So, as the elf described in his halting, pained confession, he had been deliberately starved of magic for literal centuries—countless years of deprivation. Elves possessed remarkably long life spans, their existence naturally spanning more than one thousand five hundred years if properly nourished with magic. Yet, if they didn't have sufficient access to magic flowing through their bodies, sustaining them, it wasn't actually living in any meaningful sense—it would feel like existing as a living dead version of an elf, a hollow shell. A walking corpse. So imagine, he explained desperately, that you had been absolutely starved of food for days upon days stretching into weeks. You receive only a small, pitiful amount of food each day—just bland, tasteless sustenance, not even enough nutrition to properly see another day, yet somehow you pushed through on sheer will. Your body weakens, your mind grows foggy. Then one day, without warning, spread before you appears an absolutely massive feast laden with incredible delicacies you last tasted almost a thousand years ago—foods you'd forgotten the taste of, smells that awakened ancient memories. You would completely lose your mind in that moment—you would greedily devour everything before you, even though you know intellectually it's going to make you violently sick, even though you understand the consequences.
It was exactly the same principle for the elf kneeling before me, except instead of simply getting a bad stomach after eating senselessly and recovering after a day, they became sick in their head—their mind corrupted, forgetting all reason and rationality, becoming completely blinded by the intoxicating rush of power, growing increasingly hungry for more and more with no end. And in that deteriorated mental situation, the elf would use absolutely any means necessary, however unethical or dangerous, to have more magic siphoned into themselves, consequences be damned.
After I finally learned and understood this context, I heaved a long, weary sigh of comprehension mixed with reluctant sympathy.
"Forgive me, mistress of the Valleys," the elf added again desperately, using yet another ancient title.
"You handle this interaction. He's calling for you after all, not me—just please don't kill him," I said internally, letting Aiona take more direct control. I was no mistress of Valleys or mistress of night. Those were her titles, her legends.
Aiona smirked with dark satisfaction, then walked forward with predatory grace and grabbed the elf roughly by his beautiful silver hair, lifting his head forcefully so his face looked directly at hers, unable to avoid her gaze.
"Parasite," she spat the word like a curse. "I only let you continue living because you saved my mate once—but if you ever so much as use a charming spell again on him—No, actually—if you even *think* about using a charming spell, I will tear you apart slowly, limb by limb, and I will take my sweet time doing that, savoring every moment—do you understand me perfectly?" Her voice was dangerously low, and a deep, threatening rumble added an inhuman quality to it that made even me uncomfortable.
"That's a rather crass way of speaking," I observed mildly.
"Trust me, you haven't heard anything yet, princess," Aiona said to me dismissively in my head. "I'm being restrained."
She—or rather, we—let go of the elf's hair abruptly, letting his head drop, and wiped our hand fastidiously on the dress as if contaminated.
"Have fun traveling back to Gorei on your own," she said to the elf with false sweetness, and the very next second we were instantly back in the Gorei castle, standing in my familiar bed chamber as if we'd never left.
I stood there completely dumbfounded for a full minute, processing what had just happened.
"You left him stranded in the desert," I stated flatly, still not quite believing it.
She just shrugged carelessly in our shared consciousness, completely unbothered.
"You're such a petty creature," I said, shaking my head and throwing myself backward onto the bed, suddenly exhausted.
"He absolutely deserves it for what he tried," she retorted back, still annoyed and defensive.
I just sighed heavily, too tired to argue further.
In this small window of extraordinary time, I had witnessed firsthand what a dragon was truly capable of when unleashed. And what an elf could accomplish with their magic. Should I actually be thankful that those powerful beings were nearly extinct right now? Because—if they ever decided to use their tremendous power however they wished, without any regard for other living beings or consequences, the world would become a living hell, a nightmare realm.
"Aiona, what spell exactly did you use out there?" I asked her, my curiosity finally getting the better of me. I was genuinely curious since she had specifically named it. The invocation **(invocation: the act of calling upon something)** had felt deeply ominous, and more terrifying than I liked to admit even to myself. And I definitely hadn't read about anything remotely like that forbidden magic in the extensive Draga library either, despite all my studies. So naturally, I was intensely curious about its nature.
"Can't tell you—it's called forbidden magic for very good reasons," she answered immediately and firmly, shutting down that line of inquiry.
"But you used it despite the prohibition. Isn't there any backlash or consequence for using such dangerous magic?" I asked, genuinely confused by the apparent contradiction. Forbidden usually meant dangerous to the user.
"Um, don't worry about it," she added vaguely, but her normally confident voice carried a slight, telling hesitation. At that revealing moment, I knew with certainty that I would definitely have to worry about it later. But when whatever consequence happened, it would happen regardless—what was the practical use of worrying obsessively about it now? I couldn't change what had already been done.
"So this merging isn't bad at all, right? I mean, you get to use so much incredible magic when we work together—and this demonstration was just a small amount of what we can actually accomplish together, like one cup of water from a vast lake," she said, her voice turning noticeably softer, more seductive, slithering around my consciousness like a serpent, trying to tempt me toward a decision. "So why not make this merger permanent? We'd be so powerful together. Unstoppable."
"You know I can see right through your transparent intentions, right?" I asked her with another heavy sigh, not fooled for a moment.
"Don't even try that manipulation. Get out of my head and return to where you were before," I said, genuinely annoyed by the attempt.
"You humans are all exactly the same," she said bitterly, her voice suddenly angry and hurt. "You make use of us when convenient and throw us away callously when it becomes even slightly inconvenient for you. Fine. See if I ever offer you help again when you need it."
And then, without further warning, I felt the temporary merge abruptly ended. I was thrown violently back into my solely human body, wheezing and gasping, struggling desperately to adjust to being singular again after being dual. And the crushing exhaustion hit me suddenly like a physical blow—my fragile human body struggling intensely to cope with the tremendously tedious workout I had effectively done in the middle of the night. My muscles screamed. I lay there motionless, far too tired to even move a single finger, completely spent.
"Suffer then," I heard Aiona say coldly before her distinctive voice went completely silent, her powerful presence fading rapidly to nothing, withdrawing deep inside. I knew intellectually she was still inside of me, bound to my soul, but I felt strangely, profoundly lonely without her constant presence. Like I had lost half of myself, been split apart. A strange kind of melancholy sadness filled my heart, heavy and aching.
So, exactly as Aiona had wished in her anger, I was left there alone—suffering in silence until the first rays of daylight eventually crept through the heavy curtains, announcing morning.