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Mr Forkle took a deep breath as he stepped into his headquarters. The fires in San Francisco were still happening daily, and although the Council believed they were simply the work of a human arsonist, Forkle felt there was something darker at play. And he would get to the bottom of it, no matter the cost.
Just then, his Imparter flashed with a name he hadn’t seen in years. Tiergan Alenefar. What could he want after all this time?
“Hello?” Forkle answered, as Tiergan’s face came into focus. Despite how long it’d been, Tiergan still looked the same, yet there was this agedness to his features that had not been there the last time they had spoken.
“I have great news, my friend,” Tiergan told Forkle, animatedly. “I have found the Moonlark.”
“You found her?” Forkle stood with his mouth agape, “How?”
“Pure coincidence. Her family lives in the house next to me in San Francisco.”
‘San Francisco.’ Forkle thought, ‘But that’s not possible, San Francisco is in…’
“Tiergan Alenefar! You mean to tell me you’ve spent the last twelve years in the Forbidden Cities?”
“Of course,” Tiergan chuckled, “I thought everyone knew that.”
“No! No one had any idea!” Forkle shook his head in disbelief.
“Did people think I was just lolling about in Solreef?”
“I thought you and Wylie had been living in the Neutral Territories. They are called the Forbidden Cities for a reason, Tiergan!”
“Well, I know that. I thought it would be better for Wylie to live away from the Lost Cities after everything that had happened. It was for his sake more so than mine.”
Forkle begrudgingly agreed to meet with Tiergan the next morning at his home in San Francisco.
Forkle rubbed his forehead, a headache brewing that felt as though it might split his mind in two. What had he gotten himself into?
He wasn’t sure, but he was about to find out.
The next morning, Forkle arrived at Tiergan’s house. The smoke from the nearby fires billowed and snaked against the wind, engulfing the entire street in a foul stench. Forkle raised his sleeve to protect against the searing heat. Just then, Tiergan burst open the door, waving to Forkle.
“Come, old friend. We have much to discuss.” He called, beckoning him to the house.
Tiergan brought him through the house, full of windows and light. However, the one thing that surprised Forkle was the colour.
In every corner of the house, there was green. From the wallpaper to the vases, even down to a picture frame in the back of the kitchen, everything was green.
“Quite the colour scheme you have here, Tiergan,” Forkle remarked, trying to hide his shock.
“Well, it serves as a reminder of all that we have lost,” Tiergan stated, his smile dimming. “For my sake as much as Wylie’s.”
“I see,” Forkle replied.
Despite the explanation, Forkle felt more confused than ever. Why would someone choose to have a constant reminder of death? Why put yourself through the pain?
“Wylie is going to bring Sophie over here after school,” Tiergan told Forkle, interrupting his thoughts.
“Excellent. I can’t wait to meet her.” Forkle dipped his hand into the bowl of snacks Tiergan had left on the table.
“Ah, there they are now!” Tiergan called from the window.
The door opened, and in strolled Wylie.
“My dear boy!” Tiergan exclaimed, wrapping Wylie in an enormous hug. “How was school?”
“School was good. But I’m glad to see you. I’m sure it gets pretty lonely here by yourself.”
Just as Wylie and Tiergan were catching up, Forkle spied behind Wylie’s shoulder to see a young girl, no more than twelve, nervously tugging on her eyelashes.
“Ah, Sophie!” Tiergan called, beckoning the girl over. “How are you? It’s been ages since I’ve seen you!”
“I’m fine,” She shrugged, her eyes still on the ground. “They wrote a newspaper article about me getting into Yale. My parents said I can’t go because it’s too far away. But, my class is supposed to be going to the history museum tomorrow, so that should be nice.”
“I saw the newspaper this morning. I believe I left it in my study. It is a shame that you can’t attend, but I’m sure your college of choice will be just as good.”
Tiergan gestured to Mr Forkle, “Sophie, I’d like you to meet a very good friend of mine, Errol Forkle.”
Mr Forkle stuck out his hand, “Nice to meet you, Sophie.”
“You too, Mr Forkle,” Sophie replied, finally tearing her eyes away from the floor.
He noticed it immediately. She was speaking the Enlightened Language. She was the moonlark. His Suldreen.
Just then, he noticed something else. Her eyes. Unlike all other elves, her eyes weren’t blue. They weren’t even brown, as Forkle had feared when he used alicorn DNA in his experiments.
Her eyes were green—a vivid, dazzling emerald.
Forkle sank in his seat, running his hands through his hair. How could this happen?
He had been so careful, every single step had been perfectly planned, right down to the most minute detail.
“Are you okay?” Sophie asked, her voice small.
Forkle blinked, shaken from his trance. “I’m quite alright, thank you, Sophie.”
“Tiergan, may I speak with you for a moment?” Forkle asked with a pointed expression.
“Of course,” He replied, bringing Forkle into his study. “What’s the matter?”
“Perhaps it is the fact that after twelve years of searching, I finally find my moonlark. I also find that you were her neighbour for approximately eleven of those years, and what’s the pinnacle of this whole debacle? Ah, yes, my creation is the image of Death itself!!”
Forkle took a deep breath to calm himself. “You must tell her.”
“What?” Tiergan’s voice shook. “Errol, you cannot be serious!”
“Deadly.” Forkle stared at Tiergan with his piercing blue eyes.
“We were supposed to wait until she turned eighteen! What about protocol?”
“I think it might be slightly late for that now, don’t you, Tiergan?”
“Look,” Tiergan pinched the bridge of his nose, “About the eyes. I’ve been researching. I think it’s a trauma response.”
“How do you know that?” Forkle inquired.
“Wylie, can you come in here?”
Wylie strolled into the sitting room. “What’s the matter?”
“Show him.” Tiergan implored him.
Wylie sighed, before taking something out of his eyes. When he looked back at Forkle, his eyes were the same dazzling green as Sophie’s.
“People love my eyes. Little do they know I wear colored contacts.” Wylie joked.
“How on earth did this happen?” Forkle demanded.
“It’s a trauma response. In Wylie’s case, it’s because of what happened to his parents. In Sophie’s case, it’s from her telepathy being triggered too early.”
“What will we do?” Forkle wondered.
“I have an idea,” Tiergan snapped his fingers. He reached into a drawer in his desk and took out the newspaper article on Sophie. It read Child Prodigy Accepted into Yale, and had Sophie’s face on the cover. He slipped the article into an envelope.
“I think it’s high time we send our dear friend, Alden Vacker, some mail, don’t you?”