Gunmage-Chapter 225: A twisted promise

Long, long ago, in a time now spoken of only in the whispers of lore and forgotten songs, there lived an elf who made her home not among the ancient woods or crystalline towers of her kin, but in a kingdom ruled by humans.

She was tall—taller than most men—and her beauty was breathtaking, the sort that left mortals stumbling over their words and hearts.

Her every motion carried grace, her eyes shimmered like emerald starlight.

Naturally, she drew attention like moths to flame. Brave suitors from all walks of life—knights, nobles, poets, and mages—flocked to her, intoxicated by her presence.

But she turned them all away.

With cold pride and an indifferent tongue, she dismissed their flattery and advances, unmoved by their persistence.

Most gave up after a few refusals. Others, humiliated or scorned, left in bitter silence. But one man—one particularly odd human—refused to surrender.

He was not a gallant warrior, nor a rich noble, nor a skilled mage. He had nothing but a crumbling family estate and an overwhelming stubbornness.

Despite repeated rejection, despite being shamed before others, despite being lynched, even after being haunted by ghosts, the man would not leave her side.

His heart was stronger than iron, and his passion burned hotter than the midday sun.

Slowly, impossibly, his earnestness wore down the walls of her elven pride. And for the very first time, the aloof elf accepted a partner.

Of course, love between species—especially between a long-lived elf and a mortal man—was never without peril. The elf understood this better than anyone.

Her lifespan stretched over centuries, his would barely reach a hundred. She hesitated, reluctant to face the inevitable grief. But he reassured her, his voice filled with unwavering belief, swearing that their love would endure anything—time, sorrow, even death.

Against her instincts, she believed him.

Their wedding was grand, a celebration that dazzled both elf and man. Her presence elevated his failing household, bringing prosperity and favor.

Nobles who once scoffed at his misfortunes now bowed in admiration. Servants whispered in awe of her name. Together, they built a life of comfort and quiet joy—a rare thing in those times.

Their estate flourished. Their home became a haven of laughter, shared meals, and warm hearths.

And yet, a shadow still lingered in the elf’s heart.

She wanted a child.

It wasn’t that they hadn’t tried. They had. Many times. But every hope ended in bitter failure.

Elven fertility, was notoriously rare. She knew this. It was one of the perils she had warned him about long ago.

Yet knowing the risk did not soften the ache of disappointment. Decades passed. He aged with time, silver creeping into his hair and wrinkles forming around his gentle eyes.

She, ever untouched by time, remained the same. And still, no child came.

Then, one day, he told her something that shattered everything.

He had impregnated a young human woman.

The news struck her like a blade through the chest. She was livid—so furious that she nearly set the estate ablaze.

But out of respect for the life they had built together, and for the memory of what they once were, she spared the home... and left.

She didn’t intend to be gone forever. She just needed time—to rage, to cry, to think. But time, to an elf, was a strange thing. A few months? A few years? She barely noticed them pass.

When she returned, the world had changed.

The manor still stood, weathered by time but still familiar. Her partner greeted her at the door with a smile. But he was young again—just as she had remembered.

Confused and alarmed, she asked him what had happened. How was this possible?

He didn’t answer. Not immediately. Instead, he took her by the hand and led her into the house.

Through hallways unchanged by the years, past portraits faded by dust. Into their old marital chamber.

There, lying on the bed, was a frail old man. Wrinkled and brittle, barely able to move.

"You’ve finally arrived, my wife,"

He said with a tremor in his voice.

"I’ve been waiting for you all this time."

Her vision blurred. She stepped forward, unable to tear her gaze from the withered figure. The room... it was exactly as she had left it.

Her jewelry, untouched. Her pillow, fluffed in the exact way she preferred. Nothing had changed. As if time had paused in this one room, waiting for her to return.

"How... I don’t understand,"

Hhe whispered, though the truth had already begun to unfold in her heart.

He explained.

Knowing his end was near, knowing she might never bear a child with him, he had taken a concubine.

That woman had borne him a son. And that son, sharing his blood but not hers, could one day try again. The elf could still have a child. Just not with him.

He hadn’t told her. He feared she would refuse. And rightly so—it was a twisted, desperate idea.

But elves were not creatures bound by human morality. And after grieving her own abandonment, after cursing herself for not hearing him out, she accepted the plan.

He died days later, smiling.

The elf married the son. Again, they tried.

Again, she failed to conceive. The son, like his father, took a concubine. A daughter was born. Then a son. The pattern repeated.

For three generations.

She remained. Untouched by time. Unaging.

Watching the men she married grow old and die. Bearing the burden of every loss. Each new generation tried, and each one failed.

Until one day, everything changed.

Her body began to ache. Her chest felt tender.

Her stomach swelled—barely noticeable at first. Then unmistakable. She was with child.

She couldn’t believe it.

After centuries of heartbreak and failure, she bore a healthy baby boy. For the first time, she felt the warmth of a child in her arms—her child.

And yet, with joy came a dilemma: what to name him.

Long ago, she and her first partner had made a promise. If it’s a boy, name him Caelen. If it’s a girl, name her Nyelle.

But she found herself unable to keep that vow. Not out of spite, but something deeper. Something more reverent.

She named her son Jahir, after the man she had first loved—the man born during the golden age of elven-human relations, when their peoples still dreamed of unity.

Zhou, as she was now called, doted on Jahir with every ounce of her being. Her love was suffocating in its depth, almost obsessive.

And Jahir grew, tall and strong—just like her. Just like his father. But not only in body.

His mind burned with magical brilliance, a power so immense it was hard to believe him human.

The Kingdom of Ophris celebrated him. Bards sang of his feats. Scholars debated his future.

But the brightest lights cast the darkest shadows.

And one day, without warning, a witch arrived at their doorstep.

The source of this c𝐨ntent is freewe(b)nov𝒆l