The Villain Professor's Second Chance

I glanced at her, watching as she knelt beside the girl's frail body. Elandris's eyes, usually sharp with mischief, were now clouded with something deeper—something I couldn't quite place. Her hand hovered above Armandra's, a gesture that was both gentle and hesitant.

It was rare to see her like this, vulnerable, and for a moment, I remained silent, letting the weight of the situation hang between us.

"I didn't know you could be sentimental," I muttered, my tone sharper than intended.

Elandris smiled faintly, though it didn't reach her eyes. "It's not sentiment, Draven. It's memories." She looked down at Armandra, her fingers tracing the faint outline of runes on my water pen, still floating near me, dim with spent magic. "Those runes you used… I didn't expect to see them again, not in this lifetime."

I raised an eyebrow. "You recognize them?"

She let out a soft chuckle, though it was tinged with sorrow. "Of course. For you, those runes are ancient relics, things you likely deciphered from old texts or artifacts, but for us—" She paused, her voice catching for just a moment. "For us elves, they are memories. Beautiful ones. The magic you wielded… it's tied to the Queen of my people.

A queen who believed in things that… well, perhaps were too good for this world."

Her words hung in the air, and I didn't rush her. Elandris's eyes softened, as though the memories she spoke of played out in front of her, vivid and painful. I had always known her to be lively, filled with a kind of chaotic energy, but now, it was as if something inside her had quieted.

"The Queen," she continued, her voice almost reverent, "was kind beyond measure. She was strong, too, stronger than anyone I've ever known. In her time, the world was different. There was still hope—hope that the demons could be beaten and the world could be made whole again." Her gaze drifted to me, a shadow of a smile tugging at her lips. "And she wasn't alone.

There were two humans who fought by her side. Foreigners to our lands, but she trusted them. One of them, she said, was an interesting man—cold, efficient, incredibly smart, and yet… attractive in ways she couldn't quite put into words."

I remained silent, letting her continue.

"It was because of them that she began to believe in humans," Elandris said softly, her voice growing wistful. "She had seen so much destruction at the hands of both demons and men, but those two changed her view. They fought alongside her, helped her save our kingdom. And she trusted them, even when the world told her not to, she decided to trust on humans.

The foreigners disappeared to continue their journey and she started to make relations with human countries. But… in the end, that trust was her downfall. It wasn't the demons that destroyed her, Draven. It was betrayal. From those very humans she had come to believe in."

The silence between us thickened. I could see the sorrow etched on her face now, the weight of a history she had carried for centuries.

"It was the beginning of the end for the elves," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "After the Queen's death, our kingdoms fell one by one. We tried to fight, to keep the demons at bay, but without her… everything unraveled. And the humans? Well, they retreated into their own wars, their own struggles. The alliances shattered."

I stayed quiet, absorbing her words. There was a rawness in her tone that spoke of deep, personal loss. It was a side of Elandris I had never seen before.

"I was there," she continued, her eyes distant. "I wasn't brave enough to fight alongside the Queen. I wasn't one of the warriors at the frontlines. Instead, I stayed behind, defending the castles, the homes. I thought I was doing enough. But the demons got through, and I… I hid." Her voice cracked, the admission heavy with guilt.

"I was too afraid. I didn't fight when I should have. And by the time I realized that, it was too late. The Queen was gone, and so were our people."

She let out a bitter laugh, though there was no humor in it. "I lived. Because of my elven blood, I lived a long, long life. Too long, I think. I've watched my brethren die, one by one, while I kept on surviving. And the humans—my friends—they all died too.

Their lives, so brief compared to mine. I cherished them, but in the grand scheme of things… their time was so short. Less than a fraction of mine."

I knew that pain, the weight of watching those around you fade while you remained. It was the curse of immortality, though Elandris bore it with a grace I never could.

She knelt down beside Armandra, her fingers brushing the girl's cold cheek. "Perhaps, for her, those brief moments—those less-than-a-fraction-of-a-life moments—were enough to fuel her hatred. Enough to drive her to this point."

I watched Elandris carefully, noting the way her shoulders sagged slightly, as though the weight of her past was too heavy to bear. But she still held herself with the quiet strength I'd come to recognize in her. She wasn't broken. Not yet.

"Draven," she said quietly, her voice filled with a plea I hadn't expected. "Let me send her off. Let me give her the proper farewell she deserves, as one of my own. She may have fallen into darkness, but her blood is still elven. She deserves that much."

I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could, she cut me off, her eyes earnest. "I know you need someone to take the blame for this—someone to answer for everything that's happened here. But before you demand justice, I beg of you, allow me this one kindness."

I held her gaze for a long moment, weighing her words, her request. The truth was, Elandris wasn't wrong. Armandra had committed unforgivable acts, and her death didn't absolve her of them. But even I could see that there was something more to this than just punishment. There was a history, a legacy, tied to Armandra's blood that I couldn't fully understand.

"Do it," I said, my voice steady. "Give her the farewell she deserves."

Elandris's eyes softened, and for the first time in what felt like ages, she smiled—genuine and full of gratitude. Without another word, she turned to Armandra's body and began to murmur a chant in a language I didn't recognize. The words were soft, flowing like water over stone, and as she spoke, the air around us seemed to shift.

Elven magic, I realized, was different. It was older, more connected to the natural world in ways that the arcane arts couldn't replicate. As Elandris chanted, I could feel the faint traces of magic left in the air, the residual energy of the dungeon, coalescing around her.

She knelt beside Armandra, her hands gently tracing the girl's forehead, down to her chest, where her heart had once beat with dark ambition. And then, as if answering some unseen call, the ground beneath us trembled softly. Vines, delicate and silver, sprouted from the cracks in the stone, curling around Armandra's small form.

Slowly, her body began to shift, her skin paling further, turning translucent.

Elves, I remembered, were said to be descendants of the fairies—creatures born of magic and nature. When they died, their bodies were said to return to the earth, becoming part of the natural world they had loved so dearly. It was why the elves cherished nature above all else; it was, in a sense, the resting place of their ancestors.

As Elandris continued her chant, Armandra's form shifted completely, her body dissolving into a soft, glowing light. The vines around her tightened, pulling her into the earth, and where her body had once lain, a single plant began to grow. Its leaves were a deep, shimmering green, with veins of silver running through them, and at its center, a single bloom—a flower unlike any I had ever seen.

Its petals were translucent, glowing faintly in the dim light of the dungeon, and its fragrance filled the air with a soft, soothing scent.

"She has returned to the earth," Elandris whispered, her voice filled with reverence. "She is at peace now."

I watched in silence as the plant grew, its roots spreading beneath the stone, anchoring it to the place where Armandra had fallen. It was a beautiful, bittersweet sight, one that spoke of both life and death, of endings and beginnings.

Elandris stood slowly, her eyes lingering on the flower for a moment longer before she turned to me. "Have a proper sleep this time, brethren," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Looking at how you fought, I realized. You were fighting for us. And just for that reason, let me, Elandris Sylrin, former court magician of the elven council, put you in peace,"