"Hey, relax, if I was going to hurt you on purpose, I had plenty of opportunities. Trust me, it'll help," Rhun said in a gentle voice as the elf—whose name was apparently Rayla as she'd reluctantly admitted a few minutes ago—tensed yet again while he patted the soaked cloth around her eyes. He could tell they were still irritated from the ground red pepper he'd thrown at her. He had learned the hard way of their effects when he forgot to wash his hands after helping Rosella with dinner before he touched his eyes. The burning sensation was nearly unbearable and had blinded him for a minute.

Thankfully Rosella had also taught him how to counteract it when she saw him. Once he finished, he dipped the cloth again into the bowl of milk, wrung it, and told her to hold her head back before resting it on her closed eyes.

"Just try keeping it there until it feels better," he told her, drying off his hands.

They were at his house for the time being. Going through a forest where Moonshadow elves may be hiding while it was dark out without a plan may as well be suicide, Rayla's help or not. It was empty considering his stepmother didn't close up the bakery for another hour or so.

He had already sent a letter via his father's raven, Diaval, but he wanted to make sure everyone had time to either let the events of today sink in, or in Rayla's case, make sure she was alright. Despite the numerous arguments they had just trying to get her here, he didn't want her to end up getting an infection from any of those bites, especially because it was a product of dark magic. Of course that ended up in more arguments such as "I don't care how 'tough' you think you are, you are going to sit your butt down in that chair and let me patch those up," followed by, "Oh, yes, you do need a human's help, but the patience of said human is wearing pretty thin so just keep pushing it," and then, "Listen, unless I'm blind, I'm pretty sure those smoke wolves had teeth, and unless that's paint, I'm pretty sure that is blood!"

Stubborn as she was, it was a good thing he was just as. He knew it was a fact in Moonshadow elf culture, weakness was not something one showed; unless around him or his mother, Rhun's father seemed to be made of stone, his face clear of emotions. The illusion fell away around them, but he had kept it up around Rosella for a time. Neither of them precisely liked each other nor did they dislike each other (both for obvious reasons), but they had a begrudging respect for one another with Draven being Rhun's birth father, and Rosella being Amadahy's wife and, with Amadahy always off fighting at the border, her also being the one who essentially raised Rhun.

He had cleaned and then wrapped some bandages around the bite marks on her arms where the wolves seemed to have torn out flesh, or at least tried to. The princes were sitting at the table after Rhun left Ezran an extra jelly tart that he felt the boy deserved after all he'd been through today, which he was now splitting with Bait. Rhun himself knew now that he probably should have judged the factors of that jump better and the quality of the hay cart as a landing surface. He still tasted blood in his mouth. His head still pounded slightly from hitting his side against the side when he fell, like someone was attempting to stab through to his brain stem with an ice pick. A blunt one.

But the egg was safe. Good enough.

"So..." Callum started, trying to find some form to break the ice, "why do you live so far out from everyone?"

Rhun looked outside. His house wasn't exactly that far out, but it was far away that one could get lost if they had no idea where to look. The reason behind it brought back another bad memory. The memory of smoke filling his nostrils and lungs, flames in his vision. "Because when we did live in the village near everyone, somebody tried to burn down our house."

Awkward silence.

"...Oh."

"Relax, it happened when I was maybe... Prince Ezran's age, so I barely remember it." A lie. It had been some teenager's twisted efforts to get rid of what he suspected to be a half-breed. But the two were too young to know yet how the world and people could be.

"And everyone was okay, right?" Ezran asked.

"Yeah, we were able to get out in time, so..." Rhun absentmindedly bit down on his thumbnail.

"I'm going to take a shot in the dark here, and guess it's related to what Claudia said back there," Callum said, folding his arms on top of the table. "Would now be a good talk-about-your-dad-trying-to-kill-ours time?"

Despite himself, Rhun let out a small chuckle. "I guess now's a good a time as any. You guys probably want the truth, don't you?"

"That would be nice," called Rayla from the kitchen where he'd left her. 

"See," Rhun began, making awkward hand gestures. "My dad...is, well, an assassin."

"Yeah, I think we got that," Callum retorted dryly with an unimpressed look. "Hence the title your-dad-trying-to-kill-ours talk."

This time Rhun was suddenly attentive to details, and started rearranging the mismatching books on the table, making sure they lined up properly. Somehow it was a bit comforting to fix and clean in stressful situations. Maybe it was because household objects didn't talk, or maybe it was because when your mind was fixated on keeping things organized, you suddenly didn't have the time to focus on anything else. And the topic they were forcing to discuss was certainly not one he felt comfortable talking about. What exactly was he supposed to say? "We also...um, have a bit more in common than you'd think, Prince Callum."

"Ooh, is this like the game you talked about before? That we can guess right, and if we figure it out, you'll tell us?" Ezran asked cheerfully, perking up in his seat.

"Um..." Rhun shook his head. "No, I think it'd just be quicker if I told you myself. It's a bit...um, complicated, I guess. Or not. When it comes to my father being an assassin, the reason they say he's a part of King Harrow's assassination party is.... Well, it's...."

Both stared at him expectantly.

"How long are you going to take?" Rayla said in an irritated tone as she wandered in. She rubbed her eyes for good measure, but the redness seemed to be gone. The skin around them was still a bit blotchy, but it'd go down with more time. "The mage accused you of being a spy, and you knew about Runaan. I want some explanation before I go any further with you!"

"And she's right!" Callum exclaimed. "You want us to trust you, but how can we if you won't trust us? You're hiding something, and it involves all of us now—" he gestured to Rayla as well—"so we have to know."

"Alright, alright." Rhun ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath. There was no point in wasting time beating around the bush. "So, Rayla.... How do elves feel about... half-elves?"

There, he said it. He said the thing. Just saying the word half-elf had made Rhun tense, but saying it now, it felt like a deep weight lifted from his shoulders. He had been terrified and felt shame his entire life, of people finding out, that now he found himself unable to utter a word. Elves weren't bad, he knew that, but not everyone were exactly accepting, especially when he was half of two warring sides. Humans hated elves, elves hated humans, it didn't equal anything good for him since he looked too human to be accepted by Xadians, and he looked too inhuman to be accepted by humans apparently. It was why he always kept his head down, always kept himself closed off. Why all those times when Soren came to get something fixed, he'd try to start a conversation or give some sort of indication he wanted to be friends with the lonely boy who barely ever smiled, and all Rhun did in return was keep him at arm's length. After all, even when he'd felt comfortable with Tzipora, he'd panicked to the point of tears of even thinking about telling the truth.

There was a very good reason though, because he wanted to live.

He'd learned the hard way in his childhood that speaking of the truth to someone could have consequences. And he remembered in the way his wrist clicked just then when he turned it a certain way restacking the books.

The question had surprised Rayla. "Half-elves, why are you asking that? I don't think there has been any half elves born since before Xadia split in two."

That's what he figured.

"Does that mean you're one?" Ezran asked with those wide blue eyes. "That's why your dad's coming to kill ours? Because he's coming about Thunder's death?" Rhun heard the confusion in his voice, and that's when he took the decision. Callum was right. If he wanted the three teenagers (because Rayla may have tried to claim she was older, but he could tell she was barely older than the step-prince) to trust him and go along, he needed to tell them everything.

Yet, years of shame made him unable to utter a single word. Then he lifted his head from where his gaze was placed on the ground and held his head up as he spoke. So he was a half-breed. What did it matter now? Why should he be ashamed of what had been his whole life, of the two people that were among those he loved most, of who he was? "Yes, I am. And the reason I have a feeling it's best if we go to my father first is because he's more inclined to listen to me, and once he knows, maybe things will turn around. If he agrees that this is wrong and changes his mind, they just might listen. Because my father is King Draven of the Moonshadow elves."

☪️☪️☪️

The Border transition on the western side was gradual, the massive trees of the forest giving way to the scrub of the steppes and mountains, which gave way in turn to the black rock and burning smoke that heralded the boundary slashed between the human lands and Xadia.

The Border transition on the eastern side had been rather more dramatic. The line where the Borderlands began was quite literally a line, one step taking Theodosia from the most verdant jungle she had ever been in, every frond, flower, and creature an oversized, resplendent riot of color, into a dark, blasted wasteland.

She readjusted the bag around her shoulders, having taken the opportunity of the Emerald Grove she'd passed through to gather certain ingredients either those for spells or those that held healing properties. 

In the Grove, all the tension had seemed to flow from her like a river the moment she stepped foot within. And now her shoulders tensed in the presence of such a land rid of land as she took a shaky breath.

And she was only a ten minutes' walk from the Emerald Grove. Which seemed strange, as where the Emerald Grove was the calmest, most relaxing place she had ever been, this was the most unnerving place Theodosia had been in her entire life. Of course, with a sheltered life as such as hers compared to others, that wasn't saying much.

Humans had traveled into Xadia before according to reports she'd overheard eavesdropping on her father's meetings—even Thunder and his legions of elves had not been able to thoroughly patrol the full two thousand miles of the Border, and there were few enough magical reagents to be found west of it that the dangers of a journey east were apparently worth the risk—but they did so by skirting the margins, crossing only where no elf or dragon cared enough to go. The Frost Wilds. The Midnight Desert. The Fall.

Xadia, to her, had always been a place of magic and life. Maybe to the point where she took it for granted. Places such as those, such as these, were full of desolation, from what she'd read and seen of the pictures to describe them. Beautiful, undeniably—the dunes of the Midnight Desert were so black they absorbed light, and the skies churned purple with every dawn—but empty, and so bereft of life that the few small pockets of magical creatures to be found shone like lanterns on a moonless night. Here, there was no such redeeming qualities. It was just...empty.

Whereas the jungle of Xadia she'd stepped from blazed like the core of the sun. A Primal Source, but diffused all around her, near impossible to grasp but even more difficult to disregard. Every patch of moss, every blade of grass, every bird and beast—every insect—glimmering with magic, the air itself charged with a power she could feel in her lungs every time she took a breath. A humming, so deep it didn't even register on an audible level, just a feeling that proved beyond her ability to ignore.

The rare times her mother had taken her there to teach her about the Earth Primal Source—because one must learn to understand it to connect with it—most of those, she had barely been able to function, on a Primal high. There was just so much magic within the air it was intoxicating and Theodosia was just glad she hadn't fallen on her face and passed out drunk off the Primal energy. That and the fact her light-headedness hadn't impaired her ability to spot which berries and herbs had which properties.

She had Baryim to thank for that, a tiger that had been present inside the Grove since she was young, who had practically kept her awake when her legs had buckled beneath her by giving her a careful—but still exceedingly rough—lick across the face with his mouth—wider across than Theodia's shoulders before turning and disappearing into the trees surrounding the Grove. She had remembered him from numerous ventures alone despite the worrying it caused. All because they thought her all weak, Theodosia thought ruefully. They would never worry about anyone else, but they worried about her.

Being a mage was no protection against magical creatures, and there was really no reason for the tiger to have not eaten her, but the Emerald Grove was Earth sacred according to her studies. Specifically towards the life domain. Nothing could die within. Anyone who even attempts violence is forcibly ejected and barred from the Grove forever. Magical creatures of the other Sources avoid the place completely, and Earth creatures were pacified. 

It'd even been neutral ground, once. Back when peace could actually be hoped for.

This, her thoughts roamed as she looked back on it. The sun had already fallen near-completely behind the tree line, illuminating everything in the Grove with a faint green glow. 

Now all of the buzzing, rustling, and occasional shrieking that marked a living forest—had gone absolutely silent.

The buzzing beneath her skin still had not completely abated, but after taking a few sips from the bottle of sunberry juice she'd made from several sunberries growing at the top of the canopy mixed in with a bit of sootheleaf gel made from picking a few leaves (one to invigorate and the other to numb pain, her own creative concoction from experimenting), the taste faintly peppery and leaving behind traces of heat,  she found it less distracting.

From here, she'd have to be more cautious. Maybe that was why she feared leaving behind the Emerald Grove. It represented safety and life. The Grove was always safe.

And now there was nowhere else to go but forward.