Virion Eralith
After all that had transpired in these years, I could finally say with certainty: life had repaid me for its cruelty. The war with the human kingdom of Sabin laid behind me, and surrendering my crown as King of Elenoir to my son was not an end, but a new beginning. True light began to grace my days since then.
I remained cherished by my people, blessed with a family whose warmth was my sanctuary. Then came a gift beyond all measures: the births of my grandchildren, Tessia and Corvis Eralith. The moment their names first reached my ears – Tessia... Corvis – an immense, almost disbelieving joy flooded my heart. Not not only mine, our hearts. These tiny souls wove a miraculous new thread of pure happiness into the very fabric of our family.
Seeing the profound change in my son Alduin was a balm to my own soul. Since the loss of his mother, my beloved wife, a shadow had clung to him, a grief as deep as my own, perhaps deeper. But now, holding his children... a light I hadn't glimpsed upon his face in years returned, radiant and undeniable. Fatherhood had rekindled his spirit.
Yes. In this peace, surrounded by love and witnessing renewal bloom in my son's eyes, I was profoundly, undeniably happy.
Tessia truly was a ray of sunshine. That little granddaughter of mine could brighten the darkest corners of my day with just her presence.
Yet, my heart ached for her; forging genuine friendships proved a constant struggle. Poor child, bearing the weight of being the Princess of Elenoir—hardly a simple mantle for such young shoulders. Too often, the eager faces surrounding her hid false smiles, seeking only advantage. Ah, the anger that stirred in me!
But they were just children, prone to foolish choices by nature. Still, her parents and I poured our hearts into shielding her joy.
It was her twin brother, Corvis, who became her true sanctuary. Seeing their bond was a profound relief, a balm to my worries. As long as they have each other, I whispered to myself, they'll find their way, growing in happiness side by side.
Corvis, though… my own blood… why did this child leave me feeling so unsettled? He retreated into the silence of his room, a world apart. Only Tessia seemed to hold the key to his heart, the sole soul he truly spoke to.
Where Tessia faced challenges in trust, Corvis built walls, an air of detachment clinging to him like mist. Even with Alduin or Merial, his responses held a chilling courtesy, as if he observed us from a distance, an outsider within his own family.
The very thought was absurd, a knife twisting in my heart! He is my grandson. My family. Bound to me until my last, drawn breath.
Yet, gazing into his eyes, I didn't find the sadness or sorrow his isolation suggested. Instead, I saw… pity. A deep, unsettling well of profound pity, especially when his gaze met mine. It was the look one might give a wretched soul who had crawled through hell itself and back. What shadows haunted his young mind? What burden did he carry that made him look upon me with such sorrowful understanding?
If only I could step into Corvis's thoughts, just for a moment, to comprehend the storm troubling his little head.
Children shouldn't have such burdens on their shoulders. It should be the work of us adults to shield them.
———
Another quiet day settled over Zestier, the heart of our kingdom, and within the palace walls, a sense of gentle renewal seemed to breathe through the halls.
"Grandpa! Look at this!" Tessia's voice, bright as morning sun, cut through the calm. She and Corvis had only recently turned five—how swiftly time carried them forward. My little granddaughter held aloft a vibrant drawing, a child's map of her world: herself, Alduin, Merial, Corvis, and me.
Unbidden, my lips curved into a wide smile, and a warm chuckle escaped me.
"Grandpa!?" Tessia protested, her tiny hands planted on her hips. "Why are you laughing?"
"Oh, nothing, Little One," I reassured her, my gaze softening on the earnest figures. "It's simply... beautiful. Is this particularly dashing fellow meant to be me?" I tapped the figure bearing a vague, regal resemblance.
"No..." Tessia drew out the word, a mischievous glint in her eyes as her tongue peeked out. "That one is Dad." Cheeky sprite.
"Well," I countered, feigning offence with a playful rumble, "he is my son. It's only natural he inherited some of this charm, wouldn't you say?" A diversion, perhaps, but spoken with affection.
Her expression shifted then, earnest hope filling those wide, innocent eyes. "Do you think... Corvis will like it?"
My heart squeezed tenderly. "Of course he will, Little One," I said, my smile unwavering. "Shall we take it to him together?" I offered my hand, a bridge between our worlds. She slipped her small fingers trustingly into mine, and together, we turned towards the quiet sanctuary of Corvis's room.
Tessia Eralith
Today is the day! I squeezed my drawing super tight. I'm gonna make Corvis smile! Not just any smile, but the biggest, widest smile in the whole, whole world of Dicathen!
My smart brother always thinks so hard, his face all serious like grown-ups when they talk about boring stuff. But not today! I will fix his wrinkled face from all that frowning!
I looked up at Grampa. He was looking down at me with that funny twisty smile he gets, like he knows a secret about something before I even ask. His big, warm hand felt safe. My left hand held onto his fingers tight, and my right hand? Oh, my right hand was squishing my important paper!
The one with everyone: Grampa with his beard like fluffy clouds, Daddy looking tall and strong, Mama smiling like sunshine, me with my best white dress, and Corvis… I'd used my special blue crayon just for him, the color of the sky outside his window when it wasn't rainy.
I started drawing because Corvis did it first, sitting so quiet in his room. But he makes lines so straight and his people look like real people, not blobby like mine sometimes. It made my face feel twisty and hot sometimes, like when I couldn't reach the top shelf. But just wait! I thought, puffing my chest out a little inside my dress. When I get my very own mana core, whoosh! I'll be amazing! Then I'll show Corvis how sparkly and strong his sister is!
"Grampa," I asked, swinging his hand a little as we walked down the big, echoey hall. My shoes made little tap-tap sounds.
"When I grow my own mana core inside me, like a shiny rock, you'll teach me how to be the bestest, right? Like you were the super strongest King Elf?"
Everyone said Grampa Virion was the bravest, most powerful elf ever when he wore the crown. I wanted to be just like that. Strong like Grampa.
Grampa Virion stopped his big steps so I didn't have to run. He looked down at me, his eyes crinkling at the corners like they always did when he was thinking. He scratched his long, white beard—it looked like the fluffy feathers inside my pillows. "Of course, Little One," he rumbled, his voice warm like the fireplace. "But why the sudden question, hmm? Planning big adventures already?"
"Nothing!" I chirped, maybe a bit too loud. I bounced on my toes. "I just wanna be super strong and show Corvis how super duper cool I am! Like… whoosh-bam! Cool!" I said it super seriously, the way Daddy says important things.
But Grampa… he laughed! A big, rumbly laugh that shook his fluffy beard! "Don't make fun of me!" I stomped my foot. The tap sounded louder this time.
"I would never, Little One!" Grampa said, still chuckling, but his eyes were kind. "Never. But I will cheer for you the loudest! Just remember," he added, his voice going a little bit tease-y, like when he tickles me, "Corvis is my grandson too, you know. He might surprise you. Might be even better than you."
My mouth fell open. No way! "I'LL SHOW YOU!" I shouted, the sound bouncing off the fancy palace walls. I'd show them all! Especially Corvis. Starting with his smile. Right now.
We finally stopped right in front of Corvis's big wooden door. It looked extra quiet today. Grampa stepped just ahead of me, his shadow falling over me for a second, and knock-knock-knocked. The sound was loud in the hallway.
"Corvis," Grampa called out. His voice sounded different than when he talks to me – lower, softer, like he was being careful not to scare a bird. "It's Grampa and Tessia. Your sister has something special she made for you."
We waited. I counted the sparkles in the fancy stone floor… one, two… then maybe ten? It felt like forever.
The quiet was itchy and annoying. Grampa mumbled something about privacy—a weird, grown-up word that tastes like medicine sounds—but I didn't care! Corvis is my twin! My other half! I go into his room whenever I want! Rules are for boring stuff, not brothers!
Before Grampa could stop me properly, I reached up, grabbed the cold, smooth door handle, pushed down hard with both hands, and shoved the door open. "Corviiii—!" I started to yell, bouncing inside.
But the room was… empty. Just the quiet sunlight on his bed and his desk with the neat papers. No Corvis. My shout got stuck in my throat. Where was he? He was always in his room and we weren't allowed to go outside the Palace alone.
"WHERE IS MY GRANDSON!?"
Grampa's roar slammed into my back like a physical blow. I'd never heard his voice like that—not warm chuckles, not playful rumbles, but a thunderclap of raw fear that echoed down the marble hall, shaking the air itself. It was too loud, too sharp, scraping against my ears.
A maid scurried into view, her face pale as milk. "I-I don't know, s-sir!" she stammered, twisting her apron. "His Highness... he should be in his roo—"
"HE ISN'T!" Grampa cut her off, the words cracking like ice. He loomed over her, no longer just my fluffy-bearded Grampa, but the King he used to be, terrifying and immense. "My grandson is gone from his room! Find him! NOW!"
The maid fled.
And then, like cold water drenching me, I knew.
Corvis wouldn't just wander the sunny palace gardens. If he'd gone outside properly, guards would have seen. Servants would have known.
No.
He'd slipped away. Hidden. Like a shadow disappearing.
Corvis ran away.
The thought hit my chest like a stone. A choked gasp tore from my throat, and before I could stop it, a hot, silent flood of tears blurred the terrifying image of Grampa and the empty doorway where my brother should have been.
Corvis Eralith
I had failed. Utterly, catastrophically failed. The bitter taste of it coated my tongue, metallic and sour. Reincarnation into The Beginning After The End—a cool chance to be someone... important, or so I had naively thought. Instead, it felt like a cosmic joke where I was the punchline. Five years. Five years of meticulous caution, of holding my breath in this borrowed life, and I had still managed to shatter the very timeline I was desperate to preserve.
Since waking up as the non-existent twin of Tessia Eralith, I had clung to my knowledge like a drowning man to driftwood. Alduin, Merial, Virion, Rinia… Elenoir, Sapin, Darv… the names, the places, the characters, their motivations, their weaknesses and strengths, the looming shadow of the plot—I recited them like a frantic prayer, a madman's litany against forgetting.
That knowledge was my only weapon, my sole scrap of control in a world hurtling towards cataclysm. Without it, I was nothing. Less than nothing—a flaw in the tapestry.
I had tried, desperately, to be more. Remembering Arthur's insane feat, Sylvia's teachings… I had spent hours locked away, fumbling with mana, trying to force a core into existence at three, then four. The result? A crushing void where power should have been. Just… failure.
Cold, hard proof that I wasn't King Grey. Wasn't a genius. I wasn't special. Just a kid, hopelessly out of my place. The realization curdled inside me, a constant hum of inadequacy beneath the fear.
So, I did the only logical thing. The sane thing. I retreated. I became a ghost in the palace. Stayed in my room, spoke only when necessary, especially to Tessia. Minimize interaction. Minimize the butterfly's wingbeat. If I changed anything… if I inadvertently steered Arthur Leywin off his path, or delayed him, or weakened him… the consequences didn't bear thinking about. Annihilation. For me, for Tessia, for Virion… for everyone. The weight of that responsibility was a stone on my chest, every single day.
And yet… I failed. Again. My resolve crumbled like cheap plaster. Tessia… her relentless, innocent persistence. Her bright, stubborn presence barging into my self-imposed exile.
How could I keep slamming the door on that? Day after day, her hopeful face, her insistence on sharing her world… I had softened. Let her in, just a crack. A fatal, sentimental crack. And look what it wrought: because she had me, her twin, her playmate… she never felt the need to run. She never fled Elenoir at five. She never met Arthur in that forest.
I doomed the world.
I broke it. My weakness. My stupid, gullible need for… what? Connection? In this world? The self-loathing was a physical burn, scalding my insides. The timeline was derailed, and the locomotive of doom was still charging down the tracks, only now it might hit us head-on because I wasn't strong enough, wasn't disciplined enough, to be the silent, insignificant shadow I needed to be.
Panic, cold and sharp, clawed its way up my throat. How far were we? Five years old? Tessia hadn't run… but maybe… maybe there was still time? A sliver of hope, brittle as glass. If I could find Arthur myself, somehow… drag him back to Elenoir before things spiraled further… maybe Virion could still train him, still unlock Sylvia's legacy in time before he died from it… The thought was insane, a child's desperate gamble, but it was the only thread I had to grasp.
Virion… The image of the old elf flashed before me, weary lines etched deep. He'd endured so much pain already—pain I knew was coming, amplified. Looking at him these past years, seeing the genuine, gruff affection in his eyes… it had become harder. Harder to maintain the detachment. I'd started… caring. About him. About Alduin's collected strength, Merial's gentle warmth.
A treacherous fondness, blooming where only calculated distance should have been. Another mistake.
Another deviation. Merial and Alduin… they will betray everything for Tessia's sake in the future. Would they… could they ever feel that for me? The thought was a knife twist of profound unworthiness. I shook my head violently, as if to dislodge it. No. No time for that pathetic spiral.
Fix the timeline. Save the world. Undo my mistake. That was all that mattered. The weight of potential annihilation crushed down, overriding fear, overriding the chilling realization of my own insignificance in the grand scheme, yet terrifying significance as the agent of ruin.
So I ran away.