As the rush of the teleportation faded, Topher's eyes strained to see through the fading light for a glimpse of his surroundings; a musty smell assaulted his nostrils, and an oppressive weight seemed to press down on him from above. We're underground. To his right, Varissian squirmed and wrenched his arm out of Topher's grasp, while Alkran simply bore his presence stoically, like a toothache.

Immediately, he caught sight of Kelfir, staring at a large stone archway; as usual, the Archmage looked golden and frail beneath a crushing burden of responsibility and exhaustion. At their advent, he half-turned, frowning, then sighed. "I don't know why I expected anything else. Are you incapable of taking even a few days..." His voice trailed away as he caught sight of Varissian.

"I am sure that the Archmage is capable of returning you to the castle, at need," cut in Alkran wryly, "and so I must return to my duties." With the faintest hint of a smirk, the apprentice disappeared; this time, Topher had seen the teleportation enough times to recognize the flash of light as the plain, bland expression of power that it was. Of course. If the castle's doing the actual teleportation, it wouldn't show Alkran's aspect.

There was a long, tense moment of silence; Kelfir's fists clenched and unclenched, and his breath hissed in and out between gritted teeth. But he made no move to remonstrate or attack, and after a few moments, he sucked in a large breath and let it out slowly in a visible attempt to calm himself. "I very dearly hope you have an excellent reason for this, Christopher."

"Jesus Christ, you guys are fucking copies of each other," Topher complained, grabbing Varissian again and dragging him over to where Kelfir stood. "I definitely do, and I also can't explain shit, as usual, so let's just skip all the drama and move on. Can you tell us what you're doing here?"

Kelfir sighed again, then turned back to the archway; this close, Topher could sense some invisible force radiating outwards from the pitch-black interior. "This is the Crypt of Gorduin, resting place of one of the first great Dwarven kings and a dungeon from oldest antiquity. At the end of his life, Archmage Keryth Venvaris undertook a quest to plumb its depths in search of lost secrets from the first age. He never returned."

Topher nodded. "A gazillion years ago, I'm guessing?"

Kelfir's mouth quirked. "As you say. My predecessor, Archmage Orym Enra, was Archmage Venvaris' apprentice; two full lifespans of elves lie between then and now. In short, an appreciable portion of the entirety of history." He turned back to the archway, frowning. "I have not yet been able to gain entrance; Archmage Venvaris sealed it quite adeptly. But I suppose this shall have to be delayed for whatever business you herald."

"Uh, yeah, about that." Topher crossed his arms. "Short version, our favorite mysterious foe wrangled Elfy Junior, here, into coming to the castle as his unwitting spy; as a result, Okano and all the other Otherworlders who escaped the battle are sealed in an Edict until shortly before the heat death of the universe, so they're out of the game." He gestured towards Varissian, who was staring around open-mouthed at the cavern around them. "There's another trap being set, and based on the choice of bait, I'm guessing its for you."

Kelfir scowled. "And so you bring him here? Are we now in the habit of expediting the True Demon Lord's plans, then?"

"We figured something out," Topher countered harshly, "while you were down here staring at masonry. The reason why this guy's always two steps ahead is because he's got contingency plans out the ass; if we dodge this one, we'll step right into the next one. So instead, I'm going to do the one thing the fisherman doesn't want the fish to do; take the bait and run off with it." He gestured at Varissian again. "Is there someplace you think he'd be safer than with two of the most powerful mages in the world? Because if there is, let's take him there right now. Otherwise, maybe let's stop measuring our intellectual dicks and get on with this."

Kelfir stared at Varissian intently; feeling his father's gaze, the younger elf shrank back, but returned the stare defiantly. Then, unexpectedly, the Archmage began to chuckle; lightly, he punched Topher on the shoulder. "You have such a way with words. How have you managed to befriend nearly everyone you meet, with such an attitude?"

"Same reason everyone loves pugs," Topher admitted wearily. "They're so ridiculous, you can't take them seriously." Looking at Kelfir, he couldn't help but see the changes that had come over the elf since their first meeting; once again, the elf's true name, Silveril, seemed to shine out of him like light. That's his aspect, Topher realized belatedly. Light. Boy, that's got to be hard to live up to.

"Am I to understand," interjected Varissian with what temerity he could muster, "that you intend to drag me along into a dungeon which has been sealed since the time of the Five Immortal Beasts, which no one since the Archmages of the Dawning Age has been powerful enough to even enter, let alone brave?" Dejectedly, he shoved his hands into his pockets. "You might at least let me draft a will first."

"Enough, Orinor," barked Kelfir sharply; Topher blinked as he realized he'd just been witness to Varissian's true name. "If you cannot be brave, at least be gracious. Neither Master Bailey nor I discomfit you out of spite." He turned away to study the archway further; behind his back, Topher saw Varissian's hands ball into fists, but the younger elf made no sound.

If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

Topher winced. Shit. Maybe this wasn't the best idea. Sidling up to the brown-robed elf, he tapped him gently on the shoulder. "Not to pile on, but he's right. We're all trying our best, okay? I know it's scary, but don't worry. You'll be fine."

Varissian turned his long-suffering gaze to meet Topher's; he was shocked and saddened by the depth of hurt he saw there, but Varissian merely nodded and stalked away to stand apart and fight down his emotions. Topher sighed and moved to stand next to Kelfir; together, the two of them regarded the archway for a few moments.

"Christopher," whispered Kelfir conspiratorially after a short while, "do your people make a study of the relationships between parents and children, in your world?"

Topher laughed bitterly. "Yeah. It makes millions of therapists rich every year, and sells enough movies and self-help books to bury your whole universe."

Kelfir crossed his arms and scowled at his feet. "My geas scalds me whenever I open my mouth to him. I know that I must be doing something dreadfully incorrectly, but I am helpless to understand what it might be. I only raise him as my father raised me."

"Well, yeah. But he's not you, remember?" Topher faced Kelfir squarely; the elf reluctantly turned to meet his gaze. "He's him. You're trying to peel an apple with a sword, buddy. You gotta do things differently."

"How?" Kelfir despaired. "I comprehend what you say, but the meaning escapes me. He is my son; I wish only for his success and happiness. Yet every attempt I make to aid him only widens the rift between us." He ran his hands through his hair, scowling. "You have complicated matters greatly by bringing him here, however good your intentions."

Topher looked away; thoughts and words swirled through his mind as he fought down his own complicated feelings and tried to craft a message the elf could understand. "Kelfir," he said, eventually, "do you think Quint is strong? Do you think he's done well for himself?"

Kelfir blinked. "Of course. He is half my son's age, yet his power greatly eclipses my own. His mind is sharp and swift; his heart noble and steadfast, even with what faults he possesses." He scowled. "I am oft jealous of his rapid rise and easy mastery, truth be told. Why do you ask? What relevance could this have?"

"Quint told me," said Topher, slowly and carefully, "that when he was Level 1, he only had 1 MP. He was so weak he couldn't even kill Jelly Slimes; his father had to painstakingly help him, one incredibly weak monster at a time, until he Leveled up. And even then, he was still weaker than everyone else -- with his MP stuck at 1 -- for so long that nobody could believe it; the only reason they kept at it was because he was C-Rank, with the Archmage Class. So his dad carried him, sometimes literally, until his Level was high enough that his exponential MP growth could take off and eventually outstrip everyone else." He turned to look meaningfully at Varissian, then swiveled back to Kelfir. "That obvious enough for you?"

Kelfir shook his head. "You have made such remarks before; alluding to the idea that my son's shameful Scullion Class could somehow be a source of great strength. But I cannot credit or comprehend it." He looked up at Topher, his face full of despair. "All of his attributes are F-Rank; do you understand? The Scullion Class is among the lowest even of such a tier, possessing no Class Skills of any kind, and though he is fortunate enough to possess a Unique Skill which allows the use of magic, he shows no talent for magery. He has spent a century of toil and effort, and he has barely mastered the merest handful of extremely simple spells." For a moment, emotion overcame him; then, when he had mastered himself, he delivered the coup de grace. "He is not you, Christopher. And he never will be."

"Well, duh," Topher snorted. He wrapped an arm around Kelfir's shoulder, gesturing grandiosely with his free hand towards Varissian. "He's him. He's a chicken who's still in the egg, you dumb fuck, because you've been so scared he'll be ugly that you've spent a hundred years waiting for him to hatch." Lightly, he shoved the elf away, but his teasing grin belied the gesture. "I get it, I really do. You do what you know, because it's all you know. But F-Rankers aren't like that, Kelfir; we need help. We're weak. We're slow." Drawing himself up to his full height, he did his best impression of a righteous preacher; a scowling mouth down at the bottom, kindly eyes at the top. "But that doesn't make us lesser. Just different."

To his amusement, he could see that his cheap trick had worked magnificently; Kelfir's mouth worked, and his eyes filled with emotion. His gaze flicked back to Varissian, but his feet seemed rooted to the stone. And into that gap, Topher played his remaining card; he turned and shouted, "Hey, Varissian! Come here for a second."

Sullenly, the elf trudged over to them; it took all Topher's willpower not to laugh at the sight of a hundred-year-old elf behaving like a grouchy teenager. "Tell him," Topher began, fighting to keep the giggles out of his voice, "why you came to the castle." Varissian balked, but Topher steamrolled right over his resistance. "It's important. It might be the most important thing in the world, I'm not shitting you."

Both elves stood there for several seconds, strangling on their respective generational trauma; but it was Varissian who broke first. Lowering his eyes, he mumbled, "I was worried about you."

Kelfir's eyes widened and his mouth dropped; at the sight, Varissian seemed to become bolder. "I always write you letters; however, you never respond. I understand that you are busy." He sighed. "But with Lulein's death, I have become conscious of the value of what family remains to me; uncomfortably aware of the impermanence of life, to a sufficient degree that I have taken a human girl to wife." His mouth twisted in an ironic smile, which quickly disappeared. "Neither you nor mother attended our wedding; understandable, but still painful. You have often made clear to me that you expect stoicism and perserverance; I have endeavored to please you in that regard." His eyes, full of agony, could not meet his father's. "I know that I will never earn your respect or approval. But I am still your son."

Kelfir trembled; Topher could literally sense the barbed metaphrastic hooks of the geas shooting red-hot lashes of forced empathy through the elf. He waited, hoping against hope, that something would break within the Archmage's iron self-control, that he would rush forward and give Varissian the hug he so clearly, desperately wanted.

But the moment passed; Kelfir became still, then calm. He nodded, and Topher's heart quailed within him that that might be all; but then, after an excruciatingly long silence, the Archmage agreed quietly, "You are my son."

Topher winced. Ah, crap. Guess we'll just have to hope that'll be enough.