June. The air quivered with the heat, but inside the house, it was cool. I was sitting in the living room when there was a distinct knock on the window. Three short, dry taps, like the sound of branches against the glass.

  I opened the sash. Sitting on the windowsill was a tiny, hunched, impossibly old elf.

  — Elvindor... — I whispered.

  — Heh-heh-heh! — he wheezed, squinting from the bright light. — Zenhald! It's been ages... Well, what are you standing there frozen for, you rascal? Didn't I teach you any manners? Show your guest in, treat an old man to something tastier than road dust.

  I couldn't help but smile.

  — Come in, old man. Glad to see you're still kicking.

  Soon, Lucia returned from town. Seeing the guest, she let out a shriek and hugged the elf so tightly that something in his back distinctly cracked.

  — Easy, easy, girl! — Elvindor coughed. — I'm not the spry lad I was a thousand years ago. If I crumble to dust, who's going to sweep me up?

  — I remember you as just a boy, Elvindor, — Lucia pulled back, wiping her eyes.

  — Yeah... — the old man sighed, settling into an armchair. — I never thought I'd live to become a rotting log.

  We sat at the table. Elvindor looked into my eyes for a long time—the very same eyes that, to him, had always remained unchanged.

  — Zenhald... I remember our first meeting. How old were you? Eleven? Or twelve? Covered in soot, defiant, magic sparking in every direction... Centuries have passed, but you're frozen in time. Like a statue they forgot to paint.

  He squinted slyly, wagging a bony finger at me.

  — And you know, you never did invite me to your wedding! You kept promising: "Elvindor, when I head down the aisle, I'll throw a feast that will make the mountains dance, and you'll be the guest of honor." So where's my invitation?

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  I only gave a weak, guilty smile.

  — I'm sorry, Elvindor. I... I don't remember.

  — Yes... — he grew somber, shifting his gaze to Lucia. — Our time has run out. Almost everyone is gone. Only you two are left—the ones who will remember me centuries from now. Though there isn't much hope for Zenhald. He'll forget me by tomorrow.

  The children came into the room and greeted the old man. He found the strength to crack a couple of jokes, but it was obvious: every word cost him a massive effort.

  In the evening, we walked out to the edge of the forest. The sun was slowly sinking into the treetops, flooding the world with a thick crimson hue. Elvindor, me, and Lucia. The old man was silent for a long time, breathing in the scent of pine needles.

  — My time has come, — he said suddenly. His voice no longer wheezed; it was steady and endlessly tired. — I feel my strength slipping through my fingers. Tomorrow... tomorrow I want to breathe my last. I suppose I could creak along for another two or three years, but what's the point? It's better to leave now, while I can still stand on my feet and recognize your faces.

  Lucia cried out, pressing her palms to her face.

  — No, Elvindor! Please... don't...

  — It's all right, — he touched her hand gently. — Don't worry. I have memorized you in your best versions. I have no regrets. I've let go of everything that kept me here. It's time for me to go.

  Frames began to surface in my head. He and I in some icy grotto... We're at the top of a tower... We're in the Academy dining hall... But all these memories were fleeting, just glimpses. A year here, a month there. And I realized: right now, even as he's speaking, I am already starting to forget him. His face is blurring in the fog of my past cycles.

  I sank into the tall grass and covered my face with my hands. Burning, angry tears scorched my cheeks.

  — NO! NO! HOW CAN THIS BE?! — I screamed, my voice breaking into sobs. — Are you leaving too, Elvindor?! Again?! I can't even... I can't even say goodbye to you properly! I'll forget your jokes! I'll forget your voice!

  He walked over, sat down beside me, and placed a heavy, dry hand on my shoulder.

  — Zen... The past doesn't matter. I am already the past. You have a future.

  He fished a yellowed envelope from the folds of his robes.

  — Here. When I die... many will come to my grave. And if you see Riza among them—give this to her. Maybe, after reading this letter, she will finally forgive you.

  I took the envelope. It was light, but it felt heavier than a hammer.

  — Alright... I'll give it to her.

  Elvindor rested his palm on the crown of my head. He began to stroke my hair, slowly and soothingly, exactly the way those who loved me did.

  — Forgive me, Zen, for bringing you so much pain. Your life... it is full of sorrow. An eternal cycle of loss.

  The world began to slowly fade. His hand offered that same tranquility that always shut me down.

  — It's alright... Sleep, Zen. Sleep, little brother. Tomorrow a new day will begin. And I will no longer be in it.

  And I fell asleep. Right there, on the grass, to the rustle of his voice and the fading beat of his old heart.