Academic gathering with a lich-Chapter 863 - 803: Faelga

"Allies have failed..." The whisper faint to the point of nearly imperceptible, summoning a breeze, rustling grass blades as if a thousand mouths were repeating the echoes.

Failed...

Failed...

The sun hides behind the clouds, and dewdrops lurking among the leaves seize the chance to roll down into the soil before they evaporate completely.

The earth responds to the droplets, beneath the land, an elusive shadow glides rapidly. All plants are responding to its call.

"But we will not..."

Not...

Not...

A fleeing figure filled with terror enters the vision, and the lurking hunter in the grass lunges forth.

"Enemies of the Weavers of Illusion, please die."

Die...

Die...

The forest is singing, like ignorant children repeating malice they do not understand, fibers begin to tighten, Elves stop breathing amidst the gathering verdancy. When the fallen leaves are blown by the wind, revealing the pale complexion bodies underneath, that hazy mist draws near. It touches the motionless Elves as if a triumphant hunter claiming his prey.

"No trace of that woman’s scent... This time, we can kill more..."

More...

More...

"Knock on the doors of dreams, let time sink into a past that should have ended..."

Past...

Past...

"Faelga..."

The forest whispers that name.

...

She is crouched in the field of flowers, holding a freshly plucked daisy, its soft petals like her gossamer dress, bright golden hair drapes over her shoulders, the young girl looks down at the bouquet, completely lost in the bright yellow of the stamens with her azure eyes.

Faelga...

Faelga...

The little girl is somewhat surprised, tilting her ear, drawing her head ever closer to the flowers.

"Faelga!" The girl lifts her head as her mother appears behind her, the silk dress caressing her face, like a breeze bearing a sweet fragrance.

The girl pouts, a gleam crossing the rim of her eyes, slightly aggrieved as she takes her mother’s hand.

"Mommy, they left me behind."

The woman comforts her daughter, patting her head and leading her away from the flower field. "They have not broken their oath, child; the Forest is speaking of unease, we should go home now, and so should they."

As if remembering the original purpose, the woman’s tone becomes heavier, with just enough strength to bend the tender branches.

"Really, Faelga. I’ve warned you not to wander off; it’s dangerous out here now."

Faelga, carrying the bouquet, slows her steps in a huff, making her mother pull harder. Suddenly, she thinks of something and brings the bouquet held in her left hand in front of her mother.

"Mommy, mommy, today I heard these little flowers calling me, I can hear it now too!"

Faelga...

Faelga...

The mother bends down close to the flowers, and when she rises again, confusion appears on her face, which quickly turns into a concern that even the girl can understand. Her dilated pupils trap the figure of the little girl, and the mother, light as a breeze, starts to walk.

"Let’s go home and ask Daddy, he will cure you."

Mother and daughter pass through the woodlands, walking through the labyrinth formed by banyan tree roots, the shadow of the long branches sweeping across Faelga’s face, leaving her on the sun’s other side. They reach home, a stately marble house, where servants clean the moss on the steps every day, so it appears as neat as new.

Faelga greets the bowing figures, even though they do not respond.

Passing through the porch, Faelga counts to the seventh marble column where her father sits on a high chair, speaking with the grown-ups. The arrival of the two women catches the father’s attention; he smiles at the mother but grows cold when he looks at the girl.

Faelga shrinks her head, quietly hiding behind her mother’s back, clutching her mother’s skirt, covering her face as if with a veil.

"My friends, give me some privacy." The guests laugh heartily, graciously vacating the hall.

With only the family of three left in the vast space, Faelga feels a chill, yet what frightens her more is her father’s icy expression.

Father noticed the flowers in Faelga’s hands.

"They should bloom for their own beauty, not for your whims and moods, Faelga!"

The girl was stubborn, clinging to her gentle mother, and talking back to her stern father. Holding the bouquet in her hands with a delicate yet artificial grip on the stems, she displayed the bright blossoms to her father, as if all the beauty was the result of her own careful arrangement.

"I will take good care of them! In the woods, they would suffer from the wind and sun, but I will take care of them better than nature! These little flowers will become the most beautiful flowers in my hands!"

At his daughter’s specious argument, the father felt somewhat disappointed. He suppressed his emotions and made Faelga return to her room, taking her most beautiful bouquet with her. His palm slid from his forehead to his chin, and looking at his wife, who remained in place, the father smiled apologetically and helplessly, "I promise this is the last time."

Mother did not care about these things; her fingers tightened on her skirt as she turned her head towards the direction her daughter had left.

"Faelga says she hears the voices of plants again. It’s a bit strange. I am very worried about her."

The woman’s concern made her husband frown. He tapped on his coronet and reassured his wife in a tender voice, "Perhaps it’s a sign of danger. If you are afraid, we can keep her away from those plants and protect Faelga with a home made of marble and gems."

"She loves plants, you know. To cut off an elf from the forest makes my child a bit lonely, and she can’t lose any more."

"Then go and accompany her, fill the void in her heart with your love. It just so happens that your child could also soothing your panic. Stability is now the most important thing for us, don’t let fear consume you." The father reminded the trembling woman, maybe with little effect in comforting, but at least he gave her a task to accomplish.

Mother walked tremulously across the porch, heading toward Faelga’s room. She looked as if she had been seriously ill, her eyes staring at the distant, firmly closed door, ignoring the discarded bouquets at the corner.

The girl never again touched plants, and she locked herself in her room, with only her mother able to knock on her door.

As days passed, Faelga grew up with her mother’s company, and communicating with the graceful woman became her only channel for obtaining information. The crisis was resolved, the Elves defeated the enemy. Her father received praise, and the family’s prestige rose. There were also amusing stories among the ladies, making Faelga’s face increasingly show a smile.

The girl, once somewhat reckless, had grown into a distinguished young lady, and under her mother’s influence, carried an even more dignified and elegant air. Faelga had reached the marriageable age, and her parents prepared numerous banquets for this, yet the girl was no longer of the habit to join the crowd, only staring through the tumult at the ethereal mist above the forest.

Everything changed when she was a hundred and thirty-two years old.

A cavalry unit came from the other side of the forest. Tall black steeds carried gentlemen in luxurious attire, and Faelga, sitting on the balcony, noticed the man in the center from afar. Cloaked in a robe, his black sideburns accentuated his handsome and spirited face with red lips and white teeth. As if sensing her gaze, he lifted his head. Their eye contact lasted but a moment; Faelga covered her chest and fled back into her room, confused by the feeling, only understanding that the two shared a special connection, like a chick in turmoil.

Mother was pleased with this, and at the dinner, Faelga heard her mother’s boastful singing, and even Father couldn’t help humming a few lines. 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

Everything seemed to fall into place. Meeting, getting to know each other, understanding, love.

"Encarta Bidal, having a good relationship with the Night Elves is important to us, but I hope more that your choice comes from your personal wish," Father, for once, spoke openly. At the moment when his daughter was about to separate from the family, it was as if he wanted to salvage something, and he brought laughter to Faelga.

"Do you hope I’ll change my mind?" she winked playfully, her hand hooking her father’s arm unconsciously tightening.

"No, just trying to make myself feel better when I miss you in the future." He personally plucked the nurtured flower, and Faelga watched Mr. Encarta, her fiancé, dressed in a white suit to her liking.

Listening to the elders’ blessings as an engaged Elf couple should do, Encarta Bidal held up the Ring of Oath, a magical garland woven of flowers and thorns, which would connect Faelga’s blood to her fiancé’s as soon as she extended her hand, turning the spikes that represented future hardships into a bond. Through the Ring of Oath, their blood mingled, and the couple became each other’s belongings.

Despite countless rehearsals in her mind, Faelga still succumbed to nervousness at this moment. She took a deep breath patiently and reached out her fingertips towards the ring of plants.

Faelga...

Faelga...

It was that familiar call again, whispering from the significant Ring of Oath at this critical moment.

The girl fell silent. Fortunately, her fiancé gently reminded her. This elegant gentleman maintained his proper composure, granting Faelga his full patience.

"Encarta."

"Faelga."

Faelga smiled, her grotesquely ugly expression attempting to maintain a dignified smile.

"Why don’t you kneel..."

The bride’s abnormality caused some embarrassment to the Night Elves. He looked at the others and then his fiancée, whispering, "I seem to recall that there is no custom of men kneeling, my dear."

This call triggered Faelga’s hearty laughter; she clutched her stomach, and all guests witnessed the most beautiful lady’s oddity. A strange atmosphere enveloped the oath ceremony, and Faelga’s father’s face turned red.

Ignoring everything around her, the girl wiped her tears.

"I really can’t forget your face, haha, my dear~ A marriage with the Night Elves, that must be a tale conjured by a lame opera writer stricken with diarrhea from spoiled beer. Friendly with the Night Elves? Humph, even speaking to The Slavemaster in Human Skin, who adores swords, makes me nauseous..." Faelga surveyed the crowd with contempt, her blue eyes brewing with rage and madness.

"All familiar faces..."

"My mother, who died in childbirth, my father, who passed away from madness, executed enemies and rebels, oh~ and my dear Encarta Bidal. Do you know why your face makes my heart race, why the sight of you leaves such an impression? Because the terrified expression on your face at death, it really is the finest work, hmm, just like now..."

The Ring of Oath coiled around the Night Elf’s neck like a venomous snake. Thorns drew blood, the fiancé turned pale, desperately gasping as he fell, his pristine white outfit plunging into the soil. The ground and plants, following the woman’s will, revealed their fangs. The wedding turned into a slaughterhouse, as they screamed in vain, unable to escape their fate of being buried.

"Faelga!!!" Those were her parents, torn by thorns, half-buried in the ground, staring with resentful faces at the only elegant lady.

She was utterly unmoved.

"They call me Specter, they name me Nightmare, Moonlight, Heart of the Forest, Elf Light, Lady of Nature, and Her Majesty the Queen..."

"I have allowed many names, yet you insist on calling my own. Faelga, this name that I despise yet cannot abandon."

"My beautiful dream ends here."

"And now, your nightmare begins, insects."