THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR

David nodded, continuing his methodical cleaning of her wounds. With each layer of grime removed, the extent of the damage became clearer—and more troubling. The burns covered nearly half her body, concentrated on the left side. Her legs had been broken and reset improperly multiple times, explaining her inability to walk unaided.

Yet despite everything, there remained an undeniable elegance to her features—high cheekbones and delicate structure that hinted at noble lineage, visible even through devastation.

"What happened to the elves in this region?" Luna asked unexpectedly.

David glanced toward Elara, purposefully remaining silent. As Archon of Lysora County, her knowledge of imperial history would be far more comprehensive than what he could reasonably claim to know.

Elara sighed, setting down her notes. "Most elven settlements were destroyed during the Third Expansion of the Solarian Empire," she explained, her voice taking on the measured tone of someone who had studied such matters extensively. "Official records claim natural disasters—forest fires, mainly. But that's imperial propaganda."

She moved closer, her expression hardening. "It was genocide. A systematic purge disguised as a tragic accident. The imperial historians revised the narrative afterward, but those of us with access to older records know the truth. Entire forests burned with their inhabitants still inside, ancient settlements razed to make way for human expansion."

Luna absorbed this information with her usual inscrutable expression. "Inefficient," she finally concluded. "Destruction wastes potential resources."

"Precisely why I intervened," David replied, seizing the opportunity to reinforce his pragmatic justification. "Potential value. Nothing more."

Elara's skeptical glance suggested she believed his actions stemmed from naiveté rather than calculation, but she kept further thoughts to herself.

As they continued their efforts, the elf stirred again, this time with greater awareness. Her violet eyes opened fully, immediately widening with fear as she registered unfamiliar surroundings. Before she could cry out, David spoke in a low, calm voice.

"You're safe," he said, then repeated the same phrase in what he recalled of the old elven tongue from the novel's pages: "Sh'maera vani el'thalas."

The effect was immediate—the elf froze, her gaze locking onto David with stunned recognition of her ancestral language. Her cracked lips parted, but no sound emerged. Instead, her hand moved in a small gesture that David recognized as a truncated form of an elven blessing.

Elara's eyebrows rose in surprise. "You speak elven?"

"A few phrases," David replied dismissively, not explaining where he'd learned them. To the elf, he continued in the common tongue, "You're no longer a slave. You're under my protection now."

Her expression remained guarded, decades of trauma having burned away any capacity for trust. But beyond the fear and pain, David detected something else—a keen intelligence assessing him, calculating odds and possibilities. This was no broken shell; her mind remained sharp despite her physical condition.

"Water," David offered, holding a cup to her lips. She hesitated before taking a careful sip, her eyes never leaving his face.

"Who..." she managed, her voice a harsh whisper from disuse or damage.

"My name is David De Gror," he replied, deciding that honesty about his identity presented minimal risk. "These are my companions, Luna and Elara."

The elf's gaze shifted briefly to each woman before returning to David. "Why?" she asked, the single word carrying a multitude of questions.

David considered his response carefully. The truth—that he recognized her as Princess Sylindra Elanthrial from fictional accounts from another world—was obviously not an option. A completely fabricated noble motivation would ring false. He settled for the same vague explanation he'd given his companions.

"Something told me you were important," he said simply. "And..." he added, allowing a hint of genuine feeling to color his words, "some things are simply wrong, regardless of politics or expediency."

That last sentiment surprised even him, emerging unbidden from somewhere beneath his calculated exterior. The ghost of his mother's influence, perhaps, or some remnant of the person he'd been before necessity had carved him into something harder.

The elf's eyes narrowed slightly, evaluating his words for deception. Whatever she saw apparently satisfied her immediate concerns, as some of the tension left her broken body.

"Rest," David instructed, straightening. "We'll talk more when you're stronger."

He moved away from the bed, joining Luna near the window while Elara continued her pointed distance at the desk. The elf's eyes followed him briefly before exhaustion reclaimed her, her lids drifting closed as she surrendered once more to unconsciousness.

"She understood you," Luna observed quietly. "Mind intact despite physical damage."

David nodded. "As I suspected. Elves are known for their mental resilience."

Elara finally abandoned her show of disapproval, approaching to stand with them. "I still think this was reckless," she said, though her tone had softened. "But I suppose even your impulsive hunches have proven correct before."

David noted her continued misinterpretation of his motives but made no effort to correct her. Let her believe this was youthful compassion; it served his purposes better than the truth.

"My reasons remain practical," he insisted, though whether he was convincing Elara or himself wasn't entirely clear. "Her knowledge could prove invaluable."

Luna tilted her head, studying David with that unnerving perception that occasionally pierced his careful masks. "Both things can be true," she stated simply. "Advantage and decency. Not mutually exclusive."

David didn't respond, his attention fixed on the sleeping elf. Princess Sylindra Elanthrial—a footnote in a novel he'd read in another life, now a living, breathing complication to his carefully constructed plans. A resource, certainly. A potential ally, possibly.

And perhaps, though he was reluctant to acknowledge it even to himself, a test of what remained of his humanity beneath the armor of ruthless practicality he'd forged through years of survival.

"We meet Yue and Litty in two days," he said, deliberately changing the subject. "The elf's condition gives us additional reason to secure those alchemical supplies quickly."

Elara nodded, accepting the shift to practical matters. "I'll go to the market district this afternoon, see what I can learn about the Eye of Ternion while acquiring some basic necessities."

"I'll remain," Luna stated, her protective instincts evident.

David glanced between his companions and their unexpected addition, mentally recalculating the complex equations of their mission in Valemir. The variables had changed, but the objective remained constant. The Eye of Ternion, the stabilization matrix, his enrollment at the School of the Eternal Flame—these priorities hadn't shifted.

He'd simply added another piece to the board—one whose true identity he would keep to himself for now.

As he turned back to the window, gazing toward the distant white spires of inner Valemir, David allowed himself a rare moment of honest introspection. His decision to save the elf had been predominantly strategic—of that he remained certain. The advantages outweighed the risks.

Yet he couldn't entirely dismiss the flicker of something else that had influenced him. Something quieter but persistent, a voice from his past that occasionally broke through his carefully constructed pragmatism.

David pushed the thought aside. Sentiment was a luxury he couldn't afford, not with dimensional fractures threatening his very existence and cosmic powers moving against him.

The elf princess was an asset—nothing more, nothing less.

He repeated this to himself as he watched the afternoon sun glint off the distant towers, trying to ignore the part of him that recognized it as not entirely true.