An Anti-Hero's Origin

Kings and Towers

^^ Vertical Forest, interior ^^

Elves had very clinical attitudes towards Death, in my experience; something to be studied, avoided, prevented, or otherwise dealt with swiftly, and efficiently avenged. Elven Funerals were therefore simple, beginning with a burning of the body, without much ceremony at all, and ending with a long meal for the loved ones to grieve together. There were more than eight hundred deaths to grieve, with four of them being High Elves, including their King, Invictus.

Normally, I'd be joining in to said mild-mannered festivities, enjoying the freedom from decorum that they often granted, but instead I was sitting across from my Father and Mother, glaring at them over a still image from King Invictus' memories of the attack; in it, a portal could clearly be seen, with dragons pouring out of the dark void beyond. This, accompanied by Invictus' final words to Father, 'Don't Do Anything Rash', was the reason for my glaring.

"I expect... a full explanation... Now." I demanded, keeping my tone and volume reasonable so as not to unduly disturb the people spread out around the open square for the feast, enjoying the Halo Birds I'd summoned for the cooks to turn into a variety of dishes, alongside the goods I had here.

Father sighed, shaking his head stubbornly. "I refuse. I know you well enough to know you'll do something rash; then I'll get blamed for it by your Mother."

"Oh? I'll do something rash? Says the man who charged a Thunder of Dragons without a plan?" I raised an eyebrow slowly at his Gall, and he looked away guiltily.

"I agree, on both counts; you get your stubborn brazenness and rash decision-making from your Father, and neither of you can be trusted on this subject, hence why I am with your Father, keeping an eye on him, instead of tending to your Sister." Mother frowned at the both of us, then glanced at the Tower, where some of the more grievously wounded still laid in rows, slowly healing. Irene, having been a Resident of this city, was mildly burnt, but otherwise totally fine; she saw the dragons and immediately gathered her husband, and they were one of the first few to flee, getting the report of the attack to the Hall of Research.

"So let me get this straight; someone SENT a Thunder of Dragons to destroy Avingrad, the only remaining Elven City, and you think that my reaction, an entirely justifiable Rage, will be 'Rash'?!?" While an uncomfortable silence spread throughout the square, I stood to my full height, glaring down at my parents, neither of whom could meet my gaze, for once. "Tell me you're not seriously sitting here, surrounded by the victims of a horrible attack, and while you know the identity of the attackers, you will not respond?"

"This isn't the first city to fall to Monsters, my son; it will not be the last. Vengeance solves nothing, and heals no wounds; it is best to simply move on." Mother shook her head sadly.

I scoffed derisively, disgusted by the display of defeatism. "Coming from the people who raised me to have honor, I find your Spineless Defeatism Hypocritical, Pathetic, and above-all Disappointing." I shook my head and turned away, walking back towards my Tower; my home. "Rest up, I'm sure you're tired. I will ensure your Healers are paid for their time and effort. Good day, ArchMages."

—

"A bit Harsh, don't you think? Ripping your parents like that for trying to keep you safe?"

"That's not why they did it, and you know it." I sighed, setting the new golden crystal into the small cradle of Mithril I'd made for it.

Instantly, a befuddled, very very old Elven ArchMage appeared, looking around in confusion before focusing on me. "Ah! Hello, young man, could you point me towards the director of this library? I seem to have... Hmm... stumbled in?"