Cales entered the jail room, the heavy stone door crashing closed behind him as he was used to, causing the darkness to bath him and the soldier had to take a moment to let his eyes adjust to the sudden lack of light. The jail cell was exactly as it was every day he entered it, almost silent now but for the dripping of a leak he had still not managed to locate. The stone walls had seen better days, their color eroded from them through time, the concrete on which Cales’ leather boots trod being no different. The guard stepped into the jail cell, his eyes scanning along the locked steel cells opposite him. His longsword was still held firmly by the hilt, ready at a moment’s notice; it didn’t take a genius to know that children’s screams did not come out of nowhere, particularly in dungeons in which there were no children to be screaming. Suddenly a hand grabbed Cales from behind and he swung his sword in a panic, the polished steel clanging off the jail bars. Dark eyes peered at the guard through the cell bars, and he immediately recognized the toothless smile on the shaggy face of the prisoner he had been tending for so many months. The man was in considerably good health considering his position, and Cales had personally blamed himself for this numerous times, but hoped that the jail keeper would not notice, or at least not care. The prisoner slowly lifted a finger to his lips, a dark grin peering across at the soldier.

“Sssssshhh…”

And then a hairy hand pointed down the length of the dungeon. Cales followed the finger, gave the prisoner a small smile and a nod of understanding, following the path that had been pointed out to him. The guard of Pilgrim’s Rest took a deep breath, remembering his training and to not be nervous despite his unknowing of what faced him up ahead. Whatever it was, something was certainly not right. Cales Donovan came to the end of the dungeon and was unable to not notice the small glow of white light from the usually empty cell on his left. Pivoting slowly on his heels, longsword held high, Cales peered into the cell and gave out a small gasp at what was within, his eyebrows lifting up his forehead in wonder.

Two figures were lit by the particularly dim glow of a single candle placed in a miniature iron candlestick on the ground. The candlestick had been positioned neatly between the knees of a small elven girl, apparently the source of the screams, a long black dress falling down her tiny form, her long auburn hair flowing down her back freely, the purple braids she had apparently been wearing stripped onto the floor. Stood over the child there was a man, a fully-grown moon elf male, his hair a complete contrast, pure white but hung at the back of his head by a black band. His clothing also was perfect black, a suit of leather armor apparently. His arms were folded and he stared down at the little girl, a clean dagger spinning expertly but dangerously in his hand. Cales cried out suddenly.

“What in the…”

The male elf looked sharply to the guard intruding on him, his golden eyes pale but piercing, a daring glimmer in their depths. Cales looked down to the dagger, spinning… just spinning, and then hefted his longsword up a bit; readying himself for the combat he could see teasing him in the elf’s eyes. But instead the elf spoke.

“Cales Donovan, leave us with our daughter. Do not interrupt our lesson to her.”

The soldier did not know what surprised him most; the fact the mysterious moon elf knew his name, the unusual way he spoke, or the chilling sound in his monotonic voice. Cales’ reply was stammered, something he regretted silently immediately afterwards.

“I-In a dungeon?”

A small smirk lifted the moon elf’s pale lips to the question, and he turned his head back to the small girl. Cales followed the glance and saw the pretty little child staring at him with teary eyes, her bottom lip stuck out in a saddened pout. He wanted to comfort her, whatever it was that had upset her. The moon elf’s reply drew the guard’s attention suddenly back to the male of the two.

“There is no place more undisturbed, we had hoped. But do not question our teaching methods, Cales Donovan, instead just leave us be and your dungeon will once more be yours by sunrise.”

Cales pondered it for a moment and gave a short nod in reply. He had no desire to kill this mystifying elf, if the feat was even possible, whilst in front of the young girl; such a sight would haunt her for life at such a tender age. And besides all doubts, if this man truly was her father, the guard had no rights killing him for bringing his daughter to a dungeon if that was his customs. Cales turned slowly and, biting his lip, he backed out of the cell his longsword still held high.

“Until sunrise, then…”

Di’thang watched Cales until he left the cell before returning his attention to Aza’lihnlia as she gazed up at him through bleary eyes. Her eyelids were puffy and red from rubbing them with her knuckle, her cheeks slightly rosy.

“Who was that, father?”

“Just an intruder, our child. Don’t worry, he will die if he speaks word of what he saw.”

Aza gave the forced smile she knew her stepfather would want to see at the comment. At such a young age the concept of taking life had not properly established itself in her mind, and the amount of times she had heard it in her household and from the man stood over her now, the young girl was beginning to see the notion as completely acceptable. Di’thang grinned at seeing the small smile on her lips, and he returned without any further hesitation to the conversation that Cales’ appearance had interrupted them from.

“You must not let the murder of your twin brother, Lakil, upset you, Azalihn’lia. Instead you must promise to never, ever forget him. You must promise to him that every morning you awaken you will remember his image, and he will hear the promise. You must promise that you will find his killer…”

Di’thang paused slowly and looked away from her, taking a breath and allowing the faint flash of remorse in his eyes to fade before turning back to her. She stared at him still, almost spellbound by his words.

“… and you must promise you will avenge Lakil’s death. Do you promise us that, Azalihn’lia? Do you promise Lakil that, our daughter?”

The little girl nodded her head numbly, her bottom lip sticking out further and fresh tears running down her tiny cheeks, dripping off her chin though she did not reach up to dry them on her shaking hands. She felt her little heart flutter every time her late twin’s name was mentioned. It took the young elf a moment before she realized her stepfather awaited the words off her trembling lips.

“I promise.”

Di’thang gave a satisfied smile but it faded to the usual harsh expressionless gaze he gave to most people, with the exceptional few. Azalihn’lia was often in this few, but tonight seemed different. Golden eyes met golden eyes, and he spoke more.

“What is more, our daughter, you must promise us something. You must promise that everyone who crosses you, be it man or woman, humanoid or beast, dead or undead… you must promise that you will strike them as though they were the killer of your brother, of your second half. Shed the tears you must shed for him in the tears of their blood, not your own, our daughter Azalihn’lia. Kill them who stand in your way, for they took Lakil from you.”

Again the girl nodded her head, a bit too eagerly, taking in every word he spoke as canon, every word, every syllable sinking in. Her eyes left her stepfather’s, resting instead on the dagger that he spun over… and over… around… and around… the dagger that killed nasty people, made them go away… just like the nasty person that killed Lakil, Aza wished she could make that person go away forever… Di’thang knelt down slowly before her, lifting a hand and stroking the tears off her pretty little cheeks. The dagger had halted in his hand, the point aimed at Azalihn’lia’s chest.

“Keep it safe, just in case.”

And the moon elf male slipped the dagger into a pocket sewn onto the front of her flowing black dress. She did not smile, simply staring blinkingly at Di’thang as he patted the pocket closed with the dagger inside. Her smiled at her, though, a warm smile that managed to lift the pout-like frown off the little elf child’s lips.

“Good girl. Come, let’s go find your mother.”

Aza nodded eagerly, rubbing at her face, clearing the dampness of her cheeks and the long strand of fiery red hair from her eyes as her stepfather offered his hand. She took it and he encased her modest fingers in his, lifting her to her feet and guiding her out of the dungeon. The candle flame wavered in the dungeon, going out as they left the cell and swamping them in darkness. The young girl looked to her left, to Di’thang, but she did not see him there. She could feel her stepfather holding her hand, guiding her his way, but her eyes deceived her for he was not there beside her. Not an uncommon occurrence, Azalihn’lia had seen him vanish in the middle of kisses with her mother or as they fared him well often in the past.

Cales Donovan muttered something under his breath, telling himself he would be glad when the night came to an end, when he noticed the barracks door unlock itself, open wide and then close itself again onto the darkness of the night.