#Thank you for blessing us with your writing 🙏🏽 I wish I could write like this!!

[watatsumi-island]

WAAKDJEOFHFJDJDKZ??? 😭

Ghost of you

Pairing: Tyril x f!human!MC (Reyna)

Book: Blades of Light and Shadow 2, chapter 1

Word count: 1720

Rating: T

Warnings: emotional hurt

Category: angst

A/n: where there is angst potential, there I am as well. it’s short, it’s painful, enjoy

Tag list: @lxdy-starfury @starlight-starfury @watatsumi-island @lazypartridge @sophie-summer @lilyoffandoms @brycesgirl @choicesficwriterscreations @choicesbookclub

“Then, if you don’t mind, once this is over I’d love to go back to Undermount with you.”

“Nothing would bring me greater joy than to come back home with you, my love.”

Benumbed, Tyril observed the bloody droplets’ road down the sandy stone wall of his chamber in the Whitetower palace. The pulsating pain in his left hand indicated, at best, a split knuckle, yet it could not amount to the agonising pain in his heart. It had been three months since Reyna was captured, and they made almost no progress in coming up with a plan to rescue her. Despite the countless hours spent in the realm’s biggest, most abundant library, despite desperately begging the most prominent magic wielders to open a portal to the Shadow realm, they made no progress. It was time to head home.

“Hey, don’t be a stranger, okay? We’ll keep digging as well,” Mal patted the elf on the arm as he mounted his drake. Tyril nodded almost imperceptibly. 

Nia gave his healthy hand a faint squeeze. Noticing her worried gaze, he squeezed back. The Priestess could not forget the agonised wail he let out one night, the same one she heard deep in the elven catacombs when they learned the truth about Kaya’s fate. Hearing the heartbreak in her usually composed friend’s voice broke her already strained heart. “Please take care of yourself, Tyril.”

“Reyna’s a mighty fighter, elf. We’ll find a way to get her back,” Imtura comforted, but even she could hear the lack of conviction in her voice.

“That’s assuming she’s still alive,” he muttered and before anyone could scold him, added: “Keep pushing Aerin. Resort to violence if necessary.”

The orc nodded and after a brief goodbye, Tyril gave the command and the drake took to the skies.

Upon arrival at the Starfury Manor, he requested for a guest room to be prepared and headed for the library, where he spent the following days. Combing through several books a day, the elf paid little attention to the food his family provided, the need for sleep or any of his representative responsibilities. It was not until a week later that he returned to the manor for the night, steering clear from his bedchamber, the one in which he spent a night with Reyna. 

The blue tint of the night sky and loud hoots of the native red-feathered Undermount owl indicated a late night hour. Despite the exhaustion, he found the strength to scribble a short journal entry.

Day 126 

Another fruitless night at the library. No news from Whitetower. Reyna would scold me for losing hope, but how am I supposed to believe there is a way when we haven't even stumbled upon anything helpful? What if there is no way?

According to Nia, Prince Aerin still refuses to cooperate. Or perhaps even he doesn't know how to help. I suppose he wouldn't withhold such knowledge, knowing it is Reyna who needs help.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. The information of Reyna's abduction resounded in every town, giving way to a wave of terror at the possibility of the dangerous enemies returning. Grateful nods and welcomes turned into pained looks of worry and compassion, forcing Tyril to hole up in the library where nobody bothered him. 

The notion of people pitying him implied an impasse, and Tyril was far from giving up. He was convinced that there was a way to open a portal, and he just had to find the right book. 

He rubbed his eyes, allowing a few tears of exhaustion to roll down his pale cheeks. 

That night, led by the ghost of melancholy, Tyril made his way to his chamber. 

Lying on his side, Tyril closed his eyes and his hand instinctively reached for her, only to be welcomed by a cold emptiness. 

Convinced he could still smell her flowery lotion on the pillow, the elf hugged the fabric to his chest, his thumb involuntarily stroking the material as if he was holding Reyna. 

"Please, hold on for a little longer, Reyna," he whispered, lulled to sleep by the soothing owl song. That night, just as every other night, he dreamt of Reyna; however, this time it was not a nightmare.

"Unless you fancy an ugly scar, stop wiggling for a moment," Reyna scolded, patting the wound on his neck with an alcohol soaked gauze. Tyril clenched his teeth and endured the medical care in silence. Once the wound was cleaned and bandaged, Reyna pressed her lips to his warm and slightly damp temple while Tyril, finally allowing himself a moment of respite, rested his head on her chest. His eyelids closed instantly as he felt safe in her embrace. 

Dragging his own feet, Tyril made his way through the city’s market district, ignoring the delicious smells of honey cakes and cheerful shouts of children dancing to a visiting bard’s song, a tale of Morella’s brigand of heroes. 

As he took a seat by a humble pond in the heart of a communal garden, the image of his beloved slipped into his mind, bringing about the memory of Reyna comforting him after Kaya’s funeral. A low, pathetic chuckle, resembling a shy sob, escaped his throat. Was losing the people dearest to his heart the price for saving so many lives? Had he not paid enough already?

The days and nights became a blur. Had he not kept a track of days in his journal, he would not have the faintest idea how long she’d been gone. Journaling was to be a way to keep his thoughts organised, but it did not stand the test of time. His daily scribbles rather quickly turned into letters to Reyna, letters he could not send. 

Encouraged by Adrina who could not bear to watch the limitless sorrow of her beloved brother, Tyril decided to return to his roots, a traditional meditation known as Erinza, typically a fifteen-minute conversation with the Gods which he had abandoned whilst on his quest. Now, as if both to atone and to beg them for help, he meditated for an hour three times a day.

As much as they could, the Starfurys helped to comb the library shelves, partially to help bring Reyna back, and partially to keep an eye on Tyril, making sure he ate and took naps. The dark circles under his eyes, matted hair conveniently gathered in a messy bun and unhealing wounds on his knuckles indicated that not only was he not taking care of himself but also that his nerves started to wear thin.

My dearest Reyna,

today marks the 250th day of your absence. I’m ashamed to admit that, realistically, there is nothing we can do for you. The last dove from Whitetower arrived this morning, saying that our friends had to resume their responsibilities, leaving just me and your brother searching the libraries. Imtura promised to check the plundered scrolls in Flotilla. Perhaps the orcs will have more luck. I certainly hope so.

I fear the Gods have forsaken me, Reyna. Despite my desperate pleas, there is no sign of anyone listening. 

Tyril sighed and scored the last sentence out of the entry. He was embittered, yes, but he knew better than to treat the Gods as djinns who would make his wishes come true. 

Throughout the day he struggled to keep his anger at bay, the sense of injustice, guilt, and punishment desperately clang to him while at night his dreams were plagued by the horrific possibilities of the abductors' tortures, thus despite catching a few hours of sleep, he'd wake up even more exhausted than before. The shadows took everything from him. When he almost gave his life trying to rid the world of danger, restore his House’s reputation, and give his beloved friend a proper closure, the darkness still found a way to destroy him. 

Whenever he felt the anger and urge for vengeance, he remembered the person he became thanks to Reyna. Before they met, his quest consumed him, sheer fury permeated every cut of his sword, and every conversation he held with the innocent residents. Reyna showed him a different path, a path that was kind but just, filled with love and compassion. As the walking testament to the incredible person she was, Tyril aspired to encompass what she taught him. To honour her memory.

Day 360. I fear that had there been a way to enter the Shadow Realm, we would have found it a long time ago. It’s time to look realistically at this situation. I have once again lost the one closest to my heart and I can’t shake the persistent thought that had I been faster, more decisive, she would now lie next to me. 

He failed. It was time to admit defeat. He failed Kaya, and then he failed Reyna. 

Once the hope for finding a way to rescue his beloved dwindled, almost exactly a year later, Tyril contended it was high time he returned to the family and social life. On a warm June night, he represented his House at a wedding of one of the House Ascendant heirs. Watching the elven pairs effortlessly sail through the floor, Tyril remembered last year’s masquerade—remembered how despite the looming danger of the Shadow Court he managed to dance with Reyna, how quickly he always forgot about the surrounding world whenever she was in his arms, and how incredible it felt to hold her so close. For a split second, he could even see their ghosts dance again, and he felt a familiar stinging in his eyes. Sipping on his honey wine, he pondered praying to the human gods, but he was shaken out of his thoughts by a warm hand on his shoulder.

Adrina was looking at him with a warm smile. "May I have this dance, Lord Starfury?"

Tyril nodded absent-mindedly. As he led his sister across the floor, navigating amongst the cheerful elves, he imagined he was holding Reyna in his arms. Alas, Adrina's tall stature painfully reminded him of the harsh truth.

Day 365. Today I visited Kaya’s grave, begging her for help. I know I shouldn’t bother a resting soul—alas, I’ve become utterly desperate, love. Come back to me, Reyna.