The Weight of Expectations (An Elspar Story)

White orbs, oblong—and not an option. Yet their soft shimmer calls to me. Captivates.

I lean closer, my nose nearly brushing their seafoam-fragile shells. And for a breath, I am weightless—adrift in the cool hush of the cavern deep beneath my family’s palace. Weightless, like a decision made. A calm surety—something I’m not sure I’ve ever really known…

Then—

“Tristyn!” my sister calls. And doubt rushes back in. “Come away from there, please.” 

I linger a moment longer, swaying with the water’s gentle tide. Then I kick my tail lightly, and swim away—the weight pressing in once more.

The cavern is tight, its walls craggy and pocked with dozens of small holes. Each one vanishes into the extensive tunnel network the ancient Hinni Snails call home. A handful of them slither about, nibbling at the algae clumps nestled in the cavern’s crevices—their cleaning a salty, slimy feast. Bright red-gold sunlight filters into the cavern, washing dim their already soft, colorful bioluminescence. 

It’s the eggs, though, I find more striking. Four large clusters hug the walls, each with the pulsing glow of a thousand tiny lives. All eager and waiting to hatch. 

Yet today, only one life will twine with mine. 

I hope we can become friends. Whoever you are…

Once at my sister’s side, she takes my webbed-hands and squeezes. 

“There is no wrong choice. Okay?” She offers me a warm smile. I feel only chills. 

But there is. Just nobody will say it. 

I resist the urge to glance back at the cluster of white snail eggs. It’s hard, like trying to ignore some extension of myself. 

Such a fool for hoping…

We turn as one to face Syllis—a wizened black Hinni Snail, dappled with small purple spots and large enough to fit comfortably in my palm. Perched on a narrow ridge halfway up the cavern wall, her long antennae-eyes sway, assessing us. It is her duty to oversee the pairings, to ensure her kin are paired with responsible Dhargonian matches. 

All I know is how to be “responsible.” There was never another option… 

When she realizes she has our attention, Syllis begins flashing her purple spots to communicate: Welcome Tideress Orawyn. Rising Tristyn.

We both nod politely. 

Will Tidal Elwryn be joining us? Excited flashes. 

I bite my lip to keep silent, tension lining my jaw. 

“I’m afraid not,” Orawyn says, obviously wanting to make light of our brother’s absence. “Resolving disputes in the outer territory.”

It’s not every day a Rising chooses his Hinni-match. The slow rhythm of disappointment. 

“He would be here if he could,” Orawyn adds, her tone placating. 

Would he? 

Syllis’ eyes narrow and glance at each other before focusing on me.

I trust you understand the significance of this day? 

“I do.” My voice cracks. Heat flushes my cheeks and I tuck my chin to my shoulder. 

Syllis flashes joyously. This is a special time in any Dhargonian’s life, young Rising. There is no shame in growing older—time comes for us all in the end. 

I manage a nod, still looking away. 

We are four. Syllis’ gesture to each cluster in turn with her antennae-eyes.

I know their kind well. 

There are the blue-spiked protectors, I think, eyeing the pulsing blue cluster—fearless, focused, routinely temperamental, like Elwryn’s companion. The green-spiraled nurturers. I glance at the soft green glow behind Orawyn’s ear, where her companion tends to perch. Caringly assertive, patient, always meaning to be supportive, but… Then there are the purple-spotted tradition-keepers—like Airyn’s companion, before she passed and Elwryn ascended the throne. Clever, methodical, almost bitterly stern.

My gaze settles again on the white cluster.

And then there’s you guys—the white-splotched academics, like…

I sigh.

No one.

Leaders act. That was Elwryn’s lesson—his scolding, still fresh, thunders through my mind. We do not laze about, cowering behind scrolls, or lose days to wasteful ponderings, as you seem so aggravatingly prone to do. We are to be focused and committed. Decisive. There are wrong choices in life, brother. But it is a leader’s commandment—one that will one day irrevocably become yours—to make as few of them as gods-willingly possible. Understand?

I had understood then, just as I understand now.

And while most Dhargonians view choosing a Hinni Snail companion as a symbolic rite of passage, in my family, the long-standing—and suffocating—belief is that this choice reveals the callings of our hearts and defines the kind of leader we are meant to become.

And consequences ripple through every choice… 

Take your time, Syllis flashes. But do be attentive. As we are deep in spring, many eggs have already begun to hatch. And while we believe the choice should reside with your kind, we connect with him whose face is first we see. So, consider. And hurry.

I nod with a smile, then take a deep breath. Once more, my gaze drifts between the four pulsing clusters—all the countless snails waiting, my decision weighing… 

And, mind blank, I hesitate. Considering. 

Hinni Snails live for decades—longer even than we Dhargonians. And they can reincarnate. Fragments of their past lives cling to them like stubborn barnacles, granting them insight, memories, and invaluable perspective.  

That’s the true weight of this choice. 

I’m not just choosing a companion—but a mentor, an advisor, a guide. Specialized by lifetimes of honing the skills they know best.

We give them the world beyond their cavern. In return, they give us what time would otherwise forget.

There is no wrong choice. 

But there always is…

I glance again at the blue-spiked cluster, my heart heavy with Elwryn’s absence. 

Maybe if I chose one of them, he and I might finally have something in common. Or at least, maybe I wouldn’t miss him so much… 

The sincerity—more than the thought itself—catches me by surprise. 

If he were here, he would just pick one for me. Wouldn’t that be so much easier? 

Orawyn rests a hand on my shoulder, rousing me from my thoughts. 

“This one”—she directs me to a black egg with purple spots like fluffy clouds—“reminds me of Airyn’s companion. The pattern is just like hers, don’t you think?” 

I nod, but say nothing. There’s no spark, looking at the egg. No fascination or intrigue. No connection. Just that heavy weight pressing against my chest. 

That one’s not for me… 

The thought feels ungrateful, but feelings are what they are. Sometimes they carry their own truth.

My mind returns again to the white-splotched cluster. 

To the Hinni Snail academics.To my own bright experiences sifting through scrolls in the family library, the lectures I’ve attended, the curiosities that have stirred through my mind for as long as I can remember. 

They are what steer me. 

Seeking answers…

But what room is there for dreams and curiosity in the life of a leader? I wonder. We’re supposed to be focused. To know everything—or at least conduct ourselves as if we do…

A faint clicking from behind startles me. 

Without thinking, I spin around, my long seaweed-like appendages—one of either shoulder blade and another two low on the base of my back—rustle through the water as I do. 

And my eyes meet another’s. 

Glorm. 

The name appears in my mind like the popping of a tiny bubble. 

Orawyn gasps. “Tristyn, turn away from it. Now!”

Syllis is silent, one antenna-eye on the Tideress, the other on me. Observing. 

“He’s so small…” I say, leaning in. “A hollow pearl would suit him like a palace.” 

“Tristyn, please.” Orawyn swims up behind me, rests her hand on my shoulder. “The longer he sees you, the harder it will be for him…” 

I swallow, chest tight, my heart growing numb.

But then I really look at him. This adorable, tiny snail.

And that weightless feeling returns—slow at first, then all at once.

The numbness fades.

A spark flickers within.

Calming.

Exhilarating.

Decided.

I turn back to Syllis. “What would happen to him—if I chose another?”

The old snail’s eyes glance at each other, then back to me.

He will live, she flashes. And he will hurt. We’ve never managed to figure out why, but the connection is stronger in us than in you. 

She hesitates. 

You would not be the first to deny one of us… choosing one of you. 

I look to Orawyn. Her face is scrunched. Even her own companion—green antennae-eyes peeking over her ear—is flashing frantically.

“What would you have me do?” 

She flits her eyes between Syllis and me, then says, almost begrudgingly, “Abide by your values.” Tenderness in her eyes, a tightness in her lips. “If this is your choice, then commit.” 

I turn back. 

“Glorm…”

The tiny white-splotched snail flickers wildly.

Glorm am I. 

I exhale. Laugh. 

“Yes you are,” I say, bending down and offering Glorm my finger. “Yes you are.”  

You… accept his choosing? Syllis flashes, curious and slow.

“I do.” 

Then, before Orawyn can object, I add:

“A leader protects those who choose to follow him—Elwryn’s words.”

Wonderful! Syllis flashes, a flurry of bright excitement—she’d jump, if she could.

I smile up at Orawyn, anxious, yes, yet giddy as Glorm slithers up my arm, leaving a trail of warm tingles as he goes. 

She says nothing at first.

Her face is stern. Her hand still lingers on my shoulder. 

I brace. Expecting a lecture. Or an argument. Or… something. 

But all she says is:

“Wise words to quote. And a wonderful choice, indeed.” 

Her tone is polite, yet…

If you really mean that, then why is your grip so tight?

Gently, I shrug Orawyn’s hand off and focus on Glorm—so new, so full of potential.

And mine.

My choice.

My truth.