Irene's Suspicions

Age for elves had been weird, after all— those under 50 were considered infants, and those under 100 were children! Over a hundred years old, then you were an adult! The elves were a kind of species that would skip teenage years.

Irene, at 92 years old, had seen more than her fair share of hardship. For the elves, she could be considered barely on the threshold of adulthood, yet she'd grown up faster than most, taking on responsibilities to help her village survive.

"It's tough, but we manage," she'd often say to her friends, her voice tinged with the weight of their struggles.

"We miss them, don't we?" her friend Mayne remarked one evening as they gathered around a small fire.

Irene nodded solemnly, her eyes reflecting the flickering flames. "Every day," she admitted softly, thinking of the fathers, brothers, and husbands lost to the war.

"We're lucky to have you, Irene," Mayne said, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You've kept us together through it all. We have Elder Marah, but it was really you who kept the village going strong, you know?"

Irene smiled faintly, appreciating the sentiment. "We're in this together," she replied, her tone determined. "And as long as we stick together, we'll get through anything."

Her words were met with nods of agreement from the others, a sense of unity strengthening their resolve. Despite their challenges, Irene found solace in knowing her tribe needed her. And for now, that was enough to keep her going.

Days had come by, and it was getting difficult for the elves to survive. Hunting had become especially challenging for them with the lack of Gifted within their village. The occasional monsters and goblin raids were troublesome too.

But then…

One day, a strange elf visited their village— he had blonde hair and purple eyes.

On that same day, news of the Frost Fire Sect coming to their village arrived, seemingly intent on subjugating the village. Irene was scared, but she couldn't show it to her kin, and that was why she resolved herself to fight.

Though the elves had a weak population given their poor reproductive capability and the slow growth of their children, the elves in general were skilled at many things that involved handily wielding a bow.

Unfortunately, the truth was the elven women would still pale in comparison to their male counterparts who had actual experience with fighting and guerilla warfare.

Fortunately, the strange elf, Ivan was a Gifted—

It happened so quickly. Ivan volunteered himself to fight the invaders, and he insisted he do it alone.

Before Irene could organize a fighting force, and create a perimeter to slowly enclose the invading cultivators from the Frost Fire Sect, Ivan had already finished and returned.

And Ivan… looked different, his blonde hair was transformed into ebony black. When Irene kissed him and tried to offer herself, she was surprised at how cold Ivan's lips were. Ivan's reaction was similarly cold though almost imperceptible considering how well he could mask his emotions.

Ivan's resistance was unexpected but was still within reason.

Though it was painful to be rejected by the opposite sex, even considering Ivan's mild-manner response, Irene could not help but harbor suspicion.

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[Back to the present—]

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"Ivan," Irene began tentatively, her voice carrying a hint of uncertainty as she glanced up at him through the canopy of leaves. "Could you... perhaps consider becoming our village chief?"

Ivan's expression remained impassive as he shook his head. "I hold no interest in such a position," he replied evenly, his voice carrying a tone of finality.

Disappointment flickered across Irene's features, though she quickly masked it with a forced smile. "I understand," she murmured, her gaze dropping to the forest floor below.

Ivan noticed her reaction, his eyes looking at hers as if he was reading her soul. Irene was tensed. The Gifted were mysterious beings in her eyes, and she couldn't help but feel stressed by his gaze. Despite Ivan's outwardly lack of emotional attachment, Irene could trace a pang of sympathy from the dark-haired elf.

Silence settled between them for a moment before Irene spoke again, her voice tinged with resignation. "Thank you for considering it, Ivan," she said softly, her tone betraying her disappointment.

Ivan offered her a small nod in response, acknowledging her gratitude. "You're a capable individual, Irene," he said sincerely, hoping to offer her some comfort. "There are many ways you can contribute to the village. You don't have to offer yourself to me, or anyone from your village of the matter."

A faint smile tugged at Irene's lips as she met his gaze. "I'll keep that in mind," she replied, her voice holding a hint of determination.

"Irene," Ivan said, breaking the quiet between them as they continued their walk through the forest, "have you ever entertained the idea of becoming the village chief?"

Irene trailed behind him, her mind swirling with thoughts, uncertain of how to respond. Ivan's question caught her off guard, and she pondered her answer carefully. She couldn't quite decipher Ivan's intentions; his demeanor was often inscrutable, his powers as a Gifted adding an air of mystery to him.

As they walked, Irene mulled over her response. The role of the village chief was a weighty responsibility, one that required leadership, wisdom, and a deep connection to the community. Ivan, being a powerful Gifted male, seemed like the perfect candidate in the eyes of their village.

But Irene knew that leadership wasn't solely about power or gender: there had been village chiefs and tribal warriors who had been women. The title of chieftain was about understanding, compassion, and a genuine desire to serve the people. She finally turned her gaze to Ivan, and her voice was steady as she spoke.

"The village is the place, and the tribe is the people," she said, her words measured. "If the village and the tribe believe that I am the one they need to lead, then I will accept the role of chief willingly."

Ivan regarded her quietly with an unreadable expression. Irene couldn't shake the feeling of unease under his scrutiny, but she held her ground, and her determination was unwavering.

After a moment, Ivan nodded, a flicker of respect crossing his features. "You have a noble spirit, Irene," he said, his voice carrying a hint of admiration. "Leadership isn't about seeking power; it's about serving others with humility and grace. But without power, you wouldn't be able to serve."

Irene felt a surge of gratitude at his words, a sense of validation washing over her. She may not have Ivan's extraordinary abilities, but she possessed a strength of her own—a strength rooted in empathy and compassion. But Ivan was right too— without power, she wouldn't be able to serve.

Ivan suddenly halted his steps as he turned to Irene, his gaze piercing through the shadows of the forest. "Irene," he began, his voice calm yet probing, "have you ever considered what it would be like to be a Gifted?"

Irene blinked in surprise, her brow furrowing slightly at the unexpected question. "Being a Gifted?" she repeated, her voice tinged with curiosity. "Why do you ask?"

Ivan's expression remained unreadable as he regarded her intently. "It's a question of curiosity," he replied cryptically. "But I wonder, if given the chance, would you choose to become one? And at what cost are you willing to pay?"

Irene paused, her mind racing as she considered his inquiry. The idea of possessing such extraordinary powers was tantalizing, but she knew that becoming a Gifted was not a decision to be taken lightly. It was a rare gift, bestowed upon only a select few, and the process was shrouded in mystery and uncertainty.

"I suppose," Irene began slowly, her voice thoughtful, "if I were given the opportunity to become a Gifted, I would be willing to pay whatever price necessary. Even if it meant sacrificing my freedom."

Ivan's eyes narrowed slightly at her response, his gaze searching hers for any hint of hesitation or doubt. But Irene met his gaze steadily, and her conviction was unwavering.

"Why would you be willing to give up your freedom?" Ivan asked, his tone tinged with curiosity.

Irene smiled faintly, her eyes reflecting the flickering light filtering through the canopy above. "Because," she replied softly, "as long as I can serve my village and protect those I care about, then I am willing to make any sacrifice necessary."

Ivan studied her for a moment longer before nodding in understanding. "A very 'heroic' sentiment," he remarked, his voice was filled with respect. "But remember, Irene, if the chance ever arose you'd become a Gifted, remember this— power could corrupt even the purest souls, and it would do the same to you."

Irene shook her head, but her resolve was firm. "I don't understand," she said with certainty. "I just know if the opportunity ever arises, I will not hesitate to embrace it."

Ivan walked to the elder's hut, without looking back.

Irene watched as Ivan disappeared into the elder's hut to deliver his report. With a sense of urgency, she darted towards the site where the battle with the Frost Fire Sect had taken place. Her heart pounded in her chest as she raced through the forest, the urgency of knowing the situation lending speed to her steps. Along the way, she spotted Mayne, her closest friend, and beckoned for her to follow.

Together, they arrived at the scene of the confrontation, where the aftermath lay strewn across the forest floor. Mayne gasped in horror at the sight of the scattered corpses of the Frost Fire Sect members, each with a slit throat, evidence of a brutal end. But it was the charred corpse at the center that drew Irene's attention, a grim testament to a painfully excruciating death.

"This power… Ivan… What kind of Gifted do you think he is, Mayne?"

Irene approached the burnt remains, her stomach churning at the sight. The victim's contorted expression bore witness to the agony they had endured. She couldn't help but wonder what had transpired here, what dark forces had been at play.

Mayne turned to Irene, her eyes wide with shock and concern. "What kind of power could have done this?" she whispered, her voice trembling with fear. "If you are asking me for his Gift, then bad luck. Look at how they were killed, one was burned to a crisp and the others had their throats slit. I don't even remember our dear visiting elf carrying any weapon in him. So I'll throw back the question at you, what kind of Gifted do you think he is?"

Irene shook her head, her mind reeling with possibilities. "I'm not sure," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "But whatever it was, it's clear that we're dealing with something far more dangerous than we ever imagined."

When she turned and observed more of the other corpses, she realized a few of them were skinned and mutilated to random patches. Irene grimaced.

Ivan the purple-eyed elf. Was he an enemy? Or was he an opportunity for their village? Was Irene right to suspect there was something wrong going on? Or was she just being paranoid?