Chapter 33 #2
Alwyn took a steadying breath. It was a long story, but he recounted it in as much detail as he could—leaving out everything between him and Krujha.
When he described the first camp and how he had tried to free the captive elves there, he wondered if Tessarion would say anything about Fionia; but he remained silent, and so Alwyn continued.
His voice quavered as he approached the end; how Zesh brought him to the mountaintop to reveal that he knew Alwyn’s plan; how the druid had somehow subdued his magic; and how when he’d finally released it using the sigil, it felt like being burned from the inside out.
“It still feels... weakened, somehow,” he concluded softly, letting his brows furrow in a cowed expression.
For a long moment, Tessarion was silent.
“I knew you were the right one for this job,” he finally said. Once, that hint of praise would have sent Alwyn’s heart racing; now, it barely felt like anything at all. “But what you have said about this injury concerns me.”
He held his hand out expectantly. Alwyn hesitated, then obediently placed his hand in Tessarion’s outstretched palm. The skin of his fingers was still a raw pink, a stark contrast to the soft and pale skin of his mentor’s hand.
He could feel the elf’s magic course through him, taking stock of his own.
But he knew what Tessarion would find: whenever he focused on the well of magic inside him, it felt empty compared to before.
He had tried some of the smallest uses of magic successfully; but they were minor tasks like hovering plates of food closer to him across the table, or forcing dust off of surfaces and water out of damp clothes.
But he had not dared to try anything with fire, even lighting a candle; and anything requiring more magic had felt too daunting to even attempt.
“I know what this means,” he said softly when Tessarion finally released him from his grip. “I will leave the Order.”
“That will not be necessary,” Tessarion replied.
Alwyn blinked, now entirely taken aback.
He had expected Tessarion’s abject disappointment again–to be told that despite completing his mission, he was no longer fit to be part of the Order of Twilight.
He had been bracing himself for that conversation, and now had no idea what to expect.
“You will simply remain off duty until this wound heals. There is no indication this may be a permanent handicap.”
But it felt permanent in a way Alwyn didn’t know how to describe. He might gain some of his strength back, but that deep well of magic that had once been at his command would never return.
And more than that, he had no desire to be beholden to the Order any longer, especially without any of the benefits of being an active agent.
It sounded as though Tessarion intended to keep him cooped up in his dormitory room for as long as it took for his magic to somehow recover, indefinitely.
Once, he might have done it, driven by even the possibility of one day getting another scrap of his mentor’s approval.
He had to pretend to still be that version of himself.
“I...” he started, looking down into his lap. “Yes, Master. Thank you.”
“You have done well, Alwyn,” Tessarion said. There was no warmth in his voice. “In fact, King Ruven has requested to meet with us personally, to present his commendation to you for your integral part in ending this rebellion.”
Alwyn blinked, surprised. That had to be it—the plan was in motion.
“I would be honored,” he said breathlessly, looking back up at Tessarion. “Thank you, Master.”
Tessarion nodded once, sliding a single piece of parchment across his table to Alwyn; it bore the seal of the king, inviting them to an award ceremony the following evening. Alwyn took it slowly, hoping he looked reverent and surprised. “Until then, keep resting. You’re dismissed for now.”
“Yes, sir,” Alwyn said, standing to his feet. He paused before stepping away—he might never speak to the Mage Princeps in private again. “Actually, I would like to ask one thing before I go.”
Tessarion glanced up at him, his eyebrows raised marginally in surprise, and he gestured for Alwyn to continue. Still, he hesitated nervously before speaking again.
“What was the orphanage called?” he forced out. “The one I came from, where you found me.”
This time, Tessarion raised an eyebrow fully, a questioning expression on his face.
“Does it matter?” he asked. Alwyn felt his heart squeeze painfully in his chest.
“I just... realized I didn’t even know,” he said softly. “All these places I’ve traveled, and I don’t even know where I come from.”
Tessarion regarded him for a moment longer. As ever, Alwyn had no idea what he was thinking.
“I don’t recall the exact name,” Tessarion finally said, and Alwyn felt his heart sink. “But it was in the city of Mistfield, in the southeast. There was only one orphanage there, so it shouldn’t be hard to find.”
Mistfield. It didn’t sound familiar, but at least now he had a name.
“Thank you, sir,” he said softly, bowing his head. “Until tomorrow, then.”
Tessarion nodded, giving him a silent wave of dismissal. Slowly, Alwyn turned and walked away. Part of him wanted to look back to see if Tessarion was even watching him leave, but he forced his gaze to stay forward.
Krujha was right where Alwyn had left him, sitting quietly on the bench, but he perked up as Alwyn stepped out.
His eyes were soft and questioning, but they both knew better than to discuss anything here—or anywhere in the Library, really.
Krujha rose and walked beside him as they made their way back down the stairs and into the courtyard once again.
Past the Library gates, Krujha finally spoke.
“So how did it go?”
Alwyn sighed. “Well, he told me I did not have to leave the Order, which took me by surprise.”
“Hmm,” Krujha murmured. “That does seem unexpected, all things considered.”
Alwyn only nodded, and they walked in silence again until they had passed through the castle courtyard and were back on the city walkways. Krujha kept pace with Alwyn as they walked, turning his head slightly to peer down at him with an inscrutable expression.
“What?” Alwyn asked, frowning. But Krujha only smiled in response. Alwyn’s expression softened, too.
“You seem troubled, but I don’t think it has to do with being kept in the Order,” Krujha said, and Alwyn’s soft expression faded as he glanced away uncomfortably. “Did anything else happen?”
“Not really,” Alwyn said, shaking his head. “I told him about what happened, and he said I did well, and I can be kept off-duty until I’m fully healed. I just... don’t know if that will ever happen.”
Krujha still looked down at him expectantly, and Alwyn squirmed, unsure how much he wanted to share. But if he could say his worries out loud to anyone, it would be him.
“Let’s wait until we’re back in the house,” Alwyn replied. They were only about a block away now, so Krujha only shrugged, and they made the rest of the walk in silence.
Now that they were further south, the cold was a little less biting. It had finally snowed in earnest a few days ago, though, and patches of white lingered along the stone walkways. It meant the path was slippery, but the city still bustled with activity as usual, if a bit more slowly.
When they finally arrived back at Ferym’s practice, Alwyn first ducked his head into the stairwell, listening for the healer’s presence, but it sounded as though he was not at home.
“I asked him something else before I left,” Alwyn finally said, sitting down at the kitchen table across from Krujha.
The orc raised a curious eyebrow, but did not interrupt.
“I... I asked him the name of the orphanage where I came from. He didn’t remember it, but he did tell me the city where it is. ”
Krujha offered him a cautious smile. “That’s good, isn’t it? Do you want to go find it?”
“I don’t know,” Alwyn said quickly, shaking his head.
“To be honest, I never really wondered about any of it until after I started having those dreams. I want to go see it, to figure out if those are really just dreams, or if they’re memories from before.
But... part of me is, well, afraid to know, I think. ”
“Afraid?” Krujha said softly, brows knitting together. “Afraid of what?”
The words felt like tar in his throat. He had barely allowed himself to even consider it, much less ever speak it aloud.
Maybe it would be better to leave it all alone—better never to know if the truth might be too terrible to live with.
But wondering for the rest of his life would be its own kind of torture, too.
If nothing else, Krujha had always given him wise counsel. The orc’s thoughts on the matter might help soothe some of his own worry. First, he had to say it out loud.
“Alwyn?” Krujha prompted, his voice still gentle, as if he somehow sensed how terrible the words were.
“How I ended up there,” Alwyn said, barely above a whisper.
He kept his eyes trained on the wooden table between them, afraid that if he looked Krujha in the eye, he would never bring himself to say it aloud.
“In those dreams, I would often wake up as I was... running toward the river, the waterfall. I didn’t know why.
But then there was... fire in the dreams, too.
Especially after, well, everything with the mission. And I had the thought that, maybe...”
His throat clamped around the words, nearly choking with the effort. Krujha had gone very still across from him, but he couldn’t bring himself to look up.
“Maybe it was my fault,” he rasped out. “Maybe there was a fire. And my magic has always been drawn to fire. If I was too young to control it...”
The burn in his eyes finally spilled over. He wiped away the tears angrily, hating how often he’d cried these past few weeks. His hands were shaking as he curled in on himself. He couldn’t bring himself to say more.