Chapter narrated by Lira:
5/14/95
The day has finally arrived.
I should feel relieved, excited, ready — and yet my stomach has decided to stage a full rebellion against me. I did not think the thought of actually leaving would make me this nervous.
I have been preparing for almost a year. A whole year. You would think that would be enough time to also prepare my stomach.
Brother Halven taught me how to make a tent to sleep in at night. This was, to put it kindly, a disaster at first.
I postponed the lesson two times because I accidentally hit his foot with the hammer.
Both times.
In the exact same spot.
He says he has forgiven me.
He also now wears reinforced boots everywhere he goes, including indoors, which I feel is a little dramatic.
Sister Mareen taught me how to find North by the temperature of rocks.
The sun rises in the East and sets in the West, so in the morning, the warmer stones point East, and in the afternoon, they point West. It is genuinely very clever and I felt very smart learning it, right up until I tried to demonstrate it for the younger children and confidently pointed in the wrong direction. Twice.
Sister Sasha made me learn the history and customs of elf culture, in case my adventures ever take me to one of the elf cities.
I know an embarrassing amount about elf table manners now. If you ever need to know the proper way to accept a third cup of elderberry wine from a high elder without accidentally declaring a blood feud, I am your person.
Dad made me study the Adventurers' Guild — how it is structured, how ranks work, what the guild expects of new members. It was a lot to study.
And then there was Sister Mayreel.
Sister Mayreel was the most strict one by a considerable distance.
The moment she knew I wanted to be an adventurer, she looked at me for a long, quiet moment and then said:
"If you are going to abandon us to go be an adventurer, then you had better be the best adventurer I have ever seen, little turnip."
Little turnip. She has called me that for as long as I can remember — since before I have clear memories, even.
Every time I ask her why, or ask any of the brothers and sisters of the church, they just laugh and say it is nothing. It is clearly something. I have simply accepted that I will never know, and that is fine. I am fine. It does not bother me at all.
Sister Mayreel made me improve my writing, because she said a good adventurer must be able to leave their story behind so that small children can hear it and be amazed by what her little turnip has accomplished.
She also taught me to use a bow, which turned out to be considerably more relevant to my survival.
When I first told the rest of the church that I wanted to become an adventurer, one of the main concerns was my safety.
Adventurers have to fight monsters, navigate dangers, make quick decisions in chaotic situations — and my blindness did not exactly help with that.
This was a fair concern. I agreed with it.
Sister Mayreel helped me choose a weapon.
We started with close-range options, which was, in hindsight, an extremely bad idea. Even during the day, when I can feel the warmth and position of everyone around me with reasonable accuracy, my reaction speed with a blade was...
Not the best.
That is being generous. Most of the church laughed. Dad laughed. Ali laughed. Brother Halven laughed so hard he had to sit down, which I found deeply ungrateful given the hammer incident.
So we moved to long-range weapons, specifically the bow. Sister Sasha approved enthusiastically, saying it suited my elven heritage well. And she was right — with practice, I became genuinely good.
By daytime, I could hit a moving target at a hundred steps. I will not pretend I was not smug about this. I was very smug about this.
One week ago, an adventurer arrived at the church.
Her arrival went like this:
-----------------------------------------------------------
Tock. Tock. Tock. Tock.
"Helloooo? Is anyoneee here?!"
A brief pause.
"...Hm. It seems like nobody can hear me. Well, I can fix that very easily."
"HELLOOOO, CHURCH OF AELITH!! MY NAME IS SERA, I AM A RANK ONE ADVENTURER, I AM HERE TO DELIVER A PACKAGE — SOMETHING ABOUT A RITE YOU WANT TO DO — IS ANYONE HOME?!"
We were, in fact, home.
It was silent prayer hour. We were all sitting in complete stillness, listening to her. Several of the younger brothers and sisters were doing a truly impressive job of not laughing. Brother Halven was not trying at all.
When the hour ended, I went with Dad to open the door.
"Hello, sir! You must be Father Celdric — it is a pleasure, I am Ser—"
"I know," said Dad. "We heard you. All of us. I apologize for not answering sooner — we were in silent prayer hour and were not expecting your arrival for some time yet."
"Ah, of course, yes — that is Master Holt's fault, he always forgets how fast I complete delivery jobs. I am the fastest there is, sir. Truly. It is almost a problem."
She said this with complete sincerity. Her voice had a kind of relentless energy to it, like a puppy that had also somehow been given a mission.
"But wait — I interrupted silent prayer hour?" Her voice dropped with sudden horror. "Oh no. Oh no. I AM TERRIBLY SORRY, MS. AELITH, I DID NOT KNOW, PLEASE FORGIVE ME—"
The warmth around me rippled with laughter. Ali found this very funny. She said so.
"Ali does not mind," I told her. "She says you are forgiven."
"Ah — you must be the Oracle! I have heard so much about you — and they were not lying, your eyes are absolutely beautiful, wow—"
Ali sent back that she thought exactly the same about mine, which I relayed.
"Oh! but no one told me how cute you are, little elf!"
The warmth around me did something I had not felt it do before. It shifted — gathered itself closer to me, moved gently between Sera and where I was standing. Like it was circling me. Like it wanted to make sure it was in the way.
Ali, it seemed, had opinions about strangers calling me cute.
I decided not to mention that part to Sera.
-------------------------------------------------------------
I really did like Sera. She was funny, and warm, and talked about adventuring the way Sister Mayreel talks about scripture — like it was the only thing in the world worth being serious about.
Ali's impression of her was somewhat more complicated.
I am choosing to describe it as "developing."
-----------------------------------------------------------
Dad invited Sera to stay for a week, so that she could accompany me to the Adventurers' Guild when the time came. He said it in his calm, measured, fatherly way, as if he had not just agreed to house a woman who had screamed at our building.
Sera accepted immediately and with great enthusiasm.
The church accepted this with significantly less enthusiasm.
The week was something.
Sera did not do anything wrong, exactly. She was helpful, and kind, and genuinely tried her best. That was almost the problem. She tried her best at everything, constantly, at full volume.
She helped Brother Halven with the morning chores and finished them in half the time, which he admitted was impressive, and then reorganized the storage shed in a way that made complete sense to her and to nobody else. We are still finding things in unexpected places.
She sat with the younger children during lessons and was wonderful with them, right up until she started telling them about her adventures in vivid detail. Sister Mareen had to gently explain that the children did not need to know exactly what a goblin looks like from the inside.
She apologized. Then, the next day, told them a different story that was arguably worse.
She ate with us, prayed with us — quietly, after the first day — and followed the rhythm of the church with genuine effort and good will.
She also, at some point mid-week, challenged Brother Halven to an arm wrestling match.
He won.
She asked for a rematch every single day after that.
He won every time.
She never stopped asking.
By the end of the week, the younger siblings adored her. Brother Halven had, against all odds, developed what I can only describe as reluctant fondness. Dad seemed quietly pleased with himself for inviting her, in the way he gets when something works out and he pretends he knew it would all along.
Sister Mayreel said nothing about Sera all week. On the last morning, when Sera came to say goodbye to everyone, Sister Mayreel handed her a small bundle of dried provisions without comment.
Sera looked at them. Then at Sister Mayreel.
"...Thank you, ma'am."
"Don't make me regret it," said Sister Mayreel. "And look after my little turnip."
I am going to be hearing that nickname for the rest of my life. I have made my peace with this.
-----------------------------------------------------------
This morning, I said my goodbyes. I hugged everyone. Brother Halven told me to be careful and then told me to make sure the tent pegs went in straight. Sister Mareen reminded me about the rocks. Sister Sasha slipped me three extra pages of elf customs she forgot to cover.
Dad was crying. He hugged me very tightly and pressed a card into my hands. He said I was to give it to Holt, the guildmaster of Vareth.
I told him I loved him, and that I would write as often as I could.
Sister Mayreel said that if I didn't, she would start advertising me as the "Turnip Adventurer" in every city around the church.
My goodbye to Ali was different in truth we had said our goodbyes yesterday at night.
-----------------------------------------------------------
I was in my room, the warm was here with me.
"You are leaving tomorrow," it said. "With that girl."
There was something in the way it said that girl that I did not entirely have a word for. A particular quality to the warmth. Not quite cold, but — pointed, maybe. I decided not to comment on it.
"Yes," I said. "I am."
The warmth shifted. Moved around me slowly, the way it does when Ali is thinking something she is not sure how to say.
"I do not want you to go," she said, finally. "I know that I should not say that. I know this is what you want. I know it is right." A pause. "I still do not want you to go."
My chest did something inconvenient.
"I know," I said. "I don't entirely want to go either. Which is strange, because I have wanted this for a long time."
"You will still want it when you are standing at the road tomorrow," said Ali. "That is how wanting things works. It does not stop being scary just because it is also right."
I pulled my knees to my chest and sat with that for a moment.
"Will you be alright?" I asked. "While I am gone."
The warmth felt almost as a laugh. Soft and a little sad at the edges.
"I am a goddess, Lira."
"That is not what I asked."
A long pause.
"...No," she admitted. "Probably not entirely. But I will manage." The warmth curled closer. "Besides. It will not be forever. When the ritual is ready — when everything is prepared — I will come. I will find you, wherever you are. I promise."
"You will?"
"Yes," she said. "I will come to meet you. You will not be rid of me simply by walking out the door, little turnip."
"Please," I muttered. "You too?"
The warmth laughed.
Not the quiet ripple of amusement it usually gives, but a real laugh — bright and full, like sunlight pouring through colored glass. It washed over me, warm enough to make my ears burn.
Then it softened. Settled.
The good kind of quiet followed — the kind that means something has been decided and neither of you wants to disturb it by speaking too quickly.
"I love you."
The warmth gathered around me the way it always has — steady, constant, as natural as breathing. It has been there for as long as I can remember. Before memory, even.
"I love you too," I said.
The warmth did a strange thing around me.
I meant it.
I love her the way I love Brother Halven and Sister Mayreel and Dad and all of the church.
I love her the way I—
I did not let myself finish that thought.
The truth is, I do not know what I mean when I say it to her. Only that I mean it more fiercely than I have ever meant anything. Somewhere along the way — without asking my permission — she stopped being simply the warmth.
She became Ali.
My Ali.
And I do not know what that means. I do not know what I am allowed to let it mean.
She is a goddess.
She speaks to me in light and heat and wordless feeling.
She does not have a face I can trace with my fingers. She does not have hands for me to hold.
By any reasonable measure, she is the single most impossible person in the world to fall in love with.
Which would be comforting.
If I were not increasingly certain that I already have.
"Goodnight Ali"
The warmth gathered around me through the night, shielding me from the winter cold, and I slept very peacefully.
-----------------------------------------------------------
I turned around. Sera was waiting at the road, pack on her back, already bouncing slightly on her heels.
"Ready, little elf?"
I am not sure I am.
"Ready," I said.
"To Vareth we go then!"
And so for the first time I left the church behind.