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chapter 31
As Esiria ran, she suddenly sensed something was off and came to a halt.
Irian, who had been running ahead, noticed her pause and stopped as well.
“Esiria?”
“The pursuit… it’s not coming.”
Esiria muttered to herself.
“Something’s wrong. We’ve already exited the valley, yet there’s been no significant pursuit or even an attempt to check on us.”
“That’s because Eldmir is buying us time. What we need to do now isn’t to stand still, but to quickly regroup and—”
“No, Irian. That will be too late. Don’t you understand? Eld isn’t coming back.”
A sense of unease gripped Esiria.
The Dark Elves’ objective was the annihilation of the World Tree—and simultaneously, the extinction of the elves, their former kin.
And yet, they let fleeing elves go without so much as a proper pursuit? It didn’t make sense.
“We have to go now. Eldmir is in danger.”
Something—something inexplicable—was happening in this rocky mountain.
“Esiria, I understand your worry for your son, but Eldmir is a great warrior. He is not someone whose fate would end in a place like this. Trust him for now—”
“Irian, don’t you think it’s strange?”
“Huh?”
Ignoring his question, Esiria turned fully and began moving forward. She ignored Irian’s calls from behind. Her steps gradually quickened.
“Everything’s strange. The scouts noticed the trap we set? Then they should have met us with their full force, including the wyverns, from the very beginning. But instead, they only revealed one side of the cliffs, drawing our attention as if to say, ‘we’re here.’ As if warning us of a trap so we’d feel threatened.”
Where else could there be such a “kind” trap?
No…
“Their target… it was never us.”
Why hadn’t she realized such a blatant trap until now?
Eldmir—just one person.
“They knew Eld would be the one to be sacrificed. They let us escape, knowing he would stay behind as bait.”
This plan could only work if one had a deep understanding of Eldmir—and its meaning was clear.
The realization struck, and instinctively, Esiria drew her bow.
“This… this—”
Thud.
“…cough.”
But she realized too late.
Slowly, she looked down at the blade that had pierced her heart and protruded from her chest.
On the blade was a symbol representing elves: two circles and a sharp triangle. The symbol was soaked in her blood.
Blood surged into her throat. She spat out a glob of it, which then covered the blade again.
“What quick-witted brats…”
As the blade was pulled free, Esiria lost the strength to support herself and collapsed to the ground.
The sound of her fall wasn’t alone. The remaining sentinels, once alive, also lay on the ground, their throats slit.
“Traitors…”
Esiria gasped, struggling to speak.
Irian approached and gently pushed her body upright, which had toppled sideways.
“Ugh…”
“Esiria, Esiria Arhitea… your kids are annoyingly clever. Too capable.”
Irian’s eyes, when they met hers, were deep, sunken, and unsettling. Esiria felt a chill run down her spine at the abyss contained within them.
“…cough.”
She felt her life draining from her body, along with the death that spread through her veins.
“It… was you. Traitor.”
“Strictly speaking, that’s not entirely accurate.”
Irian let out a short sigh. Its weight and the darkness in his eyes made it impossible to guess his thoughts.
Leaning close to her face, he spoke:
“I was never on your side.”
The voice was low, guttural, like a beast filled with dark rage.
“Why… us?”
“Your son was too dangerous.”
He straightened up.
“Your son told me… about uniting the races, breaking the elves’ isolation.”
He covered his face with his hands briefly, perhaps in self-reproach for revealing his inner thoughts, then returned to his calm, measured demeanor with a faint, but unsettling smile—one that felt unnatural compared to the Irian she once knew.
“Do you know how surprised I was? An elf discovered a truth no one else noticed—right in front of me! And yet, they had no idea who I was and were just preaching their ideals…”
“You…”
“But I have to admit, he was capable. Everything he said was correct. Elves are overly insular, as if brainwashed by the forest’s spirit. They reject other races, devote themselves to protecting the World Tree, and obsessively isolate it. He was right about everything.”
Like a teacher unable to resist rewarding a top student, Irian clapped mockingly, his applause echoing hollowly.
“Because we made them this way.”
“….”
“We—or rather, they—shaped it this way. The elves’ isolation, their self-imposed seclusion, their misinterpretation of the forest’s spirit—it was all part of a long-standing evil scheme.”
Esiria suddenly recalled Eldmir’s words from that night: that the fate of the elves seemed predestined for ruin.
“Yes, Esiria. Everything you thought was correct. Or rather… your son’s thoughts.”
No one noticed, but with a little reflection, the elves’ society seemed deliberately suspicious.
The forest spirit, its teachings, the protective rituals for the World Tree—everything seemed artificially constructed.
“The World Tree’s forest was never yours alone, from the start.”
At first, Esiria didn’t fully understand him. She had only comforted him out of pity, not comprehension.
Now, she understood everything.
“Not just in Chitaen. We are hidden throughout the forest, even in El Relema where the World Tree stands.”
A whole elf population had been deceived.
From the beginning.
The teachings they thought were sacred, the blessings they revered—all of it—manipulated from start to finish.
“How…?”
Irian smiled faintly, unsettlingly.
“Why ask such a pathetic question, Esiria? You already know.”
His smile disappeared, replaced with an emotionless face, cold and foreboding.
“Look at my face,” he said, slowly turning it for her to see.
“Still don’t understand?”
He mocked her, his voice calm but cutting.
“Really… don’t know?”
“What… trick…!”
Irian whispered,
“Do I look like a Dark Elf to you?”
“…!”
“Do I really look like a Dark Elf, Esiria?”
“You…”
“Yes, Esiria.”
“Who… are you really?”
“Keep asking.”
“Who… exactly… are you?”
Finally, a faint smile appeared on his expressionless face, as if he had been waiting for this question.
He straightened his back and looked down at her.
“I’ve given you enough hints. The rest is up to you. Isn’t this farewell already more than enough?”
In a low voice, he continued:
“Who am I? A Dark Elf disguised as an elf? A traitor among elves? Or perhaps someone completely unrelated?”
Irian’s faint smile revealed a hint of deadly intent.
“I’ve lived as an elf, will live as an elf, and die as an elf. Yet… despite it all, I simply hate you.”
An elf… who hated elves.
That was the end. He no longer paid attention to Esiria.
He turned toward the direction Esiria had been heading—the direction of Eldmir.
“Well then…”
He began walking, flicking the blood off his blade, sheathing it neatly.
“Who knows what mischief our innocent princess is getting into… better hurry.”
Esiria watched silently, her eyes bloodshot, as he moved away.
A deep emptiness opened in her chest—a hole so deep the ground beneath her could be seen. Her blood continued to flow.
Her body was cooling rapidly, and she felt death gnawing at her from within.
“…Eld.”
Her son, Eldmir—her only beloved child.
She forced her fading consciousness to remain awake. Not yet… not yet time to die.
Seeing Irian enter the valley completely, Esiria whispered:
“Atir.”
She could not die yet.
“Planting the spirit’s flame in the chest… not bad improvisation. Truly skilled,” someone remarked.
Cough! “Now… isn’t the time for compliments!”
In an instant, five died.
Though it was a surprise attack, Esiria’s assault, disregarding her own life, was that fierce.
Even as a High Elf, her injuries limited her effectiveness.
Pushing further would have made her a formidable force, but there was no reason to invite more harm.
Eldmir was incapacitated, and Esiria was already critically wounded. Victory was assured.
Still, the High Elf did not appreciate Irian’s calm demeanor.
“Shoot! What are you waiting for!”
While the Dark Elves took cover from her attack, Esiria swiftly grabbed Eldmir and began running.
The Dark Elves’ composure broke. Though initially caught off guard, they were skilled warriors. Turning their backs was nearly suicide.
Ugh…!
Three arrows embedded in her back, yet Esiria continued to run, holding Eldmir close without defending herself.
“Atir!!”
Flames erupted with her desperate shout.
The flames burned a wide area, but their purpose was more for concealment than destruction.
After a narrow escape, she finally reached a place to briefly hide.
Haa… haa… Eld, listen carefully.
Wiping the blood from her mouth, she whispered to Eldmir. Her voice no longer carried vitality—only the aura of death.
Eldmir watched her, eyes bloodshot. She gently wiped his tears, letting blood from her mouth smear without concern. She caressed his cheek, wiping the blood her cough had splattered.
“I have much to say… but there’s little time.”
She carefully chose her words, knowing her time was limited. She wanted to warn him about Irian, the spies in the forest, and the danger of Dark Elves.
“So… Irian said… you were right. The elves’ isolation, the wrong teachings of the forest… it was all part of their design. They led the forest to ruin.”
Her words were brief; time did not permit more.
She wished to express concern for his future, but facing death, she allowed herself selfishness—wanting to tell him how much she loved him.
“Eld… you know your mother loves you most in the world, right?”
“…! …!”
Eldmir could not respond, only crying, his throat moving desperately. He cried at his own helplessness.
The flame in Esiria’s chest began to fade.
Her last whisper:
“I love you, my son.”
And the flame extinguished.
