a/n – I just really wanted to say that I’m really sorry for how long this update took to come.
It was never my intention to take so long, so I really am sorry and thank you for being patient with me!

I love you humansssssssss

————

Aiasthlyn

°

“IN COMING! AND I CAN’T SEE!”

Kalem’s warning blares into Malcolm’s study before he himself stumbles inside, and true to his word, there is no way he can see where he is going when he is walking behind a tower of books.

“Incoming,” I correct as I jump onto my feet and round the table just in time to catch the texts at the top that try to take a tumble to the floor. “Incoming, not in coming, unless you mean ‘I’m coming’ and— when will you listen to me, and renew your reading across multiple trips rather than one?”

“But I always make it in one,” he whines, and I visualise his pout long before he sets the stack down on the nearest table and straightens to show it to me himself. “And I meant incoming,” he clarifies before he practices it for himself. “Incoming. Incoming. I was ‘incoming’.”

“Yes, you were,” I agree, and he beams proudly before he blows a lock of his lengthening hair from his face. 

Kalem had changed in subtle ways since his freeing, slowly gaining weight and confidence, but his hair had started to lengthen as of late, and with his long lashes and thick brows, it had taken him from youthful beauty to a better-suited level of gorgeous.

Setting the titles I had caught back onto their stack, I pay a careful mind to their titles before sifting through the rest. “What did you find?”

“More on ‘intermixed species’,” he reports, taking his time with the words that challenge his tongue. “They’re mostly about those who live on land.”

“You do not favour the open water?” I hazard curiously. As far as I was aware, the pasty goblin was yet to take him to any.

“I don’t know,” he replies with a diffident shrug, as though it is nothing, as though he should not be mourning the discovery of yet another of life’s simplest pleasures that have been stolen from him.

I swallow thickly so that my voice comes firmly when I say, “We will soon find out.”

It is a promise that will come to be, whether I wish it to or not. I am still deciding on which that will be, but Kalem simply smiles eagerly in the face of my indecision, as unaware of my scheming as he is of this world’s injustices.

I soon retake my seat at the helm of Malcolm’s large desk, fingers tracing its decadent edges while Kalem settles back into his claimed space on the only lounger. He has dragged a yellow blanket onto it, along with several pillows, nesting himself like a squirrel before hibernation.

He speaks fervently about his latest theories to do with his hidden self, and though each is further than mine, and even further from the likely truth, there is not a spec of pretence to be found— which, of course, there is not. Lying is not in his nature, and has never been, but even knowing this, even knowing his character for the pure delight that it is, I still watch him with sharper eyes than I have since our first meeting. 

I have since that night I woke, and found him crouched beside me.

I had not forgotten the chill of that exchange, the sliver of fear that trickled down my spine when I found his near-empty eyes fixed on me, and I will not at any point, even if, in all the ways that I can tell, he is his usual ray of sunshine. 

He still shares his smiles and hugs freely, still rattles endlessly about every warm thing that takes his fancy, and studies all that he does not already know with unleashed curiosity. Not once does he look at me or anything else in the manner that he had two nights prior, and I do look for those moments.
I wait for them, morning and night, look for the shift in every gasp and twitch, but Kalem remains perfectly pleasant, perfectly Kalem— enough that one could believe I imagined it.

But I had not. Something in Kalem had shifted in that moment, brief as it was. Or rather…

It was as though some dormant part of him had been reawakened, or returned itself to the surface for long enough to ensure that I knew it was there. And perhaps it was only my mind trying to separate the boy I knew from what would have to be done should he be a creature of life and destruction, but I could not fault the thought outright.

What if Kalem’s mind had separated him from what he was? What if between keeping a second form and living in it for assumed aeons, he had forgotten what and who he was before?

I had never witnessed such a splintering myself, but I could recall tales of such from my earliest readings when childlings were warned about mistaking glamours and skins for one’s self. Perhaps Kalem had done that, mistaken such skins, or suffered a wound or…

Ythene, I was grasping at straws when I needed steel, not barley, but there was the chance at there being more to his story, and so long as there was that chance— just the one— I would fight for it.

I would fight for him.

But I could not do it blindly, and that was precisely what I was while I avoided confirming my suspicions and willfully left myself ignorant. I named him a nyphilim, but I needed the confirmation of it. I needed to bring that hidden creature out from beneath the boy I knew.

Kalem had only fractured the once so far, in that singular moment when the rawest form of magic was exposed to him, but perhaps if he was exposed to it again… I would see what truly hid beneath those amber eyes.

The question was… how?

How did I bring a dormant nyphilim to the surface if it did not even know it was in hiding?

Violence was the most promising route.

When one’s life was at risk, and that innate instinct to survive was triggered, the mind and body were capable of achieving great feats. But Kalem had been at the mercy of the trainers for years and had never once sprouted wings from my understanding of matters. Though… he had never been at the mercy of a weapon forged for the sole purpose of ending his kind…

I eye him, careful to smile when he catches me staring and beams at me as though I am the source of his joy. When he returns to his reading, I pretend to do the same with mine whilst I file violence in my mind as my last option.

It would not be my first choice to add to his trauma. 

Memories could work, possibly.
If I was able to trigger the recollection of his earliest days, then that may just work, but that would require speaking aloud information that was not supposed to be shared in this realm. I had avoided such things for watchful ears and risk to my realm, but we alone were here for the coming days, and I could shield the lands around to ensure none heard.

Painting pictures of my realm was kinder still than a fight, but lengthier… and if I were going to inflict violence, if I had no other choice than it, then it would have to be done before the others returned.

Two days had passed, which meant there were at least three more left.
My pisen would not allow for a single one more.

The ever-present ache in my chest flares, rekindled by the stray thought of him that has my mind already reaching for him, but I rein it back before it can seek him out in flesh or spirit.

I could not risk making myself so vulnerable again, and also… I did not trust myself not to touch him properly, if I did. No. My pisen would be my treat for seeing this done. Not my distraction.

Returning my gaze to my faux reading, I relearn what I already know of this realm while I watch Kalem consume his for the first time. He reads with a finger to the page, following it smoothly and with fascination.

Every new detail seems to excite him, and build him stronger, the same way light helped to grow a starved plant.

I tighten my jaw.
I would try the memories first and then the sword— if each method promised sin, then I would try the one that would hurt him less first.

°

I stir him first towards the creatures of the sea.

Kalem said that he did not know if he favoured the open water, but the nyphilims were said to favour the sea nymphs in their time, and perhaps, the nyphilim Kalem had been, had done so too.

I risk the theory and slip a text of this realm’s sea folk to the top of his pile for his discovery. They were not the same as our nyphms, but they neighboured them enough to perhaps act as a reminder.

He makes it past the first set of pages before he gives in to his curiosity. “Aias, what’s a mermaid?”

I can not help my laugh. “That’s not what you are, little one.”

“But what are they?” He presses, pushing up to his knees to peer at me.

“They are a species that survives in saltwater,” I explain as I lower my own reading while I quietly observe him and his reactions. “They, like every species, come in many different forms. However, they are rarely seen. They are a private kind, you see, but ‘mermaids’ are in all realms with the proper conditions for them to live.”

Kalem’s lips part, amber eyes glittering with amazement, but not yet recognition. “What do they look like?”

I almost want to ask him to guess, to try imagining it if only to see what his mind would construct, but that would be as cruel as asking him to describe the sky when we still shared a wall made of bars.

“Like you and me, when they come up for air,” I answer with care, thinking of what might best return a visual to a fractured mind. “But when they are in the water, they have tails where our legs are, and their true image is revealed.”

Kalem swallows, apprehension showing on his face as though such a depiction scares him, but he still braves the fear enough to ask, “Have you ever met one?”

“No, little one. Not as they come in this realm. Elves are not very fond of many species beyond their own kind.”

That makes him frown before something like mistrust shows itself. I hold my breath.

“But you like your Malcolm.”

When I laugh this time, it is loud and slightly manic, for it feels like I have just been spared without realising that I was within a two-sided match. Here I was delving into his psyche, and he had found a way to wiggle into mine, and he did not even lend me the kindness of making it a question.

“An unwelcome exception,” I admit. There is no point in lying. It is only Kalem and I, and Kalem clearly is well-versed in hiding secrets, even if he does not know that he is harbouring them.

“And you like, Master?” He adds hopefully, and I almost vomit within my mouth.

I look at him, wondering if he was doing this on purpose to distract me from my intended needling, but only hopefulness waits in his wide eyes. I sigh. 

“That is a gross oversight of emotions on your part, Kalem,” I tell him as coolly as I can manage. I would not let that gnat incite me when he was not even here. “Your Master is only tolerated by me because of you and ‘my Malcolm’.”

My Malcolm, how would he react to hear those words from my lips…
With one of those sweet, shy smiles of his or would he struggle to maintain the pretence of normalcy as I do now?

My fingers drag along the desk again, chasing the ghosts of when his learned fingers last touched it the same.

“What about me?” I look up, toggling myself from my longing to watch Kalem as he nervously twists and turns, suddenly avoiding my gaze as if he is scared to centre it. “You like me, right?”

Perhaps, he was doing this on purpose. If he were, then this unravelling was masterful.

Turning to him in full, I watch him and wait until his eyes risk meeting mine again so that he sees my truth as I speak it aloud. “I love you, Kalem,” I whisper as faithfully as every prayer I have shared to my creator. “Not in the way you love your master, but in the way that counts.”

Kalem does not blink as he stares at me, but his lower lip trembles, shaking tellingly before he abandons his book and shoves from his yellow nest to come to my side. He dives for me as soon as he is able, and I catch him easily, pleased by the weight that almost sends us both for a tumble.

There was a time Kalem weighed no more than his bones. Now, he felt as rooted as the fullness of his heart.

Burrowing his head in the crook of my neck, he squeezes me tightly, and I do the same. His heart hammers against my chest, and I listen to its faithful tune until he dares to speak again. 

“Would you still love me if I turned out to be something bad?”

Would I?
Would I still love this creature of goodness if, when revealed, he was an agent of death and destruction forgotten?
Would I still love him then, when duty might ask me to bring my sword to his neck?

“There is nothing bad in you, little one.” 

Perhaps there was, a time long passed, but what remained was nothing of the sort. 

“No matter what blood runs through your veins, there is no changing what is in here,” I say whilst pressing a finger to his chest that I hold until he draws back to look at me. “Alright?”

He nods, a fresh smile already splitting his lips apart. “Okay,” he whispers, and then he is shining, and nothing evil could be that bright. 

Nyphilim or not, he was my friend first. Ythene had seen to that with the path she drew for me in this realm.

We would find a way through the future, together.

“I love you too, Aias,” he says as I set him on his feet, but he wears a frown as he does, “in a friend-way.”

I laugh again, and again, it is loud. I am decidedly unable to help myself when I am with him, so I do not try to stop.

Time soon guides us away from the study’s warmth to enter the kitchen’s so that we begin the search for dinner, and it is a task I must set Kalem onto when he tries to fill a seat to watch.

Beyond his useless partner’s incompetence in preparing his meals without sharing the process with him, it is another test of the memory for it is arun that I set us about constructing.

While my palate would never match that of a dragon’s or a sand wraith’s, there were a short number of dishes that suited every elven tongue, and arun, the arrangement of vegetables and fruits, was one of them. 

I had allowed Malcolm a bite of it once, and he had grimaced through a pretence of pleasure.

Cradling the memory, I watch Kalem’s hands and his eyes while we ready the meal.
I watch the way he prepares the earth’s offerings, to see if muscle memory ever overlaps instruction, and look for evidence of recognition as aromas rise.
I watch and search every movement he makes as I wait to see if memory might save me from bloodshed.

It does not.
Nothing does. 

In between our cells, I at times would describe to him pieces of my realm with much caution, wanting only to breathe hope into a creature without any, but now, I tell him other tales, hoping to give life to something else.
I describe to him the valley where I was born and raised, of the creatures that lived in my domain without sharing that they lived under my rule. I tell him of the rivers I missed dearly, and the paths that cut through the mountains from their peaks and travelled through our castles.

I tell him of a home I miss, one that he does not know, and while he listens with interest and eyes filled with longing, it is not for the grandeur that was made after his kind’s defeat, but for a peace he has never known.

Never once does he recognise nor resent the pieces of home I share, because none of it is enough.

“I want to see it,” he whines at the end of it, when he is full and already growing dazed from his meal.

At the start, he declared a hatred for vegetables.
In the end, he had eaten every bite.

“Perhaps, one day… you may.” 

°

Sleep takes Kalem under its faithful wing by the time we find ourselves back in Malcolm’s study. He tries to fight it, straining valiantly to keep his eyes open even as exhaustion drags them downwards, but despite his best efforts, it is not long before soft snoring fills the air between each of his deep breaths.

I stare after him openly now, watching him rest while I wait for the moment that I will make peace with what it is that I have to do to come, but it never does.

My Sael burns in the space between this realm and its untapped power, eager to be freed so that it can sink into its target. It is as though it knows it is near, and hungers for a kill, but I tame the impulse.

There was no need for death and no desire for it. I only needed to draw blood.

A touch no more. Red, and he was something else, but silver…

I had seen Kalem bleed before, and it had been red, but that had been wounds from weapons inflicted by the creations of this realm. They could not force what was hidden to the surface the way my Sael would.

My chest tightens, discomfort wounding its strains round and round a splintered wheel while I stare at my sleeping target.

I only needed to make him bleed.

I could knick him in his sleep. 

Swift and quietly, I could have it done before he even opened an eye, but… what face would he wear when he woke and found himself at the end of my sword? My heart bleeds just to picture it.

There was the chance of course that he woke before I split the skin— the chance that the presence of my Sael drew forth dormant instincts just as my magic had two nights prior and woken the creature in hiding.

Would I cut him open then? Would I not have to?

Which was kinder? Was both not evil, and even more so, keeping the wool drawn over my eyes until another came to tear it off and kill him in the process.

I had run for as long as I could from this truth, ignored it, pretended to search for more, but there was no other place to turn. Evidence was required, and it was kinder to find it now, to be Aiasthlyn, and nick the boy, and at least I would know and be on my way with my mission again, but…

If I asked it… If I shook him awake right now and asked to draw his blood… would Kalem not willfully offer me his palm?

Anger wells inside me so fast that it burns a pathway up my throat, scorching a sound from me that crackles as I resist the surge of my Sael and strike the instruments in front of me instead. Books clamour to the floor, thudding one after the other, and jolting Kalem awake with the commotion, sure to sweep my advantage from my grasp as surely as I do its wicked temptation.

I could never forgive myself if I hurt him like that, broke his trust like that, but only Ythene knew what this path left.

I do not look to him yet, but I feel his eyes on me, nervous, confused, worried… scared.
How would he look at me if he knew the thoughts rounding my mind? If he knew the weapon I secretly harboured?

“…Aias?”

When I face him, I am not surprised by the look on his face, the fear there, because as I am, I am sure that I look nothing like his friend. He likely reads the danger written all over me, but because Kalem is good and innocent despite what I already know that he is, he does not run, and he does not scream.

Instead, Kalem draws his blanket closer to him, and tries to make himself small when he could destroy this corner of the planet with a raised hand.

I turn away before my own disgust with myself shows itself, because I already know how this will end. I had from the moment I found him staring quietly at me.

Memories were not enough to wake a sleeping beast, especially not one guarded by a being so sweet.

“I’m sorry, Aias,” he whispers bravely at my back, and I have to close my eyes just to breathe past my shame.

He thought he did something wrong. This entire world had wronged him, and he believed that he had done something wrong.

“It is not you that angers me, Kalem,” I confess as I push past the desk and the furnishing to make room for myself, to slowly close the space between us. “It is me.”

Kalem’s defence comes swiftly and with a fierceness that I do not deserve. “You didn’t do anything wrong!” He protests, almost abandoning his blanket as he rests his feet on the floor, a moment away from assaulting me with another hug.

“No.” Not yet, but soon enough. “However,” and if not with him, then with another, “my potential negligence of this situation could be.”

Kalem stays quiet this time, and it is not until I find the courage to look at him again that I understand why. He is frowning at me, dark brows furrowed and pulled in tight, sitting just above that small pout of his that arises whenever words too large are spoken in quick succession of one another. 

A blade would be kinder.

“Aias,” he whispers, shuffling towards the end of his couch as if he really might come hug me, as though I deserve the comfort. “What’s wrong?” My stomach churns, and my Sael glows. “Aias?”

I close my eyes, savouring the last moment that I am able to live in ignorance, for this is it. After I speak the words aloud, there would be no turning back, but such had been the case from the moment Kalem first ‘popped’ in my presence.

“I have an idea— no, a suspicion, of what you may be,” I say finally, and Kalem’s joy is palpable.

Innocent, so innocent. 

Ythene… why do you hate me so?

His joy, sweet as it is, does not live for long. It is swatted away as he takes note of my disposition, or perhaps, of my misery. “I-Is it something bad?” He asks the question when he finds the courage, which immediately makes him braver than I might ever be. 

It also immediately makes me want to die.

“It can be,” I admit before another laugh escapes me. This one is mangled by my anguish, but I can not stop it better than any of the others. “It has been in the past… that is why we eradicated the species.”

I reach quietly for my Sael in the quiet that follows, bringing it as close as I dare, but not yet taking its hilt while I look at Kalem from the corner of my eye.

Fear keeps him stiff, and forces each breath to come faster than the last. There is no risk of a hug now, for he seems to finally be contemplating running or screaming, but he doesn’t, because beneath it all… beneath the fear and confusion, trust keeps him rooted in place.

He trusts me not to harm him, even while I plot to do just that.

“Ythene, you will pay for this,” I whisper the promise in my tongue, before I close my eyes and turn my heart to stone so that there is no risk of failure.

I reach for the elf I had always been while I unlatch my mind from the one I have grown here.

Aias was the man who had found warmth in his touch in a place that had no room for it, and who would betray many to keep him alive. Aiasthlyn was the king who could not return home until he finished his mission to protect his kind, and that elf had never dallied with a task.

“In revelling in my fears, I have been negligent to my kin, my kind and my realm, and even… to you,” I speak the words clearly as my mind finds the place of action and not emotion. It was the place Malcolm so often stirred me from, but he was not here now. “But I must know for certain.”

Where I turn, Kalem is on his feet, amber eyes illuminated by the power in his veins and… fear, so much fear. His lips part, likely to make a plea, but I do not wait to hear it— do not allow Aias the chance to.

Aiasthlyn rises and retakes his place, and it is only then that I notice, lately, that I have already witnessed a fracturing of one’s self. 

I reach for my Sael, but before it can fill my palm, and time immediately slows itself.

My heart sinks, weighed down by solemn acceptance, for I do not do it— I do not have the power to, but another does.

When I meet his gaze, I am not surprised to find no sign of the boy I know.

He is gone, locked away, and replaced by something stronger. Something that does not tremble or stand with tears brimming in their amber eyes, for there is no colour in those eyes.

The narrowed slits have bled black entirely, and now, only darkness remains.

The nyphilim lunges, and I meet its the assault headfirst.

I slide into warfare with a startling quickness, and perhaps that is because it does not feel as though I am fighting my friend. Kalem is gone, just as Aias is, and instead, it is the nyphilim and Aiasthlyn war.

Aiasthlyn is an aggressive fighter. He always has been for it is the only time and place he can let himself be uncomposed. It is almost freeing to be so again, but while my strikes are precise and well struck, not one lands.

The nyphilim does not allow it, for the nyphilim is the opposite.

The creature is clean cuts and precision, an automatic, coordinated machine that performs a sequence of movements that flow between attack and defence. Through it all, it teleports in and out of space with a fluidity Kalem has never showcased, never once resuming time as it does.

Time remains its stagnant stage that hosts our battle.

We fight without striking, and it is not long before I realise why, not long before he begins to come apart. He falters in ways no trained warrior would, dormant or not, and it soon becomes apparent that that is because he is no trained warrior.

Instinct leads his fight, instinct alone, and while that instinct is deadly, it has not been trained to survive a death blow or has any knowledge of how to avoid the cleaving cut of a Sael.
Aias sees it, perhaps just as Kalem does, as nervousness sprouts within the otherwise cold gaze, and it is enough to feed my hope for a nyphilim untrained was a different danger than a nyphilim warrior in hiding.

I move faster, make my blows more fearsome, more demanding as I try to call him from his skin, but Kalem remains stubbornly within it, even as one of my blows sends him soaring across the room.

The wall trembles like the earth, shaking from the blow, but still, when the nyphilim rises, he does so in a skin that is not his. But in his eyes, I spot rage. He rushes me again, this time faster than before, and I almost miss the blow as he pops into the space behind me, but there is hesitation. 

The raised fist stalls as if tugged back by an invisible string, and I know in a place that lives no proof that that is Kalem’s doing, not the nyphilim’s— not his instincts. 

He shines in his eyes, desperate to come out. My little one.

I fight for him, even as our blows grow more vicious and each blow more deadly. I have yet to draw blood, have not even gained the chance to free my Sael, but I soon make it my mission.
I change tactics, and draw him into a blow. I have to tell myself that it is the nyphilim I trick and not Kalem, to do it, but I must if I do not want to end up dead.

I leave myself open, lead him into a parry, and when he teleports into the space behind me, I already have my heel planted into his stomach.

Kalem bounds across the study, slamming into a lone chair that splinters and breaks beneath him before he tumbles to the floor. It takes him longer this time to rise.

“I do not want to fight you, Kalem,” I say, warning him as I begin my approach. “You do not have to fight me.”

Kalem’s eyes glow with sadness, but the growl that bubbles up from my throat is anything but as the nyphilim within begins to push himself up.

Perhaps, I should have just asked.

Opening my palm, I allow my Sael to finally surface, and as it unfurls itself and unleashes the burning energy caged within for far too long, I allow it to burn through this skin of mine as well.

Only once since entering this realm, have I allowed myself my true form, and that had been an accident. This time is entirely intentional, and needed, if only so that I am able to do what I must without hesitation.

It is comforting to feel my body fill, to find my muscles again as I step towards Kalem, to remember what I am capable of as power returns to me.

Kalem, not the Nyphilim, but Kalem, stares up at me in wonder, eyes sparkling with admiration, but not recognition. Not even now as the black recedes and the amber returns. It is as if he does not recognise his own kind, and it is because he doesn’t.

Kalem has no idea what is occurring or what he even is, even with his instincts returned. He is lost, and… innocent.

I raise my sword and this time, he remains where he is. He strains, body trembling as though instincts try to move him out of the way, but he does not let it, even with the threat of being cleaved and forced from this skin.

Kalem stays right where he is, eyes clenched close and on his knees. He waits for my blow. He trusts.

I show him that I am worthy of it as I bring my Sael down, but deny it its bloodlust by one allowing it a second to his leg.

“Ow!” Kalem screams, and his eyes are quick to pop open.

He glares at the cut, a complaint already on his tongue, until… he sees just as I do, the silver liquid that trickles out of his leg.

Proof.
No more hiding from the truth.

He swipes a shaking hand over it, fingers rubbing the silvered blood together while the wind batters outside glass where there should be no room for it. Whatever Ythene says, I ignore it as I crouch before him and examine the proof that drips from my Sael for myself.

As silver as the blade itself.

Kalem watches me warily, but stays where he is as I lower the sword to my palm and dip it into my hand. It splits the skin, and in this form, silver is quick to spill out.

Kalem croaks my name as his eyes bulge, a new type of fear springing forth in his gaze. I return my Sael to its hiding place and offer my hand, and while he should, Kalem does not hesitate to climb into my arms.

“A-Aias,” he whimpers, clinging to me as fiercely as I do him. “I-I don’t know w-what’s happening.”

“I know.” It is all I can say and all I can manage with all I know is to come. “I am going to help you.”

“I-I didn’t…. f-fighting you…” He sobs and my heart breaks, shattering into pieces that slice through me as Kalem sobs tearfully against me as if he did anything wrong. As if I had not been the one to hurt him. “Y-You’re my friend.”

“I know, I know, little one,” I promise while I fight against my own tears. “I…I wanted to try another way, but when I came to you…” I shake my head, exhaustion beginning to unravel me too. “I knew then that I wasn’t mistaken anymore.”

“W-What am I, Aias?”
He asks it fearfully, but he asks it. Always so brave.

I do him the courtesy of being the same.

“You are elven, Kalem,” I say, breathing the truth out for the first time, “just a… different type… a dangerous type.”

Kalem’s lips wobble, lifting already to form a smile and I know it is because I have told him that he is like me, an elf and to Kalem, all good things are elven. I just drew his blood and still, I was good in his books. But the fog of glee soon parts as he computes what else I’d said.

“A dangerous type?” He hazards and I have to blind the moisture from my eyes when he peers at me.

“Dangerous and kind,” I begin, giving him hope as quickly as I can. “Peacebringer and Death’s keeper. Legends said it could be good and bad, evil or virtuous. Ythene’s creation of balance that they strayed from generations ago, but still Ythene’s creation.”

He had to remember that, hold to that as I did, for I had sworn to protect all of Ythene’s creatures, and I would cling to that ruling as faithfully as I can while Kalem remained my Kalem. But I could not lie to him and withhold truths, not if I wanted to keep him safe, so I tell. him the rest of it.

“Amongst the Elven kind, you are an angel, Kalem,” and what better way was there to describe him, “one meant to bring love and peace…but…” I hesitate, and I can not help it, but I do not let myself cower from the truth. “But… you are also a demon, Kalem.”

The winds finally still, and whether it is her intended one or not, I now walk a path of life with a nyphilim at my side. Only time would tell what it will cost.

———————

AND THERE WE HAVE ITTTT!!!!!! KALEM KNOWSSSSSS 

Thoughts?????????????????

Thoughts on this buildup??? On Aias’ POV??? Of the madness from someone battling with duty and friendship?????

It was so sad but also interesting to see Aias literally battle with himself on how to confirm something he already knows, and how to betray Kalem’s trust/hurt him, like it was sadddd.
When he said he could literally just ask Kalem to offer his hand up I was like fuckkkk

And the splintering of his own self?? Aias vs Aiashthlyn, yeah we got a crazy road ahead of us!

But we’re on the road of Master timeline again, so I’m very excited for the next set of updates, and hopefully getting things moving faster.

tHank you sooo much for your patience with this, I am sorry it took so long, it is a very very busy month and I am trying my best to handle it all. The next update will be much much sooner (within this coming week)

That’s all for now! Vote and comment up!

Until next time,

Byeeeeeee Humansssssssssss