ASSISTANT
**Chapter 1**
“We have to do something about Steven,” Mira whispered urgently, her brows furrowed as she paced the edge of the village marketplace. Her voice was hushed because they were close enough to passersby that a sudden loud conversation about a neighbor’s tragedy might raise eyebrows or unwanted attention. “It’s been months, Lira. Months, and the only time he stepped outside was for Everest’s funeral. Did you see him? He didn’t say a word to anyone. Didn’t even look at us. Just went in, sat through the ceremony, and went right back inside his place.”
Lira nodded, her expression tight with worry. “I’ve checked from afar a few times. The shutters are always closed. No sign of light, no smoke. It’s like he’s sealed himself in an invisible tomb. What if something’s happened to him? I worry about him alone in that big house... and with his lizard tail, I know it hasn’t been easy for him here. The villagers aren't exactly kind to anyone different, especially not to someone—well—like him.”
“Exactly,” Mira continued, lowering her voice further. “You know the way some of our people whispered about him when Everest first introduced them. I still can’t believe Everest had the courage to love someone so different. No offense to anyone, but Steve—”
“Mira, Steven,” Lira interrupted gently, as if correcting a fragile misconception.
“Right. Steven. I just... I want to see if he’s alright, for Everest’s sake. She loved him so much. She saved him when no one else would. It hurts to think that after all Everest did, he’s just locked himself away.” Mira’s fingers clenched into fists as she spoke. “What if he’s given up entirely?”
Lira looked toward the distant homes, nestled under the towering boughs of Ravenwood’s ancient oaks. “Maybe I can go check on him,” she said quietly. “Knock on his door, see if he needs help.”
Mira shook her head immediately. “No, you can’t. He hates visitors. When I passed by his window last week, he was staring outside like he was somewhere else entirely. But every time someone brought up Everest or even tried to wave a greeting, he’d stiffen. It’s like he only processes the world on his own terms.”
Lira frowned thoughtfully. “Yeah, he talks — when he talks — like one of those human kids. The speech patterns stick out more than the tail does sometimes. I know everyone hears it as ‘weird,’ but maybe it’s his way of trying to fit in. He’s always wearing that ratty purple hoodie he got around here long ago.”
“Mhm,” Mira sighed. “That hoodie’s like a shield for him. But shields only stop so much.”
“But,” Lira added after a pause, “we can’t just watch from the sidelines. Everest was our family. We need to make sure Steven’s okay. If he’s hurting, maybe... maybe he needs more than just our pity.”
“Agreed,” Mira said firmly. After a moment, she added, “I’ll come with you.”
Together, the two women set off toward the winding path that led to Steven’s house, a modest but weathered cottage lingering at the edge of the sacred woods. More than one villager had whispered fear of the house itself—too quiet, too lonely and distant. But to Mira and Lira, it was the last place they expected to find Steven so utterly unmoored.
---
The wooden door didn’t resist as Lira reached for the handle. It opened with a creak, a moan from decades of neglect and neglect alone. The air was stale inside, thick with dust and shadows. Sunlight barely filtered through heavy curtains, half-drawn as if to keep the outside world locked out forever.
“Steve?” Lira’s voice trembled slightly as she stepped inside. The scent of old wood, faintly musky and faintly sweet, filled the room. “We just came to see if you’re okay. We know how hard it’s been.”
A faint noise came from the next room — a sort of choking, strange, guttural. Mira hurried forward, heart pounding fiercely. She pushed open the bedroom door with a soft trembling shake.
And then there he was. Steven. The man who looked human in almost every way except for the long, sinuous lizard tail curling beneath the edge of the bedspread, a deep jade-green with flecks of amber, twitching nervously. He was curled over the bed, gripping something tightly to his chest.
His hoodie was the same faded purple she remembered, bunched up and wrinkled. His head was buried in both hands, which trembled violently as the tears streamed down his cheeks, soaking into the pillow beneath. The only sound was his ragged sobbing, raw and uncontrolled, like a storm in the silence. But what struck her most was the small thing in his grasp: Everest’s childhood stuffed bear, a worn fox with one dowdy button eye. It looked so out of place in Steven’s giant, shaky hands.
“Steven?” Mira’s voice softened, unsure if she wanted to intrude or to comfort. “We’re here for you. You don’t have to be alone.”
Steven didn’t move. Not at first.
Then, after a long moment, he suddenly looked up. His eyes were swollen red, unfocused. His fingers twitched uneasily but didn’t release the fox.
“Don’t... don’t want to talk,” he said in a voice rough from disuse, almost mechanical in its delivery, a very deliberate articulation that spoke of someone who struggled with the unpredictability of speech.
Mira kneeled beside the bed, heart aching. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything if you’re not ready. But you don’t have to hide your grief.”
Steven’s tail twitched nervously when she sat beside him, tightening his grip on the stuffed fox. “It’s... it’s... too much. I don’t understand any of this. Elven rituals, the talk, the way people stare, the silence... I don’t know how to be here anymore.”
Lira stepped closer too, quieter now than before. “You don’t have to understand everything right now. Everest loved you for who you were, not for what you looked like or for the way you spoke. She said you showed her a different world, a world that wasn’t just black and white.”
Steven blinked, his gaze flickering to Lira, then back down at the toy fox. “She was the only one. The only light. I just... I don’t know how to live without her. Every breath feels broken.”
Mira reached out, hesitating for just the softest moment before resting her hand lightly on Steven’s arm. He didn’t pull away — the first real sign of connection in months.
“It’s okay to cry.” She smiled gently. “It’s okay to break down. We’re here.”
Steven’s lips twitched, maybe a small smile. “Thanks. I wear this hoodie like armor... but I guess sometimes armor breaks too.”
Lira smiled gently back. “We’ll help you put it back together.”
For the first time since Everest’s funeral, Steven looked less like a shadow of himself and more like a man beginning to gather pieces of his shattered world.
---
**Chapter 2**
The day dragged on with weighted silence hovering in the small cottage. Mira stayed for a while, watching quietly as Steven began to breathe a little steadier. The house itself felt like an echo chamber of memories — every folded scarf, every half-buried trinket seemed saturated with Everest’s presence, a ghostly room-mate that refused to leave.
Steven fiddled with the one window that wasn’t completely closed off, the wooden latch creaking in the damp air. His tail twitched anxiously beneath the bed. Mira carefully didn’t mention it, but she noticed how he shifted his balance almost endlessly — tapping his foot, rubbing his fingers, rocking slightly — signs she recognized from working with children who processed the world differently.
"Do you want me to help open that?” Mira asked gently.
Steven looked at the window, hesitant, then nodded slightly, still clutching the toy bear. His voice was quieter than before, but still hesitant, his cadence uneven, as if forming thoughts in unfamiliar territory.
“I dunno why... the air feels less suffocating out there.”
Together, they slid the latch open, and the crisp breeze pushed through the room, carrying the scent of cedar and old rain. Steven’s shoulders instinctively eased at the fresh air.
“Everest worked with herbs,” Steven said, somehow easing into conversation despite the heaviness. “Used to have, like, this whole garden out back. I never understood why she cared so much about some plants.” His lizard tail flicked, a nervous tic.
“Maybe those plants helped more than you thought,” Mira replied. “Elves have a profound connection to the land. They see healing not just in spells or swords but in nature’s quiet strength.”
Steven nodded, his head tilting sideways as if trying to process an entirely foreign concept. “Yeah, but I’m human… except the tail. I don’t get all that stuff. No way. I was born understanding numbers and patterns, but emotions and traditions? They’re like foreign languages. Even Everest was patient trying to teach me the little rituals every elf does.”
Mira smiled faintly. “You learned more than most humans ever could.”
Steven tightened his grip on the fox, but then shifted uncomfortably. “People always stared at me before Everest. The whispers, the fear. Like I was a monster. Some just called me ’lizardface’ behind my back. Everest stood up for me. Told everyone I’m no less normal than them.”
“I’m sorry they were cruel,” Mira said honestly. “But Everest was right. You’re only different on the outside.”
Steven looked down and then raised his eyes slowly, very deliberately locking with Mira’s. “Sometimes I wonder if she saw the real me, or just the idea of me she wanted me to be.”
“It was the real you,” Mira said softly. “Because even with all your quirks—your hoodie, the way you stammer when you get overwhelmed—she loved the real, unpolished you.”
Steven gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. His tail flicked faster this time, betraying the inner storm swirling behind his eyes. When words failed, his body told Mira everything she needed to know: the restless energy, the repeated self-rocking, the fixation on certain textures like the softness of the fox — all quiet signs of his neurodivergence, signs that made his grief and his world so much harder.
“Everest made me wanna try and be more normal,” Steven said in a whisper. “She said it’s about who you want to be, not what others expect.”
“Maybe you don’t have to change for them,” Mira said softly. “Maybe you only need to be the you that makes you—and Everest—proud.”
A slow smile touched Steven’s lips, honest but fragile. “Thanks, Mira. I never thought someone else would wanna talk like this.”
Mira squeezed his shoulder gently. “We’re all here for you. You’re not alone.”
---
**Chapter 3**
Days passed as Mira and Lira took turns checking in on Steven. At first, the visits were awkward, filled with fragile silences and hesitant words. Steven’s lizard tail would flick nervously every time a knock came at the door, and he would wrap his favorite purple hoodie tighter around himself like a cocoon, a barrier against the unpredictable world.
One afternoon, as sunlight spilled into the cozy kitchen, Steven sat at the rough wooden table, fiddling with a cup of tea Lira had brought.
“Thanks for coming by today,” he said quietly, eyes darting nervously as if measuring every word before releasing it. “I’m bad at this—social stuff, I mean.”
Mira grinned warmly. “Nobody expects perfection. You don’t have to be a social ninja overnight.”
Steven laughed abruptly, a short, almost mechanical burst that made both Mira and Lira smile.
“I guess it’s like... sometimes my brain’s like a broken computer. It glitches. I can talk about tech all day, no problem, but feelings? They’re just... random errors.”
“Sounds tough,” Lira said sympathetically. “But you’re doing great. Everest believed in you, and so do we.”
Steven looked down, fiddling absent-mindedly with the frayed cuff of his hoodie sleeve.
“Sometimes I replay moments with Everest in my head, like... rewinding a video and pausing. But the video’s glitchy, and sometimes I miss parts or see things wrong.”
“That’s normal,” Mira reassured him. “Memories aren’t perfect. But the feelings—the love, the pain—they’re real.”
Steven nodded slowly.
“I still don’t get all your elven customs,” he admitted with a sheepish grin. “Like, who even decided funeral *rites* have to take hours? Why can’t someone just say the words and be done with it? My nervous system went haywire back there.”
“Ha, yeah. Elves do love their ceremonies,” Lira chuckled. “It’s how we honor life and death. But it’s okay if it’s overwhelming.”
Steven sighed, the ghost of a smile playing on his face. “Sometimes it feels like I’m playing a role in a foreign play. Can’t remember my lines.”
“That’s okay. We can learn together,” Mira said firmly. “We owe Everest that much.”
---
**Chapter 4**
One rainy evening, Steven invited Mira and Lira inside for the first time. The house smelled faintly of herbs steeping and old parchment. The small squares of light from a flickering candle danced across the room. For all its worn appearance, there was a strange warmth here—memories cradled softly between the walls.
“I’m not good at this... social thing,” Steven said again, twisting the sleeve of his hoodie anxiously. “But y’all are nice enough. Thanks for being patient.”
Mira sat near the fireplace, watching the tail twitch just beneath the couch. Lira set a pot of tea between them.
“So... Everest left me her journals. She hoped I’d learn more about the world she loved.” Steven’s voice caught slightly, but he pressed on. “She always thought it’d help me understand elven stuff better.”
Mira nodded, “That’s thoughtful of her. Learning her ways can be a way to keep her close.”
Steven opened a worn leather-bound journal. The writing inside was delicate, ornate—clearly elvish script difficult for Steven to decipher.
“I can hardly read this, but I try,” Steven admitted. “The language’s flow is nothing like mine.”
Lira smiled, “We can help. Sometimes understanding comes in steps. You don’t have to master it all at once.”
Steven looked at the two women, his eyes honest and vulnerable. “Everest was my real-life glitch fix. Like, she accepted every weird error in my code. It hurts without her.”
Mira leaned forward, voice gentle. “And that’s why we’re here. To patch the holes and reboot your world together.”
Steven’s tail flicked slowly once more—a small sign of hope.
---
**Chapter 5**
Spring came back to Ravenwood, brushing the village with delicate new life and scent of pollen. Steven stepped outside his door for the first time in what felt like forever, the weight of loneliness still heavy but less suffocating.
Everest’s garden was wild but growing again—green shoots pushing through the soil like defiant hope.
Steven’s hoodie was pulled tight, but he was out. The tail moved with slow curiosity rather than nervous deficit, and the strange quiet inside him was, just barely, breaking.
Mira stood nearby, watching the fragile movement of a man who once seemed lost and broken.
“You’re really doing it,” she said softly.
Steven turned, a faint but genuine smile cracking through the guarded expression. “It’s terrifying.” His voice flexible for once, with a human warmth. “But... I want to live like Everest believed I could.”
Lira joined them, handing Steven another cup of tea. “We’ll walk with you.”
Steven glanced at the garden, pulling the stuffed fox from his pocket, holding it like a talisman. “I don’t understand half the world around me. But maybe that’s okay. Maybe I just need to take it slow… one step at a time.”
His tail swished gently against the earth—alive, unpredictable, but hopeful.
Somewhere, deep inside the woods, the wind whispered through Ravenwood’s leaves. Life was messy, strange, and beautiful.
And Steven was ready to try again.