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“Mother?” a Fingill asked the Paladin.
She was gazing into nothingness, so the Fingills followed her gaze. Their webbed hands rested on the rocks while their fins splashed in the water.
“Mother, why are you interested in where the Sylvans are?”
A bitter smile hung at the corners of the Paladin’s mouth. “So ridiculous. I told her to talk like a mother does to her children, but she really can’t help herself.”
The Fingills became anxious.
“We know a lot about you, Mother, but not much about her. Is she a good person?”
“She’s sad but transparent,” the Paladin simply stated.
She became lost in thought, as if she was recalling her past. It didn’t take long for her to pick up the helmet she had left on the rock.
Clink.
Without saying a word, she put the helmet back on. Wearing it filtered out the chatter from the world. The dazzling colors of the world also became paler. Her view was filtered and narrow, enough for her to only think about what she had to do.
The Paladin stood up and looked around. In the river where the dragon had sunk, the Fingills were slowly swaying their tails in the water. They all looked up at their mother.
“Fingills, because I’m inexperienced, I made many mistakes. Thank you for comforting me and not blaming me for my mistakes. I’ll treasure the stories you all told me tonight. Seeing you crossing the dark waters will remain in my heart forever.”
“Are you leaving, Mother?”
The Paladin nodded. “I’ll come by sometimes, but I have a lot of work to do. I have no choice.”
Silence fell. The rivers and seas where the Fingills swam always splashed around with ripples. The merfolk had developed a habit of holding each other tightly and whispering in each other’s ears....
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