Chapter 155: The One Who Waited
Wade stood silently by the window for a while. The shop had been thoroughly cleaned by Elsa, who tirelessly brought clean water to wipe away sweat and pus from the patients. She fed them softened bread from a bowl, spoonful by spoonful.
Elsa was the only one bustling about, running back and forth with no one to help her. Perhaps this was how she had lived alone for those twelve years. She had grown up, grown capable enough to live independently. She took good care of herself, and even had energy left to care for others.
She wore adult clothing now, her black hair tied up behind her. The clothes Wade had given her no longer fit, but she still wore that small round hat. The hat was terribly old, crudely made from fabric scraps, yet she couldn’t bear to replace it, mending it repeatedly over many years.
She no longer covered her face with masks or scarves now, revealing her features openly. None of the patients disliked her for the dark scars on her face – their eyes held only gratitude and affection. Those she cared for were thankful for her shelter, yet pained by her exhaustion.
How had Elsa lived during those twelve years Wade was gone? She must have taken the keys and his letter with some confusion, then immediately tied on her apron to work by the oven. But no one reminded her how much flour or eggs to use, no one taught her to control the fire.
Did she sometimes think of that unsmiling baker when pulling trays from the oven? During idle moments, did she still flip through those ragged picture books the baker left behind?
Wade didn’t know what Elsa thought about, but in this new shop, no one woke her before dawn anymore. No one ordered her to make deliveries or sent her to buy eggs and flour at the market. No one prepared warm water at bedtime or supervised her washing face, feet and brushing teeth.
The one who gave her tasks was gone, leaving all those chores as things she must remember herself. Wade felt truly dazed – only after coming to Helburg did he tangibly feel time’s passage. Everything differed from his memories – that girl who crouched in corners avoiding all gazes had truly grown up.
She still lived, still remembered someone once telling her to do what she could to help others. On the bread shelf, Wade saw white narcissus flowers in a vase. In Nidran, white narcissus commemorated the dead.
Before the flowers sat another hat – a black linen cap that could tuck all one’s hair inside, preventing strands from falling into flour while baking. Wade recognized it instantly as his work hat.
After tending the patients, Elsa took the narcissus from the vase, changed the water, then used a stick to poke down the hat. She dusted it off and placed it back on the high counter, smiling up at it. Watching her back, Wade suddenly understood why she kept the hat so high.
When apprenticing under Wade, she’d been a girl under ten. Even on tiptoes, she only reached an adult’s waist height. Standing behind Wade, all she could see was that black hat. How many silent nights had she sat before the narcissus, staring blankly at that hat on its high perch?
“Goodnight, sir,” came the soft voice.
No one answered her greeting. Wade turned and locked eyes with the figure who had appeared behind him.
The silver-haired elf with the lute stood before him once more. Yulia Silvermoon, the bard-dressed Silver Moon Elf, bowed slightly to Wade.
“Milord, we meet again,” Yulia said.
After a year and a half, Wade encountered Yulia again in distant Nidran. The Flame Demon’s mark remained on her face, her skirt still bore scorch marks – as if she’d recently been fighting something.
Noticing the wooden bow behind Wade, she paused briefly before recomposing herself.
“My time here is limited,” Yulia said. “Before departing, I wish to take you to meet someone. Will you come?”
Moonlight glinted off the elf’s silver hair as Wade nodded. He wanted answers – about the plague, about Toven who might be a Crimson Scholar.
The elf carried two emblems – one carved with a foot, the other with an eye. The eye-engraved Crimson Emblem hung at her waist. If Toven was indeed a Crimson Scholar who sacrificed his eyes, this emblem might have originally belonged to him.
Following the elf, Wade sensed the mysteries plaguing him might finally resolve. Yet more than answers, he now sought to end this plague.
“May I take your hand?”
Wade extended his hand. The elf grasped it, and like before, their bodies turned translucent. She seemed capable of teleportation magic to anywhere she wished.
With Mia hidden in his cloak, Wade followed the elf to a new space. The streets transformed into stone-carved tombstones. Behind them stood Helburg’s church – this was the cemetery where Wade should have been buried according to his will, his grave among these stones.
Before them appeared a withered figure in a wheelchair. It was barely recognizable as human – the body nearly mummified, only the head retaining some moisture.
Most would mistake it for a corpse, but Wade’s soul vision detected faint life-fire. Despite this state, the man clung to life. His sunken eyes, clothing and facial contours struck Wade as familiar.
“Long time no see, my friend,” a parched voice grated from the withered throat. “Let me reintroduce myself – Toven Heralds, a seated scholar from the Crimson Academy.”
“Some call me scholar, others prophet. But I prefer my own name – Toven.”