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The sky had tinged to a brighter white, and Eshwlyn could see the tips of her fingers frosted over, completely numbed to any sensation, her fractal reflections in the crystal surfaces showed her nose inflamed to a deep red, -yet onward, persisting-she followed Wilvur into another building, hearing his deep imposing echoes carry through the many empty rooms within.

“Remelda! You may unveil yourself! Do not make things difficult for the both of us, if you could,” then creaking rickety steps, Wilvur ascended onto the second floor where Eshwlyn promptly heard him make an audible groan and sigh. “Bodies. Mother and child. Slices to the throat... quick, painless... I see at the very least you were willing to offer this mercy, meager as it be...”

Gradually, they stumbled onto more bodies the deeper they traversed, some in hiding, a few had even died standing their ground, holding weapons held in severed arms-but most remained still undiscovered, entombed, their final acts, their final words buried upon layers and layers of mounting snow.

After a thorough search of the village chief’s own home, which found the young chief still dwelling in his bedroom, his festering corpse resting atop stained sheets, Wilvur could be heard speaking to himself, whispering... counting...

“Twenty-six, twenty-seven, the Grimms make twenty-eight...” Eshwlyn caught his low mutters blowing with the gusts of wind. “The Decans have relatives abroad surely... they must be informed, must be compensated... twenty-nine...”

Through gradual trial and error, the both of them eventually happen to the center of the village, where amongst the crystal-embedded buildings and structures, loomed a towering stone parish.

.....

As it stood, it was a clear oddity among the more mundane housings, with many lavish designs and etchings engraved in its broad walls and pillars all encompassing and surrounding the most meticulous statue Eshwlyn had ever laid eyes upon.

It depicted a lone woman, her face wrought in tears in an almost eternal grief, kneeling in penance with her arms up to the heavens-and as it was fabricated wholly out of crystals of every kind, upon the glare of the wintry sun, it gleamed and shimmered with flashes of prismatic colors ebbing and rippling across its finely sculpted surface.

“The Divine Yuila in all her Divinity,” Wilvur remarked, noticing Eshwlyn’s bedazzled stare. “The people here were most devoted to her out of all the Seven. The priests here practice her customs and preach her teachings with almost frightening fervor. As such they believe themselves living without sin, pure and protected solely by their own unwavering faith. Perhaps it might be a contributing factor for the carelessness they’ve shown.”

Eshwlyn had already known of the Divines, even long before her studies. The Elves knew of them too, only under different names, different titles. But even with the disparity between cultures, there was no mistaking, even to her eyes, who precisely this illustrious sculpture represented. For even among the Elvenkind, she was a highly coveted figure.

And yet, there were discrepancies. The humans had clothed her in their depiction, tarnishing her image with the designs and ways of human customs, but try as they might, they could not completely rid of her true form... for jutting out ever so slightly amid the rigid curls of crystalized hair were the distinct narrow outline of long, pointed ears.

“Elvanos,” She muttered aloud. “Cleanser.”

“Hm? Elva...? Ah, yes-it’s what your kind refer to her as, right?” Wilvur said, his sullen mood momentarily uplifted by this distraction. “I suppose, for once, your knowledge on this topic vastly outweighs my own, I am not abashed to say. In fact, I’d be sorely disappointed if it didn’t. After all... she was one of your own.”

He promptly began walking a ring around its length, its dazzling colorful glow painting his slightly amused expression, “Do you think it ironic, Eshwlyn? Us humans, the eternal enemy of your kind, devoting our beliefs, our lives, worshiping a single Elf? And yet, here we are, mankind utilizing your race for our benefit. Does it anger you?”

“I have no single opinion worth speaking, Master,” Eshwlyn said, picking and voicing her words carefully. “Should you insist on my views, I would claim that It is simply the way things are, the way we are... it cannot be helped.”

“A wise opinion,” He nodded. “And yet, truly she is befitting of her title, truly Divine....” Wilvur went on, and in his tone, carried almost a hint of admiration. “The wickedness of all beings she placed upon herself. Absolving us, cleansing us... constantly tarnishing herself with the sins of the world. It does not get any more selfless than that. This, from an Elf of all species. Bemusing how that works, hm?”

“Yes...” She agreed quietly, in her mind, recalling a certain young little Elf that too displayed a selflessness unmatched. “Bemusing, indeed...”

They loitered about the outside of the parish for a while longer, before the urgency of their plight had Wilvur darkening his expression once more, and silently shuffling, he had led them both clambering up the slippering stone steps of the entrance.

“Oh, by the Divines!” He abruptly exclaimed, his scarlet eyes widening in slight exasperation. “Am I as well too eager to walk to my own careless demise? I almost forgot... how could I have... seriously...” fading his mutterings, Wilvur briefly rummaged the insides of his large cloak, before producing something that emerged from his side in a whirling blur. “Take this, Eshwlyn. I trust you’re more than familiar with it, yes?”

Before she even knew it, wrapped in her stiff fingers, a sword in its sheath laid loosely in her palms, feeling its heft sinking her arms slightly... but then upon placing her grip onto the hilt, a familiar sensation shot through her.

A trained instinct, a honed memory unearthing in the back of her mind, and suddenly she felt the sword no more lighter than a feather. Slightly, she pulled back the blade from its sheath, and there, gleaming harshly back was a familiar silver shimmer.

“This is...” Eshwlyn began, utter surprise freezing the words in the back of her throat. “Master, this is...”

“Your sword, yes...” Wilvur finished for her. “More precisely, the very same you had used to cleave my men to bits. I still bear a slight animosity towards you for that, I confess.”

“And you are entrusting me with it?”

“Well, it sure does look like it, yes? Admittedly, I had intended to fetch a hefty sum at auction for such a relic-and yes, I do know of its craftsmanship-forged with the essence of Vilum. It’s potential scaling with the wielder’s strength, as such... a lethal weapon in the possession of a fierce warrior, and especially so in the hands of an even fiercer Elf.”

“So why haven’t you done as you’ve intended?”

He smiled. “Because then, I thought of you.”

Eshwlyn silently glanced back at her blade, her large green eyes reflecting back at her in its gleam... and appearing slowly to her right, gleamed a pair of scarlet eyes.

“You, who would be my best and greatest,” He said, wearing a wide smile. “Naturally, you need be only equipped with the best and greatest just the same.”

“Do you suspect a fight, Master?” She asked, wondering why of all instances, he had chosen now to bequeath her of such a weapon. “Do you believe Remelda resides within the parish walls?”

“Precisely, Eshwlyn. But as for fighting...” He trailed off, sullying his smile with a frown. “It is my hope it does not come to that eventuality. I only wish to reclaim her. And to add on, you have not undergone the conversion to turn yourself into a Knight. You are yourself in terms of both strength and prowess, whereas Remalda still retains her enhancements as a full-fledged Knight... and as such, should you two cross swords, you would find her to be quite the formidable foe.”

Eshwlyn then thought back to Tilina, recalled her words, her arguments imploding deafeningly in her mind. She had called her unfit, incapable, that such a task as this should be left in more capable hands.

And standing there now with the broader, fuller picture of the situation... still heaving her every breath... still enduring the painful poundings in her head... Eshwlyn almost felt compelled to somewhat agree with her claims.

“Master...” Eshwlyn sheathed her sword, sheathed her hesitance, her reluctance. “Rest assured, I will perform your orders to the best of my capabilities...”

“Yet alas...” Wilvur spoke, grinning. “I sense a disquiet steadily approaching.”

“But I must inquire, and if I may be direct... I ask of you... no, I urge of you, Master,” She took in a breath. “You will give my sister her freedom. You may keep your reward. Just let her go. I implore you. Do this, Master...” and she let out a quiver. “And I will be forever yours.”

A silence persisted for what seemed like an eternity. Wilvur maintained an unassuming expression, his gaze frozen staring into hers, and she returned peered back... waiting breathlessly for a reaction... for an answer...

And then...

“Request denied,” He smiled at her. “You will be rewarded as I’ve declared. But your sister will not be free. She will be kept, she will be confined-consider her as leverage for your undying loyalty. For if she is to be free... how do I know your obedience for me won’t be either?”

“It won’t! I’ll remain at your side forever! I promise you, Master!”

“Empty words echoed out of desperation,” Wilvur shook his head. “You are already mine, silly girl. How you thought any different, I do not know. It’s honestly a little pertubing how you’ve not instilled this fact in your head yet. But that is a concern for another time.”

Then he looked at her, and suddenly, his eyes gleamed dangerously once more. “Now do not speak of this anymore, understand? Do not breathe another word of requests, of wants, of needs. Knights do not need, Knights do not want. Your demands are your Master’s. You will do well to remember this... otherwise, well... am I understood?”

It was suddenly harder to refrain herself from trembling, from shaking, and not just from the blistering cold either... but in spite of it, Eshwlyn kept her voice steady, her expression empty.

“Yes, Master...” Only fracturing, only unleashing as she plunged down to a bow, speaking behind gritted teeth, curling fists. “I sincerely apologize for... for everything...”

“You are forgiven,” Wilvur said, almost in a drawl. “Now back to the matter at hand. Remember, you are here to protect me. I must remain unharmed, untouched. Should Remelda decide to attack, you will engage. And in the unlikely event you are to be overpowered... you will fight to your very last breath... if you are to die in the process, if you are to disappoint me... then so be it. Once more, am I understood?”

Eshwlyn lifted her head back up, reverting back again to her Master’s demands.

“I understand,” She almost stumbled getting the word out. “Master...”