Chapter 211: Westfall Village
Tana’s offer to see the village took me by surprise. I glanced down at my leg, tracing the fine, white scars before nodding. Helron shot Tana and Sorrin a wink and dragged Bilev away, hustling the protesting innkeeper down the stairs.
Taking a deep breath, I swung my legs over the bed and paused, my bare feet an inch from the floor. Tana nudged Sorrin, who grunted and rolled his eyes.
"Want a hand?" he asked.
I stared at his offered hand, finding it coated in dozens of fine white scars and thick callouses. Soltair had a hand like that, as did the other heroes and soldiers I fought beside, one that had seen battle time and time again.
Seeing my hesitation, Tana slapped his hand away. "Just take your time."
"Just make up your mind, elf," Sorrin grumbled, striding over to the door.
"Half-elf," she corrected automatically, as though giving a practiced response.
"Whatever. I’ll be downstairs."
She turned back to me, all smiles, as he slipped outside. Before she could say more, I pushed myself to my feet, gingerly testing my leg. A pulsing, dull ache spread through my leg with every heartbeat, but it seemed sturdy enough. At least, until I took a step.
The moment my weight came down on my leg, a blinding line of fire shot up through the nerves, and my knee buckled. Instinctively, I threw out my hand, grasping at empty air. Tana leaped forward, arms extended toward me, but froze, her eyes growing wide in disbelief as a storm of stars swirled around me.
I realized too late what was happening. Heeding my instinctive call, my staff materialized in my hand, seeming to position itself just right to help me regain my balance. The sleek, glass-like crystal haft was warm to the touch, and the six-point star crowning the work pulsed with the comforting radiance of starlight. At that moment, the staff’s true name entered my mind, appearing as a subtle thought on the edges of my subconsciousness—the Staff of Fate, the Final Star.