years of life had taught her, it was that impatience would only serve to do more harm than good.

The sun began setting over the horizon, the sky quickly dimming in colour as night set in. The sounds of children and old folk below her had mostly quieted down as they headed home for the night.

On each tree lining the valley, large bulbous lantern-like plants were being lit, signaling the coming of night. A few elves on the ground could be seen doing rounds through the valley, guards for the purpose of keeping safety in check every night. As they patrolled, they would walk to similar bulbous lanterns on the ground, throwing them up as they lit up. They gently and slowly flew through the air, bouncing off the ground every once in a while. The lanterns lit up the entire valley, serving to brighten the area in a soft glow as they travelled, aiding the elves in their patrol.

It was a beautiful sight, and it served to calm Amara down as she watched.

Hearing a soft snore behind her, she turned away from the balcony, heading inside and closing the curtain behind her.

The bed that Cyril slept on was centered in the very center of the rounded room, surrounded by bookshelves and furniture. It had been layered in red velvet sheets, made as soft and comfortable as possible by the older elves that lived there.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Amara found herself sighing once again as she gazed at the sleeping Cyril.

It had seemed like it was just yesterday that he was up and about, exploring the world and its various mysteries with her, recording all the major events in the world as they went.

Of the three elven clans, the Yore clan was responsible for recording the world. They recorded the world’s major events, chronicling the various races’, kingdoms’, and countries’ cultures and history.

It was a duty granted to them by their guardian god, and it was the reason that they were by far the most knowledgeable among the three clans. In fact, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to call them the most knowledgeable among the many races of the world.

As a member of the Yore clan, one could say that it was Amara’s duty to contribute to her clan’s efforts. It was why she had dragged Cyril around the entire world, peace being a term unheard of in the earlier half of their lives together.

When… when did things begin to change?

As time ticked on and Amara was forced to wait, the memories of their past continued flooding her mind like a broken dam. It wasn’t something that she could stop, not matter how hard she tried.

One memory in particular stood out to her. It was during the early morning, on the bank to the Eisner river. The river was connected to the Eisner falls a fair distance away from where they had set up camp, far off in the distance.

They had set up camp there to record the Great Herding of the lizard-folk, where the Sylph-finny fish’s eggs would hatch over the falls. They were a naturally large and ferocious species of fish, even from birth, powered by a strange magic. Usually, they would push their way through the Eisen river and end up in the great Petra river that ran through the Petra Kingdom.

This, naturally, chased away any fish in the river, forcing the citizens into a plight. This was why only the most powerful lizard-folk tribes would swim through the opposite end of the river, towards the fish, and force them back down the falls.

At the falls, he various factions of the different races in the Kingdom would try their hand at killing and catching any of the fish as they fell. It was a dangerous mission, but heavily rewarding.

The Great Herding was a monumentous task that happened only once every century. It was why, Amara had decided to try and record it.

As they sat on the riverbank though, waiting to see the party pass by, she was completely stuck in a rut. She had sat there by the fire grumpily, constantly grumbling to herself. She had been sitting there for the entire night, not having slept due to her anxiety over missing the Great Herding.

Exactly how was she supposed to record the scene for a proper portrayal? Was she supposed to draw them as they went by, at the speed of light? Or perhaps was she meant to compose a poem on the spot, struck by inspiration?

To be fair, it had been her first time recording such a large event. She had absolutely no idea as to how she was going to go about it.

It was at this moment that Cyril had come out from their sleeping tent. As if having contemplated for a long while, he had made a great show of being in thought, hums and ahs included.

She vividly recalled the resolved look that appeared on his face before he stood in front of her and began sticking his arms out to-and-fro.

He moved awkwardly, like a reanimated corpse, his movements lacking any semblance of harmony. As he teetered every which way, looking as if he was going to fall down, she had stared at him, dumbfounded.

“…Is this a curse? Are you cursing somebody?”

“Huh? I’m obviously dancing, am I not? I call this one, The Dance of The Great Herding of the Lizard-Folk.”

From his ridiculous movements to which only a blind man could call dancing, to his absolutely bland and tasteless naming sense, and finally – his obvious attempt at helping her find a way to record, she had burst out into the biggest fit of laughter of her life.

His face had turned beet-red, as if struck with a tomato, but his movements never stopped.

It was something that came to mind every so often, and something she still teased him about to this very day. Just for the record, the name and dance had stuck, despite it not being the most optimal recording of her career.

It was one of the memories that she cherished the most in her life. It had a special place for her, right beside her heart.

But, just remembering the sequence, it only further begged the question.

When did things begin to change?

Was it perhaps in the last thirty forty years, since they had settled down into their little home?

Reaching her hand out, Amara brushed some of his hair away from his face, touching his wrinkles gently as she observed him carefully.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

The wrinkles on his face were plentiful and quite deep. His eyes were slightly sunken in, a testament to his old age, and his hair and mustache had long turned a stark white. He looked shriveled and slightly shrunken, as opposed to the valiant youth he had been. While he was scarred though, one could quite obviously see how charming he must’ve been in his youth, his looks having aged like wine.

If you were to ask any other human, they would call him an old man without any doubt, but if she were asked her opinion, she didn’t really see it. It wasn’t as if the change in his looks weren’t obvious, but that she simply didn’t feel like things had changed, and had therefore not noticed it.

It was as if their perceptions in time were completely different.

Amara’s eyebrows subtly lowered as she thought, a frown appearing on her face.

How could the two, who looked and acted so similar, have such an inconceivable difference between them?

Turning her gaze to the wheelchair that sat at the side of the bed, a slight look of hatred appeared on her face. It was not a hatred centered towards the wheelchair, but a hatred towards herself.

How could she, an oh-so wise elf, not notice such a glaring change until it was too late?

It was a cold day when she had noticed that Cyril had not come home, having gone out in their garden to draw water from the well. She had waited for over an hour before she went out to look for him, only to find him collapsed at the side of the road.

In the end, it ended up being that his legs had given out on him. Cyril treated it lightly, but it was an event that had traumatized greatly. How could she, of all people, not notice the obvious changes? She had been far too indulgent in their happiness.

Now that she was looking back on it, the changes seemed almost obvious. Much later into their life together, he wasn’t as active as he used to be. He had preferred to sit around instead of move about, and he had stopped training with his sword like he used to. He had instead picked up the hobby of cooking, and went about making delicious food for her to eat each day.

In hindsight, it was quite clear that he was attempting to hide his growing age and aching bones, but she had not realized it at the time.

It was likely due to him having foreseen this future, where they set out once again in search of the myth of immortality. Amara wasn’t so blind as to see that he didn’t believe in the cure. He just wanted to live out their days together once again, in peace like they used to be. But how would that affect her?

She couldn’t tell if it was him being selfish for not even trying, or her being selfish for dragging him on this chase.

Dom~ Dom~

Several slow knocks rang out in the night, breaking the silence and Amara out of her train of thought.

Looking towards the exit of the room, a pair of feet appeared between underneath the curtain.

“Please come in.”

The curtains rustled as a sharp looking young elf stepped into the room. He had a scar running through his left eye, which marred his good looks slightly. His eyes were sharp, and he gave off the atmosphere of a hunter, alert for prey.

“Miss Amara of Yore, Elder Gestalt of Yore will be here shortly to see you.”

“Understood.”

Bowing his head to her, the elf straightened his back before heading out of the room.

“…Mmmm… Amara?..”

As he did so, Cyril’s groggy voice spoke up beside her, having apparently woken up from the elf’s entrance.

“Cyril, you’re awake.” Turning her head to him, Amara subtly sucked in a deep breath, her nerves rising.

“I am indeed. Hm? It’s night outside already! Cheh. I should have slept for longer.” Frowning, Cyril scratched the back of his head in slight annoyance.

“I’m sorry for waking you, but perhaps it’s better that you’re awake for this.”

“Is he finally here?” Sitting up in his bed, Cyril began straightening out his clothes and flattening his bed hair with his hands in an attempt to make himself presentable.

Even in his many journeys, even as the companion as an elf, he had rarely gotten the chance to lay his eyes on an elf of the tide clan, much less interact with them.

As he was doing so, footsteps sounded out through the hollowed tree. They continued approaching, coming up the wooden stairs before the curtains flipped open unceremoniously, a rather old elf walking in.

“Amara!” A booming voice echoed throughout the room, the sound giving off the impression of a hearty and vigorous man.

“Uncle Gestalt!” Calling out in return, the young lady stood up to greet the newcomer.

As Amara called out in turn, the old elf broke out into a jolly laughter.

“Only you call me uncle anymore. Everyone else refers to me as Elder now.” Scratching his rough beard, the old elf walked up towards the young elf, thumping his hand on her shoulder.

He was a fairly elderly looking elf, with a long grey beard combined with grey hair that was covered by a hood. He wore a large robe that almost seemed to drag across the floor, a large walking cane in his hand.

“But you’re only six-hundred years old, Uncle Gestalt. Wouldn’t that be rude?”

“Wahaha! You truly do understand me, little lass. Unfortunately, divination has left me in ruins, as you can see. Besides, everybody wants to uphold formality, despite my wishes.” As he laughed, he gave Amara a good look-over, his brows frowning slightly in sentimentality and nostalgia. “It’s only been a few decades, but you seem as if you’ve entirely changed!”

Stepping back, the old man pulled out one of the chairs from in the room, sitting on it as he stretched back, relaxing his body.

“Your appearance hasn’t changed much, but your eyes have a much deeper look to them.”

“…”

A small silence came over the room as the two looked at each other, before Gestalt gave a brief sigh.

“You look sad, and desperate. Let us not beat around the bush, is this related to what you’ve come to ask me about?”

“It is, Uncle Gestalt.” Sitting back down on the bed, Amara gave the old elf a deep look.

“Well, seeing your situation, I can roughly guess as to what you want to ask me about.” As he spoke, his eyes drifted over Cyril who was on the bed.

He had already been informed of such a matter in the letter he had been sent, but even without it, it was glaringly obvious.

Looking at Amara, her eyes were slightly trembling, and she, seemingly not conscious of it, was holding a breath. He could tell that she was unwilling to bring up the topic first, so he took the initiative.

“Amara, you do realize that, in the past, it is likely that this situation has happened many times before, yes?” Scratching his chin, Gestalt cleared his throat. “By that, I mean this exact situation. A young and naïve member of one of the clans, sitting directly in front of an elder of the Tide clan.”

“By that, you mean…?”

“I’m sure that you’ve been searching for a while now, in your pursuit of this answer. Tell me, have you ever wondered why you’ve never found mention of such a situation?”

“But there are fables and legends, and the world is larger than we can ever imagine. There has to be a way.”

“Ask me your question, Amara.” Despite knowing that she did not want to state it out loud, Gestalt urged the young elf to speak up. It was rather crude of him, but he would only speak out on what he knew after she had shown some sincerity in facing her situation.

“…”

This time, even Cyril, who would usually have spoken up in her defense, was silent. He didn’t know much about the Tide clan, but even the basic knowledge told him that this wasn’t a question that she should shy away from. There was a large price awaiting the elf who was willing to meet them, and yet he was willing to meet them anyway. Both parties knew this, so Cyril did not say anything.

“Do you… do you… do you know of the way to immortality?” Her voice was hesitant as she spoke, almost meek. Her tone continued quieting as she spoke, lowing into a whisper near the end of the sentence.

She was asking a lot from this old uncle of hers, almost to the point of shamelessness, but she had to do it, nonetheless.

“…” Contrary to how any other race would act, Gestalt only nodded approvingly.

“The secret to immortality is something probably only known to the gods, and likely something only they have access to. This is also the reason you haven’t been able to find anything, despite your efforts.”

“But… surely…” At this point, Amara’s eyes began to moisten. Her eyebrows quivered, unable to control herself.

“Are you alright?” A frown appeared on Gestalt’s face.

Despite not comprehending the pain she was going through, he had always hated when his fellow elf was in pain.

“Amara, you may not want to hear this right now, but the question of immortality can be deemed as blasphemy towards the gods. Even simply knowing how to do it is one thing, but how difficult do you think it will be? Does… he, have enough time or energy for such a thing?”

As he spoke, a frown appeared on Cyril’s face, as Amara continued sniffling.

“Heed my advice as an elder of the fellow race, my child. Give up. The only route to happiness for you is to wait for him to die, and then move on. There is nothing you can do, you’ll only be wasting your life.”

As someone who had lived his life in service of his clan, Gestalt had only ever had relations with other elves. He did not interact with outsiders often, as a member of the Tide clan, and he believed that the elves’ long lives put them above other mortals in a way that was profound. In his eyes, Amara’s life was destined to be truly long, and this was a mere little pebble in her path. It was similar to a pet dying, one would be saddened, but that sadness is only temporary, no?

“SHUT UP!” As he finished, an outraged cry sounded out, startling him. It had come from Amara, who was staring at him with reddened eyes.

“I have MORE than enough time to lose, what does it matter to you?!” Standing up in rage, Amara slammed her heel down on the floor.

“I, I didn’t mean to sa-”

“What is life alone?! You would never understand!” Gritting her teeth, she stared at him in resentment.

“…”

“…”

Even Cyril, who was about to speak, was frozen in surprise. He had never seen the elf break down in such a manner, and it made his old heart throb as he felt blood rushing through his veins.

“Oi.”

His rough voice broke the tension in the air as he glared at the old elf.

“What… Elder or not, you, who doesn’t understand us at all, does not deserve to comment on our course of action.”

Listening to his words, Amara’s eyes began brightening up as she stared at him, her breathing quickening.

Seeing the expression of excitement and hope on her face, Cyril sighed internally.

He had actually agreed to what the old elf had said, just believing that he had put it much harsher than he otherwise should have. He realized that he was contradicting himself by saying those words, putting himself on the opposite end of their struggle – in support of Amara – but he simply couldn’t sit still after witnessing such a sight. Besides, he had never seen her so angry before.

“…” Silent, Gestalt’s gaze turned between Cyril and Amara.

“I am sorry. I did not mean to hurt you like this, I had merely… wanted to provide some insight.” Bowing his head, the old elf’s ears drooped slightly.

He stayed like that for a while, until Amara’s sniffling stopped, having wiped away the tears from her face.

“I’m sorry as well, Uncle Gestalt. I shouldn’t have insulted you like that.”

Only after hearing her apology did Gestalt raise his head once again, looking at her straight in the eyes.

“If I was able to, as a token of my apology, I would have divined for you the answer you seek.” Tapping his staff on the floor, he shook his head though. “But… I’m truly sorry. I cannot… it would cost likely kill me if I were to attempt such a thing, a punishment by the gods. Even if I had obtained the answer, I wouldn’t be able to give it to you.”

“I… I-urghk” Despite having calmed down only mere moments earlier, she began breaking down into tears once again.

It was as if hope was lined on a string for her, or a rope was dropped down into the hole she was in, only to pull away or snap as she was climbing up. The sentimental young elf was unable to take such a roller coaster of emotions, and she began to wail.

“Uwaaaah!” Her wailing was deep, and full of sorrow. It echoed through the room, filling the silence.

“…” Gestalt only watched in silence, her sorrow affecting him greatly. He could see how deeply she cared for this, and how insensitive his words had been.

But he was truly unable to do anything.

…

“…”

“How… how about…”

As the sobbing continued on, a small voice spoke up. The sound was nearly drowned out by the noise, but it still made its ways in between the gaps.

Making his way over to the elf, Cyril began patting her gently on the back, comforting her.

“Are you able to search up, if there’s a path for immortality, at least? One that doesn’t require the aid of the gods? This is all we ask.”

As he spoke, Cyril felt Gestalt’s gaze on him for the first time. It was a proper look, not like the few he had been given earlier.

“Hm…” Looking upwards in thought, Gestalt rubbed his chin. Even with his show of thinking though, he couldn’t say no to the look Amara was giving him.

“I can try.” Nodding his head, Gestalt gave a slight regret. He stood up as he spoke, tapping his cane on the floor. “Just know this, there is a price to pay for every divination. Are you willing to pay that price?”

“Anything. I will give anything.” Amara stared ahead determinedly, clenching her fists.

“…Anything? What if I said the price was your life? What if I said the price was his life?” Pointing his finger at Cyril, Gestalt tilted his head.

“I, uh…”

“Unfortunately, we are unable to decide this price.” Shaking his head, the old elf began walking out from the room, his walking stick tapping along with his footsteps. “This question is one that is meant for my god, in prayer. It is not conventional divination. I will be back soon.”

As he walked away, Cyril held onto Amara’s hand, unwilling to let it go. He leaned back into the bed, a sigh escaping his lips.

He had thought he had long given up on life, but his companion had moved him. It was not for his own sake, not at all, but rather for the one that mattered most to him.

He lay down on the bed, the tension leaving his body slowly. As his eyes closed, he continued holding on to Amara’s hand.

His grip was tight and firm, as if he would never let go.