Clack. Clack. Clack. Clack. Clack.
The sound of footsteps echo through the halls around him as a man walks towards a set of carved, wooden double doors at the end of a stone corridor. The man appears mid-30s, dressed in fine silks that scream of his privileged status and don't lose out in quality to the decorative trinkets and banners that line the edges of the corridor.
The man has shoulder-length, silver hair that hangs unnaturally straight around his face, but the way it parts around his long, pointy ears betrays its soft, lush nature. His lips are curled into a small, curious smile, though his eyes still carry a hint of coldness. However, as the man arrives at the large doors, his eyes finally shine with affectionate warmth, and a blistering smile is plastered on his handsome face.
He pushes the doors wide open and confidently strides into the massive room beyond. Inside, shelves of books line all the walls, and more free-standing bookshelves are arranged in rows to cover most of the available floor space. Here and there, small tables with fine, comfortable chairs can be seen.
Above him, a similarly dense collection of books can be seen to exist on each of at least five additional floors of the library, every floor connected by a single spiral staircase that extends through the partial ceiling. Taking in the sight, the man lets out a deep satisfied sigh.
After all, he's personally collected every book here in his home library.
The man calls out in a cheery voice.
"Little Scholar! Where are you?" (...)
After a moment, only silence greets the man, and he frowns in confusion. He makes his way up the stairs in the center of the library, occasionally repeating his greeting, but his call continues to go unanswered. As he nears the fourth floor, he becomes aware of faint sobbing sounds nearby.
Registering the noise, the man's blood runs cold as his heart rate seems to triple, and he immediately springs into a full sprint, desperately making his way towards the noise. As he takes the stairs three at a time, exiting on the fourth floor, the man calls out frantically, his voice breaking in fear.
"Little Scholar!?" (...)
Receiving no reply, he continues to race through the rows of bookshelves without regard, knocking several books off the shelves in the process. As he navigates the maze, the sounds of a little girl wailing slowly become louder, until he arrives in a small clearing amidst the shelves.
The space is completely covered by a plush rug, and the only furniture is a large, comfy couch. A little girl about 8 years old, with waist-long silvery hair and wearing a pale blue dress, is sprawled on the floor at the base of the couch, sobbing uncontrollably into the rug. Around her, dozens of books are stacked irregularly on the floor, forming a makeshift barrier.
Catching sight of the little girl's state, the man immediately barrels through the stacks of books to reach her, falling to his knees and pulling the little girl into his arms. As he desperately searches her for injuries, his voice rings out again, more fearful than ever.
"Little Scholar, what's wrong!? Tell me what happened! Are you hurt!?" (man)
Feeling the mans arms around her, the girls sobs only intensify. She rolls over in his lap, pressing her face into his shirt as she clenches at the surrounding fabric. Tears and snot stream down her face as she tries to answer between gasps and wails.
"She's...sniffle...dead! Daddy, they killed her! They killed...sniffle...our Princess!" (girl)
The man's entire body goes rigid at the statement. He'd locked himself inside his office most of the morning to catch up on a dreadful amount of paperwork, and he told all of his aides not to bother him. His daughter is the first person he's seen all day.
Is it possible that there was an attack on the royal palace he doesn't know about?
He directs a fearful gaze at the little girl, his throat feeling dry and constricted as he tries to find the words to ask the questions that he needs to.
"Something happened to your cousin? What do you mean? Who attacked her?" (man)
The little girl continues to cry into his shirt, but she shakes her head.
"No...sniffle...not El! Princess Rennalia, Daddy! The humans...sniffle...they killed her!" (girl)
The man's face twists in confusion at the familiar name, and it's then that he notices the open book lying on the floor near the little girl, its pages wet from many tears. Understanding dawns on the man's face, and he grabs the book with his free hand to inspect it. Like every book in the library, it's one he's read more than once.
The book is an account of how elves settled on Azura after leaving their home world, including their early development. Princess Rennalia, the first high elf to be born on Azura, is one of the central 'characters' of the book. She was a leading figure in the Azuran elves' founding civilization, and a large proponent of trying to form harmonious relationships with the varied races already present on their new planet.
As the man notices the page that the book is already opened to, he curses at himself inwardly. It's the part of the book that describes how Princess Rennalia and her escorts were brutally murdered by Azura's humans during a peace envoy.
Unfortunately, the book is far from a romanticized story appropriate for kids. It spares no detail about all the horrors inflicted upon Rennalia's group, and even includes the surviving witness's speculations. In other words, it's enough to make the stomach of even an old man like him turn.
Obviously, his daughter, who wasn't aware of Rennalia's full backstory, found this book and got attached to the woman through the book's pages. No doubt, reading about her graphic death in such detail was as scarring to his daughter as watching a friend die.
The man snaps the book shut with one hand and tosses it away carelessly. He quickly refocuses on his daughter, using one hand to cradle her against his chest while he rocks her. He runs the fingers of his other hand through her long silver hair, reassuringly caressing her face while he pulls her hair off her wet cheeks and tucks it behind her long, pointy ears.
He continues this for several minutes, whispering soft reassurances to her until the severity of her sobs slowly decline. All the while, he continues to curse in anger at his own shortcomings as a father...he blames himself for this incident.
He's always been a scholar and a book-lover at heart, and his daughter takes after him wholeheartedly. Unlike other elven children who would have spent most of their lives outside, playing with friends or following their parents around the Elven Kingdom, his daughter has spent most of her time since she could walk holed up in this library, reading or practicing magic.
After all, he's just the husband of their family's matriarch, and his job keeps him around their home for the most part. So, he spends much of his time holed up in an office or a library too, instead of traveling around the country for meetings and site visits like his wife.
Seeing nothing wrong with his own way of life, and being immensely proud of how voracious of a reader his daughter is, he's did nothing but encourage it until now. He even gave her free reign of the library, not thinking to censor some of its contents. If he'd been less absorbed in his own work and research, perhaps he would have noticed the issue sooner. Or at least, that's what he can't help thinking.
To his severely introverted daughter, the characters on the pages of her books are like her closest friends, doubly so when they are about the lives of real people. When they suffer, she feels pain, and when they triumph, she experiences joy as though she lived it with them. In retrospect, he can see how unhealthy that level of immersion in her reading is, especially at her age, and he resolves himself to fix his mistake.
The girl's cries have now completely died down, and she's in the process of wiping her face thoroughly on her father's shirt while he's lost in his own self-loathing. Her small, scared voice suddenly shakes him from his thoughts.
"Daddy...are the humans going to kill us, too?" (girl)
As his daughter stares up at him nervously, her grey eyes clearly full of fear, he bites his cheek in frustration. Then, he puts on a reassuring smile and shakes his head, his voice soft and friendly.
"Of course not, sweetie, you're safe. Why do you think that?" (man)
The fear in the girl's eyes mostly dissipates, but he can still feel its lingering effects on her as her body trembles periodically.
"The book said that they were more powerful than us. That instead of getting revenge for Rennalia, we had to hide. Because if the humans ever found us, they would wipe us out or make us their slaves. But we're not hidden anymore, right? The humans know where we live now..." (girl)
The man wears a conflicted expression on his face. What his daughter said isn't entirely untrue. The humans have long since learned about the borders of the elves' kingdom, though they have yet to successfully penetrate their defenses.
However, in an all-out war between any of the human countries and the elves, their people would likely fall to the humans' sheer numbers. In addition, people who can produce enchanted armor and weapons are much more common among the humans, giving them another advantage. The main thing keeping them from invading is uncertainty about the Elven Kingdom's military strength and geography, and internal conflict among the humans.
Every elven adult lives with that knowledge.
But the man's daughter is just a child. While he doesn't want to lie to her about the real danger that the humans pose, he also doesn't want her to live in fear. Eventually, he purses his lips thoughtfully as he watches his daughter.
"Hmm...do you remember what I'm always telling you, Little Scholar?" (man)
Confusion sparks in the girls eyes, then her face scrunches up. She appears to ponder the question gravely for a few seconds, until realization dawns on her face and she looks at her father confidently.
"Don't tell Mom where you hide the kur'kes, or we'll have to share!" (girl)
The man's eyes widen in horror.