Chapter 207: The Warmth of an Embrace
"That doesn't sound right. I think I've done a lot of good."
"..." After a moment's silence, she nodded in agreement. "And you? Would you have just stood by and let it all happen?"
"Probably," she said, and for once, there was no hesitation in her voice. "If not for you, I would have had no interest in such tedious things. In my long life, only magic has ever captured my attention. And, occasionally, teaching a talented apprentice."
She herself didn't know if that was the right thing to do. She had never been one to be interested in saving the world.
Seeing her confusion, he smiled. "Don't think too much about it, Serie. The man who once saved the world is standing right in front of you. And you know, as well as I do, the reason he set out on his journey in the first place."
He had told her before: he had only done it to be with her for a little while longer.
At the thought, a strange and unbidden warmth spread through her cheeks.
"But still, something doesn't feel right. The me of now... I have been, with you, trying to save the world, from then until now. It's not like me at all."
He let out a silent sigh. He stopped and turned to face her, his tall figure now blocking the moonlight, and casting a deep shadow over her. She, too, stopped and looked up at him, a question in her eyes.
He did not speak. He just reached out, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he gently brushed a stray strand of her golden hair from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear.
His fingertips brushed against the sensitive skin, and a shiver, a small, electric shock, ran down her spine. Her body tensed. Her eyes widened, and her first instinct was to pull away. But his other hand was now at her back, a gentle but firm pressure that would not let her go.
"Don't move," he said, and his gaze was now fixed on her, his fingers now at the nape of her neck. Her heart began to race. For some reason, to be this close to him... it always did this to her now. It hadn't been like this before.
The warmth of his hand seeped through the fabric of her robe, and his fingers on her neck... it was as if he were casting a holy spell. A warm, gentle current flowed from his touch, a current that seemed to wash away all of her doubts and her fears. She had no choice but to look up at him, at his face, so close to her own, and in the moonlight, she could see the undisguised tenderness in his eyes.
"I know what you're thinking," he said, his voice a soft whisper, a warm breath on her skin. "You're afraid. You think that your old self, your detached, emotionally-distant self, the one who cared nothing for the lives of your own kind, the one who would have never lifted a finger to save the world... you think that that self, and the self you are now, are two different people."
He was right. But the Serie of now was different. In a thousand years, she had changed. The once-cold and unfeeling elven miss was now a warm and caring... Grand Master. And her confusion, though sudden, was not without reason.
"Yes. I don't know... if this me is the right one. But..." her words were cut short by his.
"It is."
She looked at him in surprise.
"Life finds a way. We were not born to be saviors. We have no obligation to save the world. All I have ever done is my best."
"So don't think too much about it," he said, and he lowered his head, and their foreheads touched, their breaths mingling in the cool night air. "Whichever you are... it is not wrong. As long as you are true to yourself." He pulled back a little and looked her in the eye. "And just remember... don't let the darkness consume your own, true self."
Her own, true self.
Her heart lurched. She looked at her own reflection in his eyes. She had always been on the side of the humans, of the elves. Even her decision to fight... it had been born of a desire to not see the world fall under the dominion of the demons. She had nothing to be confused about.
She did not resist. Her body went limp, and she rested in his arms. And she even turned her head slightly, and gently, with a will of her own, she pressed her cheek against the back of his hand. A cold cheek, a warm hand, a strange and wonderful comfort.
He felt it, the silent surrender, and his arms tightened around her. His other hand now rested on her back, on her long, golden hair.
They stood there, in the moonlight, in the quiet of the forest, in a silent embrace.
And in that embrace, in the sound of their own, shared heartbeat, all the fear, all the confusion, it just... melted away. She closed her eyes and buried her face in his chest and breathed in his familiar, reassuring scent. As long as he was with her, she had nothing to worry about. She... she could no longer be without him.
He rested his chin on the top of her head and just held her, a rare and precious warmth in his heart.
After a long time, a muffled voice came from his shoulder. "Your hand is a little... rough."
"Well, I've been trying to be a swordsman lately," he said with a low chuckle. He then added, with a teasing tone, "But it seems to have had a good effect, doesn't it? Much better than my hairdressing skills, at least." He was, of course, referring to the way his 'holy magic' had soothed her troubled mind.
She gave him a weak punch, a kitten's playful swat. She did not look up, but just buried her face deeper in his chest, a familiar blush creeping up her neck. And this time, she did not retort.
(End of chapter)
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