Monastery of the Seven Forms, Calistril 27, 4590 AR (part V)

Wrapped in a slight magic shadow, Ayalal held his breath for seconds as he absorbed the whole new world. He looked at Lysa, then looked at the horizon, and looked back at Lysa, wordlessly.

She laughed a little.

“It's a pretty sight, is it not? The rest of the world,” she noted.

“Yes,” Ayalal murmured, taking three steps back along the rocky footpath that went down.

Lysa's eyes widened in alarm, and she reached for him, but Yudarh crossed the staff before her, stopping her.

Fascinated, the little boy contemplated the distance, the blue of the sky, its clouds of a peculiar shape and, with half-closed eyes, the Sun itself. He heard again the hawk's high call and this time he saw it, soaring off in a slow flight. The flapping of its wings transmitted pure freedom to him. Then he took a few more steps along the track, noticing another thing. He skidded once, but curiosity gave him extra confidence, helping him balance himself. He squatted by a rock and stood very still watching a solitary flower. The wind shook it, but the plant's resilience surpassed its apparent fragility. He stretched out a finger and gently touched the red petals. It was, without a doubt, the most beautiful being he had ever seen.

“It's a poppy. You can take it with you,” Lysa said, carefully picking up what had caught his eye.

“No.” Ayalal shook his head. “This is it house, it lives here. I can’t take it away. It would be bad for her.”

Lysa did not insist, actually enjoying that show of concern.

A few feet away, Yudarh sat down at the entrance of the tunnel, giving them a serene glance, before losing his thoughts on the vast horizon.

The hours passed. The sun rose higher in the sky until it reached its zenith, while Ayalal asked several questions about what they could see from there, what lived in the forests... and when could they see the sea up close.

Lysa opened her mouth, hesitating at the last answer.

“Well... when you're older.”

Ay blew his cheeks.

“I'm older by tomorrow,” he said.

“Oh, I'm the one who decides how old you must be,” Lysa laughed. “And now we have to go home.”

“Already...?”

“Yes. Master Yudarh has used this spell on you twice, we must not abuse the goodwill of others. We'll come back another day,” she said.

The little boy pouted, but eventually nodded. Shortly afterwards they made their way back through the tunnel, leaving the light of day behind.

When they reached the crossroads, Yudarh motioned with the staff to the road that would take them to the city.

“You can return to the orphanage.” The tone was indifferent and dry, nothing to which they were not accustomed.

Lysa smiled and bowed slightly.

“Thank you for everything, Master. Ay?”

Ayalal looked at Yudarh, clearly hesitant, before approaching, not quite as subtly as he would have liked, and he offered a sudden hug to the tiefling, arms around his legs.

“Thank you, Master Yu,” he murmured, before letting go as quickly as he had grabbed him, going to give Lysa his hand, very embarrassed.

The tiefling did not answer. He stood still, watching them go away for a moment before he returned to his business. Ayalal still looked back in time to see him disappear through the path on the crossroads that led into darkness.

*

Monastery of the Seven Forms, Calistril 27, 4590 AR (part IV)

As they approached the tunnel exit, the draft became stronger. The fire on the enchanted torches faltered without ever extinguishing themselves. A normal torch would last little more than a second.

Yudarh led the way, leaning on the staff that always accompanied him. The staff’s lower end was lined with metal, striking the floor and setting the pace. The path turned into a steep ascent, forcing Ayalal and Lysa to support themselves on the stone to climb, unlike the half-demon whose hooves seemed accustomed to such treks. It being a little-frequented passage, no one had bothered to build stairs to assist in the task.

A clear light, not that of the torches, began to reveal itself, peering at them from a bend that prevented them from seeing any further. Just as they moved past it, Ayalal cried out in pain and instinctively moved his forearm over his eyes. It was as if the light had taken the form of several needles that struck him by surprise.

Yudarh looked back.

“The light may hurt you, but if you really want to see the outside of this mountain, you will endure this pain.”

Unaccustomed to the brightness of the outdoor, Lysa narrowed her eyes.

“Will it hurt him, master?” she wanted to know, worried.

“Possibly, only a headache.” The tiefling resumed his walk. “Do not look directly at the sun, child.”

Ay nodded quickly, still with his arm over his eyes. In an instant, that sudden and unexpected pain had placed a pang of fear in his heart. He had never imagined that daylight would hurt him. He stood where he was, while Yudarh and Lysa's footsteps went on. He took a deep breath and forced one leg to move forward. He held on with his free hand and continued forward, slowly, hesitantly, toward the huge mouth of light, before him.

He had walked a few yards when, without warning, one of his feet struck on a boulder and the boy fell forward, helplessly. Startled, and trying not to get hurt, he reached out with both hands and opened his eyes. Light. Everything seemed made of light that blinded and erased the rest of the world. He closed his eyelids harder, but the light seemed to be trapped inside.

“Ay!” The word was carried away by the strong wind. One of Lysa’s hands touched his back, worried, while the other helped him to get up. “Master, he can’t open his eyes...”

“He can. Little by little” said the half-demon. His voice was not far off.

Ayalal said nothing, but the fists of his hands were clenched. A part of him urged him to run back into the tunnel, stumbling. Another wanted to see, open his eyes and absorb what new things would be there, the images that Lysa told him about in her stories. He waited, the moments slowing down. In the distance, he heard a sound he had never heard before, piercing the wind. It seemed to call him.

“What was that?” He asked, still not daring to open his eyes. There was already so much light with them closed, what would happen if he opened them?

“One of the hawks that inhabits the mountains came to greet you,” Yudarh said.

He became more curious. What would a hawk be and why would it greet him?

Slowly, the pressure he was making to close his eyelids began to ease. Two small gaps revealed a violet portion of his iris. He saw shapes and smudges of his surroundings, but the pain was still there, defying him. He tried to open more of his eyes, but the tears came to smear his vision even more, in a vain attempt to placate his suffering.

When he was about to give up of that effort, one of the figures came over and touched him. The child's body was swept by a chill, caused by a wave of energy, and suddenly the intensity of light diminished. Hesitantly, afraid that it might be a prank, Ayalal just opened his eyes and... widened them.

In front of him, the vast horizon revealed the lowest peaks of the steep mountains where he lived; beneath them, small green patches painted the plain; and, far beyond, a brilliant expanse embraced everything else – it was The Inner Sea.

Monastery of the Seven Forms, Calistril 27, 4590 AR (part III)

Ayalal eventually fell asleep on Lysa's lap. Carefully she stroked his dark hair. She felt sorry for simply taking him to the room where the rest of the children were resting. The same children who tormented him. She hesitated, but in the end she picked him up and she wnet to the older girls' room. There were four of them, counting on her, and all of them had grown up in the orphanage, under the tutelage of Headmistress Drane.

She laid him on her bed beside her, and cuddled him. Ay curled up, as he always did, looking even smaller.

“Sweet dreams,” she whispered to him, before she closed her eyelids too.

*

Ay ran ahead, while Lysa had just climbed the staircase leading to the top of the tunnel. The boy had a strange energy, despite his pallor, especially when he was excited. She followed the path punctuated by light and shadow, and she caught him standing in the middle of the crossroads, frowning, watching the path that led into the darkness.

“I thought I saw something,” he said, as Lysa stood beside him.

“Som... something?” Her voice trembled. “There's nothing there, Ay...”

“I'm sure I saw something,” he insisted, stepping into the darkness.

“No!” Lysa grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him slightly, pushing him to the side where Master Yurdah’s house was. “It was just a feeling”.

Ayalal puffed his cheeks, but he did not insist, glancing over his shoulder at the blackness they left behind. It was not forbidden to go there, but no one dared to do so. They had not even bothered to turn on lights. Or had there been lights and someone or something had put them out? Curiosity gnawed at him.

When they reached the bottom of the tunnel and knocked on Yudarh’s door, he was slow to receive them. They knocked again. Insistence was the key to being received. At last the door opened.

“I already told you...”

“We came to pay you a visit, master,” Lysa said, not allowing him to finish the usual phrase. Both thought Yudarh was too isolated. So much that Ay, worried, asked him, from time to time, if he could not live in the orphanage too.

Ayalal nodded at him.

“And we brought you something,” he said, reaching into his worn coat with sewed elbows that had been worn by other children. Ay produced a wrapping of cloth that Lysa recognized and held it out to the tiefling.

Yudarh frowned, taking the offer, and pulled the cord with a claw, revealing the cookie that was hidden inside. He raised his eyebrows for a moment, glancing at the child, before storing the unexpected present.

“It's been four years since I started taking care of Ayalal,” Lysa said, putting a hand on the top of the child's head and brushing his hair. “He decided to share his gift with us.”

“I see...” he hesitated, running a hand over his chin, thoughtful. “I was about to leave. Do you want to come?”

Lysa blinked.

“Where?”

“To the surface.” One of the corners of Yudarh's lips rose faintly as he saw Ayalal's eyes glow with enthusiasm.

Monastery of the Seven Forms, Calistril 27, 4590 AR (part II)

He leaned his head against Lysa's chest and sighed softly. Now he felt much safer, she would protect him from the evil monsters. Ayalal was silent for a moment, and as she did not speak, he looked up.

“How can I protect you from your monster?”

She smiled at him affectionately. There were boys at the orphanage who had a brother or sister to live with. Lysa was that to him, an important, valuable person.

“You already protect me, Ayalal.”

The little boy pressed his lips into a crooked and unconvinced grimace.

“Was it the monster who did this to you?” he murmured, reaching out and lightly touching the scar on her face, his fingers sliding over the roughness the burn had left.

Lysa looked away, her expression closing.

“It was,” she murmured, remembering her monster. It was a shadow that hung behind her, chasing after her. Lysa held Ayalal with one hand, and took the other to his small hand, grasping it against her face. “It was my father. But now he is far, I ran away from him. It's just that many things in the past are hard to forget.”

Ayalal's lower lip curled a little, pouting.

“Fathers are bad...”

“There are many who are not,” Lysa said, giving him a tender kiss on the palm of his hand. “There are bad people and good people, and people who are both, and some that are none of this. Yours may not be bad. Neither your mother. Maybe... something happened to them and they thought you were better here, with me. Maybe they think you can protect me from the bad monster.”

Ayalal looked thoughtful for a moment and then nodded, more confident.

“Yeah, that was it. I'll ask master Yu to teach me things to protect you,” he determined.

Lysa laughed when she heard him say that. Yurdah almost jumped out of his skin the first time a crawling Ayalal had called him “mast'Yu”. They no longer visited him regularly, especially after she had managed to wean Ayalal of the milk with blood, which had been easier than she had ever imagined. However, he was still a small boy with little appetite and, therefore, skinny.

“What if we pay him a visit, after dawn? What do you think?”

“Yes!” he said, smiling.

“But first...” Lysa took him gently from her lap and rose from the bench. Ay followed her with the eyes, intrigued.

“What's it?”

The young woman went to a cupboard from where she returned with a little cloth bag, bound with a string. She sat down beside him and held it out to him.

“Happy birthday, Ay,” she wished.

The child's eyes rounded as she stared at the rough package.

“Is it today?”

“Hm-hm. And this is your gift. It's little, but I hope you like it,” Lysa said, watching him pick up the package carefully.

Ayalal toiled a bit with the tight knot, biting the inside of his cheek. When he finally managed to open the bag on his lap, it revealed three cupcakes that fit together in the palm of an adult's hand. His eyes flashed with happiness – candies were a luxury that did not enter the orphanage.

“Taste them,” urged Lysa. “I heard they're very good.”

Ay nodded and picked one up. He hesitated for a moment before reaching it out to her.

“Taste it, too,” he offered.

“I can’t, they're for you...”

He smiled in an almost mischievous way.

“If they're mine, I want to give one to you. Come on, eat it...”

Lysa finally accepted, because she knew that, if she didn’t do it, she would make him sad. Ayalal took a second cupcake and gave it a small bite, savoring it slowly, without saying anything else. When he had finished eating it, he placed the third on the table and, without a warning, he put his arms around Lysa waist, hiding his face in her belly.

“Thank you.” The muffled words came to her with difficulty. Gradually, her nightgown moistened where the child was leaning his face. “Thank you.”

And Lysa knew it was a thank-you that went far beyond the three little cakes she had offered him. Ayalal could not imagine how much that gratitude was mutual.

Monastery of the Seven Forms, Calistril 27, 4590 AR (part I) (four years later)

He shuddered and suddenly opened his eyes. Darkness reigned in the room. However it wasn’t that which impeded him from seeing. Lying on his cotbed, on the ground, Ayalal watched the remaining children. Their breathing was light, monotonous. The boy sat up slowly, trembling, clinging to the blanket. Altogether, counting himself, they were thirty-two children, lying a little more than an arm's length away from each other and - except him - they all were sleeping.

He tried not to make a sound as he got up. He took the blanket with him on his back, like a cloak that he dragged across the floor, and went out through the door that had been left cracked open. Ayalal walked only with the socks on his feet, stopping in front of the next door for a few seconds. Lysa, along with the other ladies who took care of them, slept in that room. He bit his lower lip and shook his head, carrying on to the lower floor. He was too old to ask her to sleep in her bed. He was too grown up to be afraid of the nightmares that would not let him rest. He didn’t want to give the other children another reason to make fun of him.

The child peered into the kitchen, making sure it was empty before entering to sit by the fire. A small flame swayed between the burned logs, struggling to remain lit. He curled up on the blanket and lay on the ground, huddled, only his face visible, watching the faintness of the fire. Sometimes it disappeared completely, leaving only embers in its place, only to be reborn, a moment later. Ayalal closed his eyes, unable to sleep. Outside, the wind that flowed into the city, coming from the various tunnels, shook the windows shutters, making its way in through the slits. It frightened him. It was a sort of invisible monster that, if it could get in completely, would devour him. He shuddered, shrinking more.

Ayalal didn’t know how long he was in that position. Out of the orphanage, the wind settled. The monster had grown tired and had gone. Outside the kitchen, the wood of the stairs snapped. Ayalal opened his eyes and hurried to crawl under the kitchen table, dragging the blanket behind him. He shrank, hugging his knees, as the candlelight timidly illuminated the entrance. He saw two feet peeking from under a woolen nightgown and advancing across the stone floor to the table. The person sat on the bench, silent, waiting.

The little boy waited, heart to beat very fast, until he gained courage and peered through the space between the bench and the table top.

"How did you know I was here?" He asked in a whisper.

Lysa smiled at him affectionately and reached out to caress his black hair.

"A fairy told me."

"I've never seen any fairies here in the orphanage..."

"Ah... well... I actually had a bad dream," Lysa confessed.

Ayalal frowned and climbed onto the bench, sitting down beside her friend.

“It hurts?” He asked with genuine concern. "Did the monster harm you?"

She hesitated a little.

“It was just a bad dream. The monster does not exist.”

"Doesn’t it really exist?" He asked suspiciously. “I think it exists. Otherwise, it wouldn’t hurt you when you sleep.”

Lysa was not quite sure what to answer.

"Well, maybe it exists. We have to defeat them, then. How was your monster, Ay?” She wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him to her. She watched him, seeing not so much fear, but sadness.

"There were many," Ayalal murmured. "We couldn’t defeat them. I was in a dark room, they came through the ground and grabbed me. They started biting me and there was blood... I screamed, but there was no sound. They pulled my hair, they wanted to take my head off..." His eyes grew round, staring at his hands.

The young woman offered him a kiss on his black hair, letting him finish. Only then did she ask the question that had begun to hover with the description of the dream.

"Ay, did the other children beat you again?"

“No.”

The answer had been firm and quick. Too much so, actually. His small hands tightened, becoming paler than they already were. Lysa picked him up and sat him sideways on her lap, to hug him against her chest. All the children in the orphanage had an unpleasant history to tell. Although some, like Ayalal, have no real notion of that history, others, on the contrary, had been shaped by it. And in some of them, this had brought out the pleasure of hurting. Ayalal kept those wounds to himself. He told her only about the monsters who attacked him in nightmares, not realizing what they reflected.

Monastery of the Seven Forms, Pharast 02, 4586 AR (part IV)

Lysa was gasping as she returned with a covered jug tight against her chest. Yudarh raised his eyebrows as the girl entered the room where he was still sitting with the baby in his arms.

"You didn’t have to run, child," he noted, following her with his look, as she set the jug on the table. "He was not going to die any moment soon. Probably.”

"It’s been too long since he last ate, of course I needed to run, master," she muttered, putting one hand on the table and the other on her chest where her heart was threatening to jump from.

Yudarh said nothing and got up.

"Sit down, then," he said, gesturing with his free hand to the place left vacant. "And I do not want any complaints about what you may see me doing."

The girl frowned, but she ended up following his suggestion, sitting on the edge of the armchair and closing her eyelids for a second, taking a deep breath.

Yudarh headed to a low cupboard, where he lingered for a few seconds, accompanied by the clink of glass, until he brought with him a knife and a flask funneled at the mouth. He set them and the baby on the table. He glanced at Lysa before opening the earthen jug she'd brought. He peered at the amount of milk – it would still be enough for the little one to drink a few times. He opened the tapered vial and filled it. Then he raised Ayalal's back and head, supporting them with his hand, and tried to give it to him to drink. The baby grimaced and got milk all over himself, refusing to swallow the liquid, as the teenager had already described. It seemed more like a reaction to an unpleasant taste than some kind of malady.

"Weird babies..." he thought out loud, laying Ayalal back on the table without bothering to clean him. The tiefling reopened the jar and took the knife. He placed a forefinger on the bottleneck and let the blade make a small cut.

"Hey..." Lysa started to get up.

“I do not want any complaints!” Yudarh remembered, while three drops of blood fell on the milk. He set the knife down, closed the flask, and shook it, allowing the two liquids to mix.

She puffed her cheeks and took a fist to her mouth, preventing it from speaking. Lysa recalled herself that she trusted him, that she didn’t believe he would harm a baby, that she owed him more than life itself, and that Yudarh had never intended to collect that debt.

He picked up the baby again and let a drop of milk fall on his parted lips. As a first reaction, Ayalal grimaced as he felt the liquid, but then seemed to taste it. The half-demon offered him a few more drops, allowing him to get used to the different nuance the milk had, before giving him more to drink.

Lysa watched them, expectantly. Finally, Yudarh moved closer to her and lowered himself to return the baby.

"You can continue," he said, handing her the bottle. "I'll prepare more for you to take to the orphanage."

She hesitated, watching him go back to the table.

"Master, this... this... will not hurt him? Can it not make him... like it?”

"I'm counting on you to ‘wean’ him of my blood," he replied. "This is to be kept between us. And don’t you dare give him your blood, or I'll be very upset.”

“Because…?”

Yudarh looked away from what he’s doing, looking at her, keeping his hand dripping over the jar.

"Because if something were to go wrong, and he wasn't able to control the call that the blood might have on him... he possibly would have more tendency to drink one he already knows. And if that happens, I'll handle it.”

Lysa's gaze dropped to Ayalal, who sucked the milk, slowly, sleepily. She could well imagine how master Yudarh would deal with a bloodthirsty half-vampire. She shivered.

Monastery of the Seven Forms, Pharast 02, 4586 AR (part III)

“Holy water?” Lysa could not imagine that such was possible. “But it's just a baby!”

In her arms, Ayalal shuddered with sobs of pain.

"It doesn’t stop it from being inherently evil or…"

"He isn’t evil!" she almost yelled, interrupting the half-demon, which only made the baby start crying even louder. "Oh, I'm sorry, Ay..." she whispered immediately, caressing the top of his head and starting to cradle him. “Everything will be all right, my dear.”

Yudarh smiled to himself, returning to them and holding out a hand with sharp claws that grasped the boy's arm carefully. Lysa looked at him with suspicion.

"I didn’t say he was evil," he remarked, observing the reddish halo that the pale skin exhibited. "Only that there was a possibility. Holy water affects evil beings from other planes as well as the undead. Well, there are spells that detect the evil that a creature can emanate, just as they detect the undead. Your baby is not an undead, unless he disguises it very well. At the moment, I can only recall one thing that he might be – a dhampir.”

Lysa digested the word, continuing to cradle Ayalal.

"Does that mean he's the son of a vampire?"

"It does mean that, and it means it is information you should keep for yourself. There are those who are afraid and hate half-vampires and they would be quite capable of pursuing him. It also means that he should be kept away from holy water and any kind of positive energy. If someday someone wants to use a healing spell on him, do not let them. It could kill him. If necessary, bring him to me.”

The inflammation of the area where the holy water had hurt the skin disappeared after a more prolonged touch of Yudarh.

"And... Does he drink blood?" Lysa’s question was hesitant, not sure if she wanted an answer.

"That's a sensitive issue. They like blood, it is a substance that can cause them addiction, like a drug. But there are those who can withstand it. And, well, there's no harm in drinking blood, from my point of view. It's as bad as eating meat and fish," he added, after noting the girl's frown. "But prejudice will be a cruel knife if he decides to follow that path."

The baby's cry dropped to a subtle, tired sniff. Lysa caressed his face, thinking about all Master Yudarh had told her. She let Ayalal grab her finger and bring it to his mouth to suck on him. Where was the mother of that baby?

"But does that explain why he doesn’t eat?" murmured the young woman.

"No. Dhampirs are a little stronger than a normal baby, but even they die if they do not eat. Leave the baby here and get some milk. Hurry up.”

Lysa blinked. Leave Ayalal there?

“But...”

“Either you go now, or you can go away with your baby. And he will starve to death,” Yudarh said.

She blew her cheeks.

“It's ok. But do not hurt him again.”

“Or...?” He smiled, holding out his arms to the baby.

Lysa grumbled through her teeth, and finally handed him the baby. Despite her grumpiness, she was capable of entrusting him her life. She didn’t believe the Master would harm a child.

Yudarh watched her leave with quick strides, before returning the attention to what he had on his arms. His expression softened as he sat in his armchair, not too close to the fireplace.

"You came to join the band of pariahs, Ayalal," he murmured, examining the little boy face.

Now that he had stopped crying, the baby was watching him with a certain amount of attention, trying to assimilate the new voice and the new contours that were made known to him. Yudarh did a subtle gesture with his hand and whispered three words, allowing a weak spell to touch the child and reveal to him if it really was evil. The small presence didn’t emit any detectable aura. For now, he wouldn’t have to worry.

He sat back in the armchair, pensive. Were there any vampires in the city, perhaps hidden in the darkness of the galleries that were buried in the mountains? He didn’t believe that one had passed under his nose, but caution was never too much. He would investigate whether Ayalal's father would walk there. And if he was...

His red eyes narrowed as the tiefling contemplated the fire.

Monastery of the Seven Forms, Pharast 02, 4586 AR (part II)

“Master Yudarh...”

"How many times have I told you not to come here?" His tone was as hard as his look. In a clawed hand he held a staff which surface was clad in strange black symbols. He always walked with it and Lysa suspected it was magic. In his other hand was a closed bag.

"I know... but I really need your help," the teenager noted, looking down at Ayalal. "I needed you to help me take care of this baby. I'm not sure what to do with him... he does not eat, Master”.

Yudarh took a deep breath. Behind Lysa, the door latch swiveled by itself, unlocking it. He passed near the girl and opened the door, leaving it as it was as he advanced inside. Lysa hurried to follow the tip, before he changed his mind, and walked in, closing the door behind her. As he made his way down a narrow corridor, the lamps hanging from the ceiling lit up, illuminating their passage.

She did not know the house well, but visited it enough times to know that everything could be potentially magical and dangerous, in the words of Master Yudarh himself. They passed by three closed doors, and ended up in what was a mixture of bedroom, living room and kitchen. As soon as he laid a hoof inside the compartment, the fireplace before them crackled and the flames burst from the wooden logs. Yudarh threw the bag into a darker corner and leaned the staff on the wall to undress the black cloak he wore on his shoulders.

Lysa waited in silence, casting a glance at the shelves set on one side, filled with ancient tomes and mysterious flasks. The light of the flames touched them, producing reflections of other colors. She smiled a little. It was just as she remembered, when she had lived there, after Yudarh had found her in the mountains.

"I'm not a healer, do you know that?"

The question caught her attention, causing her to stare at him. A red tail oscillated behind his back. The great majority of the people in the city considered him a demon, and it was indifferent to them that he had never harmed anyone, that he lived in an isolated tunnel, alone with himself, away from trouble. Only his very existence was enough to wish him death. Lysa believed that this was why Yudarh did not want her there, so that they would not see her associated with a creature who was, in fact, a son of some demon.

"But you’re wiser than many," she noted, moving closer. “And more... understanding”.

He sniffed, rolling his eyes.

"The baby, you say he doesn’t eat," he said, going straight to the point. “Where did he come from?”

"He was left at the orphanage's door. I found him two days ago, in the morning," she explained. "I don’t know if he has any disease, but he's rather pale."

Yudarh took him from her arms in a swift movement that made her startle, afraid that Ayalal might get hurt. He walked with him to near the flames, watching him closely. The baby's face twitched a little, keeping his eyes tightly closed, in an effort Lysa probably didn’t notice. Yudarh moved away from the stronger light, noticing the baby’s face relaxing. He laid him on the table, unrolling it from the blanket that protected him from the cold.

"Does he have any marks on his body?" He glanced at Lysa.

"No, just this pallor. That I have noticed”.

“Hm”. Yudath turned away from him and went to one of the shelves with flasks. He looked at them for a moment and took one, uncorking it on the way back. Yudarh poured a single drop over his forefinger.

“What is that?” Lysa murmured.

There was no answer. Yudarh took Ayalal's arm, rolling up the sleeve of his ruffled clothes, and touched his skin with the finger.

Suddenly, a piercing scream of pain cried out from the newborn's throat. Lysa acted on instinct, tearing the baby of the table and hugging him against her as she glared at the half-demon, shocked.

Yudarh sighed and shrugged, corking the bottle again.

"It's painful, but that amount will not kill him. And it was good to have me testing it on purpose, than to be taken by surprise by it," he remarked, putting the flask back to the others. "What's in here is not supposed to be anything... for a normal baby. It’s holy water.”

Yudarh and Lysa, by Aergia

Monastery of the Seven Forms, Pharast 02, 4586 AR

Seated in the kitchen, folded over, with her elbows resting on the knees, Lysa was attempting to contain her frustration as she watched Ohlara, the wet nurse, trying to feed Ayalal. Two whole days had passed and, for some reason, he had refused to drink the milk.

"Maybe it's some illness". Ohlara would not stop repeating that, irritating Lysa until she could no longer listen to it. "It would be best to take him to a healer, try to figure it out. There may be a knot inside him... or the gods prefer that he does not live.

The teenage girl made a grimace that contorted her face, which was already somewhat contorted on one side. When she was a little girl, before entering the orphanage, a burn had marred her skin from the cheek to the brow and had almost blinded her.

“Maybe it's better. Stay with him a little while, please. I'll talk to Mrs. Drane" she said.

*

She left with hurried steps, heading for a small house two streets away. As she approached, she slowed the pace and frowned slightly, unhappy with what she saw. Six people were waiting at the door of the healer. One of them held a cloth around her hand, drenched in blood that was dripping on the floor; another, wan, was coughing, and the sound of her chest was a warning for Lysa to keep at distance; there was also a woman with a baby on her lap, with despair in her eyes.

"What are we going to do, Ay?" she murmured to the little boy, thinking to herself. Ayalal let out an opinionated low grumble. He had not cried again after that first time, not out of hunger, or to change his swaddling clothes, nothing. Maybe he really had an illness. The baby reached out a hand, seeming to want touch her chin. It was incredible how he still had the strength for it. If she had not eaten for two whole days, she would not move. “You're strong, aren’t you? There’s no way you have a disease…”

She lowered her face. When she felt him touch her scar, she remembered someone who might be able to help them.

Lysa turned around, making Ay mutter another grunt and pick up his arm. She moved away from the most populous part of the city, penetrating into less clear streets, where the illumination was worse. The houses were also less, some of them completely empty, abandoned by those who had not been able to live so long under the mountains. She made her way down a flight of stairs that had been carved into the stone itself. The steps stole her breath with their height, and she entered a tunnel leading into a darker area. The everlasting torches, fastened to the walls, were spaced at too wide intervals, creating shadows of irregular movements. They reminded her of creatures waiting to attack her. She swallowed and move forward, clutching the baby.

Further on, the road came to a crossroads. The tunnel on her left side would lead to the surface, but it was a half-forgotten route that probably only the monks took – it was from there that she had come to the city. In front of her was her destination, following the same pattern of light and shadows; but on her right side, a well of darkness was opened in the wall. She shivered. In the orphanage, stories were told of people who had been dragged by monstrous claws to passages like that, that sometimes the whispers of the dead were heard in the air. She wanted to believe that it were all lies that people told children. Furthermore, regular patrols surveyed the unlit parts of the city to make sure no dangerous creatures lurked there. And there was no official record of disappearances or attacks.

She took a deep breath, held her breath, and ran to the other side. Nothing caught her in the way, no sharp-clawed hand out of the blackness. She sighed, a little relieved, and felt at the same time ridiculous that at that age she still paid attention to the silly stories that were told among children.

She continued her way to the end of the tunnel, where the stone formed a house with a low door. Although there was a window next to it, there was no light coming from inside. Lysa hesitated a moment before knocking. She did not get any response. She knocked again, harder. Nothing.

She cursed, frustrated. She could wait for a bit, but she didn’t know when he would return. Or if he was just inside and didn’t want to open the door. Maybe it would be better come back later.

She turned and suddenly realized that she could not see the tunnel in front of her. A black figure blocked her way. She jumped back, squeezing Ayalal against her with too much force. The baby shrieked low, with the abruptness. For a moment, she thought it was a being of darkness that would kill her. She looked up, peering at a red man's face. His hair was as white as snow, but what most drew attention were the two black horns that grew from the forehead and arched back. He stared at her, with two orbs of an intimidating red. He struck a hoof on the floor, making her tremble.

Monastery of the Seven Forms, Calistril 28, 4586 AR (part II)

Please, take care of this baby. His name is Ayalal Duruvan.

The Headmistress placed the fragment of parchment on the kitchen table, next to an open bag of money. She counted 50 platinum coins in it - a huge amount. She glanced at the baby, held in Lysa's arms, by the fireplace. The teenager was talking to him, softly, as she waited for the warmth to give him a little more vitality.

"Duruvan ..." The surname meant nothing to her. However, whatever the family, it certainly had money, and the offering would be very useful.

"He's so pale, Mrs. Drane," Lysa said. "What do you think are his parents’ races?"

"For now that’s the least important," the headmistress cut off, her tone austere. They rarely heard her speak differently. “It's a baby. We will take care of him until he is grown. It will be your responsibility.”

“Mine?!” Lysa looked over her shoulder at the headmistress, stunned.

"Try to get him a wet nurse. The crib will be placed next to your bed. I do not want him to cry at night.”

Lysa's lips parted and then closed again, like a fish out of water, while she thought of how to avoid the orders. But she knew there was no way out, and she did not want to be punished for disobedience.

She sighed and looked back at the newborn. He shifted in the cloth around him, his cheeks a little more reddened by the heat of the fire. With a grunt, he began to wake up. When the little boy finally opened his eyes, they looked at each other, and he did not look pleased at all. His face began to squirm in a grimace, and shortly after, an acute cry filled the kitchen of the orphanage.

Monastery of the Seven Forms, Calistril 28, 4586 AR (part I)

The moment alone between mother and son was interrupted by another knock on the door. Kalëni did not answer, singing on in a whisper to the sleeping baby. The door opened and Guiran came in, carrying a basket in her hands.

"It's time, my lady," she murmured, stopping by the bed. "Believe that one day you may meet again. Sarenrae will watch over you.”

Kalëni did not find the strength to respond. She overcame the intense urge to remain attached to the baby and extended him to her personal servant. She shuddered when Guiran held him, when she did not feel the light weight in her hands. Her arms remained extended for three long seconds, before they were bended against her chest, embracing an invisible presence that was emptying.

Guiran nested the baby in the basket, making sure he was tightly covered, and, beside him, left a small message and a leather bag.

Kalëni watched them leave, her eyes filling with tears. When the door closed, an excruciating pain filled her chest. She folded herself and wept until she had no more tears, until she felt empty.

*

The city's strongest lights had not yet come to life, to simulate the day in the underground city. Guiran strode along the empty streets. A scarf hid her dark hair and part of her dark features. She did not want to take the risk that some early morning passer-by might recognize her.

She stopped in front of a building carved out of the inside of the mountain, like so many others. It was tall and austere, like a mixture of church and asylum. The wide wooden doors were closed. She looked from side to side, making sure there was no one around, before climbing up the three front steps that led to the entrance of the orphanage. She set the basket down. Despite the cold, the little boy did not wake up.

"May the gods protect you," she murmured, with a regretful wish.

Then she stepped away, not daring to look back, so repentance wouldn’t overcome duty.

It had been over an hour. The lights that mimicked the day unfolded, illuminating the streets and awakening the inhabitants. Inside the basket, Ayalal shifted and shrank in the cold, without waking.

After the first early morning activities, one of the doors of the building opened inward. At the entrance, a young woman still in her teens, frowned when she saw what was waiting for her. She approached cautiously, as if the basket might be trapped, and peeked inside.

"He's dead," she murmured to herself as she stared at the pallor of the newborn’s cheeks. She put a hand to his face, feeling the coldness of his skin. As if by reflex, the little child sneezed.

The girl jumped and pulled back her hand immediately. She took a deep breath. He was not dead after all. But she shouldn’t dally. She hurried to pick up the basket and ran inside. Her voice rose in the corridor, distressed, as she headed for the kitchen.

“I found a baby!”

Monastery of the Seven Forms, Calistril 27, 4586 AR (part II)

Tiredness eventually overcame Kalëni, forcing her to finally fall asleep. When she woke up, the night had taken over the town. She was startled for a second, feeling, at the same time, her whole body aching for the sudden tension. However, she relaxed as she noticed the baby's presence beside the pillow. He had a little finger in his mouth, which he was sucking, and he was looking at her. She brought her face close to his, smiling.

"Good evening, little one," she murmured. His eyes were the same as his father's. At first glance, and in the dim light, they looked blue. But they were in fact a light shade of violet.

Ayalal seemed to be watching her with curiosity and, slowly, took the finger out of his mouth, holding out a small hand toward her in a somewhat vague movement. Kalëni brought her face close, letting his hand touch her, exploring her cheeks and lips. She kissed the little palm, making it withdraw a little, while the little boy gave an exclamation, perhaps in surprise.

Without getting up, she took the newborn and nestled him on her chest.

"Are babies always so quiet?" she wondered, surprised at the lack of crying. The midwife had washed the little boy, while Kalëni was asleep. Was it possible he had cried and she hadn’t noticed?

She offered to him one of her black tresses, letting him play a little. He examined it, extending his other hand to it.

"Aren’t you hungry, Ay?" she murmured, as the baby entertained himself. He did not look like it. Babies cried when they were hungry, right? The woman was not sure.

She held her breath for a moment and sat down, leaning against the headboard. Then, she tried to breastfeed him. At first, the baby drooled, trying to figure out what was happening, but slowly began to suckle.

Kalëni was staring at him, a sweet smile on her lips, when someone knocked on the door. She looked up as it pushed, and a woman, not the midwife, peered at her.

"Lady Kalëni, I am glad to see you awake and well," she said, giving her a sincere nod.

She smiled at her, still nursing the baby.

"Come to see him, Guiran," she murmured. “He's so sweet...”

The woman hesitated, before entering and closing the door behind her. She approached the bed and peered at the little baby.

"Yes, no doubt, my lady. But you can not be fond of him," she reminded her. "He will not be yours."

The happiness vanished from Kalëni's face. For a moment she had forgotten why she had traveled in secret to a city as remote as that one, in the mountains. She had forgotten why she had come in anonymity, like a criminal in disguise, three days earlier.

"He will always be mine, wherever I am," she whispered, unable to contain the tears. "He came from me, he is my son, even though he may never know.”

The baby stopped nursing and looked up, somewhat disturbed by the realization that something had changed, perhaps in the heartbeat of the mother, or in the voice that now was trembling.

"Yes, my lady," murmured Guiran. "Before dawn, I will deliver him to the orphanage of the city. We'll have to leave in the morning, and no one can know he's yours.

Kalëni was silent for a moment.

"Get out," she said in a forced tone. “Get out, Guiran”.

The woman bowed slightly, uncomfortable with all that, and hurried out. Before closing the door, a "I’m very sorry" still reached the young woman, ripping from her a sob of pain.

Ayalal let out a kind of protest and extended both of his pale arms to her, as if recognizing her pain. Kalëni embraced him and, for the little child, regained control of her emotions. Sweetly, she began singing an old lullaby in Elven. By the light of the fireplace, the melody accompanied mother and son, as the hours coursed through the night.

Monastery of the Seven Forms, Calistril 27, 4586 AR (part I)

"Take a deep breath, my lady. Now, push”.

She gasped and squirmed. Pallor had taken her face, while the beads of sweat trickled down her forehead and slid down to the chin, mingling with tears on the way. She closed her eyes and wrung the hands on the sheets before obeying the midwife.

An immense wave of pain went through her body, ripping out a muffled scream. She felt something between her legs, and it did not seem to be the midwife's hands.

"Once more, do not stop now. Courage!”

With difficulty, she took another deep breath. It was as if someone was stealing the air from her and, with it, the little energy she had left.

This time the scream was less controlled, as the whole body contracted with strenght she thought no longer existed in herself. And, finally, something slid from within her.

Leaning on trembling elbows, resisting lying down on the back on the bed, she tried to see over the bent knees. Someone had put a cloth on them, which prevented her from looking between the legs. The midwife took a pair of scissors and cut something.

“My ... my baby?” she murmured. The tone was weak, imploring. “How… how is it?”

The midwife looked up.

"Lady Kalëni, now you can rest ..."

“My baby?!” She let out a sob, staring at her almost desperately. That was the emotion which still held her in that position, expectant and, at the same time, fearful.

The other woman did not respond right away, returning to what she was doing. Kalëni wanted to get up and take the child in her arms, she wanted to see them, to feel them, to hug them before it becomes impossible. However, she felt that if she moved much more, the body would not hold. Even her sight was starting to falter, swaying between the clear and hazy. In fact, she was not even sure she could keep herself alive.

After a few minutes, she saw the midwife smile a little, with a faint relief softening her expression.

"He's a boy and he's alive," she said, picking up a small being and wrapping it in a woolen shawl. The winter chill got inside through the cracks of the underground city, trying to freeze the houses. Not far from the bed, a hearth tried to fight it while lighting up part of the room.

When the little one was taken to her side, the young woman peered at him, with a craving tightening on her chest. Despite the blood that still stained him, the little face, with closed eyes, was extremely pale. She could see the hesitation of the midwife now. In another child, he might have been confused with a dead body. A few strands of black hair appeared on his head, and his ears with pointed ends were the same as her own. A little half-elf ... her little half-elf.

She smiled and dropped back. She inhaled and breathed out. Her eyelids threatened to close, but she did not allow them to do so. Not yet. Kalëni stretched out her shaking arms and, with great care, took the child, pressing it to her chest. She bit her lower lip, preventing it from trembling. The baby was serene, breathing lightly, and she would not disturb him with her own crying or the sorrow that undermined her chest. He deserved more than that. She let a finger slide down his cheek, in a tender touch. His soft skin offered a strange coldness, possibly inherited from his father.

"My little Ayalal," she murmured, offering him a kiss on the forehead.