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Chapter 3.07 H 

Word count: 12197
Released on: Aug. 26, 2017, 1:29 p.m.
Last edited: March 16, 2023, 5:59 p.m.
Book: Flowers of Esthelm (3)
Most mentioned character
243 mentions
Most mentioned class
1 mentions
Most mentioned spell
7 mentions

Mentions

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“We are fragments of the past, Ceria Springwalker. That is all we are.”
Ceria sat on her great-grandmother’s lap and looked up. The small cottage was covered in hanging herbs, braids of garlic—every time she breathed in, a myriad of spices tickled her nose. She sneezed, and her great-grandmother sighed.
Ceria shifted. Her seat wasn’t that comfortable—her great-grandmother was too bony, and she was holding the young half-Elf tightly in case she slipped away, which is what Ceria wanted to do. She hated questions like these.
Ceria shifted. Her seat wasn’t that comfortable—her great-grandmother was too bony, and she was holding the young half-Elf tightly in case she slipped away, which is what Ceria wanted to do. She hated questions like these.
An impatient sigh—Ceria felt her ear tips being flicked and she hunched over sulkily.
Chastened by the threat, Ceria sat as still as possible, trying not to move. She heard a quiet sigh from above.
“You’re too young. But someone has to tell you and those prideful fools would never speak of this. Ceria, the truth is that after all these long years, our people probably have only a drop of Elven blood in our veins. Only a drop, the smallest fraction of fractions. Only that. We aren’t half-Elves. Not even close.”
The news didn’t disappoint Ceria, because she didn’t fully understand.
“Again, not quite. Do you want to know something interesting, Ceria?”
Another sigh, but this time Ceria didn’t receive a flick to the ear.
“The interesting thing is that this is always true, Ceria. No matter how many generations pass, a half-Elf with a thousand Human parents on one side will always produce a half-Elf child. No matter what.”
Ceria’s doubtful reply elicited the first laughter from her great-grandmother she’d heard in a long time. The old half-Elf stroked Ceria’s hair gently.
Ceria’s doubtful reply elicited the first laughter from her great-grandmother she’d heard in a long time. The old half-Elf stroked Ceria’s hair gently.
“It might not seem like much to you yet, but it is something to remember. We are mostly Human, for all the others like to pretend we’re so much better. All we have is a drop of our heritage, Ceria. But it’s enough.”
“Enough. What runs in our veins is a fragment of what we were. An echo of legends past. But it is pure magic in our blood, Ceria. The purest. Even Dragons bowed to Elves as masters of magic. And though the Elves are gone, we remain. It is in our natures; magic. It comes to us easier than any other species, because of who we are. Who we were. The blood of Elves cannot be extinguished, and it calls out even after untold millennia. That which shall never fade.”
“I did. But we have a part of that in us, Ceria. Remember? Just a part, but that means in time, any spell holding you will fail. If I tried to put you to sleep with a spell, eventually you would wake up.”
“Really. But don’t you go letting people cast spells on you, Ceria. And don’t think this makes you better than the Human children. Don’t go near them. You can play with the others in the stream now.”
“No. I have work to do. Just try to remember, won’t you, Ceria? You’re the only family I have left.”
“Remember, Ceria.”
Ceria spoke the words aloud. And then she woke up.
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