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He captured a certain scene of her sitting inside the simple hut she’d called home for now – since it was isolated and vacated from humans.

He figured she’d discovered it to likely give birth in the near future.

Experiencing that moment with her while she lazily peered out at dusk, where she looked at peace, he eventually continued on with his task.

These were simple moments, simple pauses he shared with her, but he committed them to memory.

By the time her stomach was large and rounded, and darkness completely shrouded the tunnel he made, he lit up little orbs of white light.

He hummed a small chuckle as they floated around him, brightening the walls. I doubt Lindiwe has realised yet that I can utilise both dark and light magic. Although he wasn’t overly confident with the latter.

It was also weaker, and not his preference.

He liked his mana to emulate himself. Light was not his companion, and the pitch-black was comforting in its embrace.

It’d been his friend for eons.

When Weldir thought he was deep enough, he stood still and then imagined the walls and ceiling pushing out from around him. He created a large dome-like cavern, one which he could expand later should he choose. He made sure the ground was utterly flat, and only the walls were bulky and misshapen.

Then with his hands behind his back in thought, he slowly skimmed along the edges. His mist whisked around him as his gaze kept flicking to the middle.

He told himself it was because he wanted to inspect the stone and jagged walls to make sure they were suitable and looked natural, whereas in reality, it was nervousness that skittered throughout his cloud.

He had no issue unashamedly watching her. Whether it be while she was awake, asleep, or even bathing, he never felt guilt. Yet... perhaps a little bit of embarrassment tremored through him for what he was about to do.

For a creature who lived endlessly, memories could often become murky. Like crystal-clear water that was sullied with a cup of mud at each new memory, the clarity could often be lost without deeper wading.

After living for almost two human millennia, and at least three lifetimes for an Elf, he... had forgotten much. He remembered in clarity the important things, but much was lost to the weathering of time.

And what he currently longed to remember, he didn’t want to lose in the foreverness.

I don’t think she’d appreciate me doing this. Then again, as he raised his hand out to the centre of the cavern, he thought, It’s not like I am making this anywhere except in the corner of my stomach.

It wasn’t technically real. It was as imaginary as if he’d created it in the back of his mind, except he already had the materials here to mould. He was just giving it a visual for his ultimate clarity.

It’s not like she’ll ever know, he added, to assuage any guilt. Or anyone else, for that matter. Only Weldir would ever come here.

A place just for him.

Where the echo of her lingered.

With that thought, and determination in mind, he began to construct a sculpture of Lindiwe.

To form her image in stone that was flecked with different browns, ranging from a matte sandy hue all the way to brown glittering topaz.

He made the hair on top of her head darker, matching it to her brows and the thatch between her thighs.

The last variation was her dark nipples and clit, which were a brownish pink.

The only colour that was added was the pinkness inside the seam of her lips and deeper within her mouth, and the slit between her thighs.

The sculpture was entirely naked, although he could have clothed it had that been his intention.

Perhaps I will make another of her in the future. One he didn’t intend to be salacious.

Instead, this image of her, he repositioned until it was one he wanted to remember perfectly.

Lindiwe, with her back arched, legs spread, and her hands gripping nothingness – unless he was to place his arm in their hold, and his fingers deep inside her pussy.

He neared the statue and positioned his hand between her thighs just so – to replay that moment of her climax, his body frozen and finding no reason to thrust his fingers.

Now that he was closer, he reshaped her slightly to perfect every line of her body in that moment, every concave, every dip of muscle.

He tracked every detail from head to toe, all the way down to the little prominent veins across the backs of her hands and the one that pulsed in her forehead when she was truly vexed – or, apparently, coming.

Two such powerful physical reactions, both polar opposites of each other.

Not only had Weldir been fixated on watching her, as he did now in his periphery through the hovering disc that followed him everywhere, but also on these memories.

Even now, he could make it move. He could make it shudder like she did, could spread its lips to create a silent moan – but he would remember that cry with a vividness.

His mist vibrated as it sung through his mind, and even more so when it had been his name on her lips.

He’d never known that he could have a physical reaction to such a moment, could derive pleasure in his own way from it. But he’d found it, and it’d been choking a throatless male ever since.

Now... he found he was rather electrified to create another offspring, but for an entirely different reason.

It was an excuse to pleasure her, to experience all this again and hope they could do more.

He wondered what she’d be like if he did so through sex, or even if he used his mouth along every inch of her body.

He had no idea if she was needy for more, but at least she had softened to him. Enough to have a lengthy conversation with him, enough to check often if he was there. To reach out for his presence, rather than avoid him with disdain.

He didn’t know her, or humans, well enough to know if she thought about this memory as deeply and fervently as he did. Perhaps she did, but if she didn’t, could he train her body to hunger for it... for him?

I would like to inculcate her with feelings of arousal for me. He’d take that task rather fervently by the devilish horns, should he need to. I would like to see her come undone by me repeatedly, so long as it continues to soften her dispirited personality towards me.

The more he thought on it, the more he’d like this female to be yearning for him and what his uniquely formed body and mana could do for her.

He wanted her clawing and biting at his mist for more in the throes of pleasurable overstimulation, rather than offering him shy gazes of nervousness and oppression.

Once the sculpture was complete and his memory of this moment solidified permanently, unable to fade away to time within his mind, he stepped back.

He made it shift, and it played out a few seconds of his memory... and then a few minutes to when she’d unabashedly ridden his finger. He wasn’t there currently to join it, but seeing her body wave and move as it once did was enthralling nonetheless.

Especially as it had involved him once.

It stopped and then became as still as the stone it was made of.

Weldir looked down the tunnel he’d originally created and tilted his head in thought. This mountain is large, and mine to shape.

Now that he’d made one memory, one sculpture, he had the desire to make many others. Not just of her, but also the pieces within his heart he didn’t know how to fully manifest.

He began to make other tunnels and rooms shooting off from this central one of her, carefully shaping them like the original he’d made. He left a few empty, as he had no need for them just yet, but he hoped and intended to fill them in the future.

He ignored all his other tasks to do this, from eating souls to growing the buildings in their memories. He only paused to support Lindiwe during the birth of their offspring, as he often tried to do despite the distance between them.

She’d long ago grown comfortable, and perhaps even appreciative, of his presence during these times. It was the most he could offer.

He left this space, with her stone form and nothing else but undefinable blobs of rock, so he could call her back to his darkness – the entry point to his realm.

Blackness, his darkness, surrounded them both as her tired, sweat-slicked body floated limply except for the handle of her satchel in her closed fist.

He healed her of the strenuous and painful blessing of a healthy birth, checked their offspring and held them like he did each time.

Only once she’d slept – like she always did afterwards, and he remained by her side while he spent the only time with his offspring that he’d ever be allowed – did he then send her and them back to Earth when she was ready.

Then he returned and continued to sculpt his cave of memories.

Once seven tunnels were made, with six caverns at the end, he ventured down the original path. Halfway down the dark tunnel, his floating orbs of light following him, he made one final cavern.

Each alcove represented the continents of Earth, and the fourteen portals, including Jabez’s that covered them. Each land was different, and he was sure Lindiwe, in the future, would dress differently to match them.

He’d later create statues reflecting those times, those outfits, and maybe even create the one in which they’d originally struck their deal. But, at the moment, in this first cavern, he formed his first born.

Nathair, with his exceptionally magnificent length and size, took quite some time to perfect. Weldir had stared at him so often that he knew every scale with clarity.

Orson was a touch more difficult, as he was constantly changing and not before him. He created a viewing disc of him so he could perfect his carving, down to each echidna spine jutting from him like a menacing shield of armour.

Weldir halted when he noted where Orson was. He’s very close to the centre of the Veil. In the distance, he could see the recently erected castle belonging to who he assumed was Jabez.

He didn’t like that at all, as he preferred his offspring had little to do with that half-Elven menace. He didn’t want them harmed or used as a potential tool for whatever war he was conjuring up.

But all he could do was wait and see what happened, and tell Lindiwe if there was any reason for them to worry.

He continued onto Fenrir, who was innocently sitting in some snow.

.. with blood slashed across his white, bony snout.

He was thin and gaunt, with arms longer than they should be, but he did look strong and mostly content.

Especially when he lifted a big, meaty hand to lick the blood off the back of his claws.

Whatever he’d eaten had been consumed in its entirety.

Now that he’d completed those that lived within Austrális, Weldir moved onto another alcove, one that was deeper within this cave of cherished people and memories.

He began to sculpt Dymphna, the fanged, deer-skulled Duskwalker...