Dellynthelaara recoiled from the shock. She slowly oriented herself and gasped at the landscape. Nothing was familiar. From the strange ashen grey volcanic rocks, the shimmering dust dancing effortlessly in the air and the eerie sunless perpetual twilight sky. Even the constellations that peeked, glaringly and irately at her unwelcomed presence, were obscure to her knowledge. She quickly straightened herself to her regal composure, tall, elegant and unassailable. A small, wordless sigh of relief escaped her lips after she swiftly checked herself for wounds. She could still stand without waves of pain undulating over her. No broken bones. She tried to move, except her strength failed and fatigue gripped her in a massive wave and forced her to sink back to the ground.

She cursed under her breath. The air in alien land was clean; not fresh; but clean. She let her wide dark eyes linger around her new surroundings, making sure that she was indeed truly alone.

Gone was Celerim and her armour-encased Sequestered Conciliators. Despite protestations from Celerim, she donned the mantle of a commander to lead the assault deep into the mind flayer hive. That is where they found it. The rumoured conch-ships of the Mind Flayers. With the high-elf guarding her life, she callously disregarded the need for caution, rushing through the alien vessel, burning their furtive inhabitants to cinders with her searing light, till she came to the chamber hosting the mercurial pool. And then the explosions started, rocking the claustrophobic chamber with psionic energy that caused everything, even the very walls of the conch-ship itself, to pulsate in ripples. Layers of the physical walls manifested and dispersed as the vessel attempted to anchor itself to a reality-rejecting plane. Dellynthelaara staggered back against the unstable chamber, shouting an order to evacuate, but not before being caught up and tossed between the opposing forces of psychic shelling and planar tremor.

Unable to rely on her external senses, she could only seek aid within herself. Her concentration unbroken, and even heightened, she reached out and grabbed the most inviting path. She survived the unstable voyage through the void.

Her pearly dark eyes held unshed tears as her hands dug deeper into the dirt. She heaved with heavy breath, her chest undulating under the strain, while a bed of scorpions stung her from within. Soon, the contents of her stomach decided to seek their freedom by rushing through the same path they took in. Her convulsion ran like tremors, uncontrollable and undeniable. Clutching her tattered shirt, further ripping it apart, she curled into a fetal position and retched some more.

She desperately hoped that Celerim, by some twisted luck, shadowed her; would hold her till the tremors violating her subsided. Despite her initial aversion and her own pejorative, the high-elf's candour slowly grew up on her. Where others saw her as incorrigible and tight-fisted, a tyrant beyond remorse or mercy, while at times even Savvas had his faith shaken, Celerim stood by her side. He gave his opinion when it mattered and most importantly, he treated her like an adult -- not a wide-eyed sheltered girl who rose to power. Despite his unflinching support, he still gave his guidance when she wavered. It was probably a combination of these qualities that she came to appreciate him, more so than him becoming a part of her family. But now, she was alone. Like always. Stripped and stolen.

Nimble, and lethargic footsteps reached Dellynthelaara from behind, but she lacked the energy to turn her head.

"This is no place for a young lady," came the voice. Male but old, almost ancient -- not Celerim -- and more importantly, the voice spoke with exilic telanvi.

Dark onyx black hands, wrinkled but not gnarled, held her gently and slowly turned her struggling body. Dellynthelaara stared at the owner of the voice. A drow, with crow's feet and criss-crossing creases on a weather-beaten face, scrutinised her with unnatural golden eyes. His floppy lips soon fell into a grandfatherly smile.

"Little one, are you perhaps from one of the ruling houses?" His calm and almost melodious voice rolled over her like a gentle wave.

Despite his age, his agile nature revealed itself as he crouched down beside her, pulling the rough, faded fabric of his sleeves. His robe was more than rustic, almost as ancient as him, patched and ignored. He gingerly rested his non-callous palms on the back of her neck, supporting her head, like a mother welcoming her newly delivered child.

He brushed the grime away from her beautiful ebony skin. An ephemeral hand of courage restrained Dellynthelaara from sinking deeper into unconsciousness. It also inhibited her urge for the path of recklessness to hiss at the old drow for his impudence.

His gaze stood arrested on her face for a moment, his long white hair falling like a waterfall tumbling down the crest of a mountain, contoured his otherwise narrow hawkish look.

"You are of House Aealaninth," he exclaimed.

She looked away for a second, ignoring his interrogation, although not succeeding. Now that he mentioned her House, her memory refreshed and resurfaced from her subconscious. In her absence, Savvas would be forced to the day-to-day delegation, something that she knew he hated.

The grip on Dellynthelaara's slender waist and delicate shoulders tightened as the old drow lifted her with strength that betrayed his age-old countenance. He slowly laid her on a rickety cartwheel. Dellynthelaara could feel the hard surface at her back, a brown and ochre hardened wood. The floor buckled slightly beneath her. She tried desperately to cover the exposed skin of her thighs and waist. The old drow appeared harmless, and even a bit addled, but she still could not ignore the oppressive pressure that she felt. The skin of her arms felt as if pricked with a million needles, from inside.

"High-born ladies," he mumbled openly, "how stupid of me!"

He let a smile, the sort that grandparents reserved for the young ones, and then removed his multi-patched cloak, tucking her inside. The grime-covered dirty rag of a cloak still provided Dellynthelaara with little sense of modesty. He slowly twiddled his thumbs, summoning a floating ball that pulsated gentle warmth. With a flick of his wrist, he let it suspend over her lying form. Vivid vibrant colours soon appeared on the lambent surface and danced with each other to an unknown rhythm. A speck of dust grew on the surface, becoming a constellation of stars, then the moon and the sun, which finally transmogrified into the familiar form of animals, dragons and knights.

"Just a parlour trick, these old bones picked during travels," he said with feigned modesty.

Dellynthelaara rolled her eyes. Just how old did he think I am? She scoffed to herself.

Taking her shoes off and draping them over the rim of the cartwheel, a move that made Dellynthelaara twitch, she heard with detachment as the unsteady single wheel groaned across the rocky ground.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"To a place of shelter. My humble abode," he gave a toothy grin, "cannot have high-born ladies lying in the dirt. I am sure they are all searching for you now."

"Searching for me," she slowly muttered and shook her head in disappointment.

Tilting his head slightly, almost inquisitive, he peered at her and laughed once more. With every pleasant sound he made, her hostility increased. He cocked his head in amusement, "So many hidden edges -- what makes the sunshine on your skin glow? or do you harbour the power of sun within you?"

Dellynthelaara, threw the cloak covering her body and sat up straight and crossed her arms tightly over her chest. "How do you know anything about my skin and its glow?"

Something sparkled briefly, on his forehead, nearly invisible in the perpetual twilight environment, capturing her attention. Dellynthelaara recoiled backwards. A brightly hued aura appeared abruptly, a strange pattern of sempiternity manifesting itself on his forehead, signalling a forceful change in emotion. His face morphed into a regal mien of congeniality; a strong warm feeling settled deep in Dellynthelaara's gut, demanding more attention, a demonstration of respect.

"How impolite of me, not to introduce myself," he fake admonished himself, "My dear girl, call me Raknar."

Raknar! not a drow name.

"Raknar?" repeated the girl.

"Yes, it is the name I go by. Most people find it easy to roll off their tongue," he gave another hearty laugh, "Besides, I was never fond of drow names. Too long and never melodious."

"I am Matron Dellynthelaara of House Aealaninth," said the girl. She felt the need to suffix the name of her House even though, the old drow was already aware of it.

"Was it not ruled by Matriarch Orrlyndra's granddaughter?" He scratched the stubble growth on his chin as if they held the key to his failing memory.

"The former Matron Rylonvirah," Dellynthelaara struggled with her trepidation, shame at her own actions held her jaw, while her tongue refused to cooperate.

"I exiled her," she pushed the three words with desperation.

"So you are Rylonvirah's daughter."

Dellynthelaara winced and visibly recoiled at the reference.

He continued paying no heed, "Don't worry dear little one. Parents have a way of watching our children. You will meet her soon."

Dellynthelaara did not have the gall to mention that she was not appalled by the prospect of meeting her mother. Deep in her heart, locked safely away from her rational mind, where emotional sentimentality always plays its part, she secretly hoped to meet her mother. At least, after her current difficulties were solved. When her mother is more her mother and less a matriarch.

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Only the rambling of a time-forgotten old drow broke her out of her reverie.

"Imagine the surprise when it was your mother who carried you and not that tiefling woman with her. Lyndreaya, or was is it Lyrienora? The name escapes me," he pondered loudly.

But his words were drowned in another surge of betrayal that stuck her violently. Lyriendriath is similar to Lyndreaya! the name of Celerim's aunt. She connected the invisible dots. Celerim was her mother's agent, her eyes and ears in Dellynthelaara's inner circle of trust. Her beautiful bow-shaped lips twisted in an ugly snarl along with a stone liquifying scowl. To think that her mother seduced a former lover just to keep her under surveillance made her feel sick. The thought made her stomach churned and she retched once again.

How far would she go?

Her Mother sunk her venomous claw deep into her heart and chained her -- again.

And with that, her childish fantasy of connecting with her caring mother vanished.

"We will soon arrive at my modest dwelling, as comfortable as home can be, if ever, to hold you safe."

His slow yet purposeful pace allowed her plenty of time to brace for possible surprises. His bright smile drew her sudden suspicion, despite all the evidence to suggest otherwise.

"My companions are not used to visitors, but they are gentle folks in their heart. Just leave them alone," he cautiously added.

He stopped before their dwelling, though it was more of something carved into a huge rock. They halted before a set of four rough steps leading up to a pair of adamantine-clad doors. To her side, there were only rocks and barren lands waiting endlessly. An adamantine reinforced door guarding a rock in the middle of nowhere alerted Dellynthelaara's sense to full awakening.

"Time passed quickly," he dismissed and gently stroked her raven-dark hair but gained no trust from Dellynthelaara in return.

His fingers touched gently over the entrance knob and with a slow flick, one of the doors suddenly swung open, allowing them entry into a cave wide enough to encompass ten war chariots at a time. An empty corridor yawned before them. It was softly lit and made of what looked like thousands upon thousands of tiny woven stones forming intricate lines along the floor. The sound of scuffing footsteps followed by a stray voice wove an eerie echo through the empty chambers.

Though Raknar's smile remained bright, behind the smile's disguise lingered disturbing questions; unspoken.

"You brought her back? Of course, you brought the stray back, because she is a dark elf. Wouldn't have done the same for a dwarf, would you? Of course not."

The loud complaint peeled from inside, but the implication in the word disturbed Dellynthelaara enough that her scalp prickled and she felt sweat run down her brow.

A dwarf soon appeared, revealing a figure to the voice. His white-haired eyebrows flinched as he focused his attention on Dellynthelaara, pausing to study as if she were a maddening puzzle for him to unravel. It took several breaths until the Dwarf turned from her sight.

Raknar wrapped a hand around her waist and helped her stand, guiding her towards the closest alcove, an enclosure with bronze candle holders, a rock bed and mysterious runes scribbled on a black marble plinth. Dellynthelaara retreated and stood to the far side of the alcove, crossing her arms defiantly. Raknar has done nothing to gain her trust, if there is anything to go by, he is all the more mysterious. The old drow produced a thick smile and excused himself. When he returned, he held a well-wrapped bundle in his old hands. He clasped her hands in friendly hold and with a lopsided smile thrust the contents of the bundle.

"Can't have high-born ladies resting in rags," he indicated to her attire.

She began to unwrap the rich material on her lap, finally uncovering its glimmer. Soft dress of light purple alternating to pale lavender edged with gold piping. Layer upon layer of heavy brocade concealed soft lustrous silk underneath, with emerald brooches at the breast line for pinning extra fabrics like an ample woollen shawl. She pushed aside the thought of how a pauper of an old drow, living in isolation from society, would have such an exquisite attire at his disposal. Probably a remnant of an old love from a time when he was younger.

She continued examining the dress. Where she expected a dip and cut low near the throat, forming a low neckline, the two sides folding around to form a sharp V on her bosom, the fabric instead rose around the neck. Even the high waist defined by a line arcing between the hipbones, ending just above the hips, accentuating the slender hourglass figure along with the added effect of making a tight constriction for breathing, was absent. With the full-length sleeves and the loose shoulders, this was not a dress for a lover.

This was designed for a child. Perhaps, his daughter.

"This probably belongs to someone dear to you," the girl slowly whispered with deliberation.

"Indeed it does," Raknar replied softly, filling the small space between them with an odd stillness.

Her eyes zeroed on him questioningly.

"Matron," he nodded respectfully, "Please do accept it. It holds sentimental value for an old fool."

The words struck her, startling Dellynthelaara from her fatigue. She felt as if she was intruding on something sacred, usurping the birthright of someone.

"Take your rest dear. I will wake you up when food is prepared." He let her alone as he wandered further into the corridor.

*****

The food that Dellynthelaara woke up to was a watery broth with some badly mangled vegetables thrown for a good measure. She wondered where the old drow could have harvested those but reserved her questions deep inside the recess of her mind. If he wanted to hide something from her, why involve her? Surely, Raknar could have left her alone. Despite her raging hunger, all she could muster was pensive staring.

"So what is this place?" she asked between two mouthfuls. Though gruel-like, the soup has been warmed just right, warming her from her belly through to her chest. It went down smooth, despite being mildly flavoured, with cardamom seed and some saffron.

"It is a graveyard or a mausoleum, hard to say," he shrugged and helped her refill her now empty bowl, "Resting place of a great warrior. Or it could be a prison."

"That would make you either a grave keeper or a treasure hunter? or maybe you are jailer?" she laughed half interested and half concerned, though, in the end, her infectious laughter won over. Raknar joined in her laugh.

"Those ideas of yours, young lady, are in fact, without basis. You are slandering the good name of an old soul," he joined in the banter. The thought somehow amused him. Who knew the matron of a House had one funny bone, to begin with?

"So if I snoop around, will I find, diamonds and gemstone the size of my fist?" asked Dellynthelaara with playful mischief hiding behind her clear dark onyx eyes.

"You might also find monsters with razor-sharp teeth, that love to munch on nosy little girls," Raknar chuckled as he proudly boasted the experience of his advanced age. He expected his statement to draw some reaction. There was none forthcoming. Finally, he realized that she was indeed enjoying teasing him with silence. As the time progressed, Raknar eventually, accepted his defeat and begged for mercy from her cunning tongue. With embarrassment evident, he accepted that she crushed his defense effortlessly with her wit.

She peered into his strangely golden eyes, carefully memorizing all his features.

"Who are you, Raknar?," she asked intently.

The softness in her lilting plea surprised the drow veteran. For some reason, Dellynthelaara's curiosity truly and deeply touched him. He could not muster the courage to deny her request. Not after, she gave him the big doe-eyed gaze with slightly trembling lips.

"I am a wanderer, an explorer..... I find myself here and there," Raknar pondered in explanation.

"With those golden eyes and formidable power at your command, you must be a drow of some renown, yet, I cannot seem to place you," said Dellynthelaara while she eyed him appraisingly. Her gaze became softer. Almost as if she saw something beyond his skin. Something deeper. Something intangible. Something familiar and yet, frighteningly uncertain.

"Records of my existence must have all been purged," he answered.

A silent moment stretched out between the two of them, and suddenly her lovely features softened into a sorrowful mourn, her dark eyes now held a clear pool of liquid.

"Do I need to abandon my modesty and embarrass myself before you provide me with the answer I seek?" she asked the old dark elf directly.

Raknar shook his head violently, almost leaving off his respectful post with embarrassment and fleeting grace. A slow ashamed smile tugged up his bony face and died immediately when it came face to face with Dellynthelaara. Her look cut him with a gentle bitterness.

"First we eat," she declared with a shrug, "then you try to hide your true nature from me, while I try to figure it out. Deal?"

Raknar gathered himself again. His resolve wavered before her cheerfulness.

"Deal."

Dellynthelaara took the time to finish the watery soup as effectively as possible, by recalling every famed drow with golden eyes. No remarkable names surfaced in her quest; except for the one vague passage from her Great-Grandmother's personal record and Matron Orrlyndra spoke with vitriol. Matron Orrlyndra was the sort of leader who sorted her problem with an iron fist; ruthless and efficient. For her to curse some golden eyes with years of pent-up anger did not sit well with Dellynthelaara.

Once they emptied the bowl, Dellynthelaara surprised herself by latching herself to Raknar. They talked about a wide range of topics from herb lore, underwater realms and portal torsional distortions. To items, he traded from his travels. The last topic was astonishing to Dellynthelaara; his trip almost sounded heroic. Of course, in his grand tales, he has rescued maidens but took no rewards, not even a willingly offered kiss. He recounted his tale of how he saved a grand fleet by slicing a sea monster through its gigantic eye. All recalled with vivid sounds and masterful storytelling. Raknar continued with further tales of his exploit, each one more ludicrous than the previous, more absurd but still, nevertheless funny to her tired self.

As much as his tales interested the girl, it was the deep caring behind his eyes and the hushed voice that really kept her comfortable. Dellynthelaara could no longer resist the lull. She slept soundly with his distant whisper to ease her pain. The talk eventually stopped as Raknar acknowledged that the day was running thin. He slowly lifted her sleeping form effortlessly and laid her on the rock-bed now covered with layer upon layer of blankets. The old drow took one more deep long look at her cherubic sleeping face, slowly tussled her failing locks of hair and placed a slow kiss on her delicately smooth forehead before retreating.

*****

After a good night's rest, Dellynthelaara found her strength and vigour renewed. Despite her initial misgivings, Raknar insisted that the dress now belonged to her. Dellynthelaara took her leave and walked out.

As her tall figure became a speck of dust on the horizon, the Dwarf slowly shattered the still silence.

"Alton, is she your daughter?" he asked.

Raknar, slowly responded to the name that was as old as him.

"No," he grudgingly answered with an effort, "but the fact that she ended here means my daughter failed. We should call for help. Summon the others."

"As if anyone would answer our summons," scoffed the Dwarf, "It is just the three of us and Vangere is still not out of it."

"When she realises, she will return again," he answered with a faraway expression, "with an undefeatable army."

"Then why did you let her leave?"

"I cannot. I do not want to enrage her mother. Believe me, I should know better. Her anger is explosive. Angering her would be a fate worse than death. Let caution be our guide."

It was quiet between the two; Dark elf and Dwarf stood next to each other, looking at the direction in which Dellynthelaara disappeared. Alton pressed his hands against his temples, massaging them with a smooth circular motion.

"Besides," he finally spoke, "she is not alone."

At a distance, unaware of the conversation between her saviour and the Dwarf, Dellynthelaara continued with steady steps towards an uncertain destination.

And the Knight of Ash and Smoke slowly trailed her.