My Servant Is An Elf Knight From Another World

Why was she saying these things?

These awful things?

These awful lies?

"Eshwlyn, you must understand this, please…" Terra slowly, desperately spoke. More words, more lies. "Lenora now lives a fractured existence. Neither truly dying nor truly living. In death, a soul as fragmented as hers will not be inherited by the Lady Enstar. She will not accept it. So Lenora will live, but just—hollow, as a husk… a broken soul trapped inside a dead shell. And at face value… Eshwlyn, I'm sorry… she's no longer the Lenora we know."

Eshwlyn might have heard only half of Terra's words, with the rest lost to the distant echoes of shock, denial, for the warmth she felt weighing down in her arms, the empty gaze she saw through welling eyes… indeed any moment now it'd rouse, it'd recognize… to her, that was the truth, it had to be the truth.

Anything otherwise… it's all just more lies.

The silence of falling snow, the ambiance of frigid winds—Lenora never liked the cold. Yes, that was all this was. It was just the cold. She was just simply cold.

So Eshwlyn tightened her hold, embraced her close, sheltering her body from the cruel winter sky… and for some strange reason, tears were still leaking out her eyes, still bleeding, still falling… tiny red splotches forming atop the white earth.

Terra cautiously treaded a step forward. "Eshwlyn, please…"

"No!" She shouted again, her anger swelling once more, her bloodied tears searing her cheeks with rage. "No more lies! Enough of it! I won't hear it!"

"Please, I know you're overwhelmed… I know it's truly a difficult thing to believe, it's hard, but—"

"No, I don't believe you, how do you expect me to?! You took but a single glimpse of her and you think you can just simply declare—that you can just pronounce my… my sister to such a fate, you—! How dare you! She'll be fine, I know without a doubt, she will be… she's always been fine… I've always kept her safe. She's safe!"

"And I know this because it was the fate Wilvur's ancestor has subjected his early Elves to in his war against the Bright lord until he finally perfected it!" Terra said, risking another closer step. "I know this because her skin is graying as we speak! Her eyes are losing their green hue, and soon she'll rouse again, groaning and moving, like you're wishing—but understand she won't be alive! And if you sever her limbs, you manage to ground her body into dust, her body will just simply reassemble itself! An undying husk! That's what it means to be completely rejected by both death and living itself! And that is her fate now."

"You don't know that for certain!"

"I'm sorry, Eshwlyn… but I do…"

"Then you fix her!" Eshwlyn shifted her knees, stiff muscles flaring as she whirled around towards the young Magus, presenting her little sister's lifeless body before her. "You heal her! You've done it before! Just mend her soul, restore it back to how it once was—do something!"

"I just told you it's not possible, remember?" Terra hung her head, averting her gaze from the haunting sight of Lenora's vacant eyes. "I want to, believe me, I wish I could. I-I loved her too, so much, as much as… but listen to me, there is no process that would bring her—"

"Try anything!" Eshwlyn snapped, feeling inside her a wild, feral instinct she has not felt in so long. "You haven't given anything a chance yet! What if you're wrong!"

"I am not wrong, alright? It's—!"

"Do it!" She shouted again. "Or I'll kill you where you stand!"

The moment the words left her lips, the guilt quickly overwhelmed her. Seeing Terra's gaze quiver with fright, the shame momentarily overtook her desperation, and she looked away from her, turning back to her sister instead.

Then suddenly, so subtle, so slight that she almost missed it entirely, Eshwlyn saw one of Lenora's fingers give a twitch.

At once, in her widening eyes, in her hitched breath—hope rousing.

"Lenora? Lenora?!" She lightly shook her sister. "Terempt'ti. Coldi'far her ma nur. Ren? Ren?"

Small signs, small movements. Lenora slanted her head, a vague sense of curiosity stirring in her gray-green eyes looking up at Eshwlyn's frantic expression. Not a second later, she made a faint noise, a small groan… it almost sounded like an amused snort.

"Eshwlyn, I wouldn't…" Terra narrowed her lips, seeing the little Elf harboring signs of life, and Eshwlyn deliberately falling to its deception. "It's memories, insincere—I told she's not…"

"Terempt'ti tar fulkur, Lenora, na?" But Eshwlyn was no longer heeding her words. Nothing else mattered now. She was right. Lenora was alive. "Felsifar noktrum, dres trein. Aiswol—"

It was white.

Shockingly cold when it hit her.

Eshwlyn wiped the snow from her face, batting from her eyes, only to be immediately sprinkled by another hard spatter.

Lenora was throwing snow all around.

"Vol doras tamar?" Eshwlyn managed to evade the next handful, staring at her sister with bewilderment. "Lenora, what are you doing?"

It was as if she was reaching for something on the ground, scouring through sleets of white in order to find it, grasping aimlessly, her arm dangling more than it was actually moving.

Then her arm stopped in place, she found it—and pulled. Eshwlyn watched in utter confusion as Lenora held up tufts of grass in her fist, before moving on, struggling now to reach it above her sister's head. And when she couldn't, she opted to throw it as she did with the snow, sprinkling it all over her sister's long white locks.

"Lenora, semmer ni tar—answer me, please… what are you doing?"

Another muffled groan, another shower of green grass. It took four more handfuls before Eshwlyn finally put a stop to it, firmly grabbing Lenora by the wrist. Four handfuls before she finally understood what her little sister was trying to do.

"Stop it…" Eshwlyn quietly pleaded, feeling a burning, a blurring in her eyes once more. "Please stop…"

Yet Lenora wasn't listening, trying futilely to pry her hand free, droning dully as if complaining… after all, it wasn't complete… the wreath atop her sister's head wasn't perfect just yet…  and for her sister, it always needed to be perfect. Just like she's always done for her before. Every knot, every weave, meticulously made with love.

But there was no love here.

Just dirt.

Just grass.

An empty stare.

A hollow moan.

Lenora was no more.

Terra was not a liar.

For the longest eternity, Eshwlyn simply remained in place, motionless, a husk herself, a sliver of effort persisting to keep the body in her arms from moving too much. The snow was rising higher, falling heavier—the corpses sprawled across the courtyard slowly being buried under, and at that moment, the urge to bury herself among them was more than just temptation.

Another eternity passed, and the groaning and writhing suddenly atop her knees ceased, reverting back to slight breathing, slow blinking, dying—with gray eyes wide open.

It was another long while before Eshwlyn faintly began to hear something sounding from far in the distance. It sounded like marching, like rallying, rapidly making its way to her position. and suddenly Terra was looming over her—a dark, somber look brimming in her expression.

"They're coming. The King's Guard, they're here…" She then added a firmness to her voice. "Eshwlyn, you need to run now. Get away from here as far as you can."

In barely a perceivable whisper, Eshwlyn spoke, "No."

"Eshwlyn, I know the predicament you're in, I empathize with your grief, I do, but please…" Terra said, exasperated. "This is no time to let it cloud your judgment! If you choose to give up, you lay down and die here, what meaning would it even bring?! Another life meaninglessly snuffed. There is already enough death!" Then briefly, her wide blue eyes flicked to the vacant gray. "One too many…"

"If you did emphasize, then you would understand to just leave me be," Eshwlyn said monotonously. "I am done trying, finish struggling. Everything I've done, all I've wished… all solely for her and it didn't even matter. Instead, I only manage to break her. My only chance, and I couldn't do it. I broke my little sister… so I ask you, just how? How can you stand there, demanding me to live, when I am the person least deserving of the privilege?"

"You. Will. Live," Terra roughly slammed her knees into the snow, heaving and speaking every word as if it were her last. "Because it is what precisely Lenora wants for you and you know it. And if that's not reason enough for you, if being unable to save your sister's life is too heavy a burden to bear… then at the very least, have the will to prolong your existence just long enough to grant your sister the mercy of death."

Eshwlyn finally lifted her eyes from the ground, and looked at Terra directly. It was like a storm in her head was clearing, and the implications began to dawn on her.

Indeed Lenora wasn't alive. But she also wasn't dead. Instead, she was trapped, fractured. A cursed existence of no foreseeable end. To die, to senselessly leave her sister to such a fate… Eshwlyn felt her emotions begin to stir again, disgust at first—then determination.

"The mercy of death," She repeated back, scouring through Terra's gaze. "How?"

"I-I don't know," Terra honestly admitted. "But together we may find a way, I know we will. If you would just live—in time… surely in time… and after that… when your purpose is done, if you still see fit to it…" She took in a breath. "Then you may reunite with your sister again as you wish."

It was the last words they'd ever speak to each other, because right then, barging through every entrance in sight, a large swarm of guards began to funnel into the courtyard bearing arms and bracing for combat—at once, Eshwlyn's hold on her sister's body tightened significantly.

At the sight of Eshwlyn, they immediately began to converge around her, pointing their weapons, rousing their spells… only to be abruptly halted in place before they could do or say anymore. Terra had risen to her feet, a palpable air of authority exuding with the stare she wore.

"The situation is under control!" She said, extending a hand in warning. "It was not her that instigated this incident! Rest assured, her innocence in this undisputed. Furthermore, this Elf is incapacitated, injured, by all intents—harmless!"

"Harmless, you say? Elves?" It was the most tumultuous voice, words resonating like a loud roar in a valley. "And here I thought better of you than that, Magus Terra."

A ripple of bows from men to men, as a daunting figure emerged from the front entrance of the courtyard, his large sword unsheathed, his suit of armor well-worn, by all means, a soldier on a battlefield like any other… except almost giant, almost non-human, with the golden crown perched atop his head only barely fitting his size.

"Y-Your Highness," like everyone else, Terra bowed in greeting, losing the sternness in her demeanor. "Please, I implore you… you must hear me out first before you come to any consensus. It is vital that you listen."

"But I've already heard enough, I believe. And my decision is final," The King said, his booming voice thick with gravitas. "Wilvur Hendrick is dead. The Magus of my Kingdom joining him. His Elf is to blame for it all. Two great men dead. This day has known a great tragedy like no other. Justice must be served."

"It already has. The Knight in question is already—"

"But it lives," He sharply interjected, pointing his greatsword towards Eshwlyn in the snow. "Wilvur's other Elf. A greater, more powerful threat than any other. Its prowess affirms to that. It must be dealt with. And as King, and more importantly, as a friend to both men, I will deal with it myself."

The King took a lumbering step forward, only to, in a spur of defiance, have Terra obstructing him from pacing any further. At this, his scowl grew significantly fiercer, like a wild beast ready to strike, but he remained in place, and merely blink heavy eyes at her.

"I recall when we first met, you being wiser beyond your years, wiser than even I in some aspects," He said slowly, before dropping his sword to his side. "Speak. I will not wait for you long."

"Become her Master, Your Highness," Terra immediately said, throwing all caution to the blowing wind. "Have her be your Knight! You attest to it, her potential is too great. She will be invaluable to your humanity's continuous prosperity! You know she will!"

"Wilvur believed that too," He shook his head at her. "Do you need a fresh reminder of where that got him? After the death of two great talents, how do you believe to convince me to take upon a Knight myself? I'm sure you are aware of my stance on the matter. "

"Ah—with all due respect, Your Highness, but Wilvur was a fool," She said a little irritably. "His death was of his own making! Complacence! A mistake you, in all your foresight, will not repeat! It is also begrudgingly I admit he too has his inkling of wisdom. And it is only wise, only rational, that you make use of this Elf and not let her talents, her potential go to complete waste. Killing her now… forgive my bluntness… but you will only be foolish for doing so, I promise you."

"Insulting me is a rather unusual approach to earning my faith in you," He said stoically. "Why, Terra? Why are you so insistent upon this? Do you truly believe this Elf is worth this much effort?"

"I do," then quickly she added. "But I understand your grievances too! By all means, keep her confined! Become her Master, then have her safeguard, entrapped her behind lock and key—months, years, decades, a full century—how long you wish to do so, do it! Because maybe one day there might come a threat, a time, where you may find yourself needing her skills. And when such a time does come… then there you will have her, ready to serve, to fight, at your behest."

There was a bit more of back and forth, arguments that needed deconstructing, worries that needed quelling, and Terra desperately assuring. But all that Eshwlyn could focus on was the lifeless husk of her sister, breathing… blinking… not dying… not living… and she remembered thinking, remembered promising… no matter what happens, she will put her to rest no matter what it took of her.

"Very well, then. Go ahead and do as you wish," The King finally relented, ordering his men to stand aside with a heavy, weary sigh. "You've yet to convince me still, but your firm conviction inclines me at the very least to give it a try. Also understand, I hold no knowledge of the process of Conversion. That information died along with my Magus, so I—"

"Oh, that will be no problem at all," Terra immediately said. "You—You don't have to do anything. I can-I will sort it all out myself. It's a fairly simple ritual, just—just stand aside… it does get awfully bright."

As the wind blew, another ring was constructed.

As the snow fell, a glow of ethereal light began to shine again.

Eshwlyn looked up, and the young Magus was looming over her again, one hand holding a sphere of white, and the other… Terra was extending her hand out towards her.

It was the briefest moment of confusion. Did she not say that she was to be the King's Knight, so was she…?

And then she immediately understood.

"Hand above mine, remember…" Terra told her, their eyes locking with one another. "At the shine of brightest blue."

With Wilvur, she had to brace herself firstly, prepare herself mentally. Lie to herself, struggle to convince herself…

But with Terra, she did not even hesitate.

A strong tinge of blue began to offset the pure white of falling snow. Faintly, another meaningless moan sounded on her lap, and in the next instant, Eshwlyn let her hand fall upon Terra's.

The same pain again, except not as scorching.

The same parasitic light spreading again, except not as blinding.

If it was a matter of loyalty, a matter of trust… then with Terra… as the light, the heavy sinking sensation ravaged and consumed her body whole…  then it was no matter at all.

Slowly, the white light enveloping began to recede back to its roots, leaving where it had scorched, gleams and glints of plated silver.

On her legs, metal leggings… across her body, a shining chestplate…. And on her arms, manifested a pair of vambraces… and within herself, Eshwlyn felt all pain, all agony inside immediately subside… contrarily, it was as if her senses, her strength, every inch of her has been bolstered to limits beyond measure.

"With this, the Conversion is now completed," Terra announced, still keeping her hands clasped in hers. "Your eternal pledge, your armor. Your unwavering loyalty, your strengths. Your Master is your sworn duty. Their will, your own. Their life, yours. Their needs, their desires, solely your mission to fulfill. You are no longer what you once were, but so much more. A tool unequaled, a warrior unmatched. That is who you must strive to be and will be."

Eshwlyn slowly opened her eyes, a new life, a new being, her instincts different, her nature now abandoned. Yet her goal, her mission, it remained unchanged.

Once more, on her lap, Lenora gave a groan, a lighter one now… almost as if in glowing admiration.

"Now rise, if you would," Her Master commanded her. The first command asked of her out of a countless thousand more. "Eshwlyn the Elf-Knight."