Zaxis's Eldrin [May Short Story]

Hey peeps!

Here is the short story for May. I hope you all enjoy!

Shami

Zaxis’s Eldrin

“You can’t be depressed all the time,” Nicholin said, his chirpy, high-pitched voice grating more than usual.

“How did you even find me?” I stared up into the sunset sky. The brilliant red, melting into purple, always calmed me.

Nicholin leapt around the roof of our home. His paws scratched the tiles as he scampered about. Then he leapt onto my chest. His snow-white fur, with glittering silvery stripes, reflected most of the colors in the sky, as though he were a blank canvas for the world to paint on.

He weighed more than I remembered—or perhaps I was growing weak, now that I was no longer an arcanist. Nicholin must’ve been close to fifty pounds. He said he was just getting older, more mature, but I thought he was getting pudgy. Illia didn’t like it when I joked about that, though.

“Zaxis,” Nicholin said as he stomped his little front paw onto my collar bone. “I’m amazing. I can always find you, even when you hide on the roof.”

I snorted a gruff laugh. “Yeah, sure. You’re a thing of legend—a rodent of such profound significance, with eloquent squeaks and erudite whisker twitches, you can find a mortal man relaxing on his own roof.”

“Are you trying to be sarcastic?” Nicholin moved up until both his front paws were on my chin. “Because that was too wordy to be a quip. You need short insults. Like, why are you impersonating a pigeon? See how that’s funny? It was quick.” He lightly slapped my cheek. “You can do better.”

I gently pushed his giant ferret body off my own and resumed my quiet contemplation. “Listen, I’m not in the mood. Why don’t you go play with Robin? Or Roark? I’m sure they haven’t grown tired of your face yet.”

With a pop of air, and a puff of glitter, Nicholin disappeared. I thought—I hoped—he was off playing with my children, but I wasn’t lucky. He reappeared on my chest, another pop and spray of silvery glitter later.

He held a glazed pastry in his paws, his blue eyes bright.

“No, you don’t understand,” Nicholin said as he squished the pastry into the side of my closed mouth. “I’m here to cheer you up. Here. Eat.”

He smashed the food harder against me. I refused to yield.

The rizzel frowned. “Don’t make me teleport it into your mouth.”

Again, I knocked him away, this time harder than before. “Leave me alone, dammit.” I sat up, my wind tangling my red hair. It was long enough to get into my eye. I hated that. I clawed it away, everything more irritating than it should have been.

Nicholin stood on his hind legs and stared at me. When I said nothing, he held the glazed pastry close. Crumbled dropped to the tile roof and then tumbled down the slant until they rolled off and fell to the ground below.

We were staying in a two-story manse by the edge of the sea—it was our home away from home, so we could have a place on the mainland. On clear mornings, when the sun was right, I told my kids I could see the Isle of Ruma in the distance. It probably wasn’t my home island—it was more likely a large rock—but that didn’t matter. It still entertained everyone.

“Maybe you should be careful and lean back again,” Nicholin muttered.

I shot him a glare. “Because if I fell, I’d die?” How weak had I become? I used to fight world-shattering enemies… Now I was losing the battle to depression.

“You wouldn’t die. Pfft. But you could break a bone or something.” Nicholin nibbled the pastry. “No one wants to deal with that.”

Despite his rational warning, I ignored him. When I sat up, I could see the rocky shoreline. The coastal cliffs stood tall and imposing, a testament to Volke’s powerful world serpent magic that helped to shape them. He made the coast safer for boats, and protected the inland from powerful waves.

The fading sunlight cast a golden glow upon the rugged rocks, illuminating their weathered faces and accentuating their jagged edges. Atop the cliffs, hardy shrubs clung to the rocky terrain, their twisted branches reaching out like gnarled fingers, desperately seeking a foothold. Their emerald leaves twirled with each gust of wind.

But the most beautiful part of all were the delicate wildflowers, resilient against the harshest elements, which adorned the cracks and crevices, adding splashes of vibrant color to the otherwise rocky landscape.

There were two kinds of flowers—the phoenix tulips and the white wolf roses.

Volke had put them there, and the significance wasn’t lost on me.

I ran a hand over my shirt, feeling the etched lines in my skin. I carried the marks of both Forsythe and Vjorn, their presence with me until I died.

Which would likely be soon. Not in terms of days, but in terms of arcanists, everyone else would outlive me. Illia had Nicholin. Atty still had her phoenix.

Even Volke, who should’ve been in the same situation as me, since Terrakona perished, had bonded with Luthair once again. He would live for some time, if he didn’t die fighting the worst of arcanists off in far places first.

What did that leave me?

Nicholin scurried over and curled up next to me. He no longer had a pastry, but he did have a fat gut.

“So, what’re we looking at, exactly?” he asked.

After a long sigh, I replied, “Just go back in the house. I’m fine. I just want time alone.”

“I told you—I’m here to cheer you up. I’m not leaving until that happens.”

“You’re going to be here a long time,” I snapped.

Nicholin crossed his arms. “Fine. I guess I will be.”

I dragged a hand down my face. What was I supposed to do in this situation? Nicholin never listened to me. Instead of fighting with him I rested back onto the roof and returned my attention to the sky.

It would be night soon.

The stars would take their positions in the sky.

And then…

Maybe I could see something that resembled Vjorn.

When I closed my eyes, I remembered how all the god-creatures disappeared, parts of their being sailing away in the stars. Volke seemed to think the future god-creatures would remember us, because parts of their being were waiting to be reborn.

I wondered if he was correct.

“This is pretty boring,” Nicholin said, jarring me out of my musings. “I don’t think you should be dwelling on sad things. I think—and this is my professional opinion—that you should be having fun with your kids. And also telling Illia she’s the love of your life, because she really likes that.”

“I’m allowed to mourn,” I growled.

Nicholin poked my ribs, and I flinched.

“It’s been over a year,” he whispered. “I think that’s too long. Everyone thinks that’s too long.”

I huffed. “Well, everyone can go jump into the abyssal hells. I need more time.”

“Are you not going to attempt another creature’s Trial of Worth?” Nicholin poked my ribs a second time. I gritted my teeth and ignored him. “You could become an arcanist again. You were a god-arcanist! You have the stuff to prove yourself worthy.”

“Most creatures want someone younger.”

Nicholin leapt onto my chest and then poked my nose. “That’s just an excuse. You could find something that doesn’t mind someone older.”

I kept my gaze on the sky as the last vestiges of daylight melted away. The deep blue and purples of night yielded the glory of a hundred stars.

It was beautiful.

“I don’t want any mystical creature,” I muttered, more to myself than to Nicholin. I searched the twinkling stars until I found a cluster that resembled a wolf. “I can’t… Stop thinking about how it would be a betrayal to Forsythe and Vjorn.”

Their memories were etched into my skin. How could I betray them by bonding with something else?

“Forsythe left so you could continue to live,” Nicholin stated. “You would dishonor his memory by giving up?”

I shoved the rizzel away and stood. Why did I have to listen to this? I hadn’t given up. I was just going to live my life as a normal mortal—as a father and a husband—and I didn’t need anything else in my life.

I stomped down the roof, handing to the overhang near my bedroom window. But right as I made it to the edge, my foot slipped. After a flail of my arms, I fell. I thought I was about to tumbled down and slide off the roof, but Nicholin leapt to me, and his teleportation took hold. It felt like my insides were rearranged for a brief second before we both appeared with a pop on the ground near my front door.

I staggered back into the wall. Then I glanced around.

“I told you that you should be careful.” Nicholin waggled a paw. “But did you listen? No.”

“Would you leave me alone?” I reached for the handle of the front door. Nicholin bounded over to me, standing next to my feet and staring up at me. “I mean it.”

Nicholin twitched his nose. “You’re so defensive. Maybe I just like hanging around you.”

I ripped open the door and stomped into the house. Nicholin ported next to me, and then kept my pace, hopping along with his ferret-like gait. I wanted him to leave me, but the damn rodent stayed closer than ever before.

“Dad!”

I stopped and spotted Roark in the hallway. He was almost thirteen, but he was still small and hadn’t yet matured into anything adult. His red hair—as bright as mine—was messy. He wore three layers of clothing for some reason, which baffled me. It wasn’t cold.

Roark held up a bag. “Look. I’m almost packed.”

Packed?

“For what?” I asked, my volume loud.

My son grimaced. “O-Oh, sorry.”

I glanced down and saw Nicholin pressing a mouth to his mouth, trying to get my kid not to speak. What was going on here? What were they doing?

“Bye, Dad!” Roark hurried into his bedroom and slammed the door.

A moment later, Robin exited her room. She was carrying a large backpack, the straps practically digging into her shoulders. Her long, auburn hair was getting unruly. If it grew out for another year or two, it could possibly reach her shins. I would need to speak to Illia about that.

And she was much too thin. Twig-like, and tall. She needed to eat more. I wanted my children to be healthy, and here they were, running around outside for so long they forgot to come home for meals.

“Oh, Dad!” Robin’s eyes widened when she caught sight of me. With a smile, she added, “I thought you were Mom. Um…” She knitted her eyebrows. “I think you need to speak with her…” Robin slowly walked backward into her room, nervously giggling until she managed to shut the door.

“What’s going on?” I asked Nicholin.

He patted his ears down against his head. “Hm? Nothing, nothing. But we should probably find Illia. That sounds like a great idea.”

But I knew this tricksy little ferret—even him visiting me on the roof was something I should’ve known was a preamble to something more important. I stomped way into the kitchen, expecting the worst. Where are we going? Someplace to “cheer me up”? I didn’t want that. I didn’t need that.

I slammed open the kitchen door, a tirade already formed in my thoughts.

Illia stood in the kitchen, right in front of our small kitchen table. Her one eye was wide, and she struggled to suppress a smile. Her wavy brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she fidgeted with the edge of the table.

Illia straightened her posture, her lithe frame draped in a worn leather coat that bore the marks of our countless adventures before I lost Vjorn. The fabric hugged her body, accentuating her slender figure, while also providing protection against the elements. She hated when I stared too long, but I was her husband—wasn’t I supposed to stare?

Her presence actually chilled all the anger I had irrationally felt a moment earlier.

“What’s going on?” I asked, more like a disgruntled grandpa and less like a once-great god-arcanist.

Illia reached into her coat pocket and held her hand within, obviously gripping something. “Who said something was going on?”

I narrowed my eyes into a glare.

Nicholin hopped around until he made it to her feet. “I didn’t say anything, I promise. But your kids… They might have loose lips enough to sink ships, if you get what I’m saying.”

Silence kept us company for a long moment.

Then Illia walked over to me. The air around her had a certain energy, as if adventure itself radiated from her very core. Her footsteps were purposeful, and when she reached me, she stopped just half a foot in front of me.

Then Illia withdrew her hand from her pocket and revealed a small stack of papers.

“I thought we could take a trip as a family,” she said, soft and almost playful.

“Why?”

Illia focused her one eye on my gaze. “Because I found something. Look.” She handed me the papers.

I took them, almost irritated she didn’t just say what was on her mind, but the moment I glanced at the first page, I knew what was happening. The first sheet of parchment had a drawing.

It was wolf with feathered wings.

Underneath, there was an explanation. The mystical creature was known as a senmurv—a rare creature who was half wolf, and half fire bird.

When I read the second page, I half thought this was all a joke.

The senmurv was a creature of quiet benevolence—one that valued wisdom, and the acceptance of loss. The old tales surrounding it all detailed how it helped lost souls make their way to the abyssal hells.

A senmurv…

“I found something,” Illia whispered. “I knew you’d never just bond with something because it was available. But… I thought if you shared some sort of connection with it, you might consider speaking to one.”

I flipped to the third page, where it detailed the last known sightings. Apparently, they were so rare, most thought they were extinct.

Perhaps they were.

“We might not find it,” Illia said, echoing my doubts. “But if we searched together, I thought it could be an adventure. And even if you don’t bond with one, it’ll be something wondrous, I think.” Nicholin teleported to her shoulder, and she touched his head. “What do you think?”

It was a lot of effort just to find me a creature. And what if I wasn’t deserving? What if it was an insult to Forsythe and Vjorn?

I did feel lost, though.

And the senmurv…

I had no idea a creature like this existed.

I said nothing. But then I remembered Robin and Roark.

“Wait, you told them to pack their things before you even asked me?” I snapped.

Illia wrapped her arms around my neck, and my anger once again quieted down. She held me close and then whispered, “You never tell me no.”

I pulled her close, frowning as I said, “You don’t have to keep reminding me of that fact.”

Illia nuzzled the base of my neck. “Well, I think you should get packed then. We have a den of rare mystical creatures to find, and I refuse to return home empty handed.”