The leaves whispered above the rooftops of Vaelora, brushing like silk against the sky. Sunlight filtered through a thousand branches, dancing across woven paths and moss-covered stones. The trees here did not just grow — they listened. And in return, the elves lived softly, as not to disturb the silence they were gifted.
A young elf with dark moss-green eyes darted across a winding root path. Katsu Faelwyn, barefoot as usual, was chasing a silver-feathered sparrow that had no intention of being caught.
"You again!" he grinned, leaping over a branch that jutted from an ancient oak. "That's the third time this week!"
The bird chirped once, almost teasingly, and vanished into the canopy.
Katsu stopped, panting lightly. Above him, sunlight painted golden arcs through the leaves. Behind him, the quiet hum of the village echoed faintly — laughter soft like bells, wood gently knocking against stone, distant singing from the herbal gardens.
He turned back toward home, where the tall healing house curved with the tree it was built upon. A gentle figure stood at its door, wiping her hands with a cloth made of silk thread and forest fiber.
Elanara Faelwyn, his mother, smiled warmly, though the tiredness never left her eyes.
"You didn't fall, did you?" she asked softly, her voice as smooth as water.
"Didn't even trip," Katsu grinned.
"Your sister's reading again. Maybe you can convince her to come outside before the wind changes."
He gave a nod, brushing bark dust from his shirt, and stepped inside.
Katsu crept up to his sister's room, the door slightly open. He pressed his small back against the cool wood, legs tucked close. Slowly, he tilted his head, ears perked, bright eyes peeking through the gap, fingertips just brushing past the frame.
"Big Sis! Could you teach magic again?" he whispered.
A soft wind answered. Loose papers scattered across the wooden floor — pages marked with ancient runes and shimmering script. A warm light filtered in from the high windows, catching on strands of his sister's hair: silky black with a wash of deep violet, swaying gently as if the room itself breathed magic.
Amid the books stacked in soft towers, Canna sat at her desk, lost in another tome.
"Hmmm?" she hummed without looking up.
She turned, mouth curling into a small smile — calm, closed-lipped.
"All right."
Katsu's eyes lit up. He beamed, practically vibrating with excitement. In a blur, he ran to her side, grabbing her hand and tugging gently.
"Let's go, let's go! To Libneh!" he cheered. "Can you teach me how to make water go kaboom into the sky?"
Canna sighed, amused.
"Seriously," she said, standing up, "you really are so energetic when it comes to magic, huh?"
But she closed her book all the same.
"Okay. Let's do that."
----
Together, they stepped outside — a older sister, a little younger brother, walking hand in hand beneath the rustling trees.
The sun shone gently through the leaves, casting soft dappled light across the forest floor. A cool breeze passed by, carrying the scent of earth and flowers, setting petals and leaves to dance through the air like tiny spirits.
Katsu ran ahead, his footsteps light on the mossy ground. Behind him, Canna walked at a calm, steady pace, hands behind her back, watching her little brother with a faint smile.
They reached the Libneh Tree, ancient and beautiful — its bark pale as moonlight, and its glow subtle even beneath the sun. At night, it shimmered like a star fallen to earth.
As they drew near, a silver-feathered sparrow fluttered into view, nesting peacefully in the crook of a high branch.
Canna raised a finger to her lips.
"Guess we're not making any loud noise this time," she whispered.
Katsu's ears drooped slightly, his excitement dimming.
But then — a soft pat on the head.
Canna's voice followed, warm and playful.
"Hmmm...? Then let's make something quieter instead."
With a small motion of her fingers, magic gathered. From the air itself, water shimmered into form — a clear, rippling shape that slowly took on legs, antlers, ears—
—a deer, made of water and light.
It bounced gently through the grass, its hooves leaving ripples where none should be. Another joined it. Then another. They danced around Katsu in slow, graceful arcs.
"Teach me! Teach me!" Katsu laughed, eyes wide with wonder.
"I wanna make one too! A big one!"
Canna laughed softly, crouching beside him.
"Here," she said, showing him the slow movement of her hand, the feel of magic taking shape. "Focus on the shape — not just what it looks like, but how it moves."
Katsu's hands trembled a little. He focused. His magic gathered—
(...)
A strange shape began to form. Too many legs. A weird snout. A tail that twitched the wrong way.
"...It's so lame," he groaned.
"Arrghhh!"
Canna covered her mouth, giggling quietly.
"It's alright, Katsu. It's your first time."
She ruffled his hair gently. "Water is one of the hardest elements to shape — it slips, it flows. But with practice… you'll make something amazing."
Time passed. The breeze carried birdsong. Magic filled the space between brother and sister.
Finally—
"Whoaaah!" Katsu gasped.
A deer. A little crooked. A little small. But unmistakably a deer — and it held together.
"Look, Sis! I made it! I made a deer!"
He leapt up, twirling with his creation, laughing freely.
Canna watched him, a gentle smile rising on her lips as she closed her eyes.
"I knew you could do it…" she whispered, soft and proud. "Ahahahah…"
A gentle bell rang through the trees — soft, melodic, like the chime of silver windflowers brushing in the wind.
Both siblings turned toward the sound.
A bird appeared out of nowhere, gliding down and perching on a low tree branch. It was Cirus, Canna's spirit companion — a mystical bird, glowing with soft green and yellow hues, its feathers like golden leaves caught in sunlight.
It tilted its head, eyes glimmering with magic, as if telling something only she could hear.
Canna smiled.
She stood up first, brushing a petal from her sleeve.
"Looks like Mother's finished early today," she said softly.
Katsu glanced at his deer made of water, still shimmering and trembling in the forest light. He gave it one last excited twirl before letting it dissolve gently into the grass.
"Race you home!" he grinned.
But Canna didn't even flinch.
"You always say that," she said calmly, lifting the hem of her robes as she began walking — the same calm, elegant pace as before.
Katsu, already sprinting, turned his head and shouted:
"You're just scared you'll lose!"
His laugh echoed through the woods.
Canna rolled her eyes — just slightly — and smiled to herself.
The path back was dappled in gold. Glowing ferns swayed as they passed, and sunbeams filtered through the great branches of the Libneh tree behind them.
As they reached the edge of their clearing, the air filled with the soft, comforting scent of fresh herbs and forest bread.
Their home stood quiet and serene — a simple elven house made from living trees shaped by old magic, the leaves above rustling like lullabies.
Their mother stood waiting at the doorway, holding a wooden ladle, her silver hair tied gently behind her head. Her expression softened as she saw them return together.
"Come now," she said, her smile gentle, "before the soup cools."
Katsu rushed in first, slipping out of his boots with a practiced leap.
Canna followed, her steps quieter — but her eyes just as warm.
Inside, their home was filled with the earthy scent of boiling roots and wild herbs. The walls — living trees themselves — pulsed faintly with natural magic, their bark warm to the touch, and leaves overhead filtering the sunlight into soft green hues that danced on the wooden floor.
Their mother moved gracefully between the hearth and the table, ladling soup into carved wooden bowls. The stew shimmered faintly — a healing broth of forest greens, sunroot, and white mushrooms, known to restore strength and calm the spirit.
"Wash your hands first," she said gently without turning, her voice like wind through reeds.
Katsu had already reached for a piece of seedbread when she said it.
"Aww— I was just— okay, okay!" he groaned, then scampered to the washbasin, splashing water on his hands with exaggerated flair.
Canna followed behind him, graceful as ever. She dipped her hands in the basin quietly, wiping them dry with a soft cloth before seating herself.
Cirus — the bird spirit — fluttered through the open window and perched high above, its feathers folding in like petals. It let out a quiet, bell-like hum before settling.
Their mother served them, placing bowls before each of them with careful hands.
"Eat slowly," she said with a smile, brushing Katsu's hair lightly as she passed. "You always forget to breathe between bites."
"I don't!" Katsu said — already mid-chew, his cheeks puffed full of bread and soup.
Canna hid a smile behind her spoon, sipping quietly.
For a while, only the sound of gentle eating filled the home — spoons against bowls, the crackling fire, and the birdsong drifting from the woods.
Their mother sat down last, across from them, her eyes lingering on both of her children. She didn't say much — just watched them, the lines near her eyes softening in the warm light.
"How was your practice today?" she asked at last.
Katsu lit up instantly, "I made a water deer! Like, really made one! It was walking and everything!"
Their mother blinked in pleasant surprise. "Oh? That's wonderful, Katsu."
"He made a chimera first," Canna added, sipping with amusement.
"Hey! It was still cool…" he mumbled.
The three of them laughed — softly, the way elves do, more like wind through leaves than noise in the air.
And for that moment, in the quiet glow of their tree-shaped home, everything was still — and peaceful.
Like the forest itself was holding its breath to preserve this perfect, ordinary afternoon.
----
A knock echoed gently against the wooden door — not urgent, but eager.
Then a shout: "Katsu! Let's go play!"
Katsu perked up mid-bite. The voice was familiar — bright, excited. Outside.
Through the open window, three elven kids peeked in, grinning.
"Ohhh… you're eating?"
One of them spotted the family at the table.
"Hello, Mrs. Elanara! Hello, big sis Canna!" they chimed, waving cheerfully.
Elanara gave them a warm and small wave.
Canna smiled, elegant and quiet as always.
"Hey Katsu!" another boy called, "We're going to catch a phólb! You coming?"
He bounced in place, clearly excited.
"I'm so catching one today — I just feel it! Heheheh."
Katsu's eyes lit up. He glanced at his mother for permission — already chewing faster to finish.
Elanara and Canna exchanged a quiet glance, then the mother smiled gently.
"Alright," she said softly, "but no scratches again, okay?"
"Yes!" Katsu beamed.
He stood up quickly, grabbed his shoes, and ran to the door.
"I'll be back before sunset!" he called as he disappeared with his friends, laughter already fading down the forest path.
"Be careful!" Elanara called after him with a light sigh.
The house settled into quiet again.
Canna, watching from the doorway, crossed her arms loosely.
"He sure is lively, huh?"
Elanara chuckled softly.
"He sure is."
She turned toward the sink, hands already gathering the dishes.
"Could you help me with these?"
"Yes, of course."
----
As the children ran eagerly into the forest, their laughter echoing through the trees, Katsu darted ahead — only to crash softly into something solid.
An image of grace and wisdom stood before him: the village elder.
"Hmmm…?" the old elf muttered gently. "Careful now, little ones. We wouldn't want to disturb the forest."
He placed a kind, wrinkled hand on Katsu's head, offering a warm smile from beneath his silvery brow.
Katsu looked up with respect and gave a small nod. His friends bowed lightly too, mirroring the custom of their village.
They moved on, now quieter, more mindful. Their feet stepped softer. The forest seemed to exhale with them.
Behind them, the elder watched in silence.
He looked up at the sky, the canopy shifting with the wind. Leaves whispered as they swirled above him — not just rustling, but speaking. Ancient. A warning.
His expression darkened.
---
Meanwhile, the children reached a wide glade. In its center, tufts of moss and dappled sunlight created a playground of light and shadow.
"There!" one of them shouted. "It's a phólb!"
A small, round creature — like a fuzzy ball of fur — darted from the underbrush.
They all gave chase.
But the phólb was fast — weaving, bouncing, turning with unnatural speed. Every time a child got close, it zipped away again, a blur of soft fur and high-pitched chirps.
Katsu narrowed his eyes, crouched low.
"Not so fast!" he whispered, lunging just as the creature turned—
His fingers closed around the phólb's soft fur.
"Haah! Got it!" he cheered, lifting it high.
He grinned proudly as the little creature wriggled in his hands.
"See? I told you I'd catch one!"
"Whoa! You really did!" one friend gasped.
"I'll catch one too, just wait!" another added.
"But they're so fast…" the third muttered, clearly frustrated.
Just then — a loud rustle.
A red boar burst into the clearing, snorting and charging wildly. Startled, the children scrambled.
"Tree—quick!" someone shouted.
They leapt up into the low branches just in time. The phólbs scattered in every direction. The boar, more interested in the chase, tore after them and disappeared into the trees.
"Phew…" one of the kids muttered, clutching a branch.
"That was close!"
But—
"W-Woah! WhoaAAHH!!"
Katsu slipped. The branch gave way.
He fell.
"Katsu!" his friends called, panicked.
He hit the ground with a soft thud, dust rising around him.
"Are you okay?! Katsu!"
But he didn't answer.
Everything was blurry — a dreamlike haze of spinning light and scattered shapes. Strange whispers filled his ears. Not voices. Not quite. Like wind through glass. Like a memory that wasn't his.
And then—
"Katsu!"
He blinked. His vision cleared. The wind faded.
"...Huh?"
"You okay?" one of the boys asked, frantic. "You looked really pale!"
"We should go get your mom!"
"No… I'm fine," Katsu murmured, sitting up slowly. His back ached, and his head felt light. But the pain was already fading. He looked up at the branches above.
The wind moved again, soft and strange.
"I'm fine," he said more firmly. "Let's go home. It's getting dark anyway."
His friends exchanged worried looks.
"Alright… but tell your mom what happened, okay?"
Katsu nodded, quiet.
He glanced once more toward the deeper trees.
They waved in silence.
----
As the group made their way back through the forest, the earlier laughter had quieted. The fading sun filtered through the canopy in slanted beams, catching motes of dust and petals midair like floating stars. The leaves rustled more now—not playfully, but whispering something old, something listening.
Katsu walked a little slower than the others, his hand resting against his side where the bark had scraped him. But it wasn't the ache that made him silent.
It was the wind.
It wasn't cold. In fact, it was warm and strange — not like a normal breeze, but like something had touched him. It moved around his ears like it was saying something. A voice with no words. A breath full of feeling.
He glanced back, just once, toward the deeper woods beyond the Libneh grove.
They waved in stillness.
"Katsu, come on!" one of his friends called ahead.
He turned and nodded, jogging a few steps to catch up.
Soon, the familiar scent of hearth smoke and wild mint signaled the edge of Vaelora. The village came into view — nestled among living trees shaped by gentle magic, bridges of vine and wood swaying softly between them. Elves moved calmly through the paths, their robes fluttering like fallen petals.
As the kids split off to their own homes, Katsu approached his with a tired gait.
The door creaked softly as he stepped in.
The golden light of their home welcomed him. Candles floated lazily in the air, their flames dancing with the rhythm of the wind outside.
At the table, Canna glanced up from a stack of parchment.
"You're back late," she said gently, her violet eyes narrowing with concern. "What happened?"
Elanara appeared from the kitchen, drying her hands with a linen cloth. "Katsu?"
He hesitated.
Then forced a grin.
"I fell. Just a little." He held up his arms like it was nothing. "The others caught a glimpse of a red boar. Scared the phólbs away."
Elanara's brows furrowed.
"Come here," she said softly.
She placed a hand over the side of his head, brushing the hair aside, her fingers glowing slightly. A soft warmth passed over the bruised skin, and the pain vanished like a bad dream.
"There," she said. "But rest early tonight, alright?"
Katsu nodded slowly, but his gaze drifted toward the window.
Canna watched him with a quiet frown. She could sense something more.
But she said nothing.
That night, as the wind blew gentle lullabies through the high leaves of Vaelora, Katsu lay awake in his bed — eyes open, staring at the carved wood above him.
He listened.
And once again, he heard it.
That whisper.
That voice.
Calling him.
----
The light faded. The whispers vanished like mist at dawn. And far above, the wind stirred soft curtains—welcoming a new morning.
Inside her quiet room, bathed in pale morning light, Canna stood with her eyes closed. In her hands hovered a violin—not made of wood, but of glimmering currents of air, swirling gently in the shape of an instrument. The strings shimmered, woven from threads of wind itself, barely visible yet singing clear.
She drew her fingers across them with practiced grace. No bow, only her will. The sound that bloomed was like breath and birdsong and breeze between branches. Each note spun through the air, setting the pages of old spellbooks fluttering gently on her desk, rustling the hanging herbs on the walls like they were listening.
The melody carried across the open window, reaching the trees nearby, whose rustling leaves danced in reply.
When the final note faded into silence, Canna opened her eyes—deep violet, calm and distant. She let the wind-violin unravel, the magic dispersing like mist in sunlight.
She turned to her desk, already strewn with inkbrushes, scrolls, and ancient pages detailing elemental theories and ethereal sigils. A tome of "Lesser Currents & Hidden Forces" lay open. Her quill floated, tracing notes onto parchment on its own as she quietly mouthed spell formulas, eyes skimming quickly.
A knock came at her door.
"Canna," her mother called gently, "the dishes, please."
Without a word, Canna lifted her hand.
From the kitchen, soft clinks echoed as bowls and plates rose into the air, floating gently toward the basin. Water poured from the pitcher on its own, bubbles forming. A sponge scrubbed rhythmically, held by invisible hands. Canna smiled slightly—still seated, still studying.
Another breeze curled around her, playful and bright.
From the windowsill, Cirus watched her, the spirit bird glowing softly in green and gold. He tilted his head, as if approving.
Canna gently shut her book and stood. "Alright," she murmured, "time to help properly."
And just like that, she descended from her room—graceful, quiet, the scent of spell ink and wildflowers still clinging to her robes.
Outside, the morning had fully settled over the quiet home.
Elanara, their mother, stood in the garden, pinning freshly washed robes to a line. The fabric danced softly in the breeze, glowing pale under the early sun.
Inside, Canna finished the last of the dishes with effortless grace. Bowls floated into the cupboard one by one, gleaming clean. With a flick of her hand, the water stilled and poured itself away, leaving the basin dry. She wiped her hands, glancing outside.
Through the window, she saw Katsu perched high in the tree—his usual spot. His small form was still, face turned toward the canopy as if lost in thought.
----
Katsu sat with his knees drawn up, arms resting on them. The wind played gently with his hair, but his eyes didn't follow the swaying leaves. They stared past them, unfocused.
Since the fall... something had been different. He remembered hitting the ground, the pain... but then, flashes—
a strange warmth, glowing roots, distant voices like songs made of wind and thunder. A place beneath the earth, where something ancient stirred. It felt real, yet impossible.
He hadn't told anyone—not even Canna. It felt like a dream he wasn't supposed to wake from. Or perhaps, a memory that wasn't truly his.
----
"Hm?"
Canna stepped outside, the grass soft beneath her feet. Approaching the tree, she leaned slightly, hands resting behind her back.
"Katsu… something wrong?" she asked gently. "You're quieter than usual."
He blinked, startled. "Sis? Ah—it's nothing."
She studied him for a moment, her violet eyes warm with concern.
"…Is this about what happened in the forest yesterday?" Her voice remained light, but thoughtful. Then she smiled, tilting her head. "Hey—want to go to town with me tomorrow? I'm out of books again."
Katsu hesitated. That strange warmth flickered again in his thoughts. But he smiled anyway.
"Umm… okay!"
"Good." She turned, brushing her hair aside. "Now, help me with the chores, will you?"
"Yesss…" he sighed, hopping down with a reluctant grin.
From the garden, Elanara watched them with quiet joy, her hands still gently adjusting the laundry. For a moment, the world felt utterly at peace.
----
Days ago, in the thunder-wreathed mountains of the Zevarrák Empire…
High atop cragged peaks where the clouds brood endlessly, the Zevarrák Empire thrived — a dominion of storm and steel. Its towering cities gleamed with lightning-infused technology, a fusion of harsh tradition and unmatched innovation. The thunder here was not a threat, but a heartbeat — powering homes, forging weapons, sustaining life. Towering pagoda-like fortresses lined the ridges, humming with currents. The people of Zevarrák were tall, swift, and sharp as their lightning-born blades — proud, industrious, and dangerously overconfident.
At the heart of this empire stood the Stormspire Citadel, its highest tower piercing through the clouds like a needle into the sky.
Inside, atop a grand staircase of obsidian and copper, sat Emperor Ba'al — a figure of cold dominance carved in human form. His eyes were like twin storms, unreadable and fierce. He sat unmoving on his throne of black stone, engraved with runes older than memory, while outside, flashes of lightning illuminated the mountainous horizon.
Rrrrmmm...
Thunder cracked louder than usual. The windows trembled. The storm had a weight to it — unnatural, as if the clouds themselves were whispering warnings.
The emperor's sharp gaze narrowed toward the flickering sky.
"..."
Suddenly, the heavy doors of the chamber opened. A knight clad in jagged armor strode in and knelt before the throne, head lowered with reverence.
"...Report."
The knight raised his head.
"Right. We have found and eliminated more of the unknown creatures roaming the barren outskirts of Novíer. Still, we don't know what they are or how they got there."
Ba'al stood slowly, his long cape whispering against the cold floor.
"...Continue the search. Secure the perimeter," he commanded, his voice like thunder in a tunnel. "Dispatch more soldiers. I want eyes on every inch of Novíer."
He turned, facing the window again. "The less you know, the more dangerous it is."
"Understood, my liege. I take my leave."
The knight rose, bowed again, and departed swiftly.
Ba'al remained still. His eyes scanned westward, toward the Vast Barren of Novíer — an endless stretch of cracked land and silence. Once lifeless. But now... something stirred beneath it.
----
2 days after. At Novíer...
The winds howled cold and dry. Patrols of armored soldiers swept across the plain in search formations, boots crunching over brittle stone. They had fought the strange creatures — beasts of unknown flesh, with eyes that glowed and claws that sparked against steel. But they had no known origin.
One soldier paused. His brows furrowed.
"...What's that?"
A low hum beneath their feet. A strange vibration.
Then — a crack.
The ground split with a sudden hiss, a jagged line etched across the dust. Black aura leaked out, like smoke made of shadows.
"Everyone! Over here!" shouted the scout.
The others gathered — and watched in disbelief as the crack widened.
Then, a hand — pale and clawed — crawled from the rift. Another followed. Then another.
"Blades out!" yelled a knight. "Form a line!"
More cracks erupted nearby. The black aura surged. The ground convulsed.
And then — it emerged.
A head rose from the rift. Twisted. Horned. Covered in eyes. Fangs dripping black ichor. It screeched — a sound that shattered nerves.
Demons.
The horde erupted like a geyser of nightmares, clawing and scrambling over one another. The soldiers fought valiantly, but they were unprepared for the chaos. Screams and metal clashed. Blood met dust.
Some ran. Most fell.
From the widening pits, more kept coming.
The earth had broken. And something more evil was climbing
out.
----
Back at the Zevarrák Empire...
At the western gate, a lone horse galloped through the pouring rain—its rider slumped, armor stained with blood, barely clinging to the reins.
"Identify yourself!" one of the gate guards shouted, lowering his weapon as the rider approached.
The horse skidded to a halt, and the soldier collapsed to the ground with a grunt. Struggling to rise, he staggered forward, clutching his side where a deep wound bled freely.
"I'm... from the imperial scouting unit... sent to the outskirts of Novíer..." he gasped. "The troops are gone—aaagh... they're coming... more of them..."
His eyes widened as if reliving a nightmare, and then—silence. He dropped to his knees, then fell face-first into the mud, lifeless.
The gate guards froze in disbelief. One of them stepped forward, visibly shaken.
"W-What did he mean? What's coming...?"
"Quick!" the captain barked. "Send word to the Emperor—now!"
A rider immediately mounted and disappeared into the storm, galloping toward the heart of the empire.
----
At the Imperial Throne...
The sound of heavy doors creaking open echoed through the vast throne hall, thunder rumbling faintly in the distance. Emperor Ba'al sat upon his obsidian throne, still as a statue, his crimson cloak draped like a shadow.
A soldier entered and bowed low.
"My lord. Urgent news from the western gate."
Ba'al didn't move. His voice was like ice.
"Speak."
The soldier delivered the report—every word of it.
The Emperor's eyes narrowed. A flicker of something sharp and ancient stirred in his gaze.
"...So it begins."
He rose to his full height, towering and draped in regal black and crimson.
At the imperial throne, silence lingered after the soldier's grim report. Thunder rolled in the distance, echoing through the obsidian pillars of the grand hall, lightning flared through the great stained-glass windows.
A faint smirk curled on his lips.
He raised two fingers with deliberate ease.
Without warning, a sharp crackle of lightning burst beside him—then fizzled into the shape of a tall, wiry figure cloaked in smoke and static. It was Myrric the Scarred, one of the fiveImperial Supreme Commanders. Kneeling with eerie reverence, his face twitched with an unplaceable smile.
"My liege…" Myrric rasped.
The Emperor's voice was calm, yet cutting like a blade.
"Myrric. Gather your troops and prepare for battle. You're going to Novíer."
"Eliminate every creature you see."
Myrric's expression shifted—his mouth stretched into a crooked grin, wide and disturbing. His scarred face lit with joy, a spark of deranged glee in his eyes.
"As you command… my liege."
And with a sudden crack of energy, Myrric vanished, leaving behind only the faint scent of ozone.
Outside, the storm pressed against the citadel walls. Thunder rumbled like a distant drum, unnoticed. Lightning danced across the sky, brief and sharp.
To the empire, it was just another purge.
But the wind knew better.
Something had stirred beneath the earth—and it was listening.