Utter darkness.

  That was all Khaelryn could see. Or would it be more accurate to say could not see?

  He sighed deliberately. Not to express his feelings; there was nobody here to hear it anyway. It was simply to break the numbing monotony.

  It was so very different from what he had expected. When the Empire had taken him and his wife, he had prepared himself for a cruel fate. Torture, perhaps. A public execution. But certainly not this.

  This mind-numbing silence. This inescapable boredom. This utterly meaningless existence inside a room that was almost as dark as his recent thoughts.

  How long had he even been here? Days? Months?

  ...Years?

  He wasn't sure.

  It was a curious thing. He had once prided himself on having an excellent sense of time; his internal clock had been reliable ever since childhood. Little had he known how much that inner sense depended on context to remain accurate.

  Now, with no access to sun or moon, no regular meals, and no orderly sleep cycle, he had not only lost track of day and night but even the very concept of time had begun to feel foreign.

  There was only one constant left in his life. One single occasion that broke the monotony of his torment. Though he was not sure whether it truly broke his suffering or only intensified it.

  As if on cue, the door to the room opened, and with it came the light. Khaelryn's eyes burned at the sudden brightness. Every instinct begged him to blink, to look away. Yet he did not. He stared straight into the light, drawn to it.

  Like a moth flying into a flame despite knowing it would burn it.

  Even so, he would not look away. He could not.

  "Good day, Khaelryn," a familiar voice said.

  The door closed again, but the darkness did not return. Instead, the small room was illuminated by the flickering glow of a spirited white flame that danced inside a glass container.

  The light came closer, then was gently placed before him. Khaelryn did not look away for even an instant. He didn't dare. He could not meet their eyes.

  "...Do you like the lantern?" the voice asked from beyond the light. They had taken a seat across from him, as always. But he refused to answer, or speak at all. Inwardly, though, he knew. He knew exactly what this was: petty defiance.

  It would not last. He would not last. The sheer, overwhelming need to speak to someone was far too strong. And even if he held out again this time, what kind of victory would that be? They would simply leave.

  They did not need this. They did not need to talk.

  He did.

  "Did you sleep well?" the voice asked again, not at all bothered by his silence. It was a cheerful voice, friendly and soft. Khaelryn could feel the concern in every word. Had anyone ever shown him this much concern? Cared this much about him?

  He did not think so.

  Maybe his wife had. But honestly, he could not be sure. He barely remembered her face. Her voice was a complete mystery. Had she been kind? She must have been. Otherwise, why would he have married her? He had been the pride of his village ever since he was a child.

  ...Or had he?

  "That's right, Khaelryn," the voice said gently. "You have been the pride of your village. Until the accident..."

  Accident? What accident? He did not remember any accidents. Had someone been hurt? Who?

  "...You do remember, don't you?" the voice added, concern threading through every word. "The accident that deformed you."

  Deformed? He was deformed? No, that was impossible. He would have remembered something like that. Wouldn't he?

  "Poor child," the voice murmured. "To think you must spend your days like this, all because of those ears..."

  His ears?

  His hands rose to touch the soft skin on the sides of his head. His ears felt normal. Nothing seemed wrong. The skin was smooth, unscarred. His fingers traced their outline, from the base to the slight tip...

  Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  The person across from him sighed. "I don't know how you endure it. All alone in this darkness."

  Khaelryn's breath caught. Anger and gratitude warred in his chest. The sincere concern touched him in a way he could not deny, yet the hypocrisy of it made fury rise within him.

  But no words left his mouth. He simply stared into the flame, his eyes burning from keeping them open for so long.

  The person opposite him remained silent as well. Time passed like that, in total stillness, the only movement the flicker of the flame and the shifting shadows along the walls.

  "...It seems you are not very interested in speaking today..."

  Oh no. No. No. No.

  "That's fine. I will return soon. Maybe you will feel more inclined to talk then."

  No, No, No, No, No, No.

  Don't leave. Not yet.

  His thoughts went unheard. The person stood, and with them, the lantern rose as well.

  Hot tears streamed down Khaelryn's face. If they left now, he would be alone. Alone in the dark. Alone for who knew how long. They might never return.

  "...Wait."

  The word came out hoarse, but it was definitely his voice.

  The figure stopped. "Did you change your mind? I'm glad."

  But they did not return to their seat. Instead, they remained where they were, halfway to the exit.

  "Unfortunately, I am a little busy today. So I might not be able to stay..."

  Khaelryn felt a darkness sink into his stomach. He had compromised, given in, spoken aloud. And they were going to leave anyway. He felt like a fool. Like a child who had fallen for a cruel joke.

  "Unless..." the voice continued, breathing life back into the tiny flame of hope inside him.

  Unless what? Unless what? Should I speak? I will speak. Should I dance? I will dance. Should I sing? I will sing.

  "—Unless you can do something about those ears?"

  Khaelryn felt a strange defiance rise within him. Something inside whispered that he should tread carefully, move with caution. He pushed the feeling down. There was no time for caution. Caution meant darkness. Caution meant solitude. He did not need caution. He needed action.

  "What... do you want me... to do?" His voice was still rough, but it grew steadier with every word.

  "Nothing difficult," the voice said. "I just want you to make a slight change to the way your ears look. After all, it is unbecoming for a human to have such pointed ears, don't you think?"

  Khaelryn frowned. Human? He was not human. He carried the noble blood of Yggdrasil in his veins, a lineage that granted him a lifespan far beyond that of a mere human. His ears were the proof of that bloodline.

  How could he deny them?

  The figure seemed to read the rejection on his face.

  "You will not? That is a pity. I was looking forward to spending more time with you..."

  Before they even finished speaking, they began to move again, the light drifting farther away.

  "Wait!"

  Khaelryn hated how desperate his voice sounded, even to his own ears. But he had no choice. He had already broken his vow of silence. What did it matter if he went a little further?

  "What... should I do?"

  This time, the figure returned. However, they did not sit down. Instead, they stood before him.

  Khaelryn watched their billowing robes shift as they retrieved something from within the folds. A moment later, metal gleamed before his eyes. Two blades crossing over a grip.

  An exquisite pair of shears appeared before his face. The edges looked sharp, frighteningly so. The moment he saw them, Khaelryn felt the impulse to turn them on himself, to slice open his own neck. His carotid artery would spill enough blood that he might die before anyone could stop it.

  The impulse was so strong that his hand twitched toward the blades before he even realized it. But before he could act, reason reasserted itself.

  What a foolish thought that had been. Why end his life now, when he had finally made progress?

  "...Take them."

  Slowly, Khaelryn reached out. His hands closed around the cold metal. It felt pleasantly different. Even this simple brush of his fingers against the steel filled him with a sudden, inexplicable happiness.

  It had truly been the right choice to speak today.

  Otherwise, he would never have felt this.

  "Now..." The voice was as gentle as ever, though Khaelryn could swear something else hid beneath the softness. He could not name the emotion. "I want you to cut off the tips."

  Khaelryn raised the shears. His mind was made up. Yet the moment the sharp edges pressed against his skin, he froze.

  "Could... you..." he stammered. "Could you do it for me?"

  It was a weak plea, but Khaelryn honestly did not know if he had the strength to do it himself.

  "No," the rejection was firm. "It is important that you do it yourself."

  Khaelryn hesitated. Could he do it?

  He could. He would. He had to.

  Yet every time he tried to apply pressure, his strength vanished. It felt as if another will inside his own flesh fought him, resisting every command.

  "Try harder," the voice urged. "You have to find the strength to free yourself."

  Yes. That was right. He had to do this. He had to get out.

  How could something so simple be so difficult? All he needed was a little pressure. Just that, and he would be free. Everything would be fine.

  So why was it so hard?

  He could feel his hand starting to tremble. Why? The shears were not that heavy. He should have been able to hold them for hours without tiring. So why did they feel like the heaviest burden he had ever carried?

  "...Don't think too much," the voice whispered, now close to his ear. "Don't think at all."

  That was right. He was thinking too much. This was not difficult. All he had to do was close his hand, and all of this would end.

  His fingers twitched, and he felt the bite of metal on his ear, drawing blood. He had been right: The blades were sharp. Even that tiny touch had already split his skin.

  Warm blood slid down his ear and dripped onto his neck. He could smell it, taste the iron in the air. There was no pain. In fact, he felt only relief at having made progress.

  Though it had been an accident, he had made the first cut. Now the rest would be easy.

  "Do it," the voice said, now far more insistent. And with that command, the last vestiges of his resistance crumbled. At last, he could move. At last, he was in control.

  Finally, he could free himself.

  He felt his lips stretch strangely at the thought. It was an unfamiliar expression. How did he look right now?

  The thought drifted away. It did not matter. All that mattered was that he could finally do what he had been too weak to do before.

  His hand closed. The metal pressed against his ear from both sides. This time, he did not stop. He welcomed the pain. Though it stung as the shears cut through his flesh, it was far less torment than the suffering he had endured moments ago.

  If anything, the pain felt like salvation.

  Finally, he was free...