It was an uncharacteristically sunny day in Tsarra’s garden. Dappled light strayed through the mighty Elgelican boughs to play upon her eyelids. The ferns did not wilt their lush colour throughout the year, and their island and city—perchance warded by the Gods themselves—was spared much of the frigid cold and heavy snows of the mainland. But the sun was a rare gift, bestowed upon this chilly autumnal morrow! For Tsarra’s old bones, it was nothing short of a divine tonic upon her soul.

As such, being distracted from its rejuvenating glow, soured her mood immediately. The offending trio approached with a young elven maiden speaking Common to her human male. “Jon, I want new gloves and better boots.”

“What’s wrong with what you have?” It was rather impolite of him to reply so curtly and absent honorifics—lousy breeding.

“Indeed, it was originally quite adequate. However, since moving the bags to the HAS, I have bloodied my knuckles thrice this week alone.”

What by the realm was the young lass doing with her hands? She had not the look of a fighter, and such violence was for men, besides.

“Ah, I see. Them contact forces be trixy on the skin, right? Say no more. I’ll get it sorted. As for boots, I have an old project I’d like to test on you.”

A masked and hooded woman at the rear spoke, “another, experiment Kel! Have I seen this one?” Her visage was but the remnants of an ancient and marred helm, with dark glass eyes. Strange yes, but disfigured folk might choose such garb to avoid stigma in public. Elves lived long, as did their scars. Why so tarnished a mask, she knew not; perhaps the lass was poor.

“Dunno, depends on how well you spied on me.”

They were a strange lot indeed, and now they approached Tsarra Luren in her humble herb garden. Orist, the young lad she employed to attend to her shop, likely directed them here. He was still an inexperienced boy of but fifty years; she would have to admonish him for not chasing such rabble away. This garden was a sacred place, not for uninvited outsiders.

“Please begone from this place; these herbs are more valuable than you have coin to spare. Jailing you lot will not repay the damages.”

“Ooh, cold reception, Ms Luren,” said the man to his mistress.

A Luren! That elucidated a few things. Still, anyone might pose as one. Spies had done just so on occasion. Tsarra needed confirmation. “And what might another Luren want of this old hag?” She moved off from her preening and found her outdoor table and chair. Cuttings and dirt lay strewn across it.

“Ah, forgive me. My name is Kay Luren. The young man of the shop indicated we might find Luren Tsarra-sena here. Do I address the very same?”

Well, at least she was polite. Someone had hammered manners into the girl.

“You do indeed find her here. And what might a child claiming to be a Luren want of me?”

Her cohorts hung back. The man swayed idly, arms crossed, gazing at the garden, while the other examined the nails of her immaculate hands. Those fingers had never seen a day of work in their life. A Noblewoman wearing such mundane clothing? Bah! She was decidedly human given her height and figure, and all humans were a peculiar bunch. She paid them no further mind.

“I come to learn of the Luren family. I am a… distant relation of the late Ralfen Luren and he spoke of his kin that remained in Elgelica.”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Ralfen! Now there was a name to bring back memories, both good and bad. This lass best not be toying with old Tsarra. She had more than enough of that dross over the years.

“He’s passed then? Proof.” She laid open her soiled hand. “You come bearing that name, then you come with proof or leave this place forthwith.” The girl hesitated, and the human man spoke next.

“One sec, Kay.” He pulled a curious black orb from his pack and staked it in the dark soil at his feet. “Clear. I hope. Drop the alias, show her everything. We got your back.”

Who was he to order an elf like that! Why I should drown him where he stands for the cheek! Tsarra sent forth her magic to the nearby stream.

“Thank you, Master,” was her preposterous reply, and the masked woman let loose a puerile giggle.

Just what elf would stoop so low to call a human ‘Master’, and in Elgelica no less! “Best you start jabbering, or I’ll drown the lot of ya.” They seemed unperturbed by her threats, further proving their ignorance. Tsarra was a senior member of the Fire Fenders; drowning heads was paltry compared to pushing it up trunks. Perhaps I should just blast them, where did I leave my siphon?

“My true name is Keya Ces.”

A Ces now! She halted mid-stride in her preparations. They were digging themselves only deeper. She turned back. “The Ces line is dead lass; you best try lying better than that. I saw them all dragged from their homes and executed for witchcraft.”

The man shook his head. “You’re hearing this shit, Ril. I swear, a world full of magic and they still burn witches!”

The girl persisted. “‘Tis no lie Luren-sun. Ralfen was my grandfather. Here is the note he bore with me as we left nigh 20 years ago.” She produced an aged piece of parchment.

Tsarra read it ferociously, and her hands started shaking.

“I was very young; I did not know we fled at the time. It was but an adventure for my blithe mind. What you say puts the note’s allusions to rest.”

Did Ralfen manage to sneak the wee babe out? Could it be?

“The book?” It was the final clue, no one but a true heir would have it. She thought of all the tomes lost to the fires. Did a seed of it mayhaps survive? Sure enough, a small leather-bound book found her quaking hands. She peeked but a smidge inside confirming the green text. She knew not its magic, but only they could bring it forth. 'Twas knowledge forbidden by the Council in those days, and she dare not know more.

Tsarra felt the dread of years prior return. “My dear Ces-sun, ‘tis still not safe here. Why did you return so soon?!”

“Called it!” said the man. “The flags must've activated shortly after entering the city.”

The mask replied, “Kel, the worlds are far more autonomous than you realise. Story metaphors only go so far.”

“You still owe me a massage.”

“Mmmm,” came the mask’s salacious reply.

The Ces daughter returned her attention. “Worry not Luren-sun. Worthy allies accompany me.”

Tsarra was quite unsure of that.

Said allies agreed. “I am many things Kay, but worthy is not one of them.”

“Oh, you know what I mean, Master! Shut your silly mouth, that I may inquire.”

“You speak to your Master like that?” Tsarra was getting very confused with who was high and who was low. Best to ignore the whole subject. “Perish my question. If you are a Ces, then you are hunted. By whom I do not know, but they are powerful within Elgelica. You’ll not resist them with two humans alone, mages or no.”

“Why am I hunted?”

“Your blood is considered impure. Perhaps you know not, but among some of your line, wicked and potent magic is said to come forth. ‘Tis feared by some: considered anathema to the Gods. That is all I know and all I can say.” She returned the items. Perhaps there was a slim hope that this girl might escape her parents’ fate.

“Speak no more of this, and leave Elgelica while you still can!” She shooed them off.

Reluctantly, they left. The man pulled his black curio from the ground as they departed.

She held little hope for the bright-eyed elf, a timid and weak thing. Returning to Elgelica had likely sealed her fate.

I am sorry, heir of House Ces. This old wench is but a cowardly elf. Blessings of the Gods go with you. She shook her head and returned to her plants.