Legends of Belariath

Xyvir

A Serpent Lost

On this particular day, the light given freely by the sun high above the earth was a pale one. The daylight seemed unnatural and weak, as if it were an ominous signal from the heavens of some terrible tragedy about to take place. An omen delivered only to those who were to play a part in another tragic play on the stage of life.

On a walk almost three days south of Nanthalion was a relatively short, dark-clothed figure, a moriel mage by the name of Xyvir. The dark elf was topped with a head of ivory hair that fell to the neck with exception for his bangs which hung around an angular, pale grey face and ended over his chest. As a gentle breeze stroked his loose clothing and light locks of hair, causing them to flutter like the rolling waves on the surface of a calm ocean, his face was aimed into the clear blue sky above him. Ruby eyes stared unblinking into the odd sun. The pale light reflected in the moriel’s narrow eyes, causing weak sparkling to occur.

"Bizarre . . . " Xyvir said blankly as his head lowered and he casually resumed his trek north along the small road he had been following for a day. When he first began his sojourn, it had simply been intended to be a short walk designed to erase his mind of all the concerns burdening his mind. His plan had work too well it seemed as the dark elf had actually forgotten to turn back. Thus, he found himself currently just a few miles outside of what appeared to be a small farming community and his almost thoughtless journey continued toward the settlement, unaware of the events that would befall him there.

Meanwhile, inside the perimeter of the tiny village, a young man, a farmer of the village, dashed into the center of the community, his face clearly painted with extreme anxiety. He screamed as loud as his lungs would allow him, "He’s coming! He’s coming!"

People would begin to pour out of their houses and race in from their fields to gather around the young farmer, appearing just as nervous as he. A burly, middle-aged man pushed his way through the crowd and grabbed the young man fiercely by the shoulders, shaking him as he said, "Are you positive?! How many are with him?!"

The young man hastily nodded and replied breathlessly, "Yes, Terrin. He is about fifteen minutes away and he’s alone. Even at a distance, I could tell it was him. No mistaking it."

The man named Terrin turned to face the crowd, his heavy body hardened with large muscles wrought from a lifetime of hard labor as a farmer. He towered over most of the other residents and this gave him an air of absolute authority over the tiny town. A thick, bushy beard and matted brown locks of hair lent him the look of a rugged man who only knew hard times. Small, dull brown eyes observed all the frightened faces and he decided to make a bellowing announcement.

"Everybody listen! Women, children, the elderly and anyone else not able to fight, return to your homes and board up the doors! The rest, gather anything that can be used as a weapon and hide around the houses!"

Terrin looked up at the sun and clenched his teeth. I have never seen the sun like that, the experienced farmer noted. By the gods, I hope I am doing the right thing. We have been pushed so far. We have to push back.

Almost a quarter of an hour later, Xyvir reached the edge of the village and calmly progressed through it. Men silently surrounded him, armed with pitchforks, hoes and shovels, awaiting the order to spring their trap on the moriel. When Xyvir had reached the center of the community, he heard footsteps coming from behind him, when he turned, he saw the flat surface of a shovel arcing toward his face. A dull clang sounded as metal crushed into the side of the dark elf’s face. Blood spilled from his mouth as his head twisted forward from the force of the blow. He stumbled forward, desperately trying to stay upright and escape the assault even as blood gushed over his lips and chin. His efforts were in vain as a second vicious blow scored behind his knee and instantly forced Xyvir to kneel. A scream, filled with a tone that indicated terrible pain, parted his throat but the sound was muffled wetly as it gargled its way through spilling blood. He felt a tug at his ivory hair, holding him up while the mob of angry farmers descended upon him. The moriel tried to open his eyes and see the punishment he was being given but his eyelids refuse to budge as violet, swelling skin around his eyes sealed them up. Blows littered about his body, forcing him to convulse with each strike. As oblivion began to descend upon him, the last thing he could remember was the sound of him choking on his own lifeblood as he tried to fill his lungs with air.

The mob’s mauling slowly came to a halt as they noticed Xyvir’s body go limp. Many men stood over the fallen elf, laughing and cheering at their accomplishment. Many pats on the back were gleefully exchanged. Their leader, Terrin, remained silent as he stared stoically down at the beaten being. He silently kneeled over the unmoving body as blood seeping from grievous wounds stained the dirt beneath. After hoisting the head of the moriel up by the hair, the burly man inspected the battered visage and then dropped the mass back to the ground.

"Shut your yaps, you fuckin’ idiots!" Terrin snapped as he rose back to his feet. "This ain’t that bastard, Vhirn! He is probably just one of his fuckin’ lackeys. Gods-cursed darklings stick together, I bet. Take his damn carcass to the big oak on the edge of the fields. Strip ‘im down and hang the bastard by his feet so the rest of those bastards can see we mean business now."

A few hours later, a young woman would step outside of her house, a small building just on the outskirts of the farming commune with a large wicker basket filled to the brim with clothes. She would set the basket down right next to the wooden door as she arched her back and extended her arms out to the side in a long, happy stretch. She was a petite human, no taller than five feet and a couple inches. She had a soft, round face that was decorated with an innocent smile and wide, pale blue eyes that seemed to watch the world with infinite wonder. Her chestnut brown hair was tied in a simple ponytail that drew her hair from her face and fell to the small of her back, swaying playfully with each movement she made. Her body was clothed in a simple, short-sleeved dress. The dress was made of brown cloth that ended halfway down her calves and hung loosely to her body. A pair of round, modest breasts protruded from her chest. Fabric barely acknowledged slender hips that made soft curves under her waist. Her most important curve was the one that grew from her belly. It pushed her dress forward in a perfect, smooth curve with a firmness that could never be interpreted in any other way but a clear sign of an expectant mother.

The young woman looked into the clear, azure sky, covering her eyes from the rays descending from the sun with a single hand. "This should be a nice day to be outside," she spoke to herself, "Still, there’s something wrong. Like the light is bad."

Her gaze lowered and as she did, her whole body froze. Eyes widened, a startled gasp escaped from her lungs and a single hand covered her gaping mouth. The thing that had horrified the woman was the sight of a body, hanging upside down from an oak tree. Without even bothering to think about it, the pregnant woman ran toward the tree.

When she arrived, she was unable to do any thing but stare at the macabre sight. There Xyvir was, suspended about four feet from the ground, completely unmoving. The rope that bound him by the ankles creaked as a light breeze pushed the moriel’s body slightly. His nude body revealed the severity of the beating he had received. Formerly pale grey skin was littered with discolorations of blue, black, purple and yellow. It was the pallette of large, swollen bruises over the majority of his body. Numerous cuts over his body had black, encrusted trails of blood that ran down his body when blood had made a steady crawl toward the ground. His face was a puffy mass of bruised and lacerated flesh, his facial feature completely distorted and painted with sticky blood. His hair, once a pure white, hung toward the ground and was stained with intermittent streaks of red. The very sight of him would have cause people to assume he was but a corpse and that was what the mortified woman assumed. That was until a faint gurgle sounded from the dark elf’s throat gave a small indication that he was still alive.

Somewhere between life and death, Xyvir’s consciousness floated in an ethereal world made of varying shades of darkness. In this black world, he had the feeling that he was floating about aimlessly, his spirit by a gentle spiritual current. This carried on for what seemed to be an eternity until a strong force seemed to grasp at Xyvir, holding him firmly in place. At that moment, a specter of the purest white appeared in front of the moriel. The specter had a vague shape, like that of a robed man enshrouded in white light that contrasted with the abysmal darkness surrounding them. He could hear it trying to speak to him but the words were faint, as if they were coming from many leagues away. Just as suddenly as the humanoid specter appeared, it faded away, taking the rest of the dark realm with it. The last thing Xyvir could remember was the feeling being cradled in gentle arms before his mind embraced oblivion again.

As time passed on, the moriel would have vague visions and memories as he slipped in and out of consciousness. He was surrounded by softness and warmth. His skin felt soft and smooth, like he had just come from the bath. Sharp pains and throbbing aches merged and ebbed through his body. He had visions of being somewhere fairly dark and dry. His visions often included a blurred being moving about him, occasionally prodding him, manipulating his body. He could not tell much about the blurred on, only that it seemed feminine and, surprisingly, gentle. A number of sweet and delicious smells would fill his nose but nothing he could identify at the time.

His eyelids would flutter a couple times before opening completely. At first, the world was blurry but as he repeatedly blinked, his vision became clear. Ruby orbs shifted in his sockets, inspecting new and unfamiliar surroundings. It seemed he was in somebody’s bed chambers. Simple wooden walls had a couple modestly-crafted dressers resting on either side of the room. There were a night stand and a simple chair sitting next to the bed. He looked down and saw that he was in a bed able to fit roughly two people lined with white sheets with a heavy, brown quilt over top. He saw the door a few yards from the foot of the bed, and he tried to get up. The pain that caused was astounding and the moriel immediately collapsed back into the bed with a moan. The sound of hurried footsteps echoed outside of the room and the door burst open.

"By the gods, you’re awake!" a soft voice exclaimed happily.

The young, expecting mother was standing in the doorway, her pale blue eyes sparkling. She was wearing a long, green dress with a simple, white apron over it that seemed to bear a few small stains. Her chestnut hair was still bound in that modest ponytail. She quickly scurried over to the side of the bed and attempted to keep Xyvir from getting up, which he was in the middle of doing.

"Please, sir! You aren’t well enough to be moving about!"

The dark elf mage was forced to agree as his body racked with agony again and he laid back in the bed, defeated. The young woman tucked him in carefully and then hastily exited the room. Xyvir closed his eyes, his mind spinning with throbbing pain. His hands felt about his body and he suddenly realized he was completely nude underneath the blankets. His fingers also noticed a number of sections of sensitive, bruised flesh about his body. As far as he could tell, nothing was broken even though he was badly banged up.

The woman appeared once again in the doorway. Only this time, she was carrying a small tray with a cup, a bowl of something steaming and a spoon. Whatever was in the bowl, it smelled awfully good to Xyvir and almost immediately, he felt hungry. "You woke just in time for soup!" the woman said excitedly, placing the tray on the night stand and sitting in the chair. Xyvir did not even have time to try and get himself upright before the woman was spoonfeeding him soup. She was rather skillful at it for nary a drop was spilt. The moriel assumed that she most likely had some time to refine her technique on his unconscious body.

After he swallowed the second mouthful, Xyvir asked, "How long have I been here?"

"Three days," the woman quickly responded. "You were barely alive when I cut you down that tree and brought you here. Your wounds were severe and you probably would have died had it not been for my husband’s healing potion, which healed the life-threatening injuries. I have been using my healing to mend the rest but it is slow work."

"I see. Where is your husband? I would like to thank him."

The woman suddenly froze, her body trembling slightly. "I am sorry. I should’ve added ‘late’ in front of husband. He has been dead for a few months now. I sometimes forget that."

They would remain silent after that save for a few small slurping noises Xyvir made as the moriel gulped down the spoonfuls of soup. The soup had tasted just as good as it had smelled though the moriel surely did not recognize the flavor. When he had finished the soup, the woman would serve him the contents of the cup which was cool water.

After gulping down the water, Xyvir asked, "What is your name?"

"Melailia."

"Thank you, Melailia. You can call me Xyvir. Now, I am feeling rather exhausted and I feel the need to sleep."

"That’s a good idea. It’ll help you recover."

As Melailia started to depart the room with the tray, Xyvir fell asleep. He would awake sometime in the next day to the sound of two voices arguing. One, he recognized as the voice of Melailia, impassioned with righteous zeal. The other was a deep, gruff voice the dark elf never heard before. His pointed ears, poking out from a silver river of silky hair, twitched as he listened in on the conversation.

The two voices belonged to Melailia, like Xyvir had assumed, and the village head, Terrin. They were in the main area of Melailia’s small, simple home. Clearly, the large man was angry, so angry that one would assume he would blow his top. He towered over Melailia, his mass making the pregnant woman look like a halfling before him. She was not intimidated in the slightest, staring back up at him with even more fury in her normally gentle visage.

"What were you thinking, cutting him down like that?!" the large man bellowed.

Melailia was quick to retort with, "What were you thinking when you did such a horrible thing?! How did you know he was with Vhim?!"

"How do you know that he wasn’t?!"

"I don’t but if we resort to such terrible methods, how are we any different from Vhim?!"

"We have to do something! Gods damn it all! If we don’t, Vhim’s gang will plunder us until they have destroyed us all!"

"I’d rather be dead than be anything resembling what you’re turning into!"

By this time, Terrin was practically tearing his hair out of his head. His tough, weather-beaten face was red with rage. The argument seemed to have him sweating as if he was working the fields. He paced around frantically before he turned back to the woman, frustration clearly gripping his features. "Of all the things you had to save, you had to save a darkling. They are nothing but trouble, vile creatures the lot of them. Look at Vhim! You, of all people, should know how foul he is. He murdered Keine, dammit all!"

Melailia gasped in horror at the comment. Tears began to form in her large, blue eyes as she stared back up at the gruff man who had clearly struck a nerve. "I know what this man is," her voice was shaky as she spoke through sniffles, "but I will not take that as a justification of mob violence or any other cruelty. My husband would have never have stood for such a thing and if I do not honor his memory, then Vhim would truly have killed him. My son will live the same way and if you ever want to be his grandfather, you will stop this right now. You can leave, father. I have nothing more to say."

Terrin shook his head after seeing the pain he inflicted upon his daughter. His shoulders and head sagged slightly as he made his way to the door. As he was about to part, he turned and spoke softly, "I am sorry, Melailia. I’ll go find his clothes and return them."

Melailia watched her father left her house and she wiped at the tears forming in her eyes. Slowly she plodded through her house, trying to dispel the depression that was falling over her. She passed by the open door leading into the room where Xyvir was resting and saw a pair of narrow, red eyes peering at her. The young woman gasped in surprise when she saw him awake.

"How much did you hear?" she asked the glowering moriel.

"Enough," he coolly replied.

Melailia sighed and brushed her long, brown hair, not in a ponytail that day, back away from her round, softly formed face. She strode over to the chair next to Xyvir’s bed and promptly sat down.

"I apologize for what my father and the rest did to you," she whispered sincerely. "I know it would be hard to forgive something like that but they really are good people. They’re just . . . desperate. You see, a half a year ago, A mage named Vhim, a dark elf like you, wandered into this village and demanded that we supply him with all the crops and goods he asked for. Of course, we denied at first but his magic was strong and he had recruited a gang of cutthroats before arriving. He used his influence to take just about everything we reaped for himself, leaving us poor and destitute. A couple of months after he arrived, Vhim began to gather up the town’s women for his men. He kidnaped me to take as his own and dragged me to his hideout in the forests. My husband snuck into the base and rescued me but . . . "

Tears began to roll down her rosy cheeks as she carried on with the story. Xyvir watched silently as her tiny fingers clenched down on the fabric of her dress just over her swelling belly.

"... he was caught as soon as I escaped. My Keine, a healer who gave up his position in the Empire to settle down with me, a gentle man who never hurt anyone, had his head lopped off and left in the center of the village for all of us to find!"

At that point, Melailia broke down, her face buried into her palms. She trembled like a leaf in a windstorm as she wept openly in front of the silent moriel. Xyvir could not think of anything to say to something like that so he just kept his mouth shut. The weeping woman would flee the room and Xyvir would fall asleep to the sound of pathetic crying. When he would awaken next, he would find his clothes neatly folded on his night stand and his boots at the foot of the bed.

In the waning hours of the day, Melailia was using the last of the daylight to collect the last of her laundry hung out to dry. A slight breeze swayed willowy wisps of her hair easily. The world was painted in the warm orange glow of the fading sun. As she removed the laundry from her clothesline and placed them in her basket, she hummed to herself. It was a gentle melody but had a slightly sad tone to it. She would continue to work peacefully until she was suddenly jerked violently backward. Invisible limbs restrained her as her body thrashed and twisted violently. She attempted to scream but something was over her mouth, muffling any sound she made. She could only watch as she was dragged away from her home by an invisible assailant.

Simultaneously, the rest of the villagers were in a frenzy, gathering in the center of the village and worriedly talking to amongst each other. For Vhim’s gang of ruffians was fast approaching the farming commune, eager to plunder the place.

Terrin stood before the crowd of farmers and shouted, "This it! Now is the time we drive off Vhim! Anybody able to fight, find a weapon and stand with me! Those who can’t, return to your homes and stay out of the way!"

A number of villagers frantically poured out of the road, returning to their homes while the rest gathered up any tools that could be used as a weapon and fell in behind Terrin. The muscular village chief himself had a wood-chopping axe in his hands, a tool he was quite proficient with. He marched forward to meet the brigands. His ragtag army followed close behind him. The farmer militia met the thieves at the edge of town, preventing the rogues from progressing any further. Eleven bandits faced a party of eighteen villagers. Although the bandits were outnumbered, they were laughing quite confidently at the display. They were better armed and better fighters than the simple farmers.

Terrin eyed the gang before him and, surprisingly enough, did not see a darkling among them and that worried him. "Where is Vhim?!" the village head snapped, brandishing his axe at the bandits.

"Right here, human!" a voice declared from off to the side.

Terrin turned his head and his bearded face would instantly lose all its color. There was Vhim. The moriel mage, slowly moving toward the two mobs, held Malailia with a dagger held to her neck.

"Father!" the captive woman screamed as tears of fear ran freely from her eyes and dampened her face.

"Melailia!" Terrin shouted. "Vhim, you bastard! Return her!"

Vhim joined back up with his gang and pushed Melailia’s body into the waiting arms of one of his henchmen before he turned to face the village head. The darkling grinned cruelly at the anxious father, indigo eyes glowing with a cold light. He laughed at Terrin while running hand through his short, spiked hair that transformed from white to bright orange under the sun’s dying glow.

"What’s wrong, human? Not so eager to rebel anymore? I won’t be releasing her quite yet. First, I want you to drop your ‘weapons’."

Terrin’s head sunk as he heard the dark elf’s command. With a pleading expression on his face, he looked back at his comrades. They all looked around at each other and dropped their weapons to the ground.

"That’s good," Vhim sneered. "Now, somebody must be made into an example for this disobedience. Since I am in a good mood, I will give you a choice, rebellious chief. Your life or the life of your daughter."

Without a second thought, Terrin stepped forward. "Please, kill me. Just don’t hurt my daughter."

Vhim laughed at Terrin’s willingness to sacrifice himself. He raised a hand toward Terrin and began to chant. Flame swirled at the mage’s palm and concentrated into a ball. The magical glow illuminated his ebon face, revealing a sadistically gleeful visage. A final incantation would send the ball of flame screaming toward the village head.

"Father! No!" Melailia would cry out, desperately, vainly trying to free herself from the thug who held her. She could only watch tearfully as the flame raced toward her father.

A sudden streak of blue light intercepted the Fire Bolt and it exploded before it ever reached Terrin. Smoke and mist would cloud the area where the fireball had been and bits of ice would rain down upon them. Every last individual present would be stunned to see such a thing happen. They would be even more surprised to see a second moriel limp toward them, his arm protruding from a long, black cloak that enshrouded his body. His ashen face, though it was swollen and covered in bruises, conveyed great anger. Crimson eyes fell upon Vhim, burning a hole through him through long, ivory bangs that fell down past his shoulders.

Vhim glared back at the second dark elf and snarled in moriel, "Who are you?! This is not your concern!"

After casting the Tongues spell, Xyvir would retort, "This is my concern."

"What are you?! You’re not a.. A dobluth hunter?!" Vhim replied, now visibly anxious by the intrusion.

"I could care less about that."

"Then . . . why are you here?"

Xyvir nodded toward Melailia. "Your hostage. I want her back."

Vhim planted the palm of his hand into his forehead and then began to laugh. "A moriel who would rescue a human?! Now I’ve seen it all!" The onyx-skinned mage leveled his gaze at Xyvir again, grinning at him. "Fine. You can have her if you can steal her from my dying grasp!"

"That had been my intention all along."

Suddenly, a shimmering aura began to form around the two mages as they chanted the incantations of Magical Armor. Simultaneously, they began to channel their power for another spell. Vhim fired a Fire Bolt at Xyvir and Xyvir countered with Ice Shards. The two magical forces collided with an explosion again, bits of ice flying about and a steam screening the battlefield. Xyvir was forced to shield his eyes to protect them from the ice debris of the Ice Shards spell and when he was able to look again, his foe had vanished. He quickly looked around for Vhim only to find the crafty dark elf had vanished.

"Over here!" Vhim shouted after reappearing just a few yards to Xyvir’s side.

Another flaming projectile was launched at Xyvir. It smashed into the magic aura surrounding him. Flame licked at his body, singeing his clothing and hair, and the force of the spell pushed him backward. A short cry escaped him as the pain from his wounds caused him to kneel. He panted as he tried to regain his breath.

"What’s wrong?" Vhim taunted, now sure of his victory. "Is this all you have?"

His body still smoking from the Fire Bolt, Xyvir slowly rose to his feet. His stance was wobbly, his frame teetering back and forth as if he were about to fall at any moment. His hand raised slowly and began to glow. Xyvir fired another small cloud of ice darts at Vhim. Just a second before they impacted, the leader of the bandits vanished again, the Ice Shards spell connecting with nothing but air and sailing into the distance. Vhim appeared in front of Xyvir and connected with a blow to his abdomen.

"Dimension . . . Door?" Xyvir would say as he started to double over. The ashen mage dropped to his knees and looked up at Vhim. He spotted a dagger dripping with blood in the hand that stuck him. His hands felt his stomach and when he looked at them, they were drenched in red liquid.

"That’s right, fool," Vhim sneered. "This battle is over and you are going to die."

When he heard the word die, Xyvir fell forward, face into the ground. As fresh crimson began to pool around his fallen body, Melailia would finally shake free of the brigand that held her and ran to the fallen mage as quickly as she could. Her chestnut hair fluttered behind her as it desperately tried to keep up.

"Xyvir!" was the only thing she could scream while dashing toward him.

Vhim stared in shock at the pregnant woman fast approaching him. He turned back to look down at the fallen moriel and said, "He couldn’t be . . . the son of Taldra. If he is, then I can bring his head back to the Matron and she will allow me to return to the Second City! No more pathetic life on the upper world!" Vhim was practically dancing with joy. This was something even his men could not understand the reason behind.

As Melailia attempted reach Xyvir’s body, Vhim intercepted her, grabbing her by the neck. "Let go off me!" she hissed with breath that was shortened by the hand around her neck. Salty tears raced down her cheeks as she glared defiantly up at the man choking her.

"I can’t risk you actually reviving him," Vhim stated happily. "His death will mean that I no longer have to grovel on the surface."

Melailia attempted to kick at him anyway she could but Vhim easily avoided her feet. He pressed his bloody dagger to her swollen belly threateningly. "I think I should simply cut that baby out of your womb and erase any trace of you and your stupid husband from existence."

"You would only destroy yourself because the baby is yours!" Melailia confessed in the grip of her outrage.

The villagers were shocked at the revelation but none more than Terrin who looked as if he had just seen a ghost. His mouth hung open and simply refused to close again. It was as if his mind simply could not get around the terrible secret that she had been keeping.

"That night you raped me," she continued on, "I conceived your child. There is no other way. My husband was half-cat person and lacked most of the cat people’s traits. He could never have children."

While Melailia revealed the truth about her child, Xyvir found himself standing in the middle of a field, emerald grass as far as the eye could see. All around him were many people of many races. Xyvir could feel a most unusual feeling lingering about the air. That place seemed to be laden with peace, serenity. There was literally no pain, sorrow or strife in that world. He even felt the thoughts of all the residents of the world merge into a single will, a single direction. The glowing-white figure that appeared in the dark world he floated in while bound to the tree appeared again. He spoke again, only his voice was clear and filled with power, "You, one who lives in many worlds but belongs to none, I have seen your dream. You cannot be allowed to die yet."

Vhim’s expression did not change after learning that she was carrying his child. "A half-breed is still a worthless half-breed, no matter the father," he said as he prepared to run Melailia through.

He would be interrupted when a sudden surge of magical energy began to erupt from Xyvir’s body as the once fallen moriel was now kneeling, creating a whip of raw magical energy. Vhim released his hold on Melailia’s neck and she slowly backed away from the pair of mages.

"Persistent bastard," grumbled the bandits’ mage.

The Spirit Lash formed completely in Xyvir’s hand and he lashed it at Vhim, unleashing its magical fury with a scream that could scarcely be recognized as his voice. The scream was a soul rending scream that seemed to convey the agony of a million voices crying in unity as their world was ripped apart. Wide-eyed, the bandit mage took a few steps back as the Lash connected with the sparkling aura around Vhim’s body, sparks flying as the two forces clashed violently. The Spirit Lash would not be stopped though. It smashed through Vhim’s Magical Armor and cut horizontally through his body just above his waist. Blood gushed as the Spirit Lash cleaved Vhim’s body in two.

"W-what . . . are y-you?" would be Vhim’s dying words as his severed body fell to the ground.

The Spirit Lash dissipated after destroying the onyx-skinned moriel and Xyvir stood upright, clutching the stab wound in his stomach. The gang of thugs, seeing their master’s body in a bloody heap on the ground and Xyvir staring at them coldly, lost their nerve and fled from the village. They scurried away much like a horde of cockroaches that had just been blasted with light.

It would seem that all was going to end well but it would not. As Xyvir watched the bandits flee, something hard would strike him in the back of the head. His head jerked forward and he immediately grasped the back of his head. Spinning around, he saw the farmers lobbing rocks at him and picking up their weapons. It was clear that they were about to drive him out as well. Even the sight of Melailia pleading with them could not cool the rage that was boiling inside of him.

"After all that I have done . . . " Xyvir mumbled through gritted teeth, "After they nearly killed me . . . They would discard me like trash?!"

In a moment of blind rage, he channeled his rage into an Ice Shards spell and unleashed it on the bloodthirsty crowd. The ice javelins raced forward and buried themselves into unprotected flesh. However, Xyvir was horrified with what he had hit. The ice spikes were sticking out of the back of Melailia. She let out a tiny gasp of pain as one of her hands reached backward and touched the ice imbedded in her back. She then fell limply into her father’s arms, her life quickly fading away into nothingness. Blood was coughed out of her mouth with each breath that steadily grew smaller until she took none at all. The large, warm heart that took shelter in her chest beat no more, taking the life growing in her womb with it.

As the mob of farmers began to flee for their lives just like the thieves had done, Terrin held his daughter’s body in his arms and tried to shake her back to life. "Melailia! Melailia!" His daughter’s blood spilled on him and the ground around them as she died.

Xyvir was frozen in place by the shock of what he had done. Widened ruby eyes stared hopelessly as the tragic scene played out in front of him. Of all the people, he had to kill the one resident of the town that did not turn on him, the one that saved his life. He shook his head suddenly and turned around, not able to watch anymore. He limped away, back toward Nathalion, nothing left he could do to fix any of it.

Terrin screamed after him, still cradling his dead daughter’s body in his arms, "You bastard! You killed her! You bastard!"

Shortly after night fell, Xyvir collapsed in a heap from the blood he had lost from the knife wound on the road back to Nanthalion. Weakly, he attempted to push himself up but his arms crumbled underneath his weight and he flopped back onto the ground. He slid his hands in front of him. His fingers clawed at the earth, desperately trying to move his failing body further but only succeeding in dirtying themselves and bloodying his nails.

"Dammit . . . why? Why was I shown that world? That . . . utopia," would be the last words he spoke before he fell unconscious yet again.

Only but a few minutes later, a hooded stranger would approach the dying mage. The hooded one knelt before him as if the stranger knew he was hurt. He placed his hands on the moriel’s body and healed all of his wounds.

"Forgive me, Natha" the stranger spoke to the unconscious Xyvir as he got back to his feet and started to walk away. "I would have just let you die but the Baeidil is a cold master. He would like you to suffer in this world a bit more before you see him."

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