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Salehsia Dal'Rethar Part III

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Halazurish Dal'Rethar sat about in one of the wicker chairs that adorned his wooden porch. Fatigue tugged at his eyelids, try as he might to fight it back with a sip of coffee. Winter was setting on Kul'Tiras, the chill in the air turning his breath to frost and working rapidly to steal away the warmth from his mug. It was a war of attrition between the old man and nature, though he still couldn't bring himself to drink faster. The first color began to fill the horizon, the pitch black giving way to a smeared purple. Soon, he thought.

The sound of a metal door, wanting for oil, could be heard slowly creaking open. Bright blue eyes blinked from within the shadow of the door, Salehsia Dal'Rethar stepping out into the cold beneath the tangle of heur black hair. She studied her father worriedly, but turned to close the door behind her first. She stood just a head above the handle of the door,  a young Quel'Dorei, still yet to blossom. She made her way wordlessly towards her father, dressed in nothing more than slippers and a night gown. The wood patio groaned under even the lightest of her steps, the noise causing her father to slowly bring his head to regard her as she made her approach.

Daughter before father, she smiled. She was tired, but for a different reason than him. She had just woken up, he had just escaped from a long night of hospice care. His least favorite of all medical duties. He'd rather have worked with those clinging to life by a thread than those waiting for their connection to be severed. Rotations are rotations though, and so every night, Halazurish Dal'Rethar watched another battle be lost. Nobody held it against him, except for himself. One month of the year he was subjected to this torture, and this marked the 13th year that Salehsia had witnessed it.

Respecting her father's tired look, she slipped silently into her lap, shivering in his care. Her mother would scold her, “At least wear a jacket!” Before she'd scold him for being a careless father. She would no doubt keep him awake screaming, as she had before. This little father-daughter bonding had become a strange ritual. Halazurish wrapped his arms around his daughter, holding her close against his uniformed chest. She shivered, the wool of his uniform jacket doing little but scratching the skin of her bare arms and legs. His daughter was so pale, almost as white as the gown she wore, but she made no protest, raised not a single complaint. Already the soldier's spirit was inside of her, as she boldly reached for her father's mug.

Brush strokes of gray clouds lingered on the horizon against the glowing backdrop of faint orange light. Silent moments passed, and the real color came creeping up over the edge of the ocean, a deep blood red underwriting it all. The colors ran along the endless sky, growing murkier and washed at a distance. Bright orange became pastel beige, the darkness still clinging to what remained of its control.

Salehsia sipped loudly from the coffee mug, her face contorting when the bitter brew made contact with her tongue. She swallowed it down though, trooper that she was. Halazurish's lips turned upwards, an honest smile as he hugged his daughter close. Emotions pass, happiness as ephemeral as words on the air. Memories last. Hal was thankful for this one, nuzzling his head against the back of Salehsia's in a sign of affection he rarely showed his children. She had earned this though, words unable to express the therapy she provided him.

The clouds were lit with a crimson lining, growing and consuming them from the base up. There was a second creak of the door, the pair's heads moving in unison. Myria Dal'Rethar emerged on the porch with a single elegant stride. Salehsia squirming unknowingly in her father's lap.

Myria said nothing, to their great surprise. She was dressed in a heavy wolfskin coat, her matching leggings tight to her skin, noblewoman, forever and always. She was already drinking, a glass of wine in her hand. She set her free hand on the chipping paint of the banister, leaning her body against it as she watched her husband and daughter, then turned her eyes to the sun.

It was almost upon them, all heads in the Dal'Rethar estate watching with rapt attention. It came like any other sun, breaking the horizon, then a deep shade of winter red. It rose like any other day, twilight succumbing as the light made itself known.

Salehsia reached for her father's hand, grabbing him by the fingers and giving him a squeeze. Hal leaned forward with the sound of the wicker chair being relieved of its stress, kissing his daughter's cheek. That was the end of the ritual. Giddy, Salehsia hopped off of her father's lap, Hal soon to follow in rising. His knees cracked from rigidness as he flexed, a lifetime of abuse making his relativity young elven body sound infinitely older.

He gave his daughter's back a push, “Run inside, soldier.” Salehsia looked between mother and father before doing as she was told. Her feet bounded lightly off the groaning wood, swinging the door open with one last frosty breath before she hopped inside. Hal's eyes lingered there as his daughter disappeared, his lips smiling all the way, even when she popped back out for one last peak. He'd known it was coming, his daughter as predictable as drill routine. Her feet could be heard scurrying inside the house, no doubt headed for the nearest blanket.

“I'm surprised,” Hal began, black leather oxfords shuffling across the deck, “you've never been one for sunsets.”

Myria Dal'Rethar's plump lips curled upwards, venom hidden in her fangs. “I could say the same to you.” She turned her chest to face her husband, swinging her legs, one over the other. “You've never been one to sit and stare at anything.” Always with the subtle jabs.

“You're right,” Hal gave a curt nod, stepping close to his wife, “I hadn't intended for it to be a thing.” His hand came to her shoulder, and his eyes held her's. “If this is about the jackets...”

“It's not about the jackets, Halazurish,” she said, her eyes breaking from his. This was how the arguments always began. It wouldn't matter what the topic was or wasn't. It was something. Myria's lips were a thin line. Her weight shifted, one side to another, her hands set on either side of the railing as she looked upon the Captain.

Crack.

Many things happened very quickly. The banister's support gave way in an instant, Myria's ass, and Myria herself, going with it. With her wineglass hand she reached for Hal, splashing red on his uniform instead of actually receiving help. Still, Hal's hand had been on her shoulder, and as that shoulder rapidly slipped away he managed to grab hold of her wrist for support. She came to a jarring halt, hovering inches over the ground as she looked up at her husband, bewildered.

Husband and wife stared at each other, as Hal's spare hand clapped to the other, holding her up, as her moccasins pressed against the lip of the patio for support. “Hal,” she spoke calmly, though her eyes narrowed and her forehead twitched, “take the glass.”

Without a thought, Hal obeyed the command, as a good soldier ought to. He didn't quite understand it, taking the glass in one hand as he still supported his wife. He hardly had time to lift it up, eyes focused on the crystalline structure when he felt a sudden tug. He'd always hated impractical shoes. The oxfords offered little grip as his wife pulled on him with both hands, catching him unaware and bringing him tumbling down.

Hal's reflexes managed to drop the glass, just in time to catch himself on the grass. His elbow flexed in a half push-up, cushioning his collapse against his wife. His eyes were wide as he lifted himself up, her fingers hooked into his collar as she pulled him back down. She was smiling, laughing, rolling to her side as she pulled him with her. The frosted grass crunching underneath their bodies. Her eyes were alive in a way he hadn't seen in ages, her lips a childish grin as she pinned him to the ground.

Hal had long ago given up on explanations from this woman. She rarely offered one. Instead he took it as it came, and in this case, he plunged his hand into the abyss of her black hair, holding her head close as they kissed. She was warm and eager, her tongue plunging into his mouth of her own accord as her hands clenched tight his collar.

“Mom, Dad!” the scurrying of feet could be heard as the door was swung open too quickly to make its standard creak. Three sets of eyes emerged over the deck, as each of their children rushed to their aid. “Are you-” it was their oldest daughter speaking, “ewwww,” The twins groaned in unison, each swinging a hand up to cover each other's eyes. Donrios, the male twin, raised a second hand to block Salehsia's eyes, though she swatted it away. She watched her mother and father, the two still locked at the lips, with a wide smile, clapping her hands as she watched.

“Let's go inside, shall we?” Myria cleared her throat, finger trailing down Hal's neck as she hovered over him. Hal's fingers trailed across her cheek, her skin rosy red underneath his touch. She could be so beautiful at times. “Come on, father,” she groaned, pulling Hal by the wrist as she stood up. “We've got some naughty children not wearing any jackets!” She hopped up on the patio, roaring comically as she spread her arms wide. The twins scattered and ran for the door, crying out in laughter. This was how Myria Dal'Rethar played with her children, and sometimes, to Hal's great surprise, it worked.

It was moments like this that made him think things could work.

Salehsia screamed as Hal followed his wife up onto the deck, giving his best comical roar as he hauled her kicking and screaming over his shoulder. Screaming was cut short by laughter, the little girl pounding her fists on his back. “Let go dad! Let goooo!” She whined like any child, not really meaning what she said

He never wanted to let go.

-

Salehsia resembled her mother now more than she'd ever known. More than she would probably appreciate as well. It'd have been a pity if she'd inherited Hal's looks over Myria's. Even when that shameless woman's words would cut to his soul and tear apart two centuries of honor and achievements, he'd never once stopped finding her physically beautiful. To do so would have been to deny a very firm reality.

Hal's hand ran along his daughter's sleeping forehead. She slept like her too, curled to one side, dead to the world. He'd thought to wake her with a gentle nudge of the shoulder and soft words. The way a loving father would. He'd given that title up long ago though. His lungs heaved a sigh as he moved to the bathroom door. The inn was not uncomfortable, a step up from the World's End. But it had cost dearly for the added luxuries. Hal's hand wrapped around the door knob, knuckles tight. In an instant he slammed it, loud enough to reach Arthas in Icecrown, all the way from the Outlands. He could hear Salehsia wake with a start. His good morning piss managing to push her discomfort out of his mind, if only for a moment.

The truth was that he'd been awake for the past two hours, hurrying about the city as he set in place last minute preparations. He flushed and washed his hands with a final sigh. Today was going to be a long one.

“Men have been killed for less,” Salehsia hissed as he opened the door. More like her mother than she'd ever know.

“I don't see you trying,” Hal remarked, locking eyes with her confidently. She'd been supporting herself with one hand on the bed, the very same hand quickly ripping a pillow out from under her, flinging it with violent momentum. He caught it with his face.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” she swore in common, finding another pillow just as soon as he collected the other.

“Easy, easy,” he gestured for calm, just in time to take the third pillow to the face as well. She was out of pillows, still bristling with anger.

“Easy my ass,” she said, rising out of bed with a shake of her leg. “Try it again, I dare you.” She sauntered to the last remaining pillow, the one Hal had been using on the floor for the past three nights.

“Are you done yet?” the old man asked, tossing each of the pillows back onto the bed.

“Not yet,” she moved towards him,  pillow held in front. She made to cross-check him as she approached, the old man stepping to the side with a well practiced dodge. The pillow swung round, catching him in the cheek with a backhanded swing. Recovery took the man a second, Salehsia tossing the pillow back onto the bed in the meantime.

“There,” she said, the bathroom door's hinges squeaking as she shut it behind her.

And so the morning began.

At breakfast Salehsia continued to simmer, glowering over her coffee cup as the man affectionately poured it. “This doesn't make us even.”

Halazurish had spent the past five minutes hand grinding the coffee to the perfect fineness, the roast one he'd hand selected, and the water coming from a supposedly extravagant source. He smiled as he poured a second cup, eyes locked on his daughter as he took his seat, “Sure it doesn't.”

He allowed her the first sip, readying his cup before his chin as he awaited her reaction. Calmly tasting the liquid, Salehsia closed her eyes and set the drink down. The smack of her lips was audible, though her expression neutral. “Maybe, just a tiny bit,” she remarked, raising the cup for a second taste. Hal remembered the girl who used to grimace at the taste and laughed. She made no further comments, attempting to enjoy her drink.

An herbal nose wafted from the mug, causing the mouth to water long before it reached the tongue.  When sipped, the earthy aroma was blended with a chocolate finish, the consistency so smooth it practically slipped itself down your throat. There was no bitter taste, though the sweetest nip of peacebloom remained on the tongue. It was the sort of thing that could put any raging bull at peace, as Hal knew he'd need it to.

Salehsia's eyes remained shut, pensive, her body language asking questions before her lips could. “What are you planning?” she said, lids steadily rising. “First you're a bastard, now this.” She reached for a biscotti on the table, nibbling a bite, washing it down.

“It's... A surprise,” Hal sat his cup down. She looked at him, he looked at her. Silence passed, interrupted only by the slurping of coffee.

“I'll pack my things,” the chair screeched against the stone floor as she finished. She made not a protest as she went towards the room, leaving Hal in amused surprise. Here he'd thought there'd be a battle.

Salehsia hadn't brought much, but then again, neither had Hal. He hadn't exactly anticipated a detour following Kul'Tiras. Such is life though. Check out was simple, and since business had been slow, they were handed a free bottle of wine as a promotion. It was cheap stuff, but even the cheapest Silvermoon wine put any Tirassian counterpart to shame. Such was the discussion as father and daughter took turns at a swig of the bottle. The very definition of class as they made their way through the city.

In the center of the Terrace of Light, underneath the gaze of the Naaru A'dal, the warrior began to grow self-conscious, denying her turn upon such holy ground. The paladin didn't seem to display such reservations, coming to a stop before the portal to Quel'Danas with bottle in hand.

“What's this?” the portal guard approached them. He was a tall blue bastard, as far as Draenei go. “What do you think you're doing?!”

“Drinking wine, of course.”

The guard's nostrils flared,  “Blood Elfs! Just where do you -”

“Time?”

Excuse me?”

“I said 'Time', or perhaps my common has slipped some. I did say time, didn't I?” Halazurish turned his eyes on his daughter. “It's 'time' right?” Salehsia gave her father a slow nod, herself positioned behind her father, out of the Guard's reach and wroth. “Right, so then. I said Time as in, do you have the time?”

“I am a guard, not a clock for drunkards! Where do you think you are, Elf.”

“I think I'm where I need to be. Now, the time, Corporal. So help me if we're late.” Halazurish straightened himself, hardly drunk off such a small volume of wine. In the emptiness of such a vast temple sound tended to be consumed by the breeze that lofted through, their drama erupting privately in their little corner.

The guard's eyes narrowed, catching on, “It's half pas-”

“On the Island, Corporal. Not here.”

The guard straightened his neck and posture, his hoofs shuffling against the stone as he detached his shield from his arm. On the inside of the shield lay a device strapped against the metal, an intricate series of gears and cogs escaping from around its edges. “Clever man,” Hal mused, pressing the only button on the face of the device.

The gears and servos sprung to life, spinning until they produced numbers along the surface of the shield. It was the time, somewhere. “Thank you, Corporal.”

“You're welcome, Sir.” The Draenei begrudgingly stepped aside, offering the portal entrance.

Salehsia's arm required a tug to snap her from her stupor, dragging her back to reality and bringing her alongside the old man. “What was that about?”

“There's a time distortion between Azeroth and the Outlands. To account for it each guard has-”

“No, I mean. What was that about? You didn't-”

“Come to lecture me, Ensign?” Halazurish sighed, gesturing towards the portal. “Just go, we're already running behind.”

Salehsia glared at him, part rage, part indignation. Hal cared little for it, placing his hand on her back and pushing her through.

In a second's breadth the two were transported from one world to another. Each feeling as if they'd just had their consciousness temporarily ripped from their bodies, then surreptitiously crammed back inside of a flesh sack that did not particularly want them there. How mages managed this on a daily basis was beyond either of them.


“ARRIVING!” A trumpet blared. “HALAZURISH DAL'RETHAR, LEIUTENNANT, THIRD MEDICAL REGIMENT, SHATTERED SUN OFFENSIVE.” It was a young Sin'dorei boy screaming, his voice hoarse by the time he finished. He gave neither of the two much time to gather their bearing before he shooed them off down the ramp.

Quel'Danas was a quiet little island this time of the morning. With the exception of the trumpeter, of course. The night sky was still thick overhead, only the true early morning risers up and about at this time, or perhaps the last of the night owls preparing to settle in for bed.

“Lieutenant!” A Sin'Dorei woman hurried towards them, arms waving. “You're late!” she called, breathless. “We've got to – whew.” She paused, placing her hands on her legs for support as she breathed.

“Easy there Private,” Hal smirked.

“Sergeant,” she breathed, straightening herself out.

“My apologies, Sergeant,” Hal smiled, giving the woman's shoulder a pat, “and congratulations.” The woman seemed to stiffen momentarily, her bearing rather impressive for the 10 seconds she could muster it.

“It's good to see you again, Sir,” she exhaled, all that bearing gone as her expressions softened. “But, um, Sir, you're already pretty late. And, well, we need to, you know – Go.” Her eyes darted back and forth between Halazurish and Salehsia, the Sergeant lifting an eyebrow towards Hal, a smile forming on her lips.

“My daughter,” Hal clapped his hands to Salehsia's back, giving her a start. “Salehsia Dal'Rethar. She's the reason for the visit.”

The Sergeant blinked, eyes wide, rocking back on her heels as if to examine the taller woman from a distance. “Ah! Yes – yes, of course. Daughter. That makes... Whew.” The Sergeant shared a private smirk with the Lieutenant. “Here I thought I'd have to report a stolen cradle! Oh well, less paperwork fo- Paperwork!” Her gauntleted hand slapped her forehead. “I forgot your paperwork! Sir... Shit... Alright, alright...” She smoothed her hands over her tabard, her eyes focused on the ground, her breathing intense as she tried to calm herself.

“Something the matter, Sergeant?”

“Yes!” She snapped to, hands at her sides. “I mean – no! No sir. I'll um. Right. You two go on ahead, and I'll, uhm. I'll catch up! Yes. That'll work.” The Sergeant broke from her attention to tuck a loose strand of silver hair behind her ear. Salehsia's mouth hung open, apparently unsure if this was apart of her Father's plans as a sort of sick joke, or just a disgusting lack of organization on the woman's part.

“That sounds good, Sherice, we'll see you there.” Hal pressed his hand to Salehsia's back, ushering her forward along the red road. “Oh!” Hal turned, just in time to catch the Sergeant readying to sprint. “And would you mind hiding this for me, please?” He handed her the bottle, giving her a sly wink. The Sergeant blushed, taking the bottle carefully in hand as she darted off to whatever office she'd came from.

There are few structures on the island other than the Plateau, which encompasses over half of the island. The still standing structures, utilized by the initial invasion, have since  been turned over to focus on the safety and organization of the multitude of pilgrims that make their visit to the holy site. The battlements Halazurish could remember erecting now lay stacked in a neat and orderly pile, the wood rotting and the metal rusting. At a glance inside the inn he could see the bodies, color faded from their skin, some crying, some gasping – some not moving at all. When the air raids were at their worst nobody moved outside, for the reasonable fear of dragonhawk fire which was currently laying waste to the archers on the ramparts. You knew it was dragonhawks because no wounded would appear. Just blackened corpses in the aftermath.

That had been the retaking of Quel'Danas. And now a man sat at a table in the inn, slathering his slice of toast with butter, where once Hal had performed amputations.

“Are all... Sin'Dorei like that?” Salehsia broke the silence as the two approached a recently renovated bridge towards the Plateau.

“Like the Sergeant? No...”

“So... She's...”

“Irregular. Certainly not fit for combat.”

“Then why is she - “

“Sergeant? Desperation, I imagine. Well – not desperation. The Shattered Sun Offensive is almost non-existant, with most authority turned over to the Government of Silvermoon. I imagine she's one of the few people who still cling to the cause – but, well. She has a good heart, at least. She never stops smiling, that's for sure.”

“And that's supposed to be a good thing?”

“Well.. It's a quality, don't you think? To remain happy, even when the world's slapping you around. That's strength, if you ask me.”

“Or stupidity.”

Hal turned on his daughter, smiling, “Some did say that yes.”

“And?”

“And I wouldn't say they're right. No. Back then, some would say such things. That she was too simple-minded to realize the danger we were in. But that's bilge. Even the poor bastards under enough sedatives to think we were in Terrokar knew better. I think she just realized a truth to this world. Something very few people seem to.”

“Which is?”

“Which is...” They stopped in front of the gate to Plateau, the golden statues of great Magi looming high overhead. Guards were positioned at either entrance, Silvermoon's finest, each of them looking as tall and impressive as the statues that they guarded. The sounds of the Sergeant's feet thundering across the stone could be heard in the distance. “Which is- that you either live, or you don't. And once you come to terms with that it's a lot easier to smile, so long as you're still alive.”

The rushing footsteps could be heard clanking along the bridge until the Sergeant came to a rather sudden and abrupt stop just a few inches from Hal. Her face was red and covered with sweat, “Here. Papers.” She panted, pushing the papers to his chest, “I'm just going. Going to go. Whew. Okay.” She  breathed, lifting herself up, hands ontop of her head. “I've got this... I've - “

“Everything okay, Sherice?”

“Yes!” she said, breathing deeply. “Yes, everything's okay. You two just - just go on in. I'll be here.”

There's a special feeling that comes to Elves as they approach the Sunwell. Quel'Dorei or Sin, it is an indescribable sensation associated with the very core of what you might describe as your soul. At least, if you could pin it down to a particular place. Your skin tingles, nerves on edge. A cage of butterflies is released in your gut, your subconscious made nervous just by the sense of the overwhelming power as you approach. Wall after wall you draw closer, and that humbling sense of insignificance starts to wash over you, pushing out the rest of the symptoms that you feel.

You stop before the Sunwell, and you gaze at purity.

The two did just that, the room empty, even of the guards.

Not a word was exchanged, not for a while.

They stared.

Salehsia's arms wrapped around her father's, the tall woman leaning up to give her still taller father a kiss on the cheek. Their time ended, the guards returned. When they left there was a small gathering of pilgrims that had accumulated for a morning sermon to be delivered by some Priest from somewhere and of some renown. The father-daughter team did not linger.

The sun was high as it approached noon. A few clouds here and there, a light spring breeze blowing throughout the island. Their lunch at the Isle's inn was a simple affair of cheese, wine, soup and sandwiches. Sherice joined them, as well as a few others who had served with Halazurish, and it made for an altogether pleasant affair. Father and daughter still remained quiet between themselves, Salehsia's eyes still shocked, as if still entranced by golden radiance.

At last the crew of soldiers departed, Sherice finding herself drunk enough to give Halazurish a kiss before her coworkers dragged her off and away. This left the two in an awkward situation, though after a matter of time, it hardly seemed to matter.

Halazurish reached for a remaining block of cheese, spreading it across a small round cracker. “Your great-grandfather first brought me here, shortly before he passed away.” Hal paused to take a bite, watching as Salehsia reacted. She seemed calm. “I was young then, very young. I didn't remember much – nothing more than a great big light that I remember being very impressive.” Hal finished the cracker, washing it down with a sip of wine.

“Your grandfather took me when I was older, roughly my half-century mark. He was on his own way out the door, thought it would be best if he followed tradition.”

Salehsia reached for her own glass, having a sip. “So you think you're going to die?” She batted her lashes, shifting in her seats. She played a solid poker face, if the idea upset her any.

“No, no – Perhaps that wasn't really the best way to get at this. It's just. My father, your grandfather, he should have been the one to see you here. But – Hell, even if he hadn't died... I doubt he'd ever have bothered. No- no. What I was getting at is... I regret it. Not bringing all of you here. I'm a terrible father, I don't need anyone to tell me that. But if there's one thing I could have done, it could have at least been this.”

Silence. It fell between the two as they simply stared at one another. Salehsia sat calm and composed, her hands folded together on the table, her curls rolling across her shoulder as she leaned back, rising to her feet.

“Going somewhere?”

The warrior smoothed out the wrinkles in her pants, giving her shirt a tug to straighten it out as well. She regarded her old man with a sigh, pushing in her chair. She closed her eyes before she spoke, “I think it's time I went home.”

Halazurish rose from his chair as well, pushing it in softly, “I think so too...” There was an exchange of glances and the two went to collect their things at the door. Neither had much of anything.

They found themselves wandering down along the beach that lines the island. The salt hung in the air, the waves a growing blackness as the sun began to slip lower in the sky. The two stopped at an outcropping of rock, sitting beside one another as they turned their head towards the sky, breathing in the sea. The sun sank low, yellow, then orange, its reflection almost blinding off of the waters. It sank deeper still, the colors darkening, until a sanguine conflagration consumed the sky. The world appeared as if it might end, and Hal could hear Salehsia gasp. Much Elven symbolism can be understood by watching a sunset from Quel'Danas. The world remained ablaze for what seemed like eternity, in a first timer's view, the sun impossibly bright, until at last it sunk further and was muted by the sea.

The two hopped off of their rock, looking at one another as Salehsia withdrew the hearthstone from her bag.

Well...” she said.

“Well...”

“It's been... Something.”

“Only something?”

“I'm sure the words will come to me later.”

“Probably right after you get there.”

“Probably,” she smiled, laughing just slightly.

“Don't let that Dwarf beat you down.”

“Captain Thunderhammer?” She chuckled lightly, covering her lips with the back of her palm. “That big kitten? Child's play.”

“Child's play, yes. Of course.” Hal smirked, “I just wanted you to be prepared.”

“Oh, but I am.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

Salehsia's fingers flexed around the hearthstone, “Well...”

“Wait.”

“Wait?”

Halazurish reached into his shirt, pulling loose the gold chain around his neck. With it came a worn and faded golden anchor, the size of a small fist, the likes of which resembled bronze with its age. Salehsia's reflection was dull and faded in the metal.

“This is...”

“It was your Uncle's.”

“But you... Hated your brother?”

“There are a great many important things in life, Salehsia.” He placed his hand on her's, curling her fingers around it. “Family being one of them. Take it. You ought to have something.”

Her gaze lingered on the necklace, until at last she strung it around her neck. “Thank you, father.”

“Don't.”

“Don't?”

“Don't.”

“... Alright then.”

Green flashed around her hands, the Warrior channeling a small amount of energy into the rune. The rune responded in turn, emitting enough energy around her to throw her hair back, as if caught in a great wind. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. “Hey, dad?” Six. Five. Four. Three. “Thanks.” Two. She smiled, the tears welling in her eyes. One.

She was gone.

The old man turned to head back to the inn. Sherice would be waiting for him, and for that he was grateful.
Third and last, pending the epilogue. Thanks for reading! Any comments are loved. Preview art taken from my commission by Keksei0719.
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