Chapter 62: Nyra’s past
The food came quickly — a steaming plate of stew, fresh bread, and a small cup of warm milk. The smell made Oliver’s own stomach grumble, but he slid the plate toward Nyra first.
"Alright," Serena said, sitting across from them, chin resting in her palm. "You’d better start explaining before my staff thinks I’ve adopted a runaway thief."
Oliver chuckled sheepishly. "Yeah... well, I kinda zoned out while walking after dinner. Next thing I know, I’m in some grimy alley in the bad part of town. This one—" he tilted his head toward Nyra "—comes barreling into me like a scared rabbit. And then these guys show up yelling about catching her and putting a price on her head. Slave traders. About five or six of them. Maybe more."
Serena’s face darkened at the word slavers.
"So," Oliver continued, leaning back in his chair, "I may have... carved them up a little. Just a bit."
"Just a bit?" Serena gave him a flat look, though there was a small smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.
Oliver grinned shamelessly. "Hey, they started it. And I couldn’t just leave her there, could I? So I brought her here. Safer than wandering the streets."
Serena sighed, glancing at the girl still sitting quietly, hood drawn low. "You have the worst habit of getting into trouble, Oliver. But... you did the right thing."
She pushed the plate of food gently toward Nyra. "Eat. You must be starving."
Nyra hesitated for a moment, then nodded slowly.
"You can take off your hood too," Serena added softly. "You’re safe here."
Nyra’s small hands rose, trembling slightly as she pulled the hood back.
What emerged made Oliver blink.
A soft, delicate face framed by light silvery hair, skin pale and flawless. Her features were gentle, almost doll-like, the kind of face that made you want to protect her without thinking.
But what really caught his attention were her ears — long, but not as long as the elves he’d seen illustrated in Isolde’s books.
"Elf?" Oliver blurted before he could stop himself.
Serena leaned closer, squinting. "No, elf ears are longer. More tapered. She’s..."
Her words trailed off when she noticed Nyra’s head droop, her expression darkening.
"Ah—wait, no, I wasn’t trying to insult you!" Serena said quickly, holding up her hands. "I was just correcting him."
"It’s alright." Nyra finally looked up, meeting their eyes for the first time. There was a quiet strength there, but also a trace of wariness that hadn’t faded.
"I’m not an elf," she said softly. "I’m a half-elf."
Oliver sat back, blinking.
"A half-elf?"
She nodded. "My mother was human. My father was... not." Her gaze dropped back to her plate, as if even mentioning him left a bitter taste in her mouth.
"How did you end up in those slavers’ hands?" Oliver asked gently. "I mean... what about your parents?"
Serena nudged him under the table, shooting him a look. "Read the room, would you?" she whispered.
But Nyra shook her head. "It’s alright."
She set down her spoon, took a deep breath, and continued.
"I don’t know anything about my father — who he was, what he looked like. Nothing. For as long as I can remember, it was just me and my mother. She worked herself half to death doing odd jobs so I could go to school. She used to tell me that no matter how hard things got, she wanted me to live a happy life. But when I was twelve, she fell ill. She didn’t have the strength to keep working, and no money for medicine..."
Her voice broke.
"She... she died before she could see me grow up."
Nyra’s shoulders trembled, tears streaming freely now.
Serena immediately moved around the table, kneeling beside her and pulling the girl into a warm embrace. "Shhh. It’s alright now. You’re safe here."
It took a while for the crying to stop. Nyra sniffled, wiping her eyes with the back of her sleeve.
"You alright now?" Oliver asked softly.
Nyra nodded, though her face was still red from crying.
"There’s still food left," Serena said gently. "Eat before it gets cold. You need the strength."
Nyra gave a small nod and quietly began drinking the stew again. The only sound in the room was the soft clink of a spoon and the quiet chewing as Oliver also finished what was left on his plate.
"Gods," Oliver said after a moment, leaning back and patting his full stomach. "I think I might have overeaten."
Serena smiled faintly and turned to Nyra. "Are you full, dear? Or do you want a little more?"
"N-no," Nyra said quickly. "I’m full."
Oliver glanced at her curiously. "Nyra... have you ever tried visiting the elven kingdom? Maybe you could have found your father there?"
Nyra’s expression changed instantly. The sadness from earlier hardened into something sharper — anger.
"I did go there," she said bitterly. "When my mother fell ill, I went to find him. To beg for help. But they wouldn’t even let me through the gates. To them, I’m filth — a stain on their race. A mistake that should never have been born."
Her hands clenched into fists.
"They told me my other was lucky that an elf fucked her, but it would have been better if he had took care of the filth too but since I came on my own they would make sure ’the mistake was corrected.’ They handed me over to the slavers. I was put on an auction stage like some piece of livestock. Men in masks bid on me as if I was an object to own. I was sold to the highest bidder."
Her voice cracked, and she hugged herself tightly.
"I ran away when they were transporting me to that noble’s estate... and I’ve been running ever since."
By the time she finished, the air in the room felt heavy.
Oliver’s hand tightened into a fist on the table, his jaw clenched. "Good. Good. Those long-eared bastards... they think they’re so perfect, so pure..."
Serena’s voice was low, calm — but laced with fury. "How can anyone treat another person like that? Like they’re just an object to sell?"
Then she placed a hand gently on Nyra’s shoulder.
"You’ve suffered enough, dear. You don’t have to run anymore. Stay here as long as you want. I’ll treat you as if you were my own daughter. And Milli always wanted a younger sister." Serena smiled softly. "I think she’d be thrilled to meet you."
Nyra froze — and then, slowly, fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. She hadn’t been held like this, spoken to like this, since her mother passed.
She leaned into Serena’s embrace, hugging her back tightly.
"Thank you," Nyra whispered, her voice breaking again — but this time, from relief.
Before anyone could speak, a sharp voice cut through the air.
"Tch. I never liked those prideful bastards."
Everyone turned toward the sound.
Isolde was standing halfway down the stairs, one hand resting lazily on the banister. Her expression was cool, almost scornful, crimson eyes glinting in the dim light.
"Isolde?" Oliver blinked. "How long have you been standing there?"
"From the start," she replied matter-of-factly. "I was wondering what was taking you so long, so I came to check. Who knew I’d get such a fascinating story while I waited?"
She descended the stairs with the unhurried grace of a predator, the silk of her black nightdress whispering with every step. It wasn’t exactly modest — a thigh-high slit exposed one leg entirely, and the neckline plunged just enough to make Oliver suddenly very aware of where he was looking.
When she reached the bottom, she flicked her fingers casually. A chair from a nearby table floated across the room and stopped right beside theirs.
With perfect poise, she sat down, crossed one leg over the other, and propped her chin on her hand — as if she owned the room.
Nyra’s wide eyes followed every motion, clearly awed.
Oliver finally broke the silence. "What did you mean by that comment earlier?"
Isolde smirked faintly. "I meant exactly what I said. The elves are so prideful, I sometimes wondered if there was a mistake in their creation. Instead of long ears, they should have been born with long noses — so they could look down on us properly."
Serena’s brows lifted slightly.
"You’ve had run-ins with elves before?" Oliver asked.
"Of course." Isolde’s lips curved into something between a grin and a sneer. "They came to our court once, during my time, when Tenebris’s artifacts were sought after by everyone. They also came to make purchase. But do you know what they said?"
"What?" all three of them asked at once.
Isolde leaned back in her chair, her tone dripping with disdain.
"They told us that it was our fortune — the greatest blessing of our race — that the Elven Kingdom had deigned to offer Tenebris the chance to become their vassal state."
Oliver’s eyes widened. "What?"
"Tenebris?" Serena echoed the name, tilting her head. "I’ve never heard of a nation called that."
"Exactly." Isolde gave a humorless laugh. "We were the strongest nation of our time — a true hegemony. And they had the audacity to say it was salvation for us, who lived in ’darkness,’ to serve the elves, the ones ’blessed by the gods.’"
Oliver leaned forward slightly. "So... what did you do?"
A grin spread across Isolde’s face, sharp and wicked.
"We beat them. Badly." She chuckled. "The envoy was so mangled when we were done that I’m sure even his own mother wouldn’t have recognized him."
Serena’s jaw dropped slightly before she let out a low whistle.
But then Serena’s curiosity returned. "Still... where is this Tenebris nation? I’ve never even heard its name in passing."
At that, both Oliver and Isolde went still.
It wasn’t like they could say it was destroyed centuries ago.
Oliver coughed, schooling his face into something appropriately grim.
"There’s no Tenebris anymore," he said quietly. "It... was destroyed. Neighboring nations wiped it out."
The mood in the room shifted immediately, the weight of history hanging in the silence. Serena looked as though she wanted to press for more, but seeing Oliver’s expression, she wisely let it go.
"Well," Serena said gently, forcing a warmer tone back into her voice. "Enough of gloomy stories. Tonight is for good food and new friends. Let’s not let the past spoil it."