The morning light seeps in through the half open window, casting a soft glow over the room as it filters through thin curtains we left drawn open. My eyes creek open, adjusting to the light, and I find Lacey's arm still slung around me, her slow breaths steady against my shoulder. For just a moment, I’m suspended in a rare quiet, feeling the warmth of her beside me, the silk blankets gathered over us, and the luxurious weight of a mattress that feels like some absurd fantasy. I don’t want to move and I especially don’t want to return to my mattress at home, I chuckle at the thought of it.
The dawn swells into full daylight, and Lacey stirs, her arm slipping away as she stretches across the bed. She lets out a low, satisfied sigh, the kind that speaks of knowing every comfort life could offer. “We should probably get back to our real lives,” I murmur with a grin, reaching reluctantly for my clothes. There’s a faint tug of longing in my chest, half-expecting her to say something to keep me here. Lacey only answers with a lazy smile.
“Oh, I know. The knights are probably grumbling in the hall by now,” she murmurs, her voice still thick with sleep. “If I stay much longer, my father might send a search party.” She yawns, pushing herself up slowly. It’s strange, the quiet understanding between us after last night, it was just something I didn’t expect. I glance out the window, watching the town of Ashvale wake to life. Market stalls are opening, townsfolk call out morning greetings, and I feel some guilt. Mama’s likely wondering where I am, ready with her usual questions and warnings. I’ll need a story for her, one without Lacey, or mention of the castle. “Guess we should go, then,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
Lacey’s eyes soften as she watches me dress. “Be my servant, Berra,” she says quietly. “You don’t belong in the slums forever, you know. There’s a place for you.” I force a smile at her offer, though her words churn uneasily inside me. She doesn’t understand what my life is like currently. For now, the slums are where I belong. We walk down to the inn’s entrance, exchanging a quick embrace before she heads off with her guards, leaving me to return alone. It’s at least an hour’s walk back home.The morning streets of Ashvale are busy and as always hectic and flooded with people. As I make my way, I weave through familiar faces and voices, the creak of shop shutters opening and the smell of fresh bread in the air. Just as I near the forest path leading to the slums,I spot a dark figure. Wearing a dark hooded cloak and moving quickly through the trees. He slips into the shadows too fast to make out any details, his movements sharp and deliberate. Curious, I slow, watching the spot where he vanished. The slums are full of strange people, and I tell myself it’s nothing out of the ordinary considering the people who live here.
By the time I reach home, the small hut feels foreign, a stark contrast to the comforts of the inn with Lacey. The low roof sags, patched with frayed cloth where last spring's rain had seeped through. I step through the doorway, ducking beneath the peeling wood frame, my shoulders brushing the sides. Inside, the room is as cramped and cluttered as ever, filled with Mama’s collection of mismatched pots and Amara’s toys, worn and patched in places, stacked in the corner as if they too are waiting for something better. Each shelf brims with odds and ends: shells, old ribbons, broken jewelry, tokens Mama can never bring herself to part with. In the dim light, these small trinkets always seem to catch my eye. I spot Mama standing in the center of it all, her arms crossed, her gaze fixed on me with a sharpness that cuts through me. Her dark eyes dark with worry, creased with shadows from another sleepless night I’m sure she had. “Where were you all night, Lamberra?” Her voice is low and heavy.
I shrug, fighting to keep my tone light. “Stayed over at Belli’s. It got late, and I thought it was safer to stay.” It’s not a complete lie, but I can tell she isn’t convinced. Her gaze shifts toward the cracked window, her lips pressed into a thin line. “I was expecting you to come home. I was worried sick, not knowing where you were.” Her fingers twist at the edge of her apron, I could see her nerves finally calming.
“I know, Mama. I’m sorry,” I murmur, moving past her to set my things on the wobbly table in the middle of the room. “It won’t happen again.” I can tell she’s still uneasy, her fingers nervously tugging at her apron. Mama sighs, not seeming convinced, shifting from foot to foot. “I’m just trying to keep you safe. One day soon, I’ll explain everything, my reasoning for all this. I promise.” She pauses, debating on what to say next, “I’m sorry too. About last night. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. One day soon, I’ll tell you my reasoning for everything, okay?”
“Sure, Mama. You don’t need to apologize either.” I say mending our small indifference. “Say, where is Amara? Has school already started?”
“It has,” she says, a faint smile breaking through her worry. “She’ll be back soon, nearly midday already. Are you hungry?”
“Actually, no. Belli practically gave me a feast,” I say with a practiced ease, slipping the lie into place.
Mama’s expression softens, her frown melting into something almost wistful. “Such a sweet girl,” she murmurs, her gaze drifting, and I know she’s slipping back into the past, to the stories of the elven people she’s told me over a hundred times. The elves who once served as lords, who held positions on the high council beside the King. Then, one dark night, the royal army swept through their lands, leaving murdering and raping in their wake. She tells me the elves fought back ferociously but had to broker a fragile peace, but the cost was steep: every elf cast down, stripped of title, wealth, and honor. Most now live in places like mine, in the slums.
“Beautiful people,” I say softly, masking the sadness I feel with a small smile. “We’re lucky to know as well as we do. Mama’s eyes find mine, a flicker of pride in them. The elves we know, Belli, and her family carry a dignity that even the darkest stories haven’t stripped away. They possess a resilience, a kindness that often seems lost among the humans around us.
She laughs, a warm sound that fills our small, ragged home. “Very true!” Mama walks over, her worn hands brushing through my hair before planting a soft kiss on my head. “Oh! Did Belli allow you to use her bath? That must be the best perk of being the leader of the elven community here in Ashvale.”
“Yeah,” I reply, holding back a laugh at the little lie. “Actually, she invited me over again for dinner tonight. It’ll leave more food for you and Amara.” Mama's brow furrows with concern. “You’re sure she doesn’t mind, back to back nights?”
“You know how she is. Always charitable,” I assure her, though a knot tightens in my stomach. “Besides, is there any work to be done? How are we on money?”
Her shoulders sag as she glances around our humble home, the walls patched and peeling. She sighs, shifting on her feet. “We have eight crowns left. Not much, but the garden’s kept us from starving, at least. I know you and Amara must be tired of eating the same things every day, though.” Her voice dips, trailing off with that same quiet resignation she has.
“Maybe I can ask Mister Finch at the apothecary if he needs me to run a delivery to Siburg,” I say, quickly trying to move past the silence. “He pays twenty crowns for a trip down the river path. That plus what we have would last us a while.”
Mama’s face tightens as she listens, her hands wringing her apron. “Lamberra… I don’t like you taking that job. It’s dangerous out there, especially alone, and it’s a full day’s walk both ways. You have to stay with Duke overnight, twice. I don’t trust that man, and I never have.”
“Yes, he’s weird, but it’s a sacrifice.” I force a smile and tell her.
Her hands reach out to me, warm and trembling. “My sweet girl, me and Amara would be lost without you. If you go, please, take the small sword with you. Keep it hidden.” Her eyes meet mine, dark and brimming with a mother’s endless worry. “I just want to protect you forever.”
“I’m getting pretty good with it,” I say, my voice firmer, more hopeful than I feel. “Belli’s younger brother’s been teaching me. Besides, Mama, I’m old enough now. I’m not that little anymore.”
She holds my chin and lifts my face so that our eyes meet. Her gaze softens, pride and sadness mingling. “I know you’re stronger now, Lamberra. It’s just… it shouldn’t have to be this way. You’ll always be my baby.” She sighs, gently releasing me, her expression distant yet thoughtful. “I’m going into town for a little while. Will you wait here for Amara?”
“Of course. I’ll tidy up and prepare the vegetables for tonight’s meal,” I tell her, hoping to ease her worries a bit. Mama’s mouth lifts in a grateful smile, and she nods before slipping out the door. I hope Belli doesn’t mind me showing up unannounced, but she did invite me over, after all. I take a moment to breathe in the familiar scent of our home, a blend of earthiness and the faint, lingering aroma of the tomato soup from last night. The small space feels even tighter as I begin picking up. I pick up the frayed blankets that have slipped to the floor and fold them. The wooden table, scratched and worn, could use a good scrubbing, but I settle for sweeping the dust into a corner for now. The walls could also use a scrubbing, but perhaps that can wait for a deep spring cleaning. A few missing tiles in the ceiling let in more drafts than I’d like, and the creaky floorboards echo with every movement. I glance over at Amara’s little corner, cluttered with her knickknacks and drawings. Despite its chaos, it brings a small smile to my lips. I can’t help but think of how she always finds beauty in the simplest of things.
Just then, the door swings open, and Amara bursts in, her face flushed with excitement. In her small hands, she clutches a bundle of wildflowers, their colors bright and bold against the muted tones of our little home. “Look what I found!” she exclaims, holding them up proudly. “They were blooming by the river!”
“Those are beautiful, Amara!” I say, taking a few steps toward her. “You sure do love your flowers, huh?” I express cheerfully rubbing her blonde hair. She giggles, her eyes sparkling. “Mama will love them! Can we put them in water?”
“Of course! Let’s find a jar,” I reply, moving toward the small cupboard where we keep our sparse collection of dishes. As we rummage around for a suitable container, a warmth settles in my chest, spreading through me as Amara’s joy fills the room. Together, we fill a jar with water from the pitcher and arrange the wildflowers inside, their vibrant petals adding a splash of color to our otherwise gray, worn surroundings. As we place the jar on the table, I look down at Amara and ask, “do you still have that flower crown from yesterday?”
“Sure do! It’s in our room!” Without another word, she darts off, her little feet padding across the floor as she runs to fetch it. I chuckle, shaking my head. “Goofy girl,” I murmur under my breath. In a flash, she reappears, flower crown in hand, and places it atop her head with a flourish. “Look, I’m the queen of flowers!” She declares, arms spread wide. I laugh, but she doesn’t give me a moment before the questions start spilling out in a rapid tumble. “Hey, where’s Mama? Where were you last night? What’s for dinner? Whe—”
“Whoa, whoa!!” I interrupt her child like questioning, holding up a hand to slow her down. “One question at a time.” I count off on my fingers as I answer, “Mama went into town. I was at Belli’s last night, and I’ll be there again tonight. And I think Mama’s making onion soup, since she left the onions out.”
Stolen novel; please report.
“Why were you at Belli’s? Why are you going back again?” Amara persists, ignoring my answers to everything else. I try for a playful bribe, leaning in with a grin. “Tell you what. Promise not to make a big fuss about it, and I’ll take you to Belli’s with me next weekend. Deal?” Her face lights up, and she nods eagerly. “Deal!” Then, without another word, she scampers back toward our shared bedroom.
“Hey! I need you to help clean the room! It’s mostly your stuff cluttering the floor!” I call after her, hands on my hips. She lets out an exaggerated groan, mumbling something in protest, but I can’t quite catch it. I shake my head laughing on the inside.
I finish cleaning the house and hear nothing coming from the bedroom. I approach inside our room and see Amara sprawled out on her small cot, sound asleep, the flower crown still perched crookedly on her head. School must’ve worn her out, and, naturally, she didn’t clean a thing. Crossing the room, I close the frayed curtains, letting a soft darkness settle over the space. Carefully, I lie down beside her, wrapping my arm gently around her tiny frame, feeling the steady rhythm of her breathing. She stirs, her body curling closer, and murmurs sleepily, “Sissy?”
“Shh, sleep stupid. We’ll wait until Mama gets back,” I whisper, feeling her small body relax against me. I close my eyes, exhaustion tugging me at me too. I guess from the long night spent with Lacey, followed by the early morning.
It feels as though I’ve just drifted off when I hear Mama’s soft voice from the doorway. “Well, look at these two little doves!”
“Mama!” Amara squeals, jumping up to wrap her arms around her. I push myself up, blinking against the warm, dim light that filters through the room. I open the curtains and notice the sun is dipping toward the horizon. “Well, I guess it’s time for me to go,” I say with a huff. “I’ll try to be back tonight, but if not, I’ll stay safe with Belli and be home in the morning.” Mama’s brow creases a little, but she nods. “Fine, just be careful, okay? Amara, let’s get started on dinner.” I grin as they walk out together. “Good luck with her! She didn’t even clean our bedroom!”
I hear Amara to tell me to shut up which causes a soft eye roll and grin from me. I guess I should change back into something slightly better. I find my tattered dress hanging on the back of the door, its rough linen fabric blending seamlessly with the muted colors of my small room. It’s not much to look at, just a simple garment in shades of brown and olive green. I slip it over my head, feeling the familiar weight of the fabric settle around me. The hem is frayed, threads unraveling, I can see the patches I’ve sewn on, I’ve mended this dress more times than I can count. Leaving the house, I wave goodbye and start along the winding path toward Belli’s home, thankful for the remaining daylight. The streets hum with the life of the slums, familiar faces waving or nodding as I pass by.
As I get closer to Belli’s, I stick to the quieter side paths, avoiding the bustling slum market square with its shady stalls and watchful eyes. The slums around me unfold in all their rough beauty, walls chipped and cracked but resilient. My steps lead me toward the quieter side of the slums, where Belli’s family lives. Though still considered part of the slums, the homes here are sturdier, with stones carefully stacked to ward off the wind and cold. Small, tended gardens peek out from behind fences, growing patches of herbs and flowers, their colors softened in the golden hour. A few cats dart through the shadows, and I spot children sweeping steps while their mothers hang linens to dry. I pass gardens bordered by polished stones, patches of herbs and flowers in neat rows, their colors muted by the dawn light but alive, untouched by the wildness of the slums. A few cats slip through the alleyways, and I catch glimpses of children sweeping their stoops or mothers hanging fresh linens out to dry.
Reaching Belli’s house, I pause. Her home certainly stands out. Large, with soft cream-colored walls that have resisted the wear of time. Pale blue shutters frame the windows, freshly painted, and a curved cobblestone path leads up to a wide, polished wooden door. Flower boxes line the windows, bursting with marigolds and delicate purple flowers I can’t name. At the center of the door sits a small brass knocker shaped like a bird, gleaming in the fading light. Belli’s father was highly respected in the elven community and it’s now Belli’s responsibility since his death.
I raise my hand to knock, but before my knuckles can even graze the door, it swings open, and there stands Belli, her bright red hair like a flame in the dimming light, her piercing blue eyes sparking with surprise and delight. “Lamberra! Good evening. I wasn’t expecting you to accept my invitation so soon!” I offer a small smile, feeling oddly bashful under her gaze. “Well, we haven’t seen each other in a few months,” I reply. “Have you been busy?” My eyes trail past her to the warm glow of her home, a contrast to my own.
Belli steps aside, ushering me in with a welcoming wave. The moment I step inside, I’m enveloped by a sense of comfort and elegance I hadn’t expected. The rooms are carefully decorated with finely woven rugs in rich, earthy colors, sturdy tables polished to a soft gleam, and shelves lined with books and trinkets from far-off places. Everything here feels deliberate, curated, a world away from what I’m used to.
“Yes, quite busy, actually,” she replies, moving over to a small, intricately carved desk just by the door. Parchment and scrolls clutter the surface, some with elegant calligraphy, others marked with official seals. “I just returned from the capital, Stormhaven.”
“Belli Mira..” I say out loud reading her signature. “I forgot that was your last name. It’s beautiful.” My eyebrows lift at the mention of the capital, but I keep my expression neutral, watching as she seats herself and begins writing, her hand quick and graceful as she seals each scroll with care. She looks up with an apologetic smile. “Thank you!” She nearly shouted with her voice. “I’m sorry, Lamberra. You caught me finishing my work. Please, allow me just a moment to tidy up.”
“Oh, no, it’s me who’s intruding,” I say, moving toward a plush chair near her sitting area, its cushions embroidered with tiny silver threads that catch the light. “Do whatever you need!” Belli’s soft smile holds something else, a kind of understanding that’s deeply familiar. “Thank you.” She continues her work, her focus unwavering, her movements quick and sure. Watching her is oddly fascinating, the quiet intensity with which she moves, the flicker of determination in her eyes.
“Are you interested in this sort of thing?” Belli blurts out. I blink, surprised. “I’d be lying if I said no… but I never learned to write. I can read, though!” I add, as if to redeem myself.
She nods thoughtfully, her fingers deftly rolling up the last scroll. “That’s right. My father’s work for the slums didn’t come into effect until later. He fought hard for us to have one school where anyone could go, even for free if they needed. Elves and humans alike.” The wistfulness in her voice hangs between us. “It’s okay,” I say, shrugging, breaking the silence. “Not the worst thing in the world.”
Belli’s expression hardens slightly, a conviction flickering in her eyes. “I disagree. Every person has a right to a good education. If you ever want to learn, I can teach you. I’d be happy to.” The offer catches me off guard. There’s a gentleness in her voice, an unspoken promise of patience, of kindness. “Maybe someday,” I reply, half to myself. “I just need to find the time.”
She turns to face me fully, her eyes alight with that same unyielding spirit I’ve always admired in her. “You possess many good qualities, Lamberra. More than you realize.” Her gaze softens, and a hint of a smile plays at her lips.
“Has anyone explained to you what mana is?” Belli asks, her face perky.
“Not this again,” I moan. “I don’t have any magical abilities.”
A grin tugs at the corner of her mouth. “That’s not true,” she says, leaning forward, her voice lowering to an almost conspiratorial whisper. “I, too, am a healing user. If someone can heal, then they can access all forms of magic. Fire, water, ice, lightning, it’s all connected!”
My immediate reaction is disbelief, a familiar skepticism. “Okay, but I’m not a healing user,” I say, a slight edge in my voice. I watch Belli rise from her seat and cross the room toward me, her gaze steady and unblinking. There’s a firmness to her, a weight in her words that makes it hard to dismiss. “I was there, Lamberra,” she says, her voice dropping to a soft tone. “The day you fell, when that rock struck you. I remember your scream, the way you collapsed. I ran to you because I knew I could help, that I could heal you. But when I reached you…” Her gaze intensifies, her blue eyes locking onto mine with a certainty that sends a shiver through me. “There was a glow surrounding you. It traced along your body, lining the wound, closing it. You healed yourself.”
I scoff and look away, trying to make sense of what she’s saying. “Why are you telling me this now? I don’t remember any of that.” My voice wavers, torn between wanting to understand and resisting the unfamiliar truth she’s laying out before me.
Belli’s hand finds my shoulder, grounding me. “I’m telling you because it’s time for you to learn. It’s a part of who you are, Lamberra. Whether you believe it or not, it’s there. Waiting.”
A shiver runs through me, the weight of her words making my knees feel unsteady. “I… I don’t know what to say,” I manage, my voice shaking.
“It’s alright,” she soothes. “No one told you before because if the military hears of a new magic user, they’ll seize you and use you as a weapon. Keeping you safe was always the priority. Healing users are almost extinct.” Her hand moves to rest on mine, her grip firm yet gentle. “The reason I was spared is because of my ears.” She touches her pointed elf ears. “Plus, your mother never wanted you to know. She just wants you safe.”
Belli studies me for a moment, her eyes sparking with determination. “The mana you have… it’s incredible. Come with me.” Without another word, she leads me outside, and I follow her through the twilight into a courtyard, where the hedges are trimmed to perfection and a soft glow from hidden lanterns lights our path. The air is cool, thick with the scent of damp earth and night-Once we’re surrounded by the quiet of her garden, she turns to me, holding out her hand. “You can manipulate the air and turn it into ice crystals.” She twists her hand in a swift, fluid motion, and I watch, astonished, as shimmering ice crystals form in the air around her fingers, glistening like tiny stars. With a flick of her wrist, she sends them flying into the side of a brick wall, where they embed themselves with a sharp crack.
“Of course, manipulating elements drains your mana. If you’re away from water, it takes a huge toll to make ice. Same goes for lightning,” she continues, her voice intense. “You’d need clouds close by to tap into their power, or else you’ll exhaust yourself in seconds. But…” She falls silent, and a heartbeat later, a streak of violent purple lightning flashes across the sky a few miles away. A powerful boom follows, rolling over the slums like the ocean. I look at Belli in shock. Belli is out of breath, but has a demonic grin on her face.
“You can still do it,” she whispers, pride glinting in her eyes. “But it’s exhausting. Now, fire… fire is different. You can’t just summon it from nothing. It has two main uses: fire swords and fire arrows. If you’re skilled enough, you could start something small, like a campfire, or even a forest fire if it came to that. It’s unmatched power, Lamberra. Dangerous in the right hands.”
I stand there, my mind reeling, the knowledge heavy as it settles in. “What am I supposed to do with all of this?” I ask, the reality of it overwhelming. “I can’t even imagine doing any of this.” Her expression softens, and she steps closer, her voice gentler. “You’ll learn. Let me teach you to write and to wield your magic. We’ll work together.” Her voice, high-pitched with excitement.
“Then… how did I use healing magic before? If it’s true.” I demand seeking truth.
“When we’re close to death, our bodies do whatever they can to survive. When you were bleeding out that day, that’s exactly what happened. You healed yourself without realizing it.” Her voice is steady, calm, but there’s something else. I hardly notice her reaching into her pocket until she produces a small knife, swiftly cutting a line across her palm before I can react.
“Belli! What are you doi-”
“Heal it, Lamberra.” Her voice is firm, unwavering, as blood begins to seep from the cut. I panic, my instinct to pull her inside to treat the wound, but she holds me in place, refusing to let me move.
“Heal me,” she insists, taking my hand and pressing it against the open wound. “Close your eyes. Concentrate on the energy inside you, let it flow to your hand. You’re a natural healing user; it’ll come to you.” Her other hand rests on my shoulder, a comforting weight that anchors me. I shut my eyes, focusing on her warmth, on the drum of energy inside me that I’d always ignored. My palm begins to tingle, and suddenly, a warmth radiates from my hand, glowing through my fingertips. The sensation is unlike anything I’ve felt, an urgent flow rushing from within me.
“Yes! Keep going, Lamberra,” she encourages, excitement spilling into her voice. “I’d rather not have a scar, so pour as much energy as you can,” Belli's words are nearly incomprehensible. The rush inside me intensifies, powerful and raw, and I clench my eyes tighter causing them to water. My head begins to pulse with the strain. I push forward, harder, trying to channel the energy. The world around me grows hazy, slipping away as I finally lose my grip on the flow and of myself. My knees buckle, and I collapse to the ground, my head striking the hard path. I hear Belli’s laughter somewhere above me as I lie there, fading into unconsciousness.