Elm awoke at the sound of knocking on her door. She sat up in her bed, her heart empty. It had been two days since she had last seen Milo, since then, she had been forced to study every time she didn’t need to eat, sleep, or do her business. They allotted her an hour to eat her meals and exactly eight hours to sleep, not one minute less or one minute more. Her head constantly felt on the edge of exploding, unable to fit the sheer amount of subjects they had made her study. Every day, they came in with volumes, each either about magic, world history, race history, or religious history. Each felt like the same boring and pompous person had written them. She hated them, whoever they were. Today, the volumes were about religious history and practices. She sighed as she sat down to study after she ate her breakfast. Her quill looked tired from being used already and she felt like it had left a dent in her hand. She braced for the cramp as she took it and wrote down the most important parts. After a few grueling hours, she noticed something strange. Most people she had met in the past year had never talked about one god as a superior one; they had the god they worshiped the most because of their families or their professions, but they never put one above all others as if they were more powerful. Yet, this book did. It separated the gods in order of the most powerful to the least powerful when most civilisation put them for the least specific to the most specific. According to this book the least powerful were the complementary gods, those had proven their worth and had become gods later in their lives or at their deaths, those comprised Thodor, the god of literature and wisdom, Tomag, god of travelers, Kleodora, goddess of alcohol and pleasure, and many others which most worshiped because of their profession. Then came the secondary gods, chosen at birth, like Earendil, god of navigation, Asa, divinity of chaos, Amara, goddess of love and dreams, Gaelin, goddess of the dead, and a few others. Then came the primordial gods, the first five gods from which all life on Oldeon came from. Those controlled the fire, the earth, the air, water, and life. This book added another god which made Elm uneasy, Drylic. A spirit who controlled all magic, merely granting it to other gods and living things, and allowing spirits to occupy bodies. Elm stopped taking notes, her eyes stuck on his name. She knew she had heard it before, yet she couldn’t remember where. Her unease deepened as she read the next chapter. It was about the creation of the world and the part about races struck her the most. It laid out races as waves; First borns were the ones first drafted; sea monsters, feas, demons, and ice giants, they had an immense link with magic and could feel it on a very intimate level. Second borns were those birthed by the primordial gods; mermaids, trolls, harpies, and dracae. Those needed training to control their magic but it came pretty easily to them. Third borns were the most refined ones; orcs, elves, goblins, nymphs, cû, ttac, naëdre, dwarves, and humans. Those needed the most training, and humans had famously lost their link with magic. The last borns were the renounced ones, not created by either Anima or Drylic, but appearing through milenias of repeated love stories, hlêgs and witches. Those had a deep link to magic, one they could choose to follow or not, but if their vows were ever broken, only pain and suffering would be brought to them. The words chosen by the author to describe them made Elm almost cry. She fought hard to not look around and look as panicked as she was. Of course she was the Erudite and not Milo, of course it needed to be them and not someone from Avondale. Milo’s death is acceptable because he’s a last born, one of those who by their birth defied Drylic’s will and made their own path. The thought stuck with her for the rest of the day. She had to do something quick, run away once more before they were sent out and Daethie had filled Milo’s head with her slimy words. She had seen priests of the Earendil community prey on others in the same way Daethie was doing with Milo. Find someone weak or broken enough and put your faith as the one thing to give their lives meaning, to make it so sweet and fulfilling they will forget their own faults or even come to think it is done for the right cause, however appalling it is. Until her eight hours of guardless sleep, she studied like she had been in the past two days. Once the two elves had gone and left her alone, she waited a few minutes, trying to see if others were awake and maybe walking down the hallway. Once she was sure no one was out there, she jumped out of bed and lit up a candle. She swiftly walked to her door, holding the candle to see through the keyhole. Seeing nothing, she checked the underside of the door; two pairs of feet blocked the candlelight’s way to the hallway. She frowned as she stood back up. She looked around, only finding her shallow bedroom window as a possible way out. her heart beat fast as she thought of what she was about to do. She briskly walked to the window, leaving her candle on her desk, and unfastened the hook which locked the window in place. She first looked around, the city was dead silent, no soul seemed to even be alive. She looked at the trunk, a few robust ivy vines were stuck on it, luckily, they went to where she hoped to find Milo’s room. With a shaky breath and sweaty hands she climbed out of her window and onto the vines. The cold wind brushed against her cheeks, making her wish she had chosen warmer clothes for this. Slowly but surely she moved towards Milo’s window, making sure she kept her eyes off of the ground and her thoughts off either her death or her horrifyingly broken body if she ever fell down. She gripped on every next part of the ivy like her life depended on it, silently praying to the universe to let her get to the other side safely. As she got to Milo’s window, she took in a deep breath, holding herself closer to the ivy and extending her left arm to tap on the window. It took a minute or two before Milo’s face appeared. The boy slowly opened the window, shocked.

“What are you doing?!” he tried to whisper as best as he could while Elm slithered into his room, away from the void outside.

“We have to leave.”

Milo said nothing. His shock turned into disappointment as he sat down on his bed, his eyes lost in the emptiness in front of him.

“She was right.” he painfully said.

Elm’s eyes widened as she took in the horrible truth. She was too late. The girl rushed up to Milo and kneeled to the ground in front of him, trying to lock her eyes with his.

“If we do this mission, you will die.” she tried to explain as plainly as she could. “Daethie doesn’t care about you or your life.”

Milo locked his eyes with hers. They were full of a deafening pain that had turned into a heavy silence, tearing Elm’s heart to pieces.

“And he is proud to give his life if it means our world will prevail.”

Elm’s blood turned to ice as she looked up from Milo’s eyes. There, in the corner filled with the night’s shadows, stood Daethie herself, her glowing form no longer emitting light, only her piercing pupil less eyes seemed to bore a hole through the girl’s skull.

“Living with the dark feas has rotten your mind child, if Drylic dies, all dies. You answered the call willingly, do not forget that.”

A cold sweat ran down Elm’s back as the matron walked out of the shadows, the moonlight illuminating her like a goddess.

“Guards, take her back to her room.”

“Please, don’t listen to her, she’s lying!” she called out to Milo as the guards dragged her away.

Milo tried to look but couldn’t hold the sight of Elm screaming and kicking the guards. His eyes found the floor and remained on it until Elm’s screams stopped. Daethie walked up to him and kneeled to meet his eyes.

“I know it is hard Milo, but you must stay strong, we all depend on you.”

He avoided her eyes. He thought back to his mother and his brother’s reflection in the well, how proud they looked. He feared they would lose it, replace it with disdain or disappointment. With a deep breath, he looked into Daethie’s eyes, hoping he was making the right choice.

“Milo! Please!” she cried as she banged on the door for the last time.

Elm broke down in sobs, sitting on the ground, her back against the door. She wanted to tear it down, break everything, burn the books and her studies, snap that wretched quill in half and destroy it, she wanted to scream of rage until her throat gave out and her body couldn’t handle the stress anymore. Instead, she stayed seated, screaming and crying loudly, letting go of it all, expressing it all. She rocked back and forth, but soon enough her rocking became violent, it was not enough; she felt too much and the rocking couldn’t help her calm down, so she violently hit the back of her head on the door. After a few hits she tried to stop, knowing fully it was not safe, so she resumed her rocking instead. The rage and fear swelled up in her chest like a balloon, her head was light and her stomach was caving in on itself. She stood up, walked in circles for who knows how long, trying to calm her breathing, she shook her hands as fast as she could, humming rhythmically, trying everything in her power to calm herself down, to reduce this feeling to a manageable one. After an hour, her pacing slowed down, so did the shaking of her hands and her humming. She sat down on her bed, her eyes watering from the exhaustion, she felt so trapped and yet somehow like she was floating away in a calm sea, the stars above her making the water look invisible. Slowly, her eyes closed, and she fell asleep.

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The next morning, the elven guards came suddenly, slamming the books down on her desk and waking her up. She shot up from her bed, all her senses in alert and calmed down as soon as she understood the situation. None of the two elven guards seemed happy, rather they looked deeply annoyed. To Elm’s surprise, Elyon was standing in the doorway, holding the breakfast tray, a radiant smile on her face. Elm somehow found the strength to flash a smile back to her.

“Good morning!” she said brightly, “I heard you were studying very hard so I came to chat a little.” her tone was warm and excited, which ticked Elm off.

Elyon sat down next to her on the bed and placed the tray above her legs. Elm looked at the tray and as soon as the guards walked out and locked the door, Elyon's smile disappeared.

“I’m really sorry Elm.” she said gravely, “I should’ve told you to leave this place as soon as you set foot in it.”

Elm looked up from her food back to Elyon, she frowned and tilted her head.

“You knew?” she asked, a voice barely above a whisper.

“Well, yes, but I didn’t think she’d act like this. She assured me nothing bad would happen, but Milo is training to exhaustion every day and you’re locked in here with books.”

The elf’s eyes locked on the window Elm had escaped from the night before, vines had grown like bars over it, letting only the light shine through, but gone was the possibility to climb out. Hope sparked in the naëdre girl.

“Will you help us escape?” she dared to ask, trying to keep her voice down.

Elyon’s eyes opened wide at her question, suddenly panicking.

“My mother has eyes everywhere, I would be Avondale’s disgrace, I-”

“And we will either die trying to escape or die during her mission. You are our only hope.”

Elyon looked into Elm’s small brown eyes. The panic made her thoughts race quietly through her mind.

“I can’t get you out, but I have transcribed the writings on the well.”

The elf unstuck a sheet of paper from underneath the tray, they were covered with a thin layer of leather to protect them.

“I can’t read it, but if anyone can it’s you.”

Elm was surprised to find hope in the girl’s pleading eyes, like something she had waited for for her entire life. Elm took the papers, quickly looking at them before hiding them under her mattress.

“Why?” she asked.

“Maybe if he dies, I’ll get my mother back.”

Right before she could reply anything, a soft knock on the door echoed through the room. Elyon straightened her back and dried her tears as quickly as she could. Her mother’s presence felt heavy on the girls’ shoulders. She entered the room gracefully, always with a soft expression on her face.

“Elyon, my dear, it is time for your lessons.”

“Yes, mother.” she nodded sadly.

With a last look toward Elm, she left the room, leaving the Matron and the naëdre alone. Daethie gently sat down on Elm’s bed, causing the girl to retreat closer to her headboard, weary of the woman.

“I am sad that you have chosen to betray us by trying to bring down my child.” she said, sending chills down Elm’s back, “but I am ready to forgive you,” her pupil less eyes pierced through Elm’s skull, “I will lighten your load of studying if you promise to never try to contact Milo until it is time for you to go onto your journey.”

The silence in the room was palpable.

“I will give you news of his health if it concerns you this much.”

Elm contemplated the deal. They couldn’t run this time, not when they were kept away from each other like this. Not with the window covered in ivy and the guards constantly guarding the door. An idea popped into her head.

“I will agree if you give me one thing.”

“I am listening.”

“Give me books written in old elvish.”

“Why should you need them?”

“If we are to battle evil so great we’ll need the God Killer, I would feel safer if I had the knowledge of people who created the artifacts we are going to need.”

“Fair point.” said Daethie, still perplexed by the query.

The Matron sat up and presented her hand to Elm. The girl hesitantly shook it to conclude their deal. As Daethie walked away, leaving her alone with her breakfast, she couldn’t help but feel like she had betrayed Milo. A part of her felt awful for accepting the deal, for not even trying to escape at least one more time before they were sent on their mission. Another part of her felt awful for trying to escape it, according to Daethie, the fate of the world hung on their shoulders, escaping meant they would all die, it would all be her fault. Elm barely ate her breakfast, and when it came time to study, she dived in it, trying to drown her guilt in the pain of her hand. She wrote continuously for hours until noon finally chimed in, giving her some respite from her torment.

It had been days since she had last seen Milo. Since then, she had focused all of her energy toward the old elvish books she had been given. She did not care about the content, she only cared about the language used. It looked fairly similar to the faeish she had learned, some words and letters looked the same or even sounded the same. In a day or two she had found the basics, in the rest of the two days, she had mastered them and moved on to more complex subjects and words. Elyon talked with her from time to time, always with sadness in her eyes. She would receive letters at every meal about Milo’s health and general state, although she couldn’t truly believe them. She spent her last night in Avondale awake, unable to close her eyes or get any amount of sleep. She watched the sunrise through her barred window, her heart growing heavier with the morning light. She ate plenty at that breakfast, knowing she probably wouldn’t have one like this for a long, long time. She looked at the unusually adorned clothes the elves had chosen for her. Pants and tunic which looked like a skirt on the bottom, the borders were embroidered with gold-like threads, making a pattern of ivy, begonias and sage. The collar went up, entrapping her neck uncomfortably. She tried to loosen it but nothing could do it, she would have to bear it until she cut it open. The knock of the guards on the door made her jump, bringing her back to the pit in her stomach. She took her bag with her old clothes and some notebooks, and she followed them. She walked through the sunlit corridors of Avondale’s palace, happy she would leave it but scared of what would wait for her. She could only hope Milo felt better than her. As she got to the palace’s entry door which gave onto the plaza, she could hear the clamor of the forest’s elves. It filled her with dread and she couldn’t hide it. Her feet got cold and her hands sweaty. She rubbed them on her tunic, hoping it would dry them off. She let out a heavy breath, trying to calm herself down, when she heard another sound of footsteps. She turned around to see Milo escorted by as many, if not more guards, a sword on his hip, vambraces on his forearms, and the same tunic she was wearing. He had the deepest eye bags she had ever seen, as though life had been sucked out of him. His eyes were lost in the void, empty of the spark that used to light them. He found her wandering eyes and for a moment lit up, before her turned his gaze away and tried to ignore her. He stopped right next to her, leaving the same heavy breath out of his lungs. Slowly but surely, she inched her hand closer to his, hoping they would hold hands one more time as Daethie’s voice calmed the clamor and announced their arrival. Before she could react, Milo took her hands, holding on to it for dear life, the ruggedness of them made her heart heavier. She squeezed it, trying to tell him it would be alright, he wasn’t alone in this, her tendons screaming from the action. Suddenly, the doors open, letting the sunlight blind them. Before they knew it, they were ushered outside.

“The Brave and the Erudite!” Daethie exclaimed.

The crowd screamed in joy at their sight. The screams made Elm’s heart sink deeper, if it ever could. Her eyes went over the booming crowd, she saw the faces of hoping children and adults, their smiles lit up the whole plaza and her guilt felt deeper still. As they were being pushed further down onto the plaza, she could feel Milo holding onto her hand, scared to let it go for even a second. As they approached the middle of the plaza, the crowd parted, letting them through as guards kept them away from them in the front and in the back. In the middle of it, Daethie was waiting for them, a soft smile on her lips, her regal outfit on. Next to her were horses with their tack decorated with golden four-leaf clovers and vines, behind their saddles were bags filled with food, water, and Elm’s notebooks and writing equipment. They mounted the horses as Milo tried to keep a smile on his face as well as he could. Daethie put her hand on Elm’s leg, drawing near.

“Back up now and this world will die.” she reminded her through her charming smile.

Elm gulped down. She knew it all too well.