Sometime after Delphi's revelation, Wilran left the infirmary tent to clear her head. It had occurred to her she had been too cold towards Elineia and was way too rough on Delphi. It wasn't either one's fault that she was upset. To her, it just seemed like everyone was fumbling around in the darkness. Even when they were making strides in the right direction, the more things move forward, the further she felt they were behind in putting an end to the war.

  By the time she had left the tent the sun had just started to move past its peak. As she wandered, her stomach started to rumble. But, like with everything else that had been bothering her, she chose to ignore it. This time of day, the line for food would have been busy, and the Santians there would have wanted to converse with her. Normally, she enjoyed her time with the refugees and loved to hear their stories while she healed minor cuts and bruises. Any major ones were usually brought to her tent, but still, she would smile and regal them with stories of Chandeidra. The Goddess had shown her what it was like to love Sainta the way she did, but in her selfishness Wilran wanted to be alone in her thoughts.

  The plateau where the refugees had camped was usually windy and cool, a welcome relief from the sticky, hot weather. The landscape, with its high elevation and stunning views of the valley below, was undeniably beautiful.

  The plateau had two distinct layers. The upper layer matched the sandy cliffs in the distance. To reach the elevated campsite on foot, one would need to descend the rocky cliffs and cross a river, which was at its narrowest point about fifty feet wide. When Wilran had first arrived, the river formed a narrow horseshoe-like peninsula as it wound through the mountains. However, with the help of Clayborn engineers and Wildehaven wizards, they had successfully separated the rock, transforming the water into a circling island.

  The lower level, while smaller than the first, made up the bulk of the protection for the refugee camp. What was left of the Goldale army and those that had volunteered for conscription had found their home on its smooth foundation that was accessible from a set of stairs; carved into the rock sometime before Wilran had arrived.

  On the shore, three boats were now tied to two makeshift docks. Wilran could see a fourth one coming into port likely bringing in the catch of the day, the hunting expedition, and hopefully more supplies from Clayborn and Salmarah. The ships were almost always the same ones, but Wilran had hoped in time here she might see the roguishly handsome captain that had showed her kindness long ago. So far, she had been sorely been disappointed.

  By the time she made it to the far north side of the camp, Wilran found a spot in a small outcropping. She crossed her legs and sat once more taking stock of its wonderous beauty, but it was just a distraction from the goal she had settled on in her heart. At first, she tried to form words. She knew she should be respectful in her prayerful approach, but thoughts of hurt and betrayal ran across her mind. Finally deciding honesty was the best course of action, Wilran closed her eyes, and prayed to the Goddess for strength and control.

  My dearest love, please grant me guidance. More than ever, I find myself needing your hands as I stumble around as one who is blinded. From my youth, I have rebelled in iniquity, but now I know the profound spiritual truth: I need you. I'm lost without you. You are better than I. Through you I can find clemency. It is in you; I beg for change. Turn my weakness into a strength that reflects your loving character. Ground me in your love, as I go about in this gift you have given me, so that I am able to accomplish your will.

  "Does she ever answer back?"

  Wilran jumped, surprised by the sudden voice that had found her at the edge of camp. For a moment, her heart raced by the soften spoken word, but when she turned, she could tell the youngling meant her no harm. His white aura reflected the inquisitive nature she had come to expect from the elvan that now stood before her.

  "Milo!" she exclaimed! "You startled me."

  "It's the worn leather," he said gesturing to his brown loafers. "Makes it easy to move silently on the rocks."

  Wilran nodded and gestured to the ground next to her. Without missing a beat, the youngling took it and joined her staring off across the plateau to the distance cliffs. From her peripherals, she could see his aura shift from white to yellow, with shades of red.

  That's a new one. Passion and happiness? But he doesn't look happy, if anything he looks almost sad.

  "What's on your mind friend?" Wilran asked. She laced a little joy in her voice in a vain attempt to cheer him or her up.

  I'm not sure which one of us needs it more.

  "I've decided to join the war effort," said Milo rather emphatically. His stoic expression made it difficult for Wilran to read him, but fortunately his hue shifted red to match his stance.

  Oh, determination.

  "Well, that's good news. We need more cooks and healers. The sailors are always looking for a few dockhands. Blacksmiths, apprentices, quartermasters, all of these would be well suited for someone of your talents. Maybe in a few completions, I could get you into the Ministry of Venya to become a cleric like me."

  Milo sighed and kept his gaze fixed in the distance. "That's not really what I was thinking."

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  I know.

  She looked in his direction and gave him a short smile. "Well, I'm not aware of anything else you could do. Am I missing something?"

  Milo lightly shook his head. Wilran could see the yellowish-red aura pulse at the beat of a steady heart. "You know, for someone so insightful, you're being intentionally obtuse."

  Would you be so foolish to throw away your younglinghood? Why must we put so much pressure on our young to grow up so fast? Damn this war.

  "Well, humor me."

  "Soldier," he exclaimed. "Gate guard if I must, but I would want something more useful. More like scout, hunter, or even spy."

  "You still have another completion until you can join those guilds. Why the rush?"

  "I want to help," he said, but Wilran could tell something was off. There was a slight quiver in his answer and his aura shifted to black.

  A lie if I've ever seen one. Maybe, I should try something else.

  "What ails you, my friend?"

  Milo was one of the first Saintians Wilran had come to heal through the spirit of Chandeidra when she first arrived in the camp. The day she found him, he had been on the edge of the upper plateau, perhaps even in this same spot. At the time, he was dirty, malnourished, wearing tattered cashmere, and didn't speak a single word, but communicated through gestures and looks. Many of those she had spoken to believe the elf to be mute, but through her magic and healing she could tell her was physically fine. Whatever ailed him had to be emotional. It took her almost a full month to get him to speak to her, but every day, she would bring him a small loaf of bread, and talk to him about the happenings of camp, her life, and even the Goddess.

  At first, it had been stories of her own youth. Still, no matter how much she shared, the boy always listened, but never smiled.

  It was maddening. As my desire to see him smile grew, I quickly abandoned my personal past to share some of the same stories Yenry, Julius, Tash and Zuna shared with me. Those were always good for a laugh and would often bring about a smile in my own heart. However, it wasn't until I started to share some of the Goddess' own teachings did the young elf even tell me his name.

  "I'm Milo," he said to her one day after she told him how the goddess would pray beneath the moonlight. In that moment, the shock of it had caused her to lose the rest of the story and she turned to the youngling and gave him the biggest smile she could muster.

  "Hi Milo," she responded. Wilran was tempted to stop there and take the small victory of finally getting him to speak, but took a chance hoping the opportunity wasn't a fluke.

  "What ails you?"

  The same words Wilran spoke to Milo months ago now echoed across her mind and the air around them. Reflexively, she tightened the muscles in her arms, as she felt the tension shift. As she waited for him to speak, she could see the change in Milo's hue that matched the fire of the sun. It was as if the simple question had been holding back completions of frustration and in that moment, the dam finally broke.

  She didn't need to be prophetic to see what the flush of the boy's face told her. The anger that started to radiate off him was enough to make her start to sweat. Indeed, she could feel small drops of perspiration on her brow.

  "Justice," Milo said. It was short and to the point. Not that Wilran had expected anything more.

  "Certainly enough of that going around," Wilran said while taking in a short breath. It was another gift the Goddess had given her: comforter. She would have to be careful not to provoke the youngling's wrath. It wasn't that she was worried Milo would hurt her, but in his rashness he might hurt himself.

  The hue continued to burn all around him. His eyes narrowed and he brought his left knee down hard on the ground sending a small cloud of dust into the air just below it. "But I deserve it."

  Perhaps, she thought while she watched him stomp his foot. But there's still time for you. Goddess, please spare him this war.

  "Then will you be happy?"

  Milo snorted. "Then my parent's souls will finally be at rest. Nobody said anything about happiness."

  In the distance, Wilran thought she could hear a beating drum. It wasn't uncommon in the camp, but its sound was normally accompanied by a flute or lute.

  "You think the Goddess would want that of you? We do what we have to do to preserve life, but we take no pleasure in killing. Careful not to confuse revenge for justice."

  Milo faltered. Wilran watched his hue softened to a light pink while his face slacked. Several times he started and stopped. Small vowel sounds escaped his lips before he finally managed an unsurprisingly short sentence. "I've made my choice."

  There it was.

  The drumming in the distance continued to get louder. Whoever was beating on its lambskin was slowly making their way in Wilran's direction. She thought it seemed doubtful, they were headed this way, but the curiosity of it was starting to get the better of her.

  "We always have a choice. Even no choice is a choice. Saintians believe it is there right to take justice on others who have wronged them. Maybe the culprit deserves punishment for whatever he or she did to you, but repaying evil for evil just leaves the heart down a path of bitterness and pain. You're much too young and sweet for that Milo."

  Milo said nothing, but his hue said it all. A dark blue color overcame his aura. His eyes started to mist, and she knew if he started crying, she would cry right there with him. As it was, she was doing her best to hold back her own.

  A scared little youngling trying to play the man.

  "Remember Chandeidra teaches clemency. It's easy to forgive those you love. It's significantly harder to forgive your enemies or even yourself."

  Milo turned, shoulders slumped, and walked away from the gathering, his sobs barely audible over the crescendo of the drums. She herself turned back towards the edge knowing what was to come. Wet hot tears started to fall down her face sticking strands of her now gray hair to her cheek. A mixture of clarity and grief spread from the pit of her stomach overcoming her. It had been months, maybe even completions since she last cried and the past day turned her into a hot mess.

  My love, you're always teaching me. Even after all this time, I still have hate in my heart. Who am I to hold a grudge when not even you seek revenge on your own sister? She may have to answer for her crimes, but what happens to her should bring me no joy, only pity. Therefore, here and now I resolve my path to obey you. I will follow the path set before me. I will love your younglings. I will serve the world. I will keep the faith.

  Wilran finished her prayer and stood. A cool breeze pushed against her backside sticking her skirt to her legs. Its touch should have set a chill over her body, but instead she felt warmth spread all around her. In the distance she could see a bird making its way towards the mountains. As her heart slowed, she found the drums matched its beat. With a slight nod of her head, she pivoted on her foot and set out towards the camp to see what all the fuss was about.