Rented House, City of the Sun's Son.
I didn't return to the inn. That place was too cramped to contain the echoing screams I had just absorbed.
I rented an old house on the outskirts of the city. Large, empty, and cold. Perfect for me.
The house was too big. My footsteps echoed, bouncing off the bare walls, mocking my solitude.
I sat in the lounge chair. On the table, the glass jar gleamed under the moonlight.
Coffee grounds.
The only thing in this room that didn't reek of blood or money.
I brewed a cup, my hands still trembling slightly from the emotional resonance of the Alpha Wolf.
Sip.
It was bitter, but warm. Like a distant embrace.
Sip.
In that village, time might have stood still. But here, time was eating away at me.
I stared at the jar; its contents were beginning to dwindle.
It wasn't just coffee. It was an hourglass.
"If this runs out... I have to go back."
Not because I wanted to. But because I was terrified that if this coffee ran out, whatever was left of my "humanity" would vanish with it.
I closed my eyes. I let the exhaustion take over, hoping that when I opened them again, I would no longer smell blood and rain, but the scent of old books and forest flowers.
The Elven Village, The Library.
The late afternoon breeze blew gently, turning the pages of an open book on the wooden desk.
Elyra wasn't reading.
She sat in silence, gazing out the large window that faced the eternal forest. In front of her, two cups of milk coffee sat steaming.
She opened her beautiful eyes. Her golden pupils stared at the unclaimed second cup across the table.
"I did it again..." she whispered, her voice as soft as rustling leaves.
She offered a bitter smile, one that didn't reach her eyes. Habit was a terrifying thing; it carved marks deeper than magic ever could.
Elyra stood, her steps unhurried, and walked to the bookshelf in the corner.
There, neatly folded, lay a white dress shirt. A shirt from another world.
She placed her hand over the fabric. A faint scent still lingered—tobacco, rain, and something uniquely masculine.
Cold.
This village was always kept warm by nature's magic, but for some reason, her fingertips felt frozen this morning.
She put it on.
The shirt swallowed her slender frame. The shoulders slouched, the sleeves drooping past her delicate fingers.
She sat back down. She hugged herself with those loose sleeves, trying to capture the lingering remnants of a presence that was no longer there.
She took a sip of her coffee.
"Your coffee grounds must be running low by now, Azisa..."
"Are you doing all right out there, Azisa?" she asked the empty air, as if her elven instincts could catch the distant vibrations of a soul.
"Come back when you are tired. Your coffee grounds... and I... are still waiting here."
For an Elf, time was a tranquil river. But for Elyra, ever since that human's departure, time felt like water dropping from a faucet, one bead at a time. Slow. And agonizingly expectant.