On Parents

I write this with the presumption that any reading it - who, I must assume, are reading this with my permission lest they meet my wrath - were wise enough to read the previous message as well. The chronology of this journal is relevant, though moreso for the entries I intend on writing from this point onwards.
 
My mother and father, as mentioned previously, were both in Galasthin's military. My mother was born to study, to hear her say it. Her teachers never doubted which path she would follow: from the second she entered her schooling, she was determined to become a wizard. She succeeded, obviously. By the time she met my father, she'd already progressed high in the ranks of the Alu'thaniel and had multiple distinctions in the University of Celtharil.
I knew her as Amal. Everyone else knew her as Melari - Melari Ri'thimael, prior to marriage, and Melari An'thimael thereafter. Her family wasn't large, and none of them were involved with my life. I've never asked why.
 
My father, on the other hand, preferred the blade over anything magical. It wasn't for lack of ability: he'd been born with a sorcerous spark and had promptly ignored it in favour of his family's swords. His birth family was rather more prominent than my mother's, being that he'd been born to one of House An'dare. For the potential education of certain individuals - House An'dare are one of the Nine Families that hold significant power throughout all elves loyal to their blood. Fortunately for my sanity, he was not in the main branch of the family. Unfortunately, this has not spared me the stigma of dealing with their politics at times. He promised to teach me bladework when I grew older, in the hope that I would at least wield them alongside magic. It would not be a promise he could keep. Prior to his marriage, he was Cealrin An'dare. Marriage saw his last name shift to An'thimael alongside my mother. But I knew him as Atar.
 
They met in the military. My father's squadron were to accompany a group of high-ranking diplomats south to the lands of Tsukirai. My mother was assigned to their group as a battlemage. I expect their love story was particularly romantic. The only two who know it in full are no longer here, so I will not spin fictions of how they fell together. They were happy and in love, and injury could not part them. My father courted her properly when they returned to Galasthin. They were wed and lived in married bliss, striking as a deadly duo on missions and spending time in each others' arms. And then they chose to have me, some years after their wedding.
 
I grew up loved, despite their sometimes-lengthy absences. It was hard when I was young for I couldn't make sense of their disappearance. It got easier, and I enjoyed my time with them. We were a happy family, the three of us. I have never mentioned the potential existence of a fourth member to any out loud, but it was something I had discussed with them. 'Discussed', with the understanding that I was a child and my schoolmates with siblings seemed to love having them. It's fruitless to dwell on what could have been.
 
It was the year I'd turned 70 that Amal disappeared.
 
Her mission should have been a simple one. I remember staring at the scrolls for hours trying to make sense of what happened. She had been sent north, towards the sloped forests crawling at the feet of the elder mountains, to investigate the impact of a recent avalanche. Her spellbook was filled with teleportation and wards, and the local village had suffered no attacks for centuries.
 
They never found her body. Her blood and hair, yes. Fragments of her bone were even located once clerics brought the sun's heat down to melt through the snow. She was not the only one to disappear. The village, too, was slaughtered. One elf had been left there - not alive - as their mocking sign. I was not permitted to read the details of his file until I was much older, and I will not repeat them now. Not if there is the slightest chance that Ilurae would read this journal.
 
It broke my father. For days following the news, all he did was weep. I didn't know what to do, so I joined him.
 
It was around a week after her funeral that the extent of his broken mind was made clear, and this is a scene I remember with icy precision. It is also not one I care to recount in detail. He bid me farewell in a manner that made certain I understood how much he cared for me, and then he left with madness dancing in his eyes, disappearing into the forests. I waited for three days before seeking help. Unlike my mother, there was no trace left of Atar.
 
This is granting me the mother of all headaches. I shall pause in my recollections for now. The next piece of my tale is not one I wish to write whilst entirely sober.