Seraphine did not forget.
Not the sack.
Not the carriage.
Not being dragged away screaming her vows into the wind like a spell cast too late.
If anything, distance refined her resolve.
Whenever Four Bastions’ route bent anywhere near the frontier town—
whenever a contract ended early,
whenever a festival could be conveniently invented—
Seraphine came.
Sometimes with gifts.
Sometimes with excuses.
Always with the same declaration.
“Ivaline, I have returned.”
“I still love you.”
“I am waiting.”
At first, it was loud.
Embarrassingly loud.
She would announce herself at the guild gate like a victorious general, proclaiming affection with the confidence of a war mage declaring conquest. Guild staff learned to sigh before she finished speaking.
Later, it softened.
Not weaker—
steadier.
She stopped demanding answers.
Stopped trying to steal hands or closeness.
She stayed.
She helped.
Trained.
Repaired damaged wards.
Waited.
And waiting, for an elf, was not idle.
Garrick’s Misfortune
Garrick learned a cruel truth during those years:
The world possessed a vicious sense of irony.
The very elf who had once accused him—loudly, publicly, staff half-raised—
of being a pedophile for caring about an orphaned girl…
…now knelt on one knee in the guild courtyard.
The ring she presented was carved from wind-aspected crystal, light bending softly through its facets.
“I will wait until she is of age.”
“I will wait until she chooses.”
“But my heart is already hers.”
Silence followed.
Garrick stared.
Once.
Twice.
Then rubbed his face with both hands.
“…I don’t even know where to begin with you.”
Seraphine beamed.
“You don’t have to! Love needs no explanation!”
He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Finally muttered:
“The audacity…”
From that day on, whenever Seraphine appeared, someone would glance at Garrick—just once—and smirk.
He stopped defending himself.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Let history record its own jokes.
Ivaline, in the Middle
Ivaline never mocked Seraphine.
Never encouraged her either.
She listened.
Accepted gifts politely.
Asked sincere questions.
“Is waiting difficult?”
“Why do you smile when you say my name?”
“Does love always feel warm?”
Seraphine answered each one seriously.
No teasing.
No jokes.
And when Ivaline said—
“I cannot promise you anything yet.”
Seraphine bowed her head.
“Then I will treasure the yet.”
Chronicle’s Note
The bond did not distort fate.
Did not accelerate power.
Did not fracture paths.
It waited.
And in a world where The Brave and Demon King existed—
Waiting itself became extraordinary.
Words That Cut
The guild hall had grown.
Not just in stone and timber, but in voices.
Veterans from collapsed fronts.
Adventurers from the south.
Wanderers who decided this frontier town was worth staying alive in.
Not all of them knew the names that mattered.
The laughter came from a man leaning against a pillar—new armor, old arrogance.
“What’s this supposed to be?”
“An adult elf proposing to a half-elf child?”
“A pedophile right in the middle of a guild branch? Hah.”
“That’s rich. Don’t you have any shame?”
The air tightened.
Seraphine’s staff shifted in her grip.
Wind gathered—thin, sharp.
Before it could move—
Sching.
Steel sang once.
Soft.
Almost polite.
A sword tip hovered an inch from the man’s throat, its reflection splitting his pupil like a second blade.
Ivaline stood there.
Not shaking.
Not shouting.
Just… present.
“Retract your words.”
The man blinked.
“Wha—”
The blade did not move.
Her voice did not rise.
“I may not understand marriage yet.”
“Or proposals.”
“But I understand malice.”
Silence followed.
Not the dramatic kind.
The social kind.
The kind where a guild decides—together—who belongs.
The man swallowed.
Hands rose.
“…I spoke out of line.”
Ivaline lowered her blade.
No flourish.
No triumph.
Just enough.
Immediate Consequences
Seraphine did not cast a spell.
She lunged.
Wrapped Ivaline in a crushing embrace, cheek pressed against silver hair, voice spilling everywhere at once.
“I love you!”
“I love you, I love you, I LOVE YOU!”
“Take me! Right here! Right now!”
Ivaline stiffened.
Processed.
Then replied—calmly, logically:
“No.”
Seraphine froze.
“W—why!?”
“Aldric said you must return by tomorrow.”
“If I take you, you will stay.”
She paused.
“That would make him unhappy.”
Seraphine stared.
Her staff drooped.
“…That’s your reason?”
“Yes.”
The elf collapsed dramatically onto a bench.
“Why is your logic so cruel…”
Chronicle’s Silent Approval
Chronicle did not speak.
He did not need to.
She had weighed:
- personal desire
? responsibility
? consequences beyond herself
And chosen without hesitation.
This was not restraint born of fear.
It was judgment.
Chronicle noted it quietly.
Good job.
No points granted.
No system message.
Just acknowledgment.
What the Guild Learned That Day
Not that Seraphine loved Ivaline.
That was obvious.
But this:
Ivaline would not tolerate malice.
She would not escalate without cause.
And she would protect others without borrowing authority.
From that day forward, newcomers learned quickly:
You could joke.
You could misunderstand.
You could be ignorant.
But if you spoke with cruelty—
You would answer to the Silver Blade.
The Setup
Seraphine was dragged back to Four Bastions’ base.
She was seething.
Not at Ivaline.
Never at Ivaline.
At Aldric.
“YOU KNEW.”
“YOU KNEW I WAS GOING TO CONFESS.”
“YOU PLANNED THIS.”
Aldric calmly set down his shield.
“You were going to propose to a child.”
“I stopped you three steps before disaster.”
That sentence sealed his fate.
The Beating
Seraphine exploded.
Wind-enhanced bonks.
Staff strikes aimed just off lethal zones.
Gusts flipping Aldric into walls.
A lesser storm detonated indoors.
Aldric did not fight back.
He blocked.
Braced.
Endured.
The ex-templar knew when punishment was deserved.
Nyssa counted hits aloud.
“Twenty-seven!”
“Ooooh that one was personal!”
“Seraphine, aim lower, you’ll crack his ribs again!”
Bram brought a chair and sat down.
“He’s earned this.”
What Aldric Says When It Ends
Seraphine collapsed, staff trembling, eyes wet with fury and frustration.
Aldric knelt—bruised, bleeding lightly, smiling.
“I didn’t stop you because I doubt your feelings.”
“I stopped you because I refuse to let your love become her burden.”
That shut her up.
He continued:
“When she chooses you—when—”
“It will be because she understands what that choice means.”
“Not because the world pushed her.”
Silence.
Then—
“…I still hate you.”
“I know.”
Aftermath
Seraphine did not give up.
She changed strategy.
Fewer public proposals.
More visits.
More waiting.
More watching Ivaline grow—by her own steps.
Her love matured.
It stopped being impulsive.
And became devotional.
Aldric, privately, considered this:
If she can learn patience… she might actually be worthy.