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The days, the weeks, the months prior, it all simply breezed past her. The passage of time was negligible, trivial – unimportant. Eshwlyn poured herself deep into her studies, her training, whittling away the burning daylight and continuing to forge on even late deep into the night...for she knew that the faster she learned, the sooner she could finally be of use.

It pained her having to suddenly adapt to new and foreign customs. She had to learn to forget, learn to strip from her mind, her body, how it was to live a way of life that she could no longer possibly return to... battering deep until it was instinct a new set of routines, obligations, and responsibilities for her to adhere to dutifully.

Cleanliness was not in the nature of Elves. A lifetime outdoors had her comfortably accustomed to all manners of dirt and grime. But humans were typically different-the noble and dignified especially so, fabricating even exclusive roles just to attain a clean home.

Hendrick’s Manor had itself employed a vast number of talented personnel to maintain and upkeep the integrity of the household. But over time, it was discovered that their aid had been rendered completely unnecessary... for Eshwlyn quickly learned to outclass and outpace them in every aspect.

From ridding the muck in the narrowest of cracks, to efficiently handling both the servings and preparations of meals, the disposition of a dutiful servant was ingrained deep into her bones.

When she was not delegated the most exhausting of housework, or otherwise spending the day rifling through the shelves in the library, the vast open courtyard behind the manor would temporarily be held as the venue of her training ground to better hone her skills in combat.

.....

Over an innumerable amount of exhausting sessions, Eshwlyn would learn to carefully counterbalance the heavy weight of steel in her grip, and practice the different stances and techniques of a myriad of weapons. Beneath the blazing sun, she learned to cleave with an ax, skewer deep with the pointed tip of a spear, maces and hammers did best with her might, while whips and daggers were potent hazards with her nimble footing.

Occasionally, in opportunities sparse and few, Eshwlyn would find herself sparring with the dual-wielding Knight herself.

This, in the beginning, she found much more taxing, arduous. Despite her strength and speed, as well as her prowess with a multitude of weapons, her adversary somehow always held the edge on her... always the more experienced, the more nimble, the more capable.

But soon over time, the tides of battle would subtly turn in her favor, and defeat wouldn’t always often be as one-sided as it was before. There were times even, when briefly, she’d find herself overpowering her opponent... and not so surprisingly, these incidents occur most often, when her accustomed grip would find itself clutching the hilt of a sword.

“You have been doing exceptionally well,” Tilina praised her during one stale monotonous night out of countless many, as always with her tone stripped bare of any emotion. “Master will be pleased to hear about your drastic improvement.”

Eshwlyn paused, holding still a damp rag against a murky glass pane, moonlight streaming and illuminating the same barren corridor where her warnings and pleads to her once echoed.

“Master...” She dropped the rag back into a brimming pail of water by her feet, the sky of winter’s first night reflecting brightly back in her green eyes. “I have not seen him since... since our one and only outing. If I may inquire, where-?”

“You may not,” Tilina bluntly interjected, already turning and striding in the opposite direction. “His whereabouts are none of your concern. Master is a busy, highly sought-after individual. Many see to him for resolution on problems beyond our comprehension. Keep focus only on your duties. That is all you are asked of. Nothing more.”

Ever since that day she had fully surrendered herself to Wilvur’s bidding, the following days and weeks after, Eshwlyn has not caught a single glimpse of him roaming the halls of his own home, in spite of the high frequency of visitors on the daily that would barge into the entrance with the urgent insistences of his presence.

Tilina would always tend to these guests in his stead as the keeper of the Manor, and always they would fail to hide the revulsion in their eyes... but eventually they would always leave the ground placated by her service or advice, albeit, a little bewildered by it all.

Once or twice, Eshwlyn had caught a familiar streak of raven-black hair whipping around the many sharp corners of the manor with an aged leather book hovering close by. And once or twice, she’s even inadvertently chanced an encounter. The deep green meeting the ocean blue. In both instance, Terra wore a discreet pained expression seeing her, but then they would pace past each other, their gazes breaking-and nothing more would happen.

Eshwlyn noticed to little surprise that it was only her that treated Tilina with a respect equal to that of a fellow human. When others would loudly belittle and degrade over the course of their visit, Terra instead spoke kindly without a hint of scorn, discussing, inquiring... and at times, even jesting... and both times departing the manor wearing the same kindly smile Eshwlyn immediately recognized from another time, another life.

“Then if I may not know where, how about when?” She asked again. “When precisely will Master be returning home?”

Tilina came to a gradual halt, pale moonlight bleeding into the meticulously cleaned windows basking her figure in an almost ethereal glow.

“Your curiosity is rather curious,” a hollow voice resounded, her back still turned to her. “If you are in need of Master... know that I am here in his stead. If you have any inquiries, any qualms, you may address them to me.”

Hesitance for but a brief second, before Eshwlyn parted open her lips once more. “My sister... Lenora... I... I wish to know...” trailing briefly, she stifled a rising quiver in her voice. “Well, I suppose, I just... is she... how is she? Do you know?”

There was a sway of glittering crimson hair, and Tilina stare found hers again, a shimmer of gold so strikingly peculiar.

“I’m afraid I do not have that information. He... Master didn’t believe I would be in any need of such impertinent details.”

They then shared a silence, an unusual quiet, exchanging emotions and stiff expressions that couldn’t easily be described.

“I see,” Eshwlyn responded limply. “Then, answer me, when can I expect Master’s return?”

An echoing step, and Tilina was striding away once more. “Soon.”

For a long while, Eshwlyn simply watched her go, and when she had indeed gone out of sight, listened instead to the dwindling echoes of her footsteps fading away into the nippy serenity of the night.

In truth, there was one other question that had stuck to her every waking moment. What she wondered for some time already, but never inquired... and most likely never will.

Here, presently, was already fully fledged Knight ready to serve and do all as her Master commanded. A fierce warrior unmatched, a loyal servant unequaled. Tilina bore all the same markings of excellence as she, if not, even more so. How elegantly she carried herself among the humans, her demeanor, her tone... blending well enough to be easily mistaken as one of them.

How Tilina acted was not a skill that could be acquired just through effort alone. It was talent, it was something deeply innate, natural... after all, Eshwlyn’s seen it all before... she had fallen asleep and woken up beside this kind of unusual talent back in the burrow long enough to recognize the glaring signs.

And then there was her aptitude battle. Elves were already natural fierce fighters, predators... but rarely could one ever control the flow of battle, dominate the odds, with but a single decisive strike the way she does.

Should they happen to be pitted against one another, if they were to fight to the death holding nothing back, there was no denying the clear winner. The only reason she even stood a chance in their spars was solely because there wasn’t any need for winners.

It was so obvious, so definitively indisputable it was almost baffling-Tilina was the better Elf, the better Servant...

The better Knight.

And yet it was her, it was she, that Wilvur had picked to be his one and only Knight... the greatest of them all, or so resounded the feverish tone of ambition in his words.

But he already has a Knight.

The sole keeper of his manor, the unyielding guard that accompanied him through perilous ventures, and his most trusted subordinate that remained privy to his most private of affairs.

If Eshwlyn was to truly become a Knight beyond all Knights... then she could only quietly stare and ponder...

What then, happens to her?