Chapter Sixteen: Reality

  The inside of the small home was clean but sparse. A simple wooden table occupied one corner of the room, while a very small kitchen area took up another. Ash noticed a modest bed tucked away to the side, along with a worn couch covered with patches and a ragged carpet that had clearly seen better days. The space was functional but bare, speaking to limited means.

  But this assessment wasn't entirely accurate, Ash realized. What the home lacked in furnishings, it made up for in artwork. Bright, colorful drawings adorned nearly every wall, bringing vibrant life to the humble dwelling. One particular piece caught his attention, a seascape rendered with remarkable skill. The artist had used subtle gradations of lighter blues and greens to capture the way sunlight played across the water's surface, creating an effect that seemed almost luminous. Whoever had created these works possessed genuine talent.

  "Arisa drew these," Lea said, noticing Ash's interest. Her voice softened with pride tinged by sorrow. "She was always drawing, creating fantastic images like these. She would go out to the sea and draw and draw for hours. Sometimes I'd have to bring her food because she'd forget to eat."

  The woman's eyes lingered on the pictures, as if seeing beyond them to the hands that had created them.

  Rosalia smiled gently as she settled onto the worn couch, the springs creaking softly beneath her weight.

  "These are beautiful," she said, sincerity warming her voice. She hesitated before continuing. "I hate to pry, but was Arisa involved with anyone before she passed away? Or maybe had feelings for anyone?"

  "Why's that relevant?" the father interjected, his voice gruff with suspicion. His large frame seemed to tense, shoulders squaring as if preparing for conflict.

  Ash held up a hand in a pacifying gesture, realizing they had rushed into questioning without proper introductions.

  "Maybe let's walk it back a bit," he suggested, keeping his tone respectful. "I'm Ash, and this is Rosalia. Sorry, we didn't introduce ourselves before. That was rude of us."

  The father grunted, thick fingers tugging at his beard as he studied them.

  "I'm Holt," he said finally. "My wife's name is Lea. Now, what's this about, eh? Why are you asking about our daughter?"

  Ash tried for a smile, though it felt strained on his face. He could feel the grief in this home, as tangible as the walls around them.

  "We really do need to know about your daughter's relationship," he explained carefully. "It's a lot to explain, but I promise, it's related to the monster we're investigating."

  Lea looked at her husband, her eyes filling with tears. Ash nearly felt his mouth fall open at the sudden shift. Her lower lip trembled as she reached for her husband's hand.

  "Let's just tell them, Holt," she whispered, her voice cracking. "It's not like it matters anymore! I don't care if they know!"

  Holt moved to his wife and pulled her into a protective embrace, his large frame seeming to envelop her smaller one. He kissed the top of her head tenderly, his rough exterior softening.

  "If you want, love," he murmured against her hair.

  The tenderness between them was palpable, a small bright spot in the shadow of their loss. Holt turned to them after a moment, clearing his throat with a cough, then swallowing hard before speaking.

  "Arisa was a half-elf," he said, the words falling heavily into the room.

  He delivered the news with the gravity of someone announcing a terminal illness. Rosalia scrunched her brows, her pointed ears twitching slightly in confusion.

  "I don't get it," she said, genuine bewilderment in her voice.

  Holt looked at her with surprise, his thick eyebrows rising.

  "How do you not know?" he asked, gesturing toward her. "You're half-elf, aren't ya? Can see it plain as day."

  Rosalia nodded, touching one of her pointed ears self-consciously.

  "Yeah, my mother was an elf. What of it?" Her tone was genuinely puzzled.

  Holt and Lea shared a meaningful glance. Lea sniffled, wiping tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.

  "Do you... truly not understand?" she asked, her voice small with disbelief.

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  Rosalia frowned, shaking her head slowly. The genuine confusion on her face was answer enough.

  "Half-elves... they aren't treated well," Lea began, her voice gaining strength as she explained. "In Aleria, they are fairly tolerated. People might look twice, but they don't say much. But in Elendari?" She shook her head, pain etching lines around her eyes. "They are considered less valuable than some cattle. They call them mixed-bloods, or shashti, unclean." Her voice caught on the word, the slur clearly painful for her to even repeat.

  Rosalia put a hand over her mouth, her green eyes widening with horror.

  "That's horrible!" she gasped. "Why? I don't get how anyone could have that kind of view of another person. We're all just people!"

  Lea laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. It was brittle, like breaking glass.

  "When has anyone ever needed a reason to hate anyone else?" she asked, her voice tired with the weight of experience. "Light, but you're young. If you need a reason, they claim it is because humans are inferior and that by mixing your blood, you have deprived Elendari of a true elf. As if purity matters more than the person."

  Rosalia's eyes began to water, her hands trembling slightly.

  "That's terrible," she whispered. "What a horrible view to have! I had no idea..."

  Lea's expression softened slightly, and she sniffed, gathering herself.

  "It's almost refreshing to see people who don't know such hate," she admitted. "Please, don't get the wrong view. I love my people, and there are many there who are fighting to get half-elves out of the nation, smuggling them here to Aleria, where they are not so hated. It was how I came to be here. I fled with my daughter, and we met Holt here." Lea reached out and squeezed her husband's hand, gratitude evident in the gesture.

  She turned back to Rosalia, a hint of pride entering her voice.

  "While they do that, they also fight to change the culture and to change the laws regarding half-elves. It is one of the core issues of our entire nation. Progress is slow, but it happens."

  Ash cleared his throat, the cold reality of what they were learning settling like ice in his veins.

  "I'm so sorry that happened to you and that you were so affected," he said sincerely. "But you said that Aleria doesn't treat them the same way. How could your daughter have died because of it here?"

  Holt spoke up, his eyes hardening like stone, his large hands curling into fists at his sides.

  "It happened because of that noble brat from the Silverbloods," he growled, practically spitting the name.

  Lea nodded, her fingers twisting together in her lap.

  "He came here from Elendari. His ship arrived not too long ago," she explained, her voice growing distant as she recalled the events. "He saw Arisa as he disembarked and claimed he was smitten with her at first sight. They talked for hours. He would bring her gifts, take her to places in town she'd never been." Her voice caught. "Holt and I, we weren't okay with it from the start."

  Lea looked almost ashamed, closing her eyes as tears fell in large drops that splashed onto her clasped hands.

  "We told her to cut it off, that it would never end well. But she said we didn't understand, that he treated her like a princess. She accused us of wanting her to be miserable, of not wanting her to be happy." The memory clearly pained her. "She was so young, you see. Only seventeen. She believed him when he said he loved her."

  Holt kissed the top of his wife's head as she let out a keening sob that seemed to come from the depths of her soul. The sound hung in the air, raw and primal.

  Rosalia was openly crying now, tears streaming down her cheeks. Ash felt ice run through his veins, a hollow feeling opening in his chest. He didn't know the full story yet, but he saw where this was going, and it made him feel ill.

  "He took her out one night," Lea continued, her voice barely audible. "A romantic night on the water, he called it. Said he had a surprise for her."

  "Then he drowned her," Holt cut in, his voice rough with emotion and barely contained rage. "Held her under until she stopped fighting."

  Ash looked away, color draining from his face. The simple brutality of it was staggering. He tried to swallow, but his mouth had gone dry.

  "How did you know?" Ash asked hoarsely. "How could you be certain what happened?"

  "Because he came and told us he did it," Lea said, her voice suddenly flat, emotionless. "Came right to our door the next morning. Said I should take it as a lesson never to spread my legs for a human again. Then he laughed, claiming he did the world a favor. Said no one would miss another half-breed mongrel."

  Her hands balled up, pressing into the couch cushions until her knuckles went white. The tendons in her neck stood out as she fought for control.

  "Half-elves are playthings to them," she continued, bitterness seeping into every word. "He made my daughter feel special, made her believe he loved her, and then he killed her. And it meant no more to him than discarding a broken tool."

  The weight of grief and rage emanating from the parents was like an oppressive physical force in the small room. It threatened to smother them all with its intensity, crushing the air from Ash's lungs. He found himself struggling to breathe.

  He was tempted to let it consume him, to surrender to the righteous anger building in his chest.

  "Why didn't Aleria do anything about it?" Rosalia demanded, her voice cracking. "That's murder! How could they just let him get away with it?"

  Holt laughed, the sound hollow and without mirth.

  "What evidence did we have?" he asked, spreading his hands in a helpless gesture. "It was our word against his, and he's a powerful noble with connections that reach even here. We're no one. Just people. Common folk with no influence."

  "Nobles are meant to be better than that," Ash said, frustration coloring his voice. "They're given power to care for the people, to better us. Not to take advantage and harm those they're supposed to protect."

  He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly at the looks he received, feeling naive.

  "So I read anyway," he added lamely.

  "What's written in books is all nice and flowery at times, lad," Holt said, not unkindly. "But it isn't reality. This is." He gestured around them, at their modest home and the drawings left behind by their daughter. "Now, some nobles are probably just dandy, I won't say they're all monsters. But power corrupts. You best learn that now, while you're young."

  Ash didn't argue with him. What could he say in the face of their lived experience?

  "Do you know where she was drowned?" he asked instead, focusing on what they needed to know.

  Holt grunted, his expression grim.

  "Off the wharf aways. If you just head off the pier and go out a few miles, you'll find the spot," he explained. He hesitated, then added with a vulnerability that seemed at odds with his large frame, "If you go out there... and maybe if you fancy a spot of diving, I'd sure like to get Arisa's locket back. It was a simple thing, not expensive, but we gave it to her for her tenth birthday, and she wore it everywhere. We'd love to have it back."

  They had what they came for, but it didn't feel like enough. Yes, he and Rosalia didn't need anything more from them for their investigation, but it felt wrong to leave it there, to extract information and then depart without giving anything in return.

  Unsure, Ash found himself speaking before he fully formed the thought.

  "Rosalia and I have some time," he offered tentatively. "Do you maybe want to tell us about Arisa? What was she like? I'd like to know more about her."

  For the next hour, Lea and Holt shared stories of their daughter. She had liked to draw from an early age, they said, filling countless sheets of paper with colorful images. She had an inquisitive nature, always asking why things were the way they were, and the ability to experiment with everything she touched, from cooking to sewing to woodcarving.

  "She liked to grab my beard and pull as hard as she could when she was a wee one," Holt reminisced, laughing as he tugged at his own thick beard. His eyes crinkled at the corners. "Strong little thing, she was. Nearly yanked it right off my face sometimes."

  Lea talked about how Arisa had liked to cook with her and sing silly songs with words that didn't rhyme while they worked.

  "They were just nonsense words," she recalled, a brief smile illuminating her face. "But oh light, we had so much fun! She could make a game out of anything."

  Gradually, as they shared more stories, Ash could feel the oppressive weight in the room lifting slightly. The memories seemed to bring Arisa to life in a way, her presence filling the space through their words.

  Eventually, Ash and Rosalia stood up, knowing they needed to continue their investigation.

  "We need to be going," Ash said reluctantly. "We're sorry for your loss, but if we can find that locket, I promise we'll bring it here to you."

  Holt shook Ash's hand, his grip impossibly tight, conveying wordlessly what he couldn't say aloud. Gratitude, hope, and desperation all mingled in that crushing handshake.

  Then, it was time for Ash and Rosalia to return to their task.

  They didn't have a monster to kill anymore, but a young woman to put to rest.