Iris found Marcus in the academy library.
He was sitting at a table surrounded by books on political history.
He looked tired. But when he looked up and saw her, he offered a small, friendly smile.
"Lady Iris. Can I help you?"
"I wish to understand your brother, Theodore," she said.
Her voice was like wind chimes. "He is my classmate. It is my duty to foster good relations."
Marcus nodded. "Of course. What would you like to know?"
"What are his interests? Besides swords."
"Ah. Well." Marcus paused. "He enjoys sword maintenance. Also, different types of sword steel. And sword-related historical battles."
"So, swords."
"And sword accessories," Marcus added helpfully.
Iris processed this. "Does he have any... emotional connections? Friendships?"
"He's friends with his sword?"
"I see." Iris made a mental note.
Subject's only meaningful relationship is with an inanimate object.
"And his goals? His dreams for the future?"
"To become the best swordsman in the kingdom."
"And after that?"
"To find someone stronger and become better than them."
"And after that?"
Marcus sighed. "More swords, probably."
Iris was quiet for a long moment.
She observed the human sitting across from her.
He was trying so hard to present his brother in a positive light. Failing, but trying.
"It must be strange," she said, her tone shifting from analytical to philosophical.
"To have one's entire existence defined by a single task."
"Theodore is happy," Marcus said. "He loves what he does."
"But is it a choice? Or is it a destiny he's been assigned?"
"Does it matter, if he's happy?"
"I don't know."
Iris looked at the bookshelf, at centuries of human history bound in leather.
"Imagine a being who lives for a very long time.
For their entire existence, they have been told their purpose is to observe.
To record. To fulfill a duty assigned before their birth."
Marcus's life coach senses tingled. She wasn't talking about Theodore anymore.
"What happens when that being observes something... unexpected?"
Iris continued. "Something that doesn't fit the parameters of their mission?"
"What kind of something?"
"A paradox. A variable that changes the equation.
Someone who is supposed to be insignificant but is actually... significant."
She looked at Marcus.
"What is the purpose of the observer then? To continue the mission, or to understand the paradox?"
Marcus set down his book.
He leaned forward, his expression shifting from 'helpful older brother' to something else.
Something she hadn't seen before.
Deep, profound empathy.
✧✧✧
"Forget the mission for a moment," Marcus said.
His voice was quiet but carried more weight than the entire library.
"Forget duty. Forget destiny. Forget the observer and the observed."
He looked at her, and for the first time, Iris felt like someone was seeing her.
Not the elf. Not the diplomat. Not the ancient being.
Just her.
"In your long life, Iris," he asked. "What do YOU want to do?"
The question hit her like a physical force.
What do YOU want?
Her mind, a library of five hundred years of knowledge, went completely blank.
Want?
The concept was foreign. Elves didn't "want." They had duties.
They had traditions. They had roles passed down through generations.
They existed. They observed. They endured.
But want? Desire? Personal ambition?
Those were fleeting human emotions. Follies of the short-lived races.
"I... don't understand the question," she said.
It was the first time she'd admitted ignorance in centuries.
"It's a simple question," Marcus said gently.
"If you had no mission, no duty, no expectations from anyone, what would you do with your time?"
Time. She had so much of it. Endless, stretching centuries.
She'd spent it studying, observing, learning.
But it had always been for a purpose.
To better serve the Conclave. To prepare for her role. To fulfill her duty.
No one had ever suggested she could do something with that time for herself.
"My purpose is to serve the Elven Conclave," she said automatically.
"That's your job. It's not who you are."
"It is all I have ever been."
"No." Marcus shook his head.
"It's a role you've played. A very long, very demanding role. But it's not you."
He gestured around the library.
"You could be a scholar. A historian. A mage who discovers new spells."
He pointed out the window. "You could be an explorer. A gardener. A painter who captures the sunset."
"Those are... hobbies. Distractions from one's duty."
"Or they could be your life," Marcus said. "If you wanted them to be."
If you wanted.
There was that word again. Want.
"Elves don't prioritize personal desire," Iris said, feeling defensive.
"It leads to chaos. We value stability. Longevity. The continuation of our culture."
"And are you happy?"
"Happiness is a fleeting human emotion. We seek tranquility."
"Are you tranquil?"
Iris had no answer. She'd been tranquil for centuries.
A calm, quiet, endless sea of existence.
But lately, that tranquility had been disturbed.
By a man who gave flowers to grieving widows.
A man who made stoic duchesses cry.
A man who reminded retired warriors of who they used to be.
"You're not tranquil," Marcus observed. "You're lonely."
The word hit her harder than his first question.
Lonely. Yes. That was it.
She had spent five hundred years surrounded by her people, but she had been utterly alone.
Floating in a sea of duty and tradition.
This strange, sad-eyed human had seen it in two conversations.
"Loneliness is not a logical state for a being of my age," she said, trying to retreat into logic.
"Loneliness has nothing to do with logic," Marcus countered.
"It's an emotional state. And you've been feeling it for a very, very long time."
How did he know? How could he possibly know what she hadn't even known about herself?
"My mission..." she started, trying to find her footing.
"Is to observe Theodore. I know." Marcus leaned back.
"But maybe your mission is also to observe yourself."
He stood to leave. "Think about it, Iris. If you could do anything, what would it be?"
He walked away, leaving her alone at the table.
The library's quiet hum returned, but it sounded different now.
Louder. Emptier.
What do YOU want?
The question echoed in her mind.
A question no one had ever asked her. A question she had never asked herself.
She had no answer.
For the first time in five hundred years, Iris Silvermoon felt lost.
She also felt a spark of something she hadn't felt in centuries.
Curiosity. Not academic curiosity. Personal curiosity.
What did she want?
She didn't know. But for the first time ever, she realized she wanted to find out.
And the only person who had ever made her ask that question was the strange, paradoxical human who was supposed to be a side character.
The Child of Destiny could wait.
This was more important.