After five days in Ravenflock Fort, Caravan Master said we would leave tomorrow.
We would rejoin the others who had already gone ahead toward Yggdra.
The fort no longer felt unfamiliar.
But it also did not feel like somewhere we belonged.
I went looking for Durandal to say goodbye.
I found him in the dining hall.
Sitting alone.
Quiet, as always.
I told him we were leaving.
That we would be heading east.
I thanked him.
For everything during the journey.
For watching over me when I did not notice I needed it.
When I mentioned the direction—east—his expression changed.
Only for a moment.
Subtle.
But different.
He asked if we were heading toward Yggdra.
I said yes.
Then he paused.
And asked if I wanted to hear a story.
A legend from the half-elf lineage.
I did not fully understand why.
But I nodded.
And he began.
I listened carefully.
I am writing it here exactly as I heard it.
Not because I understand it fully.
But because I do not want to forget it.
the legend goes something like this.
a long time ago the devil used to sell his items and artifacts to potential buyers and demons.
he would sell them item such as The scent of lust, collars of greed, blade that would inflict wounds of anger and other items and weapon that would shoot pride deep into the heart of unsuspecting souls.
With this weapon and more demon were able to spread darkness across the world that much better.
One day, a potential buyer arrived.
another demon and as she perused the devil's wares he saw in the back corner something that caught her eyes.
on the pedestal very plain-looking sat two items unmarked.
An old wooden mallet and a very boring looking wooden spike.
She inquired of these and the Devil quickly said "those are not for sale"
She even more Curious.
now ask "why? What are they? Explain"
The Devil said "They are discouragement and Doubt, together they become hopelessness. They are my most powerful weapons. When none of my other items work, i employ the work of these two and they get the job done every time."
"How so? " said the woman, wanting to know very much more.
The Devil sighed, leaned in and said
"Nothing paralyzes a soul more then discouragement and doubt. while my other items may cause a soul to act OUT such as anger or lust. Hopelessness, Discouragement, Doubt, cause a soul to do nothing. which is much more deadly. They are no respecter of person. They drain their victim of Courage and Faith causing their visions and dreams to be blurred and blocked out by Anxiety and Fears. When a soul is fully succumb to Hopelessness. They become Empty shells. Sacks with only enough energy to feel sorry for themselves."
The woman smiled.
It was a slow, enchanting smile — beautiful, elegant, and impossibly dangerous. She moved closer, her voice soft like moonlight on still water, her eyes holding the Devil in a gaze that was both gentle and merciless. With graceful words, quiet promises, and a beauty that clouded even the mind of the great tempter, she negotiated.
She did not beg.
She did not threaten.
She simply made him want to give them to her.
After a long silence filled with her whispers and lingering scent, the Devil — for the first time in countless ages — felt himself lose ground. Before he even realized what was happening, the deal was done.
With heavy reluctance, he wrapped the old wooden mallet and the plain wooden spike in black cloth and placed them into her slender hands.
They were hers now. Completely.
As her fingers closed around the bundle, the Devil felt a sharp sting in his chest — the unfamiliar sensation of having been thoroughly, elegantly, and beautifully tricked.
The woman bowed with perfect grace, her long dark hair falling like a curtain of night.
"Thank you," she whispered sweetly, her voice like a lullaby. "You have been most generous."
She turned and disappeared into the shadows, carrying Discouragement and Doubt as if they were nothing more than simple trinkets.
The Devil stood alone in his shop for a long time, staring at the empty pedestal. For the first time in eternity, he had the bitter taste of regret in his mouth.
He had just sold his most powerful weapons… and he wasn’t even sure how it happened.
Durandal did not explain the story.
He did not wait for questions either.
He simply stood up.
As if the moment had already finished its purpose.
Before leaving, he looked at me.
For a moment, his expression softened.
Not in a way that felt distant.
But in a way that felt… final.
“You are a good kid,” he said.
Then he paused.
“As for you…”
“You will become something one day.”
I did not know how to respond.
I still do not.
He left after that.
Quietly.
As if nothing important had just happened.
But something had.
Only I did not understand it yet.
I sat there for a long time after he left.
Thinking.
Not about the story.
But about how he had spoken to me.
Slowly, I realized something I had not fully seen before.
Durandal was not speaking to someone beside him.
He was speaking to someone… below him.
Not in disrespect.
But in distance.
Like someone who had been carrying something fragile without ever stopping to ask its age.
I do not know when that realization formed fully.
Only that it did.
And now it sits quietly in my thoughts.
I will leave tomorrow.
And I think I will remember this more than I expected.
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