Dawn was still hours away when I rolled to my feet.

The hut had been my home for a little under three days. I had no reason to be attached to it. Yet, it was with a heavy heart that I shut the door behind me and strode off into the village.

My time with the Dark Elves might have ended on a sour note, but the journey that awaited threatened to be worse. It sucked that I couldn’t bring the hut along with me—and, I had tried to shove it into my inventory—which left me at the mercy of whatever Dreadwood had to offer.

Nana waited behind the longhouse in loose robes and a warm, black cloak. She stared out into a cluttered garden that reeked of fresh earth, lost in thought.

“You’d need ten more years of experience as an Assassin,” she said without turning, “to sneak up on Nana Irithiel.”

“I wasn’t trying to sneak,” I said, stopping beside her. “The maid that got the door couldn’t find you in your chambers, so she suggested I search the backyard.”

Nana didn’t reply.

I’m sorry about the way things turned out, I wanted to say. You’ve helped me more than I can ever hope to repay.

But, how could I say such words without deepening the wounds? Tybalt might have backed me into a corner, but the final decision was all my own.

I could have handled it better. I could have waited for a private moment to share my misgivings with Nana, and yet—

“Stalks of nad-irith seldom thrive on their lonesome.”

I frowned at Nana’s cryptic words. “I’m sorry, what?”

Nana gestured at the garden. “Nad-irith. The black leaf vine. You never bothered to ask how the Irithiel got their name.”

I looked closely at the garden. The plants I had mistaken for shrubs were proper herbs, grown tightly together. I’d missed it in the poor lighting, but the foliage they bore weren't colored the typical green.

They were black, just like . . .

“Your family crest,” I murmured.

Nana grunted in approval. “My ancestors came into renown for their expertise in horticulture. We traded herbs across large swaths of Vizhima before relocating to Dreadwood. Nad-irith is still the most commonly smoked herb among the elves.”

I inspected the plants, feeling the texture between my fingers. Mum had been obsessed with horticulture, so I'd learned early on that plants with black foliage weren’t a rarity. Off the top of my head, I could name mondo grass, huechera black pearl, and the dark star coleus.

The nad-irith seemed darker than all of those combined, a purple so deep, it might as well have been matte.

“That proverb you used . . .” I mused.

Nana hummed. “That stalks of nad-irith do not thrive on their lonesome? It’s true for many small plants. There’s a reason they flourish in numbers. Standing on your own invites uprooting or strangulation by weeds.”

My stomach tossed. “About yesterday . . .”

“You’re a coward who bites the hand that feeds you and flees from obstacles you deem insurmountable.” She let out a tired sigh. “Your harsh words also helped this elf-matron with a decision she lacked the courage to make. Thank you, Damien. And, no need to apologize. I know you meant none of what you said.”

She shouldn’t be thanking me . . .

“I can handle Tybalt,” I said with a rasp. “If we can do something about the rest of the villagers—”

“It will only delay the inevitable. You, child, are like a Dread Tiger stuck among house cats. You’ll tire of this place sooner or later, no matter how loud you mewl.”

She stared at her hands. “Harkonean is too small a cradle for the feats you can accomplish. It was my mistake to tie you down to the village. Fly while you can.”

“But, the goblins . . .”

“We’d deal with those dung bags whenever they appear. You showed remarkable resolve last night. Don’t falter now.”

I quieted down. The true antagonist here was the [System] which had seen fit to bind our destinies in a cruel twist of fate.

On one hand, the son who had lost his mother. And, on the other: the mother who had lost a son.

We both carried a burden that the other had been willing to ease. And, if I wasn't so disgusted at the blatant exploitation of our emotions, I would have been impressed.

Nana shoved her hands back under her cloak. “There are many secrets you’ve kept hidden from me—don’t bother denying it. Some cards are best retained close to the vest. The black-leaf herbs wither on their lonesome. But, a single seed is sometimes enough to populate a garden.”

You have duties you need to fulfill, the words she didn’t speak continued in my ears. And of the stipulated time, only 361 days are left.

361.

The number hung like an executioner’s axe over my head.

If I desired to succeed, I needed strong allies, much stronger than Harkonean could offer. The wider world promised great opportunities. But, how could I abandon the villagers to their fate?

“I’m sorry,” I said with a hoarse throat. “I’d stay and help if I can—”

“Yet, you need to go,” Nana completed. “It would save us trouble in the long run. And . . . heavens, what is this argument? It feels like we are constantly switching sides.” She made off for a bench and table at the opposite end of the garden and beckoned on me to join her.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

Nana waited till I settled in beside her, and then she retrieved a scroll from her inventory. It unfurled to reveal a detailed, hand-drawn map, kept in pristine condition.

“Don’t bother asking for this as a gift,” Nana said at the look on my face. “It’s my only copy.”

A single landmass, identified as eastern Vizhima, occupied the entirety of the page. The rest of the continent didn’t make it onto the map, but the artist had sacrificed completion in exchange for thoroughness.

I followed Nana’s finger as she swept past various cities and landmarks to stop at the topmost horn of the map.

“Dreadwood,” I whispered.

A single country bordered it to the south: The Princedom of Bargheria. One city sat right on the outskirts of Dreadwood’s southern borders, shaped like a dome.

“Skeelie,” Nana explained. “Great place, if you don’t mind humans.” She traced her finger further downward, skipping past a handful of settlements. “Avillac, capital of Bargheria and throne of His Royal Highness. An ill-fitted title for a bloody serf.”

I focused on the city she referred to, noting its prominence on the map. “I take it you’re not a fan.”

Nana snorted. “What gave me away? Humans were alien to these lands before they marched on it in numbers. Now, they strut around and stink up the place, amassing lands and empty titles, while the Hindulië wither in Dreadwood.”

“By Hindulië, you mean the Wood Elves, yeah?”

“Our less privileged cousins,” Nana said with genuine belief. “Still better than humans though, if only marginally. You’d never find a Wood Elf who rejoices at the felling of trees.”

. . . or a Dark Elf who wasn’t strongly opinionated, but I kept that bit to myself. The Harkoneans were products of an environment that thrived in its own harshness. It didn’t excuse their prejudice, but it helped put things into perspective.

Good thing I’d stuck to hiding my identity. Tybalt, for one, would have dug into the truth of my past life with gusto.

“I guess that means I’m headed for Skeelie,” I said, steering our conversation in the right direction.

Nana offered a shrug. “Good place to wet your legs in. The city earns a lot of traffic due to its labyrinth. So, you shouldn’t be denied entry based on your race. Its adventurers’ guild is also well established . . .”

I ignored the rest of her statement at the mention of the word, guild. If there was one place sure to harbor a lot of strong individuals, it had to be a guild. Every role-playing game felt incomplete without their presence. And, here I was with the chance to experience them in reality.

Maybe, reincarnation wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Out of curiosity, I opened my [Map]. It unraveled as usual with the vast greens of Dreadwood. Somewhere outside its range stood the city of Skeelie. If I focused hard enough . . .

Error: You haven’t visited this location. However, its position is known.

Set a marker to aid its discovery? Y/N?

“Yes!” I said, startling Nana beside me.

A blue waypoint appeared on the southern rim of the [Map]. This was incredible. And to think I had considered [Map] the most useless of my skills.

“Skeelie it is, then,” I said, affirming my decision.

I stared at Nana. Wasn’t she level 50 or something? Didn’t that classify her as strong? “I don’t suppose I could tempt you to come with me?”

Nana guffawed. “You’re too green to sweep me off my feet, boy. Try again in a few more decades.” She trailed off with a frown. “I’ve done enough adventuring to sate a lifetime. I also have a goblin invasion to worry about. So, get on out of here. You’ve taken too long as is.”

I rose to my feet. “I guess this is goodbye then.”

“Not yet.” The Blackreach Dagger thudded onto the table.

“No . . .”

“Take it,” she insisted. “I have since grown beyond its power. It would be put to better use serving another Irithiel.”

“You know I’m not—”

“If you finish that sentence, I would gut you where you stand.”

"Nana, this should rightfully belong to Tybalt . . ."

"And, I am offering it to a potential hero from the stories." She exhaled a breath. "Tybalt would never forgive me. But, I offer this to you for his sake. If ever you find him or the village at the opposite end of that dagger, remember my generosity."

I will.

I collected the Blackreach with quivering fingers. Nana’s unspoken intent thrummed in the blade. This was not a gift but a promise, that wielder and weapon would someday return.

“I’ll cherish it,” I managed to say. “Thank you.”

“You also need a cloak and a change of clothes. Nothing fancy, but you’re ill-dressed for the journey. Also, potions and a bit of food? The less time you spend foraging, the better.” She ended her words with a call for her maid.

In no time at all, I was outfitted with a Cloak of Viridian Gleam, a fresh jerkin, and soft leather boots. Nana’s elderly maid also supplied a bundle of dried meat and fruit, about a week’s worth, which all went into my inventory.

The next item I received was a small case bearing two sets of health and stamina potions. I identified each of them to be of Lesser value, though of no small cost to the village.

Nana finished off the gifts with a box of accessories. It contained a locket and a pair of earrings, all of silver hue. Nothing fancy, according to [Identify], but Nana considered these to be the best of the lot.

“It’s customary,” she explained, fastening the locket around me, “to gift young elves with jewelry upon their coming of age. You’re way past the age for that ceremony, but I never got the chance to do this for Cyran . . .” Her fingers wavered.

“How am I supposed to clip the earrings through health armor?”

Nana chuckled and buried one in my earlobe.

“That’s how,” she said, ignoring my pained yelp. “You’re practically of royal descent. I won’t have you enter Skeelie looking like some dirty hobo.”

I fingered my sensitive ears, noting how their puncture had dented my HP. “I don’t suppose I can borrow a notebook and a pen? Or scrolls and a quill, whatever it is you use.”

Nana offered parchment from her inventory. “I assume you need them for note-taking?”

“That, among other things. Might as well start recording all I’ve learned. This [System] stuff doesn’t come as intuitively to me.” I raised a single eyebrow. “Has the village decided on a plan to repel the invasion?”

Nana spat off to the side. “Try to plead with the Wood Elves. If I’m lucky, I might even talk some sense into them.”

“And Dreadgoats would fly,” Nana’s maid said from behind us.

We shared a small laugh.

“Tybalt would remain here,” Nana continued, “to get our people started on the defenses. We can handle the first few waves of goblins on our lonesome. Bloody them good, even. But, all the villages in Dreadwood would perish if the clans do not work together.”

“You’re sure there's nothing I can do to help before I leave?”

Nana snorted. “Harkonean withstood the ages before your arrival, Damien. It will stand long after.”

I offered a handshake. “See you around then, Nana.”

She pulled me into a hug. “You too, Damien. Dreadwood doesn’t hesitate to punish unwary travelers, but the outside world? It’s twice as bad. Keep your wits about you or end up losing your head.”

“What do you mean?” I said with a smirk. “I've lost my head ever since I got here.”

Nana swatted my chest.

“There are evils in these woods much worse than Dread Tigers,” she called as I navigated around the garden. “Watch where you step, and if you catch a whiff of the wild god—”

“Flee. Yep. Got it.”

I threw her a wave over my shoulder. The elves on guard duty spanned the walls near the village gates, and although numerous eyes turned at my approach, none tried to hinder my passage.

A part of me recognized the selfishness of my actions. Mavari had communicated her intent to speak with me one last time before my departure. A wish I fled from granting, seeing as she was the only other person with the power to shake my convictions.

My departure would hit her the hardest—hard enough to plant seeds of loathing. But, this was a sacrifice I needed to make.

I looked back at Harkonean one final time, at the dirt paths and ruddy houses topped with thatch. The magic lamps illuminated the longhouse and the cloaked figure of Nana Irithiel watching from the yard.

With nothing more to be said, I exited the village.

The coming-of-age locket hung heavy on my heart.