A frail woman wrapped herself in a thick, patterned shawl, her hands trembling. Outside, the night reigned supreme, so dark and eerie that no one in their right mind would dare leave the safety of their home at such an hour. Yet someone had braved the darkness, for now this woman clutched a bundle of blankets in her shaking hands, from which a faint whimpering could be heard.
“What do we do now?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder to meet the eyes of the man who had also been roused by the loud knock at the door. He, too, had stepped outside to see who could be calling at this ungodly hour. But the nocturnal visitor had vanished, leaving behind a child on their doorstep.
Kankenstim stood just behind her now, his arms around his wife’s shoulders, gazing at the miracle she held in her hands. The little one was swaddled in an old, moth-eaten blanket, sleeping peacefully despite the upheaval around her. The child couldn’t have been more than a week old.
“It seems fate has just handed us a second chance,” he said with a smile, unable to tear his eyes away from the baby. “Shall we keep her?”
“I think it’s a her,” the woman replied with a furrowed brow, unsure of what to do next.
Just yesterday, she had packed their belongings, preparing to return to their homeland in a few days. They had failed to fulfill the hopes of their people, and now, on the threshold of their home, some unknown woman had left her infant. Filareyn hadn’t the faintest idea what to do.
The baby stirred and opened her eyes, looking up at the woman holding her. Then she began to cry.
“Shh, shh,” Filareyn whispered, smiling down at the little one. “It’s alright, sweetheart, it’s alright. No one will hurt you here. I think you’ve just found yourself a new home.”
Kankenstim took a step back, a smile blooming across his pale, angular face. He watched in awe as his wife rocked the stranger’s child in her arms. A stranger’s child, yes—but now, undeniably, theirs.
In that moment, he knew he wouldn’t do anything to change this. He wouldn’t search for the negligent mother who had abandoned her baby to them. He wouldn’t report this to the town magistrate or tell a soul. He was content to keep the child, even if she was human.
Filareyn glanced back at him, a faint smile playing on her lips. She raised an eyebrow in a silent question, and he simply nodded. Just nodded.
“Then unpack our things,” she whispered, still gently rocking the baby. “And tomorrow, we must inform the Ah harasai.”
“I’ll take care of it, my love. This child is our khisar.”
“No,” she shook her head. “Not khisar, but Hisariya. She’s a girl. We’ve just gained a daughter, Kankenstim. Our long-awaited child.”
The next morning, Kankenstim set out for the land of his kin.
He left home early, while the small town still slumbered. He walked beyond its borders until he reached the edge of the forest. Glancing around, he muttered something under his breath and… vanished into thin air.
A difficult conversation awaited him, and he knew it well.
Following familiar paths, he arrived at a place where magic thrived, where other elves dwelled. A grove known in a nearly forgotten tongue as Dra’ed Widior.
He walked among trees with emerald canopies, greeting the elves he passed, trying to steady his nerves. Kankenstim was anxious. He knew the head druid would not take kindly to the news he was about to deliver. He might even oppose it.
He was almost certain to oppose it.
His instincts did not deceive him.
“I’m sorry, what?” snorted an elf, ancient in both age and appearance, upon hearing the request.
They stood inside the hollow of a great tree. Not as grand as the legendary oak, of course, but impressive nonetheless. The head druid’s dwelling resembled a wooden cave. Long vines with glowing yellow flowers hung from wooden beams, casting light in the dim space. The ground was covered with carpets of living leaves, which seemed unaware they were no longer attached to branches, retaining their vibrant color and firmness.
The only furniture in the head druid’s home was a narrow bed and a few low tables, the latter sagging under the weight of scrolls, books, and vials of potions that cluttered every inch of space.
Kankenstim always found it odd that Rafan had no chests or storage here, but he never dared to ask.
“You and your wife were supposed to return today!” The head druid was not pleased with the news, just as Kankenstim had anticipated.
And yet, wasn’t it true? He had been lucky. First, when he was granted the chance to live in the human world for twenty-five years with his wife, hoping to conceive a child. For only in the human world could elven women bear children now—only there, and nowhere else.
Their time in the human realm had come to an end. They were meant to return and make way for another couple, one who might have better fortune than he and Filareyn. But now…
“Yes, we have a daughter. And we will not abandon her.”
The voice of the visiting elf rang out with confidence and resolve, though inwardly he trembled. The head druid’s word was law. No one would dare defy it. No one. Ever.
“Hmph,” Rafan exhaled, narrowing his eyes.
The head druid towered over his guest by a full head. He had a muscular build and long gray hair that showed no trace of silver, though it should have by now. His face was etched with a fine web of wrinkles, a sign that Rafan was nearing his first millennium.
Kankenstim felt uneasy under Rafan’s presence, the weight of those gray-blue eyes boring into him like a drill.
“Yes, she’s human,” Kankenstim added with a cough, trying to hide his hands in the pockets of the loose linen trousers he wore only in the elven realm. “But how can we abandon a child?”
“If she wasn’t even wanted by her own mother…”
“Are you suggesting we pass her off to someone else?!” Kankenstim exclaimed, stepping back. “What about the balance of nature, Rafan? This girl didn’t end up on our doorstep by mere chance! Do you really think something like this could happen by accident?”
The head druid lifted his chin. He said nothing, but a single look was enough to silence his guest. Kankenstim flinched.
“She’s human,” Rafan stated coldly.
It was a verdict. A verdict the newfound father refused to accept.
The head druid could see that Kankenstim couldn’t come to terms with his decision. That he was wrestling with himself even now.
“I’m not suggesting you give her away,” the older elf added, softening his stance. “But you must make room for others. If you wish to keep this child, fine. Raise her here.”
“A human? Here?” Kankenstim’s astonishment knew no bounds. “And what would she do here? She needs to grow up in the human world. Her world! We’ll raise her, give her love and education. But as you rightly said, she’s just human. She doesn’t belong in this realm.”
The head druid couldn’t disagree with his old friend.
“Give us twenty years,” Kankenstim pleaded. “That’s enough time to let her go into her own life…”
“You’re asking for twenty years, Kankenstim,” the head druid interrupted. “In that time, another couple could bear a child. An elf. Maybe even more than one couple. Are you asking me to sacrifice others for… a human?!”
The new father didn’t know how to respond. Rafan was right, as he always was.
“Yes.”
His answer came out uncertain, his voice betraying him at the most critical moment.
“Then perhaps you’d like to stand before our people yourself? Tell them we should all wait while a single human child grows up? Explain why they should wait for this, hmm?”
Kankenstim clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to curse aloud. That would reveal how closely he’d mingled with humans when he was supposed to live in seclusion with his wife, merely tending to their home on the edge of a small town, following orders, and trying to bring a new elf into the world.
“If that’s your condition,” he said slowly, meeting Rafan’s gaze with his gray eyes, “then I accept.”
“And what will you say to them?” his friend inquired.
“I don’t know,” the elf admitted honestly. “But I’m willing to do this if it gives even the slightest chance to secure a future for this child.”
“You want to fight for a human!” Rafan couldn’t hold back, throwing up his hands and stepping away. His light robes, adorned with green patterns, rustled. “A human! Do you hear yourself, my friend?!”
“I hear myself,” Kankenstim nodded. “Let me address the elves waiting for their turn. We couldn’t have a child of our own, but fate has given us one. And I won’t turn my back on her. Not for anything!”
Rafan fell silent, staring at his friend before gesturing toward the exit.
“Go. Speak to them. I’ll listen to your words along with everyone else, my friend. But don’t expect them to be moved by your plea when some have dreamed of a child of their own for three hundred years.”
Kankenstim closed his eyes, knowing his chances were slim. But he was grateful for the opportunity to speak.
Soon, the Ah harasai gathered all who needed to hear Kankenstim. They stood near a towering tree that hid the blue sky and offered cool shade. Kankenstim was nervous; he couldn’t even string his thoughts together in his mind. He trembled. But he knew that back home, his wife and daughter awaited him.
“Thank you for taking the time to listen,” his voice was soft. The elves assembled by the head druid didn’t immediately realize who was speaking. “I want to address you all with a request. A very important request.”
Finally, they saw the speaker.
He was a tall elf with light hair tied into a short ponytail at the nape of his neck. He wore gray trousers and a plain light shirt without any embellishments. Instead of laces, it was fastened with a few buttons starting midway down his chest. It was clothing typically worn by humans, not elves.
Before them stood the one who was soon to return and relinquish one of the three coveted spots in the human world.
“I have a daughter,” Kankenstim said, looking into the eyes of the elves closest to him. “A beautiful little girl. Only… she’s not ours by blood, Filareyn’s and mine. This girl was abandoned by her mother, left on our doorstep. She’s human.”
Someone in the crowd gasped.
“Yes, I know,” Kankenstim shook his head. “But we’ve decided to keep her. We’ve given her a name. Her name is Hisariya. And she’s wonderful. But… our time is up. Filareyn and I are supposed to return here and make way for two of you. Yet I don’t know what to do, my brothers and sisters. We can’t abandon Hisariya! Her own parents already turned their backs on her… Are we,” his voice wavered, “are we no better than humans? Can we really leave an infant to fend for herself?!”
“I offered to let you bring the child here,” the head druid’s booming voice rang out, causing several elves to flinch. “But you refused, my friend.”
“I did refuse,” Kankenstim confirmed. “Because this isn’t her world. She’s human. She must grow up in her own realm. And so… I ask all of you to grant my little daughter twenty years. Allow Filareyn and me to remain in the human world for that time. To steal that time from you. Yes, I’m asking permission for a crime! I’m asking you to let us raise this child. I’m begging you.”
The crowd began to murmur.
Kankenstim saw an elven woman with silver hair looking at her companion. Her gaze was so expressive, it practically screamed, “No! Absolutely not! He can’t do this to us!”
Someone snorted in disapproval:
“This is unacceptable!”
“I agree,” spoke an elven woman with fiery orange hair braided into two long plaits. “We’ve been waiting for our chance for over a hundred and eighty years! In those twenty years, we could give you two children! Maybe even three!”
“Exactly! You’ve already wasted so much time!”
“But what about the child?”
The last question came from the crowd in a hesitant voice. The elves looked around, searching for the speaker. And they found her.
Three dozen pairs of eyes settled on a petite elf, short by their standards, with ash-gray hair. She hugged herself with thin, twig-like arms and offered a shy smile.
“What do you mean, Tanhail?” the head druid asked, while others merely glared at the dissenter in disapproval.
“The child is already with them,” the young woman whispered, lowering her eyes the color of fresh grass. “They’re caring for her. And I agree that a human doesn’t belong here. She wouldn’t be able to adapt. It’s better to leave her in the human world, but… we can’t just abandon her. If our brother has chosen to take responsibility for this child, how can we refuse him?”
“We’re not refusing him that!” snapped a statuesque blonde. She swept her hair back, revealing large, pointed ears adorned with small green gemstones. “We’re only refusing to let them take our time. Our chance to have our own children!”
Tanhail frowned, biting her lip…
“Rafan, you said the lot chose my husband and me. Five years ago, remember?”
The crowd fell silent. They all recalled that gathering, held for couples longing to have children, desperate for a chance to journey into the dirty, distasteful human world for that sole purpose.
“Yes,” the head druid smiled, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepening. He already knew where the young elf was heading with this.
“I… my husband and I are willing to wait longer. For this child’s sake…”
“Tanhail! Have you lost your mind?!” gasped an elf standing nearby, even stepping back from her in shock.
But she only looked at Kankenstim and nodded:
“Maybe I have. But I want all of us to have the chance to become parents someday. And they have that chance now. It arrived with a little girl they’ve called a gift of fate.”
“Tanhail,” the head druid cleared his throat, “you realize that if you do this, I’ll have to remove you and your husband from the list? You’ll need to add your names again and wait for the lot to choose you once more. They’ll take your time. You won’t just be waiting. The next drawing will select another couple after them.”
Kankenstim froze, barely able to breathe. He was asking too much of his people. It was audacious of him. And he expected rejection. But…
“Yes, I understand,” Tanhail smiled, so sincerely and broadly that Kankenstim’s breath caught in his throat. “Everyone deserves the chance to be a parent. Let it be their turn this time, even if it’s not ours.”