Tucked away in a forgotten alley near the nobles’ district of Amor—the so-called city of love—a door waited. It was tall, but time had worn it thin, the wood splintered and tired, rust curling around the hinges and handle like old scars. Its keyhole welcomed no key, yet somehow it always knew its masters, opening only for them and no one else. For everyone else, it remained closed, stubborn and silent, sometimes for years, sometimes for centuries, until their inevitable return.
It lingered there, invisible to the world, gathering dust and secrets. Only its true masters ever seemed to notice it at all.
Earlier today, it was coaxed open. Now, equally as soft but smaller hands opened it again, and big rough hands held it open. Soon it closed again, ready to open when its masters were ready to leave once more.
“Miriael, how glad I am to finally lay eyes upon you. It feels like years have passed. The ache of missing you was almost enough to drive me to carve out a few hearts in your name. Hahahaha… years.”
Kethryl couldn’t help but laugh at his own joke as if an elf would ever care about a few years. The passage of time meant close to nothing, after all.
“Forgive me for not arriving sooner, dear. The sea had been a bit rough. Thanks to those stinking fish. Those apes are always too cheap, refusing to pay the fish for our safe passage. It's such a shame the dragons wouldn't allow us to go below.”
“Hehehe, don’t lie to me, you always loved gutting fish.”
A smirk tugged at Miriael’s lips as old memories flickered behind her eyes, but the moment soured, and she wrinkled her nose, as if the past itself carried a lingering scent.
“Ripping out entrails, yes, but I could do without the smell. Not to mention the apes constantly screaming over every man that fell overboard or got ripped to pieces, as if I would care. But enough of fish guts and apes. How did it go? Did Grom take the bait?”
Kethryl replied, “It’s Gram, and yes, he took it. He’s likely storming the northern border, probably razing dozens of villages as we speak.”
“Good. Let him paint the Northern border red. He’ll make enough noise to keep the elders off our backs, at least for a while.” Miriael’s voice, usually so smooth, trembled with a quiet frustration. “Sometimes I wish they’d just listen, even once.”
Kethryl added, "Tell me about it. Last time I asked for more mana stones, they just told me to buy them, as if there were ever enough since the 'Ancient Civilization' collapsed. If only I could wring the stones from their withered throats. They're still completely stuck in their time. They have no idea how the world works now."
Normally, they would have spoken the ancient name aloud, letting it hang between them like a secret. But with company present, some things were better left unsaid.
“By the way, what did you tell Gro… Ehem Gram. How did you get him?”
Kethryl shifted uncomfortably. "About that, that's actually what I wanted to discuss. And
Sir
Rodrick, you're here too, what a coincidence," he said, turning to Rodrick.
Rodrick just stared, eyes unblinking, the silence stretching between them until Kethryl had no choice but to stumble on.
“Anyway, what I meant to say was that our dear Sir Rodrick has failed.”
“What?”
Those were the first words Rodrick had spoken since his entrance, and for a moment, something fragile flickered in his usually unbreakable gaze.
““Rodrick, how did you kill him?””
Kethryl and Miriael both turned to Rodrick, eyes bright with expectation, like children waiting for a bedtime story—though a shadow of impatience lingered beneath their curiosity.
“I slit his throat and left him to die.”
Now both elves stared at Rodrick, disbelief flickering across their faces, as if the world had tilted just a little off its axis.
Rodrick stammered, “I made sure no one was near, and that the priest was busy. No one could’ve saved him.”
A sigh slipped out, heavy and tired, as if it carried the weight of too many disappointments.
Both wondered, 'Why didn't the stupid ape cut off his head?' Soon, however, one of them would learn why it didn't even matter.
"Rodrick’s poor skills as an assassin, besides, when I was about to leave to look for Gram. I couldn’t help but notice a soul rising to the heavens…"
“Wouldn’t that mean that he succeeded?”
Kethryl clarified, “Usually, yes. But soon after, another soul followed and pulled the first one back down.”
Miriael stared at Kethryl. A mad grin grew as she slid her fingers through her glossy blond hair, about to tear it out.
“Please tell me I have misheard, or are you suggesting that there is a person in this backwater who can resurrect the dead?”
“I'm sorry whoever it was succeeded the resurrection.”
“FUCK!”