Saan followed the woman in silence. Above, the sky stretched in endless calm, clouds drifting like slow thoughts across the pale blue. The sun gleamed upon a sea of grass, its golden light scattering across rolling plains until the horizon blurred into haze. The wind breathed softly through the field, brushing against Saan's cloak, bearing the cool scent of water through the warmth of the grassland.
The Pavilion lay farther than Saan expected. They walked in silence, their boots leaving only jagged tracks behind, the sound of the wind drowning out each footstep, until they reached it, a lonely structure of marble and quiet grace standing in the heart of the vast meadow. It was empty, without furniture, only a floor of polished stone that reflected the environment like a mirror.
But when Saan stepped inside, the reflection beneath their feet began to shift. The marble mirrored another world, one where a table, two chairs, and a pair of delicate tea cups existed. The reflection breathed itself into being, and before Saan's eyes, the phantom setting rose from illusion into form, as if reality itself had agreed to believe the lie.
They sat down across from the woman.
Her figure was almost ethereal, clothed entirely in pale fabric, a long white coat trimmed with blue, white gloves fitted to her fingers. Around her neck hung a pendant similar to the Saint's, yet instead of a ruby, it bore a heart-shaped crystal of milky white, bound in silver chain. A wide red hat shaded her silver eyes, a single jasmine flower tucked beneath the white belt around its base.
Her skin gleamed faintly, almost translucent under the light. Her scarlet lips curved in a faint, graceful smile as she lifted the teapot. The sound of liquid did not follow. She poured into Saan's cup, steamless and silent, then set the pot down and gestured for Saan to join her.
Saan's eyes narrowed. "Why not fill your own cup?"
The woman smiled, her eyes half-lidded. "The act satisfies me."
"Why act at all?" Saan lifted their cup, watching the faint shimmer of the liquid that was not there.
"I act," she said softly, "because I vowed starvation, even in death."
Saan took a sip. The tea was cold, tasteless, like the memory of something long forgotten.
"It has no taste," they murmured, studying her as she raised her empty cup, pretending to drink.
A soft breeze passed through the Pavilion, rippling their garments. Then, as her eyes opened again, Saan saw something other reflected in them.
The Pavilion dissolved, and in its place, Saan found themselves within a vast Hall of blue and white pillars. Sunlight poured through unglazed windows, carrying the scent of open air. The marble beneath their feet gleamed like ice, reflecting the ceiling above, a grand mural, carved and painted, showing a robed man leading a host of others toward a colossal mountain that rose into the clouds. Its side bore a staircase that wound upward into them.
At the Hall's far end, a woman knelt on a broad raised platform, holding a pedestal that shone with a pillar of light like that atop the Pavilion but smaller. Three robed figures stood before the pillar, pendants of varied crystal shapes and colors — like those of the woman and Saint Lumin — hanging from their necks.
The kneeling woman's pale hand clasped her pendant tightly:
"I, Serine, the First Saint of Air, vow to be wielded by my lord. I vow to sacrifice myself for the truth. I vow to never consume. I vow to wander the darkness until I can accept the light."
Her voice echoed through the hall, fading like a dream.
Now Saan stood beside the pond within the cavernous chamber. Serine knelt at the water's edge, the three figures from before watching in silence behind her. Her hands, now gloved, clutched the pendant once more. Then without hesitation, she stepped forward and leapt into the pond.
A flame hovered above the surface, its reflection shimmering in the water. As she sank deeper, the light dimmed, fading and dying as she descended into shadow.
Her final breath left her body. From the darkness below came small, glimmering shapes, creatures of the deep, drawn to her flesh. They tore and fed, and the last remnants of her form dissolved into the current.
Then, deep within the pond, the stone walls cracked. A surge of water erupted through the fracture, carrying with it a creature big enough to consume the lesser beings around it, drawing in the water and what remained of her. It spasmed, writhing, and spat out the pendant she had worn. Her bones splintered within its mouth, and its body began to swell, mutating as the water churned. The pendant drifted through the tunnel from which the creature had come, vanishing into the unknown.
Time lost meaning. The creature grew monstrous, aimless, mind fractured and hollow. In the depths, it wandered endlessly, carrying only a faint echo, the memory of Serine's will.
Then, like a breeze passing through water, the vision dissolved.
Saan sat once more before Serine.
"I hope you aren't lost, young Elf," she said softly, her voice tinged with warmth.
"I plunged myself here not to die," Saan replied, meeting her gaze, "but to live, not to wander, but to reach a destination."
Her silver eyes narrowed, curious. "I tugged your soul to understand you."
"Why?"
"Because I have no one left to understand — not even myself." She tilted her head slightly, resting her chin on her gloved hand, her smile both kind and distant. "You at least still know who you are."
"What do you want from me?" Saan's tone sharpened.
"I only wish to talk," she said. "It's not as if the creature that devoured me was much for conversation." She raised her empty cup again, amused.
"I don't have time to waste here."
"Why not? Elves have all the time in the world compared to us humans."
"That is precisely why humans never value it," Saan said, gaze steady.
"Oh?" Her smile deepened. "How is that?"
"Humans think there's always more time. They waste what little they have on pettiness and conflict, like this idle talk." Saan raised the cup again, taking another tasteless sip.
The wind stirred the field beyond the Pavilion. Clouds moved overhead, casting shifting shadows. Serine's dress and Saan's cloak fluttered like twin waves in the same current.
"Shallow," she said at last, setting her cup down. "Your understanding is shallow. You don't even know your own people. How do you expect to understand others, or yourself?"
Saan's hand trembled. The porcelain cracked beneath their fingers, the handle snapping off and clattering to the floor.
But the cup did not fall. A thin current of air caught it, holding it aloft.
Serine smiled faintly. "I have one final suggestion for you, little one."
The cup descended slowly, resting upon the table. The tea rippled as Saan caught a reflection of a hall, and as it surged around them, cold air blew. Color and light bloomed across the space, golden pillars stretching upward, gardens spilling with wind and radiance. Saan looked down at small, soft hands and the body of a child. Their armor was gone, replaced by ceremonial robes of fine elven silk.
Ahead stood two figures, a woman and a man. The woman's face was kind but weary, her robes pale blue. The man beside her wore armor trimmed with gold, a white cape flowing behind him, the mark of a flaming bird etched in ruby upon it. His hair was short and silver, his eyes a piercing blue.
"Congratulations, son," their mother said with pride. "You've finally become a Flame Bearer. You bring great honor to our house."
"It was only possible with your blessing, mother," said the man.
Saan's small voice echoed softly, "Brother, you're back!"
But as the mother's eyes turned toward Saan. The warmth vanished.
"What are you doing here, Saan? Go and practice. You must follow your brother's example. Do not shame our name again." Her voice was sharp, her gaze cold.
Saan lowered their head. "Yes, mother."
As she and the brother walked away, the child stood alone. A single tear fell, landing upon the marble.
The tear's ripple echoed — reflected again in the cup before them.
Saan blinked, eyes wet in the sunlight. They wiped the tear away quickly, anger flaring.
"How dare you look into my past?" Saan's voice broke into the air. They rose from the chair, knocking it backward.
Serine only smiled. The wind stirred once more, catching the chair and setting it upright.
"I'm done with this illusion," Saan said, striking the table with their palm.
The teapot and cups rose into the air, shattering into spheres of water that hovered, then burst into glistening droplets.
Serine stood, her eyes grave now.
"Water grants life to dry land," she said quietly. "Yet in excess it drowns, and in absence it withers. Let it flow with care, little one."
Her voice trembled faintly. She reached for her right glove.
"You don't understand me—" Saan began, but stopped.
Serine slid the glove off, revealing an arm etched with intricate lines and patterns, the pale skin stretched taut over visible veins. The flesh had an almost translucent quality, as if the circuits beneath it were part of her very being. Faint scars traced along the carved lines, some delicate as filigree, others deeper. A white crystal was embedded in her forearm, between wrist and elbow, its smooth surface catching the sunlight, resting amidst the scars like a polished bone inlaid into living flesh.
"Lest thou walk the path I did," she said, looking at Saan with eyes filled with quiet sorrow.
"You… chose to become the relic?" Saan's voice faltered.
The Pavilion began to melt away. The sky and sunlight folded into rippling water. Saan reached for her, but Serine only smiled as her body dissolved into the current, scattering like ash upon the tide.
Saan floated alone in the dark, weightless. The warmth of the sun was gone. Only the faint flame beside them remained, flickering and fragile, yet alive, lighting the depths with its trembling glow.