Written in The Stars

The fourth scroll: Nestor

Nestor opened his eyes with the first rays of the sun, being completely sure that the woman he loved so sincerely had spent all these few hours in his strong arms. And so it was. But the elf missed the moment when she slipped out of bed and, taking all her things, disappeared.

Frowning, he pushed himself up, still covering his naked body with the sheet. He looked around, as if hoping that he hadn't noticed something important. A small note or an undershirt that would indicate that Sage jumped out just for a second. Or maybe she just went downstairs to eat some stew.

Nestor dressed quickly and immediately found himself on the ground floor, allowing all his hopes to be hopelessly dashed – his beloved was not there. Coupled with the fact that her portrait was also missing from the table, and the innkeeper could not even remember the circumstances under which the lyre left the tavern, this all worried the elf even more. He offered his beloved to take the drawing back the time she discovered it. For some reason, Sage refused. What has changed now? Nestor didn't know. And that scared him.

After that, the elf went to the magic shop – it was closed. He knocked, walked around, trying to look in the windows, but did not notice any response or movement. The elf did not know where to go next. Wandering through the sleepy streets, where there was a real commotion now, Nestor looked for a single one. At some point, despair seized his whole heart, and he only hoped that Sage decided to go to the forest once again to collect medicinal herbs. He put questions like "why didn't she say anything" out of his mind to make it easier.

Everything that was happening around him now seemed like some kind of hazy vision. The elf walked unsteadily, like a real madman. It was as if everything joyful that had ever been in the world had suddenly evaporated, leaving only a bottomless abyss in its place. Nestor had a habit of being dramatic. The separation from his friends now began to seem even more unbearable – he could not share his experiences and listen to other people's assumptions, which, unlike his blurred gaze, could have at least some meaning. And although he knew perfectly well in his mind that it was still very, very early to raise a panic, his heart was jumping out of his chest, being in its most restless state.

Once in the tavern, just before nightfall, the elf immediately went to the room to fall asleep. Now every piece of this room reminded him of Sage – how he had touched her delicate skin. Nestor prayed to all the gods he knew that this girl would be safe. After tossing and turning for several hours, he still sat down at the table, trying to distract himself with his drawings. First, he lit a candle, placing it on the very edge of the wooden table.

"Oh, Lydia," he said, looking at the portrait, "you would have found a way to comfort me. Your presence alone gives my soul peace"

The elf put down the parchment, gently touching such beloved facial features. Marcel was next to it – he looked manly and brave, looking into the distance.

"And you, dear friend, would give me advice... You would've told me what to do next. Your heart is not characterized by excessive anxiety. A warrior's sober mind has always saved us"

Nestor sighed wearily, putting aside the second portrait. Then he reached for a blank sheet and began to draw. He carefully drew each new line, completely dissolving in the process. It always calmed him down. Even in early childhood, the elf realized that any adversity can be pushed into the background if you do something useful for yourself. The moonlight was replaced by the rays of dawn, and Nestor felt unbearably tired. The wax from the candle had already filled the entire table for a long time – it seemed that, just like the guest, it had already given its last strength. The elf began to nod off while sitting right on a chair, but after a few moments he moved to the bed, completely giving himself up to intoxicating dreams.