Chapter 2 – The Elf Kingdom
(Located northeast of the map of Eryndor)
Jacob still layed on the patch of moss, dappled in hues of bronze and violet. The trees above him towered like cathedral pillars, their smooth trunks ranging from silvery-gray to barkless black, each branching into massive, curling canopies of glass-like leaves that shimmered as they swayed, each movement casting fractured light upon the forest floor. The air here was impossibly clean, heavy with the scent of earth.
For a time, he didn't move. He could barely think. His fingers curled against the mossy ground, grounding himself in the texture. It was soft, damp—it felt cool on his fingertips.
He breathed more heavily, unused to the air. Yet it felt cleaner than anything he had ever breathed.
And then he remembered.
The man.
The necklace.
The spiral of pain.
The red sky and the shadow-figure.
That voice that had split his soul like lightning in a tree:
"When you understand the meaning of life and death, I will return."
He sat up slowly, muscles aching. The world tilted for a moment. His stomach twisted, and he doubled over, dry-heaving bile onto the roots of an enormous tree whose bark glistened like polished stone. His breaths came sharp and quick, chest tight.
"What is happening to me?" he whispered.
The necklace still hung around his neck, the black shard at its center catching the strange golden light filtering through the canopy. Its surface was smooth, but the colors inside it churned slowly—like ink stirred in water.
He touched it hesitantly.
It was warm.
He rose to his feet—slowly, carefully. His knees wobbled beneath him. The forest was silent save for the rustling of leaves far above and the occasional trill of distant birds whose calls echoed not once, but twice.
He looked around.
This was not like any forest from home. The trees were too tall, the air too sharp, and the light too alien. He could see no path. No sign of civilization. No wires or roads or signs. Only nature—vast, unknowable, and watching.
And then came the voice.
Small. Clear. Just behind him.
"You're not from here."
Jacob spun, heart hammering.
Behind him stood a girl—no older than he was, maybe sixteen. She had pale skin, though not sickly—more like moonlight made flesh. Her eyes were luminous green, wide with wariness. Her dark hair was tied back in an intricate braid that spilled over her shoulder. She wore a long cloak of silver and brown, fastened at the neck with a brooch shaped like a crescent moon. Beneath it, layered leather armor covered her arms and chest, delicately stitched with symbols that shimmered faintly in the golden light.
But more importantly, she was a…
"An elf."
"You're an elf…"
"Who… are you?"
The girl tilted her head slightly, studying him.
"You shouldn't be here. It's dangerous to be alone in this forest."
"A-and why is that?" Jacob asked.
Her eyes fell to the necklace.
He tucked it quickly beneath his shirt.
"I don't want trouble," Jacob said.
"Then why are you in the Whispering Wild?"
"I don't know what that means."
Her expression didn't change.
"You speak the Common Tongue, yet you don't know where you are?" she asked.
"I… I don't even know what planet I'm on."
That made her blink. Slightly.
Jacob hesitated, then added, "I'm not from here. I'm from Earth. I think I was… taken. Or brought. I don't know."
The girl looked at him for a long time. The silence grew heavy again. Then she took a cautious step forward.
"This forest does not take kindly to the lost," she said quietly.
"Now don't tell me you don't know what the forest is like. I thought all fleshbags knew about the Blood War."
Inner monologue: The Blood War… I wonder what the history behind that is, but I better stop asking questions. If there's one thing I've ever learned, it's to stay quiet and calm. I'm in an uncharted world. I don't even know who I am anymore. Shit… I always read stories like this, but I never thought I'd be in one. No time to cry or panic. I gotta get a better understanding of what happened and how to get back home. But all of this started with that old man and this necklace. Well… this necklace is probably super important. I better not let anyone else see it then.
"Hey, heyyyyy—WAKE UP!!"
"W-w-what? Wait—what happened?"
"You froze. Look, one thing about this forest—you can never stop moving. If you do, you might as well say goodbye. Keep up the momentum. We're close."
"First off, where are we going… and second, I don't even know your name."
"Fine, fine, fine. Let me introduce myself. My name is Lysaria of the Veyri'el," she said. "Daughter of Elvryn. What about you?"
"Aurther… Aurther Zen."
Better to keep my real identity to myself.
"Very well. And to answer your first question—we are going to Elsera'Veyr, the Elf Kingdom."
After that, they walked in silence. Lysaria moved ahead of him, her cloak rippling gently with her pace, the braid over her shoulder swinging with precision and calm. She moved like someone born in silence, someone who had never once broken a twig beneath her feet.
Aurther struggled to keep up. His steps were loud, clumsy—foreign. The roots tripped him. The brush clawed at his jeans. His breath came hard and fast, not just from the hike, but from the weight of it all. The truth of his situation pressed down on him more with each passing step.
He wasn't on Earth.
This wasn't a hallucination.
He had been brought here—spiraled away by a necklace, a shadow, and something that called itself destiny.
He digested the words, syllable by syllable.
"So are you really an elf?" he asked.
Her gaze flicked back toward him, mildly amused. "I thought that was obvious."
"Yeah, well… where I'm from, elves aren't real."
She paused, turning to face him fully. Her eyes were thoughtful—green and sharp like blades of spring grass.
"And where you're from," she said softly, "is it better to live in ignorance?"
He had no answer.
They pressed on, deeper into the woods. The forest changed subtly as they walked—the trunks now twisted with runes, faintly glowing blue in the shade. The moss underfoot gave way to a smooth, violet carpet of low-sitting fern-like plants that shimmered faintly when disturbed.
"How far is this city?" Aurther asked.
"Farther than your body can walk today," Lysaria replied. "But not all paths in Eryndor follow distance. Some follow will. And others… memory."
She slowed and veered off the main trail, leading him beneath a large stone arch half-buried in ivy. Beyond it, the path curved steeply downward into a glade ringed with massive silverroots. At the center stood an ancient tree—larger than any he had seen, its roots knotted like a dozen sleeping serpents.
She placed her hand against its trunk. The tree responded with a slow pulse of light through its bark—gold to green to blue.
"What are you doing?" Aurther asked.
"Calling the passage," she said. "Elsera'Veyr does not open its gates to wandering feet. You must be remembered."
"Remembered by who?"
She didn't answer.
The tree split.
No, not split—opened. Its trunk parted like two massive doors, revealing a glowing path of woven root and light that sloped downward beneath the earth. The smell of old wood and ancient air rushed forward.
Lysaria turned to him.
"If you enter, there is no going back the way you came."
"I already crossed that line when I touched this thing," he said, holding up the necklace.
She nodded once.
Then they stepped into the tree.
The roots swallowed them.
The tunnel beneath the forest was dim but not dark. The walls glowed faintly, lined with crystalline growths that gave off a soft, steady radiance like a dream of moonlight. Strange symbols pulsed in the bark as they walked—glyphs Aurther could not read, yet somehow… understood.
They spoke of memory. Of lineage. Of ancient vows.
Of gods who no longer answered.
Lysaria spoke quietly as they descended.
"This path is called Nai'thalas, the Winding Root. It connects the surface world to Elsera'Veyr. Long ago, the forest itself grew these ways when war threatened the highlands. Now, only those with permission—or old blood—can walk them."
"How does that work?" Aurther asked. "I don't have 'old blood.'"
"No," she said. "But you carry something that does."
Again, her eyes flicked to the shard at his chest.
Aurther glanced down. The necklace pulsed once—like it knew it had been mentioned.
She slowed.
"The shard you wear is not of this world," she said at last. "Nor of any kingdom now living. It hums with Void. And there are only a few among us who remember what that means."
"Void? Like space?"
"Not space," she said. "Absence. Silence. End."
She stopped walking and faced him fully.
"Tell me truthfully, Aurther. Has it spoken to you yet?"
He hesitated.
"What do you mean 'spoken'?"
"Have you heard a voice? Or a presence? Felt it guiding you?"
Aurther's mouth went dry.
"I saw… a figure. A shadow. It told me I had crossed something. That it would return when I understood life and death."
Lysaria's expression changed.
Not fear.
But worry. Deep, historical worry—the kind passed down through bloodlines.
"That is not a thing to say lightly," she said.
"I didn't ask to see it."
"Still," she murmured, "you did."
They emerged from the passage into a chamber of breathtaking scale.
The city of Elsera'Veyr unfolded before him like a myth sculpted in living stone and moonlight.
Giant trees grew in spirals around glowing towers of ivory and crystal. Bridges of woven branches and glass arched between platforms suspended in air, some higher than mountaintops. Lights floated in the open air—spirits or magic or both. Music drifted on the wind, not played but grown—sounds from trees that hummed as people passed.
Elves walked between the archways and glowing gardens, tall and graceful, their clothes woven with leaves, silk, and starlight. Some looked toward him with unreadable eyes. Some rode stag-like creatures. Others chanted in circles around glowing monoliths. Music thrummed in the air—not played, but born from the trees themselves, vibrating from the wood like a heartbeat.
Aurther stopped at the threshold. His breath caught.
"I've never seen anything like this," he whispered.
[End of Chapter 2]