Chapter 116: My Elven Miss
Serie's hand trembled, suspended in mid-air. A maelstrom of emotions swirled in her golden eyes.
She was so afraid that this was another illusion, another dream from which she would awaken to the same empty reality. So many times, over the past thirty years, she had reached out, only to have the figure before her dissipate like smoke.
"Rhodes?" she said, her voice filled with a heavy doubt. "Is this another illusion?"
She could feel the warmth of the light, and a part of her, a deep and primal part, was screaming at her that he was real. And yet, she couldn't bring herself to believe it. Perhaps it was a defense mechanism, a way to brace herself for the inevitable disappointment.
Seeing her hesitation, Rhodes's gaze softened. He took a step forward. He gently took her hand and intertwined their fingers. And with his other hand, he stroked her head in a gesture that was both achingly familiar and terribly missed.
"It's me."
His hand was so warm, a reassuring strength that enveloped her own. And the other, the one that was now messing up her hair... it was as annoying, and as comforting, as she remembered.
It's not an illusion. It's not a dream.
It's him.
Her dearest friend, the one she had been searching for for thirty long years.
"Rhodes. Rhodes!" Her voice, which had been a whisper, was now a joyous cry, a sound of pure, unadulterated happiness. And her beautiful golden eyes, now shimmering with a new light, reflected only him.
She didn't pull her hand away. Is he... as happy to see me as I am to see him? she wondered, feeling the strange way he was holding her hand. He really is my best and dearest friend, she thought, and squeezed his hand tighter.
Their emotions, though different in their nature, were both born of a joyous reunion.
She even forgot to be annoyed at the hand on her head. She just looked up at him, her gaze so intense it was as if she was trying to burn his image into her memory, to make up for thirty years of absence.
"It's me," he said again, his voice just as gentle as before. "I'm back, Serie."
"You..." she opened her mouth, a thousand words caught in her throat. In the end, all that came out was a single, choked accusation. "Where have you been!? For thirty years! I thought you were..."
"I know," he said. The knowledge of her long, lonely search pained him, and at the same time, sent a strange tremor through his heart. "My stubborn elven miss, I'm sorry."
He took her hand and gently brushed it against his cheek.
It was a gesture that crossed the line of a normal friendship, and even she could feel it. But in her eyes, it felt right. Theirs was a bond that could not be described by such a simple word. Perhaps he thinks so too? she wondered. In her long, emotionally-reserved elven life, she had given the place of 'dearest friend' only to him. And he... he was now, in his own way, showing her the same.
And so, she took his hand in both of hers and, in a gesture of reciprocation, gently brushed it against her own cheek. It was her own way of showing him, of acknowledging the closeness of their bond.
"My dearest friend," she whispered, her voice filled with a new trust, "the one who walks with me on the path of magic... you've finally come back."
His heart lurched. Her words were so pure, so sincere, and they had touched a part of him that he had never dared to hope for. He himself didn't know if his own feelings were right. But he had found a way to live forever. And so they had to be right.
He knew her so well, knew how slow she was when it came to matters of the heart. Her desperate search for him had been born of a pure and simple devotion to her dearest friend, an essential part of her long life. It was a pure obsession, but it was not the feeling he longed for.
But that was alright. That slowness could only be overcome by time. One day, the iron tree would bloom. And he could afford to wait.
A flicker of tenderness and resolve passed through his eyes. He gently released her hand and, with both of his, cupped her round face, stroking her cheeks with a light and careful touch, as if he were holding a precious treasure.
After so long, he was finally touching his little Grand Master's face again, and this time, with no pretenses.
She didn't understand why he was doing it. Is it because he's so happy? What a bold man. Before, she would have never let him touch her face like this, as if she were a giant, soft mochi. But after thirty long years... she would allow it.
When he finally let go, she looked at him once more.
"Serie," he said, taking a small step back, his eyes locked on hers, "I'm here. Your dearest friend is here. And I'm not going anywhere."
He had intentionally emphasized the word 'dearest friend', a nod to her own understanding of their relationship, and a paving of the path for his own.
She felt the sincerity in his words and didn't speak, just looked at him.
All the obsession, all the waiting... in that moment, it was all worth it. She had found him. Her dearest friend was back. And that... was everything. A joy that could fill an eternity. Even if they were to be separated again, she now had her answer. And next time, it would not be an obsession, but a simple resolve.
And in her long, long life, she would look back on this moment, and this joy, a thousand, thousand times. And it would give her the strength to go on.
He looked at her, and a wave of an almost irresistible urge to pull her into his arms washed over him. But he held it back.
"Alright, let's get out of here," he said. "Org can't purify all of this."
Though it seemed to be holding back the black mud, he knew it wouldn't last for long. The miasma was just too powerful.
She knew it too and immediately agreed.
He raised Org, and with a single swing, he cut a path through the blackness. He was about to step into it when he felt a gentle tug on his sleeve.
"This time..." her voice was soft, but incredibly firm, "...you are not allowed to disappear. You will go on another adventure with me."
He looked back at her and smiled. "I promise, my elven miss."
And then, bathed in a golden light, they disappeared down the path.
(End of chapter)
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