Powerless Boy is reborn as Lustful Elf
Chapter 83: Maybe the Eclipse aren’t wrong

Chapter 83: Maybe the Eclipse aren’t wrong

Inolda’s bold eyes rolled with a dramatic sweep, a silent retort to Alex’s teasing about her attachment, her lips twitching but offering no words.

She lay flat on her back, staring at the ceiling, her pink curls splayed in a chaotic halo across the pillow, her vibrant tunic splayed open, exposing her sweat-slicked skin that shimmered under the silvery glow of the ceiling’s crystal orb.

Her bare breasts rose and fell with slow, heavy breaths, her body heavy with exhaustion, the haze of their intense session softening her usual fiery edge.

Alex’s red eyes glinted with amusement, his lopsided smile widening as he propped himself on one elbow, the pillow crinkling beneath him, his body relaxed but buzzing with the afterglow.

He watched her, captivated by the steady rhythm of her breathing, the way her bold eyes stared upward, unfocused, lost in a sleepy stupor that stripped away her sharp demeanor, revealing a vulnerability that intrigued him.

His mind churned, Inolda’s earlier revelation about the elven class system hitting him like a shockwave.

The idea that abilities dictated status, relegating those with "lame" powers like hers to menial roles, shattered the illusion of the elven world’s perfection.

He’d seen Starhaven’s soaring towers, Elaris Hold’s lush gardens, and assumed this world was a utopia, free of the human flaws he vaguely recalled, prejudice, exclusion, hierarchy.

But this discrimination, this cold sorting of elves by gifts they couldn’t choose, mirrored the worst of those human echoes, a betrayal of the elven world’s polished ideals.

If elves shunned their own, casting them into lesser roles based on arbitrary powers, they weren’t so different from humans after all, their shimmering cities built on a foundation of quiet cruelty.

His shock must have been evident, because Inolda chuckled, a low, amused sound that broke the silence, her bold eyes flicking sideways to catch his expression, a grin tugging at her lips.

"Gods, the look of shock on your face is priceless," she said, her voice teasing, a spark of her usual fire piercing her exhaustion.

She stayed lying down, her chest rising steadily, her pink curls shifting faintly against the pillow, her amusement at his naivety softening the bitterness she’d shown earlier, her grin a fleeting glimpse of the bold girl who’d challenged him before.

Before Alex could respond, Inolda continued, her gaze returning to the ceiling, her voice dropping, a wry edge cutting through her words.

"People with lame abilities like mine aren’t even the worst off," she said, her tone heavy, deliberate, as if unveiling a darker truth. "The ones without abilities are."

Her bold eyes darkened, a flicker of pity crossing her face, her fingers twitching against the covers, the weight of her revelation settling over them like a storm cloud, the air thick with the musky scent of their earlier exertion and her sharp floral perfume.

Alex’s brow furrowed, his red eyes narrowing, disbelief tightening his chest, the concept jarring in a world where powers seemed to define existence.

"There are elves without abilities?" he asked, his voice low, incredulous, leaning closer, his elbow sinking deeper into the pillow, his mind racing to grasp this new fracture in the elven world’s facade.

Inolda nodded, her gaze fixed upward, her voice flat, matter-of-fact. "Yes," she said, devoid of emotion, a stark truth she’d long accepted.

"They’re a minority, but they exist. They live like outcasts." Her words were cutting, her chest rising with a slow breath as she elaborated, her voice steady but laced with a quiet anger.

"They’re given scrappy jobs that push them away from the rest of us, working at the sanctuary for endangered species, coal mining, or out with goblins at the outskirts of town. Jobs no one else wants, places where elves don’t have to deal with them."

Her fingers stilled, her body rigid, the injustice she described a wound she carried, even if she hid it behind her flat delivery.

Alex’s stomach twisted, repulsion surging like a tide, the cruelty of it clashing with the elven world’s gleaming surface, its crystal spires, its abundant resources, all a lie if they exiled their own for lacking powers.

His red eyes darkened, his jaw clenching, a visceral disgust at policies that dehumanized, de-elvenized, those who didn’t fit the mold.

The unfairness gnawed at him, his mind flashing to the whispers about the Eclipse, the shadowy group Sylra had warned him against.

"Maybe the Eclipse were right to want change in the elven world," he muttered, his voice low, raw, a quiet defiance against the Council’s polished authority, the idea of rebellion taking root in his disillusionment.

Inolda gasped, her bold eyes snapping to his, her body tensing, still lying flat but rigid now, her voice sharp with alarm.

"Don’t say that word again," she hissed, her tone urgent, her pink curls shifting as her head turned slightly, her gaze piercing.

"The Eclipse probably want power for all the wrong reasons." Her voice trembled with conviction, her exhaustion giving way to a fierce intensity, her fingers clenching the covers.

"And they’ve proven they’ll do whatever it takes to get it, including endangering elven lives." Her words were a warning, her bold eyes boring into his, urging him to grasp the danger, the blood on the Eclipse’s hands.

She took a breath, her voice steadying, her gaze returning to the ceiling, though her tension lingered. "You can call the Council out for their bad policies, and they deserve it," she said, her tone biting, "but at least they’ve never deliberately tried to kill elves. The Eclipse have, multiple times."

Her words hung heavy, a stark divide between flawed governance and outright violence, her chest rising with a slow, deliberate breath, her body still but radiating resolve, her earlier vulnerability replaced by a steely certainty that left no room for debate.

Alex nodded, his red eyes softening, his agreement genuine but shadowed by a nagging doubt he couldn’t silence.

The Council’s policies, shunning the ability-less, sidelining those like Inolda, were wrong, a betrayal of the elven ideals he’d been sold, but Inolda’s warning about the Eclipse’s violent methods rang true, a grim reminder of the cost of rebellion.

Yet, in his mind, a dangerous question took root, one he kept buried: what if the Eclipse, despite their bloodshed, were a necessary evil?

What if their chaos was the only way to shatter a system so deeply entrenched, so casually cruel?

The thought was a quiet rebellion, a seed of doubt sprouting in his disillusionment, his red eyes drifting to Inolda’s profile, her bold eyes fixed on the ceiling, unaware of the conflict stirring within him, the elven world’s flaws laying bare the complexities he’d only begun to navigate.

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