Wehmutstau und Sturmgesang

24. Journey North

After her night of restless tossing and turning, Morana was glad to leave the elven town as soon as possible. Yeosang asked her in the morning whether she wanted to look around and sit with the people to ask them about themselves, but the girl shook her head. She was drained. Couldn't solve the labyrinths of their sorrow. Though they were her kin, she felt foreign to them.

While they packed their bags, Morana sat with Thistle on some rocks while Hongjoong muttered with Yeosang nearby. Trying to figure out whether wandering the Crystal Sphere any more was helpful to her case. With her head lowered, Morana listened in on their conversation.

"I had hoped she would be keener about the elves. Morana is intelligent, but she still hides away from them. Were they too overwhelming? I spoke to some elders who could educate her." Yeosang sounded ever so worried.

Hongjoong yanked Mulberry's saddle bag into its spot. Drawing the leather taut.

"She doesn't need elves. She needs parents. Especially Seonghwa."

Morana scowled to herself.

No, she didn't.

It was true Seungyoun gave her only a fragment of that assurance. Her brother was better for her, but neither he nor the elves here could soothe the void in her chest.

But she didn't need some weak elf. Didn't need to be reminded of the humiliation of being the daughter of the one who threw the empire into chaos.

Morana studied her history. For many hundred years, no one mongered war. Within only a few years of rule, Seonghwa ruined the entire empire.

When the girl huffed, Thistle nervously wound her fingers around each other. No one had recognised her as a danger and she didn't make any trouble either.

"Are you all right?"

Morana sighed. Taking care of Thistle was so much easier than her crisis of self and her responsibility towards this empire, but even this conversation wore on her. Morana missed the comfortable cave of her home. Her boring books and the soft bed.

"Of course..." She muttered, not up for confessing her frustration about people who genuinely suffered. They didn't ask for any of this.

"You looked pretty rough yesterday. Being a princess must be scary," Thistle extended her empathy. Morana risked a peek at her. After all, goblins weren't as brute as orcs. Understanding swam in Thistle's eyes as she tried to comprehend Morana's upset.

Flattered by her effort and proud that she resisted the wicked half of her, Morana uncurled from clutching her legs. They looked out over the town while Morana's uncles swung their coats over their shoulders and thanked the elves for the provisions they offered.

"I never felt like one. Just like you, I also grew up without my parents. This is our voyage to find them." Wistful, Morana watched an elven child hopping at her mother's hand, excited about the grand warriors before them.

"Your emmya was... the one the orcs attacked," Thistle whispered, having gathered that much. Morana grinned a bitter smile.

"The one who ruled these lands, yes. The reason they are in ashes now. He was the one they wanted."

Uncomfortable with the revelation, Thistle looked at the tentative green grass between their feet. She wasn't at fault for any of this. She was a product of this war, but she couldn't fathom the depravity of the orcs, either. Or the betrayal of the demons.

"You and your brother must have gone through a lot of pain," she muttered. Understanding how their status granted them no extravagant differences.

Morana had enough of the topic. She tried for a brittle smile.