The morning light filtered gently through the woven silk curtains of Katsu's room, casting dappled shadows on the wooden floor. Outside, birds sang in slow, delicate notes—as if they, too, were careful not to disturb the serenity of the forest.
Katsu stirred beneath his moss-woven blanket, blinking against the light. His fingers reached up to rub his eyes, and for a moment… he hesitated.
He had dreamed again—something cold, something wrong. But as always, the memory dissolved like mist the moment he opened his eyes.
He sat up slowly, brushing his pure black hair out of his face. The house was quiet, save for the rhythmic splash of water and the soft hum of his mother's voice.
Katsu slipped out of bed, barefoot on the smooth floor, and made his way to the kitchen. His mother stood by the basin, rinsing vegetables with graceful, practiced motions. A gentle glow clung to her skin where sunlight touched her, as if the light loved her too much to leave.
"Ah, you're awake," she said, glancing at him with a warm smile. "Come help me with the herbs. They need sorting before the midday heat wilts them."
"Yes, Mother," Katsu replied, stepping beside her without hesitation.
For a while, they worked in silence—efficient and harmonious. Katsu separated the dried leaves from the roots while Elanara folded freshly washed cloths beside him. The home smelled of mint and forest sage, grounding him in the present.
Then, as she bundled the last cloth, his mother glanced sideways with a knowing look. As they worked together, Elanara glanced at him and said, "Tonight is Enastrae."
Katsu paused. "The moon festival?"
She nodded, wiping her hands on a cloth. "Yes. Tonight, under the full moon… at Libneh Grove. It's the Festival of Enastrae."
She looked up toward the trees, voice soft with memory. "We'll bring our offerings to the Memory Tree—carvings, petals, beads—little pieces of gratitude for the goddess of the forest. And when the moon is highest, the Moonshadow Dance will begin. Even the animals feel the call of Enastrae—they'll be watching too."
Katsu's eyes lit up. He always loved Enastrae. The hush of Libneh Grove beneath the moonlight, the rustling leaves overhead, the graceful silence of the dancers—it felt like nature itself held its breath just to watch.
"Can we go?" he asked with a grin.
His mother laughed softly, brushing his hair back. "Of course. Canna will be coming too, after she finishes her studies."
Elanara smiled, and turned back to her work. "Then finish those roots for me. Canna will want tea when she returns from the village."
"Yes," he said quietly.
----
While Elanara and Katsu worked on the morning chores, the peaceful rhythm of their routine was broken by a sudden thud—something dropping outside.
"Katsuuu~!" a familiar voice called from the doorway.
"...?" Katsu blinked.
"Must be your sister," his mother said with a knowing smile. "Go help her out, I'll finish this."
"Yes, mother." Katsu dried his hands and walked to the door.
Outside stood Canna, struggling to carry a bundle of books—some had already slipped from her arms.
"Sis? ..." he said, stepping forward.
"Katsu~, help~," she groaned, a mix of exhaustion and amusement on her face.
Katsu quickly picked up the fallen books. "Why didn't you just use magic?"
"... I forgot."
"Haysst. You really borrowed a lot again..." he muttered as he helped her inside.
"The elder said I could borrow as many as I wanted," Canna replied airily, settling into a nearby chair.
"Would you like some tea, Canna?" Elanara asked from the kitchen.
"Yes, mother," Canna answered with a smile, brushing a loose strand of black-purple hair from her face.
After bringing the books up to her room, Katsu bounded back down the stairs. "Hey, sis! You coming to the festival with us tonight, right?" he asked eagerly.
Canna glanced at him, then at the bird perched on the windowsill—Cirus, her spirit companion. "Hmm… maybe. I'd like to see it this year. And I think Cirus wants to play too," she added with a soft laugh.
"Woah, great!" Katsu beamed.
Elanara returned, placing a cup of warm tea beside her daughter and gently patting her hair. "Here, your tea, my dear."
"Thank you, mother." Canna smiled, warmth glowing in her eyes.
Elanara looked between her two children, her voice as gentle as a breeze through leaves. "Have you both decided what you'll offer to the Memory Tree tonight? Do you need help preparing them?"
Canna rested her fingers around the teacup, thinking. "I was considering a wind-carved pendant. Just a small one… something with a whisper in it." She looked down, then up with a soft smile. "I think the forest would like that."
Katsu rubbed the back of his head. "Hmm… I'm not sure yet. Maybe I'll carve something too? Like a little fox, or a bird. Something the forest would recognize."
Elanara chuckled lightly. "Both lovely ideas. The goddess doesn't ask for grandeur—only sincerity."
She brushed a strand of Katsu's hair behind his ear. "Let me know if you'd like me to help gather wood or petals."
Katsu nodded. "Thanks, mom. I think I want to try carving it myself this time."
----
Night fell softly over Aurelya.
Moonlight bathed the forest in silver as the Faelwyn family stepped onto the glowing path leading to Libneh Grove. Bioluminescent moss lit their way, twinkling with each step like the forest itself was guiding them. All around, other elves emerged from their homes—draped in flowing silks, bearing gentle smiles and quiet offerings.
A gentle thud echoed nearby—a towering stone golem lumbered past, its moss-covered shoulders swaying with each step. Its glowing eyes flickered briefly toward them. Elanara offered a small bow of respect; the golem nodded, then continued on its slow pilgrimage toward the grove.
The grove came into view—a wide, open space beneath the stars, cradled by the arms of ancient trees. At its heart stood the Memory Tree, weathered and tall. Its bark was gnarled and dark, thick with age and moss, and its great branches stretched out like open arms, heavy with leaves that rustled quietly in the breeze. There was no glow, no shimmer—only the solemn presence of a tree that had stood longer than memory, a witness to generations. Its roots wove gently through the earth, grounding the grove like an anchor in time.
Already, elves were gathering beneath it—placing carved tokens, beads, pressed petals, feathers, and other humble gifts at its roots. Quiet prayers and thank-yous floated up like mist. Others sat nearby, eating small meals with family, sharing gentle laughter and stories beneath the moon.
The Faelwyn family approached the tree together, quiet and reverent.
Elanara stepped forward first, placing a basket woven from forest blooms at the tree's base. Inside were carefully wrapped pieces of bread, herbs, and flower petals—an offering of nourishment and gratitude. She closed her eyes for a moment, whispering a silent prayer to the forest goddess.
Canna followed, her hand steady as she laid down a small pendant she had made herself—etched with runes and laced with quiet magic. It shimmered faintly, pulsing once with warmth before settling into stillness. She touched the bark gently, then stepped back.
Katsu hesitated a moment longer, clutching his carved gift close to his chest. Then, with a determined breath, he knelt and placed it among the other offerings—a small wooden fox, lovingly shaped and sanded smooth. Its little ears were uneven, and its tail curled slightly too much, but it stood proudly on all fours.
It was definitely a fox. Definitely.
He looked up at the tree's glowing canopy, eyes wide, then smiled.
With their gifts given, the family shared a glance—something quiet passed between them, like a thread of peace.
Then, naturally, they parted.
Elanara drifted toward a circle of older women—healers and caretakers—sharing herbal tea and soft conversations.
Canna wandered toward a group of young elves, a few of whom carried staffs or rune-etched books. They exchanged scrolls, spoke in hushed excitement about magical theories, and admired each other's crafted offerings. Cirus, ever graceful, soared above them in lazy loops before landing silently on a branch.
Katsu had already spotted his friends near the grove's edge, where the trees opened into a wider space. He ran over, clutching a small wooden carving in his hand. The group was playing quietly—hiding behind trees, mimicking the forest creatures, laughing with restraint in the way elven children do.
Above them all, the moon watched silently. The breeze carried no words—but in the language of rustling leaves and fluttering wings, the forest was alive.
Tonight was Enastrae.
And the forest remembered.
----
As the night deepened, the sacred hush of the grove thickened like mist. The full moon rose high—bright and round—casting its pale light over the gathered elves and the Memory Tree's silvery limbs.
A soft chime rang out, clear and gentle, like the first drop of rain on still water.
It had begun.
From the space before the Memory Tree, a group of robed elves stepped forward, their movements slow, fluid, and precise. They wore no ornaments, no bright colors—only simple flowing garments the color of moonlight and bark. Barefoot, they moved in silence, their shadows stretching long across the glowing grove.
The Moonshadow Dance had begun.
No one spoke.
No one needed to.
The dancers flowed like the wind through leaves—each motion a poem, each turn an echo of nature's rhythm. Arms rose like branches reaching for stars. Steps rippled like water beneath still roots. At times they moved as one, at others they danced alone—yet always, they remained part of the whole.
The forest, too, responded.
The petals drifting from the Memory Tree twirled in unison. Fireflies hovered in patterns that mimicked the dancers. Even the animals—deer, owls, small foxes—sat or stood at the edge of the clearing, eyes calm, listening.
The elves around the grove watched in peace. Some sat upon stones or nestled in tree roots. Others stood, arms around loved ones, their expressions serene. Quiet music drifted from a hidden corner—flutes, maybe, or the wind through reeds.
The Faelwyns were there, together.
Elanara sat beside her children on the mossy ground, her hands resting calmly in her lap, eyes closed as she listened to the quiet music of the grove.
Canna leaned gently against her mother's shoulder, fingers idly stroking Cirus' soft feathers where he perched beside her.
Katsu nestled close, cross-legged, his chin resting on folded arms, eyes wide with silent wonder.
No one laughed.
But no one needed to.
The joy of the forest was in its stillness—its remembrance.
Tonight, the forest danced not in noise, but in memory.
Above them, the full moon watched in silence, its silver gaze casting soft light through the trees. The petals of the grove whispered with the wind, as if echoing stories too old for words.
And while the elves honored what was, far beyond Aurelya's borders, under the same moonlight...
...a very different night had begun.
----
Far across the land, on the storm-blasted ridges of Novíer...
A cold wind brushed across the empty stone, whispering between sharp, jagged ridges. The night stretched still and breathless, as if the land were holding something in.
No birds. No beasts. Only silence.
At the edge of a broken cliff, Myrric the Scarred stood with his arms crossed behind his back. His black coat fluttered lightly in the dry wind. Behind him, his personal division waited—dozens of disciplined soldiers clad in dark armor, faces masked, movements precise.
But Myrric was smiling.
Always smiling.
"You feel that?" he muttered, his voice low and amused. "The land's gone tense. Like a drum... right before the strike."
He turned his head slightly—one scarred eye glinting in the moonlight.
"Let's give them what they came for."
He stepped forward, toward the wastes—where the ground had begun to breathe. Where faint cracks had already split the earth.
A whisper rose behind him—not from the wind, but from below.
Something was waking.
And Myrric welcomed it with open arms.
He stood still on a slope of cracked stone, coat swaying in the breeze, scarred face angled toward the faintest sound — a scraping, like bone dragging across rock.
Behind him, a few dozen soldiers, cloaked in dark-gray uniforms bearing the mark of the Zevarrák Empire, moved in deliberate silence. Their eyes swept the barren landscape. Spears hummed with lightning. Crossbows gleamed with arcane triggers.
"Movement. Northwest," rasped one of the scouts, kneeling beside a ridge.
Myrric tilted his head. "So slow. Were they always this slow?"
No one answered. The wind did.
From behind a twisted ridge, the first of them emerged — demonkin, small and wiry, their skin like ash and eyes glowing with faint red. They skittered on four limbs, barbed and animalistic. Their spines bristled like quills.
One hissed.
Then another.
Then a dozen more crept from the rocks, crawling like insects, clicking claws against stone.
A low grunt from a soldier: "Class Ones. Unorganized."
Myrric exhaled sharply, almost disappointed. "Then it won't be fun for long."
One of the demons let out a shriek and charged. The others followed in a twisted, chaotic rush.
"Hold," Myrric whispered.
And then — with a sweep of his arm —
"Now."
A roar of lightning burst from the front lines. Arcs of energy leapt from spearheads, catching demons mid-leap, bursting them into dust. Arrows thudded. Blades met flesh.
But they kept coming.
Claws scraped against armor. Screams echoed between stone teeth of the land. One soldier was dragged off his feet — a second pinned by three demons before another blade split them in two.
Myrric moved through it all like a phantom, never rushing, never wasting motion. His sword flicked once, and a demon's head spiraled away. His fingers twisted, and a pulse of violet light shredded two more.
His grin widened.
"They're louder than they used to be," he murmured, kicking one aside.
Then—he paused.
One of the demons wasn't attacking. It crouched on a rock, watching him — not with rage, not with hunger.
With recognition.
Myrric narrowed his eyes.
Then the ground shifted.
A long, low crack echoed through the battlefield — not a sound made by claw or stone, but something beneath them. The earth trembled slightly.
Myrric slowly turned his head toward the ridge where the fissure had been forming — the one he noticed earlier that day, hairline at the time, bleeding warmth and silence.
Now, it was wider. Longer.
And moving.
"Commander," a soldier warned, stepping toward him, "the ground—"
A sharp, black limb pierced through the fissure with a sudden, insectoid snap. It curled against the stone, bristling with hooked edges like a sickle.
Another limb followed. Then another.
Myrric tilted his head, his grin fading.
From the crack pulled itself a demon unlike the others — tall, thin, arachnoid in form, with jagged limbs and a carapace that shimmered like obsidian. Its many eyes blinked in unnatural rhythm, and a slit of a mouth opened beneath a crown of bone.
Then more came.
The fissure cracked wider, coughing black mist and bitter wind, and few more of the arachnoid creatures began to crawl out — fast, deliberate, silent. The demonkin scattered as these new forms took their place, some even retreating as if afraid.
The soldiers tensed.
"A new class?" one of them muttered.
Myrric didn't answer. He watched them climb, unblinking.
He smiled again — but this time, there was no amusement.
Only fascination.
It stood, taller than Myrric, and did not charge.
It looked at him.
Then the crack widened further, and many more began to crawl out. Dozens. Maybe more. All similar — fast, precise, terrible in silence.
The soldiers readied themselves. Still no one broke formation. These were not men who fled.
Myrric raised one gloved hand, still watching the new arrivals.
"Reform the lines," he said calmly. "These ones are worth testing."
The troops obeyed without hesitation, sliding into formation like blades into sheaths. No panic. No hesitation. Only resolve.
The demonkin from earlier began to scatter, not toward the soldiers — but away. Pushed back by the presence of the newcomers, as if they too understood something had changed.
Myrric exhaled through his nose, eyes glinting in the pale light.
"Good…" he whispered to himself. "Now show me what lies beneath."
He drew his blade slowly — a curved thing, humming with faint electric light.
And with that, the next clash began.
The soldiers of Zevarrák held the line.
They moved like iron against chaos, blades flashing, formations adapting, spells woven between formations. Though the demons came in waves—feral, frenzied—the imperial battalion stood firm.
And at their center stood Myrric the Scarred, watching it all unfold.
He was fascinated.
The class-one demons were nothing like before—lankier, taller, arachnoid forms with piercing limbs and jagged eyes. They surged from the widening crack like a flood of sharpened nightmares.
Myrric tilted his head, entranced by the violence.
So beautiful, he thought. So raw. So unrefined.
Then—
He froze.
A sudden jolt passed through him.
His breath hitched.
His eyes widened.
Something was behind him.
He hadn't noticed. Not even a whisper of arrival. Yet he knew—it was already there.
His neck stiffened.
He didn't dare to turn.
The air around him grew impossibly still.
Heavy.
His shadow no longer matched the flames around him—it stretched too far. Warped. Stretched up.
Behind him, a silhouette floated—poised midair as if seated on invisible wind. Legs crossed. Head slightly tilted. Look with boredom.
Watching.
The soldiers saw nothing—locked in battle, none turned or paused.
Only Myrric felt it.
He thought,
"What is that...? A demon with human appearance?"
"...Interesting."
A soft, high giggle slipped past his lips.
Then the figure moved.
"Weaklings..."
Without sound. Without force.
It lifted one finger—slowly. Pointed.
Right. At. Him.
And at the exact moment Myrric turned—
BAM!
A searing beam of lightning tore from the heavens—brighter than flame, louder than thunder.
It struck him dead center.
And the world turned white—a blinding flash tore through the sky, white-hot and final.
And then—
Silence.
----
Katsu blinked awake, the sound of wind brushing past his window.
The storm—if it had been a dream—was gone.
He yawned and rubbed his eyes, the scent of forest dew drifting into his room. Soft light spilled through the vines hanging near the open window. Somewhere below, birds chirped lazily, and the stream outside his family's cottage murmured in a steady rhythm.
It was another quiet morning in Vaelora.
He sat up, stretched, and glanced at the little wooden animals lined neatly on his shelf. His fox carving from last night sat among them—finished now, somehow. He tilted his head, confused for a moment, but shrugged it off.
Today was nothing special.
No plans.
No chores.
Just… a walk.
Katsu dressed quickly, slung his little pouch over his shoulder, and tiptoed past the quiet hallway where his mother and sister were still asleep. He grabbed a berry from the kitchen bowl and headed outside.
The morning mist was still curled around the roots of the trees. Sunlight pierced through in pale rays, dancing across the mossy ground. Katsu took a deep breath, grinned, and sprinted into the forest.
He ran like a shadow of the wind—jumping, ducking, climbing—leaping from root to rock, swinging on low branches like a forest monkey. Birds scattered. Small creatures chirped in surprise. A curious fawn darted away, and Katsu waved mid-jump.
He wasn't just playing. He had a mission: collect herbs and tea leaves for his mother and sister. He checked under leaves, behind stones, and along trickling streams, tucking each find carefully into his pouch.
But then—he froze.
Not far ahead, beneath the slanting sunlight, stood a figure cloaked in a travel-worn hood. Alone. Still.
Katsu narrowed his eyes. His body lowered like a panther preparing to pounce.
No hesitation.
He lunged from the trees with a flying kick, silent and swift.
The cloaked figure turned at the last second and casually sidestepped.
Katsu whiffed past—and landed face-first into the mossy dirt with a loud thump.
"Seriously, Katsu," came a familiar voice. "Could you please stop ambushing me every time I come home? One of these days I'll mistake you for a wild boar and skewer you."
Katsu rolled onto his back, groaning. "Welcome back, Uncle Thalen."
The hood was pulled down, revealing a man with unkempt silver-streaked hair, a rugged face with a few fresh scratches, and sharp eyes that looked like they'd seen too many roads. Thalen Faelwyn. Elanara's younger brother. Katsu's favorite uncle—and least favorite sparring partner.
Thalen let out a sigh, then reached down and lifted Katsu effortlessly, tossing him over his shoulder like a bag of vegetables.
"Alright, let's go see your mom before she sends Canna to come drag me in."
Katsu flailed a little, his face pressed sideways into Thalen's back. "You know, just because mom can heal scratches doesn't mean I like getting them."
"Then stop throwing yourself at armored travelers like a forest bandit."
Thalen patted his nephew's leg with mock sympathy. "Be careful, will you?"
"Yeah, yeah…" Katsu mumbled, clearly sulking. Not because he was hurt—but because he missed again. He still hadn't landed a single strike on his uncle after all these years.
As they made their way through the forest—Thalen striding with ease, Katsu dangling over his shoulder—they were just a short walk away from the quiet house of the Faelwyn family… still unaware that something had shifted far beyond their peaceful woods.
----
Back at the Faelwyn house, the morning had begun with the usual calm.
Canna was already awake, seated cross-legged by the window in her room. Books floated gently around her, pages turning with a flick of her finger as soft winds swirled beneath them. Her eyes moved swiftly, absorbing every line, her focus undisturbed even by the sounds of birds outside.
Downstairs, Elanara hummed quietly to herself while preparing breakfast. The aroma of herbs, roasted roots, and warm bread filled the air. She moved with practiced grace—slicing, stirring, heating—her white-silver hair tied neatly behind her.
Then, a knock.
Thump-thump.
From the kitchen, Elanara paused, her ears twitching slightly. She wiped her hands on a cloth and moved toward the door.
Opening the wooden door, she was met by a familiar sight.
"Welcome back, Thalen," she said, a warm smile blooming on her face.
"Hello, Sister," Thalen replied, grinning broadly.
She raised a brow, tilting her head. "New scars again?" Her eyes dropped to the scuffed armor and bandages on his arms.
A muffled grunt came from his shoulder. Elanara's eyes widened with amused recognition.
"Katsu?" She giggled softly. "Again, huh?"
Thalen gave a playful smirk. "Still hasn't landed a single one. But he's trying."
"Well, put him down and come inside. You too, troublemaker." She stepped aside, motioning them in.
Thalen stepped in with a stretch and a yawn.
Katsu slid off his uncle's shoulder with a small huff. Before heading to the stairs, he reached into his pouch and pulled out a handful of fresh herbs and tea leaves, carefully wrapped in large green leaves.
"I got these from the forest," he said, handing them to his mother. "The ones you like for tea… and some for your aches."
Elanara accepted them gently, her smile softening further. "Thank you, dear. You always remember."
With a small nod, Katsu then padded toward the stairs to call his sister.
Thalen started removing his worn traveling gear. "Need help with anything, Sis?"
Elanara shook her head as she returned to the hearth. "No, no. Just sit down and wait a moment. You've earned some rest."
Upstairs, Katsu peeked into Canna's room.
"Hey, sis! Breakfast's ready!" he called.
Then, louder and with a grin, "Oh—and Uncle Thalen's here! Come down now!"
Canna blinked, her eyes lifting from the hovering pages. "…?" She gently waved the books closed and stood up.
"Yes. Coming~"
Katsu rushed down the stairs, nearly slipping on the last step. His sister, ever composed, followed with graceful steps, a book still in one hand.
Elanara was just placing the final bowl on the table—steamed vegetables, freshly baked rootbread, and a fragrant herbal soup.
"Thank you, sis," Thalen said as he stretched his arms with a grin.
Elanara nodded with a warm smile. "Now, kids, take your seats and eat while the soup's still hot. Thalen, you too."
They all settled around the wooden table, the soft morning light filtering through the windows, casting leafy patterns on the walls.
"So," Thalen began as he picked up his spoon, "how have you all been doing?"
"We're doing fine," Elanara answered, glancing fondly at her children. "You know, Katsu has already started learning a bit of magic from his sister."
"Ohhh~ is that so?" Thalen said, clearly impressed.
"Yes, uncle!" Katsu beamed proudly. "I made a water deer!"
Canna smirked, sipping her soup. "It was a chimera at first."
Thalen burst into laughter. "Seriously?"
Katsu shot his sister an indignant look.
Elanara chuckled, covering her mouth. "Alright, that's enough teasing, you two. Katsu, finish your food."
Thalen grinned and turned to Canna. "Canna~ you've gotten taller, haven't you? Oh, and—maybe you could teach your uncle some magic too while I'm here?"
"...Maybe," Canna replied, sniffing the air subtly before turning a pointed look at him. "Uncle… you smell."
"!!!" Thalen froze, eyes wide. Then he slumped in his seat. "S-Sorry…"
Katsu giggled behind his bowl.
Elanara sighed with amused affection. "Haysst… Finish your food already. And Thalen—go take a bath later."
"Yes, ma'am," Thalen muttered sheepishly, scratching his head.
----
After breakfast, the Faelwyn home settled into a calm, familiar quiet.
Canna sat by the bow window, bathed in soft daylight, reading her book with one leg tucked beneath her. Elanara was weaving a light shawl at her chair near the hearth, her fingers moving with quiet precision.
Thalen stepped out from the bathroom, now looking fresh and clean. He ruffled his still-damp hair with a towel as he walked into the living room.
"Heyy, Katsu—don't touch that," he warned, spotting the boy fiddling with the straps of his travel bag.
Katsu froze mid-reach, caught like a fox in daylight.
Thalen sighed, walked over, and dropped into a chair with a grunt. A brief silence passed.
"…He still hasn't come back?" he asked quietly, glancing toward his sister.
Elanara didn't look up from her weaving. She just shook her head.
Canna's eyes flicked sideways from her book but said nothing.
(...)
"Whooa!" Katsu exclaimed suddenly, still digging through the bag.
"Katsu," Elanara called gently without looking, "stop that or something might cut you."
"Oh, by the way, Thalen," she added, "you missed the Moon Festival last night."
"Hm?" he grunted. "Maybe I'll visit later. Catch the after-party spirits."
Then, with a sly grin, he turned to Elanara. "Hey, sis. Mind if I borrow your son for a bit? Thinking we could head to the forest. Just some fun." He winked.
She smiled, threading another string through her loom. "Alright. But don't break his bones, will you?"
Katsu blinked, looking between them, confused.
Thalen chuckled. "Hey, Katsu! Gear up—we're going to the forest."
"Huh??" Katsu blinked again, then grinned wide. "Wait, really!?"
Just then, Canna looked up from her book with an unimpressed expression. "Uncle... maybe dress up first?"
Thalen froze—struck again.
"...Yes," he muttered, defeated.
He turned stiffly toward the stairs. "U-uhhm, Katsu, wait for me at the front door."
Katsu snickered and bolted out of the room with excitement.
----
Sunlight filtered through the dense canopy, dappling the forest floor with patches of golden light. The scent of moss, bark, and wildflowers hung fresh in the air.
Katsu dashed ahead, skipping over roots and stones, his feet nimble and light. The pouch on his side bounced gently with each stride. He leapt to grab a low branch and swung himself upward, scaling the tree like he was born for it.
"You're gonna lose me if you keep that up!" Thalen's voice called from behind, boots crunching along the trail.
Katsu grinned, standing tall on the branch. "Not my fault you're old!"
Thalen smirked. "Alright. You asked for it."
With surprising speed, the older elf shot forward. Katsu yelped and dropped back down, sprinting through the underbrush with laughter in his chest. Birds fluttered from branches. A pair of glimmerbeetles zipped by in a blur of blue.
They kept on like that for a while, teasing and racing until the trail curved deeper into a quieter, greener part of the woods. Here, the air felt cooler, and the trees stood older, their trunks thick and twisted with age.
Finally, they paused to rest by a fallen log near a glade.
Katsu crouched down, inspecting a patch of moss and flowers. "I remember this place. There should be moonleaf here for Mama. And silvershade for Canna's tea."
"Already thinking like a proper gatherer," Thalen said, wiping sweat from his brow. "You're growing fast."
Katsu didn't answer immediately. He was squinting at something—tiny white buds hidden under broad leaves. He plucked a few carefully, then paused.
"Uncle," he said, glancing sideways, "do you think Father will come back soon?"
Thalen looked at him for a moment, the humor in his face softening. The forest breeze stirred between them.
"I don't know, Katsu," he said honestly, "but I believe there's more to his story than silence."
The boy nodded slowly, placing the herbs in his pouch. A hush settled between them—not heavy, but thoughtful.
Then, with a clap, Thalen stood. "Well, we came here for fun too, didn't we? How about I show you something cool?"
Katsu's eyes lit up. "What is it?"
Thalen reached into his coat and pulled out a small wooden whistle carved with runes.
"Watch this."
He blew a short, sharp note.
From the trees came a rustle. Then, bursting from the foliage, a large beast bounded into the clearing—it looked like a deer, but with shimmering fur and faintly glowing antlers.
"A forest warden!" Katsu gasped.
The creature nuzzled Thalen's arm gently.
"She remembers me. Helped me once, years ago." He stroked the creature's neck. "You won't see her if you're just rushing through life."
Katsu stepped forward, eyes wide, hand outstretched. The creature sniffed his fingers before giving a low, musical grunt.
He looked at his uncle, beaming. "I want to meet more creatures like this."
"You will," Thalen said. "Just promise me you'll stay curious… but cautious."
Katsu nodded.
Just then, a flicker of something stirred in the corner of Thalen's eye. He turned sharply—just birds.
Still, he narrowed his gaze toward the deeper woods.
"Alright," he said, "let's gather what we need and head back before your mom throws my spear out the window."
Katsu laughed.
Katsu rummaged through a nearby thicket, his sharp eyes catching something long and weathered poking from the ground. He tugged at it, pulling free a thick, slightly curved wooden branch, dried but sturdy.
"Hey, uncle! Look at this!" he called out, holding it high like a sword of legend.
Thalen turned from inspecting some moss. "Woahh," he said with mock awe. "That's a good sword you've got there, Katsu."
"Right?" Katsu puffed his chest out proudly, giving the stick a few wild swings. "I shall defend the forest from evil spirits!"
"Watch out!" Thalen chuckled, ducking dramatically as the stick whooshed past. "Careful where you swing that thing, hero."
Katsu laughed, then stopped and looked up at him with serious eyes. "Ohh, right! Uncle, could you teach me swordsmanship while you're here in Vaelora? Pleasssee? I'm bigger now, I could do it!"
Thalen blinked, pretending to think hard, then rubbed his chin. "Hmmm… I don't know. I'm afraid your mother would be mad if I turned her gentle little boy into a wild blade-swinging warrior."
"It's okay! We won't tell anyone." Katsu leaned in, whispering with a mischievous grin, "It'll be our secret. Hehehe."
Thalen raised a brow. "A secret, huh? You're starting to sound like a rogue."
"I am a rogue!" Katsu declared. "A rogue swordsman of the deep forest!"
"Well," Thalen leaned closer, lowering his voice to match, "if we do this, you must swear the first rule of swordsmanship."
Katsu's eyes widened. "What is it?"
"Don't. Hit. Your. Trainer." Thalen smirked.
Katsu snorted. "Pfff. I won't! Probably."
"Then it's a deal," Thalen grinned and offered his pinky.
Without hesitation, Katsu hooked his pinky with his uncle's. "Deal!"
A light breeze rustled the leaves above them, and somewhere not too far off, a bird let out a melodic whistle. The quiet peace of the forest wrapped around them again.
Thalen stood, stretching his arms. "Alright, rogue swordsman. We've got some herbs to gather first. And after that—maybe a lesson or two."
Katsu nodded enthusiastically, still clutching his wooden "sword" like a treasure.
As they continued walking, neither noticed the faint shimmer between two distant trees—like a ripple in the air, gone before it could be seen twice.
----
Up above, nestled on a high tree branch near the edge of Vaelora, a sleek spirit bird rested — its feathers faintly shimmering with silver-blue light. Cirus tilted his head, keen eyes following the two figures below: a boy with a wooden stick and a man with an adventurous smile.
He let out a low, breathy trill — a sound only one elf in the village would understand.
Far away, back at the Faelwyn house, Canna sat cross-legged by the bow window, a book open across her lap. Her eyes, however, weren't on the page. She watched the scene through the forest canopy with calm amusement, the breeze teasing a strand of hair across her cheek.
A soft giggle escaped her lips as she saw Katsu dramatically charge at a tree with his stick-sword while Thalen exaggeratedly pretended to be wounded.
"They're like children," she murmured.
"Technically, one of them is," Elanara said gently from her seat across the room, her hands still weaving a soft, pale green shawl.
Canna smiled, returning her gaze to her book.
----
The sun dipped lower, casting golden rays between the trunks of Aurelya's trees. Thalen and Katsu walked side by side, a small pouch of freshly gathered herbs bouncing at the boy's side.
Katsu hummed a tune softly, twirling his stick over his shoulder. "Uncle, can we go again tomorrow?"
"We'll see," Thalen said, ruffling his hair. "Depends if I survive your 'sword training.'"
Katsu grinned, teeth flashing.
As they emerged from the edge of the forest and the Faelwyn house came into view, the golden light caught the windows. Warmth spilled from inside — a glow of home.
Elanara stood at the doorway, waiting with that gentle smile of hers.
"Dinner's almost ready," she called out.
Katsu ran ahead. "We're home!"
Canna peeked behind her mother and raised a brow. "So, rogue swordsman—did you defeat the tree?"
"I did! It didn't stand a chance!"
Thalen followed behind, chuckling as he shook his head. "He'll make a terrible warrior. But he might make a great storyteller."
"I heard that!" Katsu pouted.
The door shut behind them, the laughter lingering in the quiet evening air.
Above, high in the trees, Cirus fluttered once before vanishing into the wind — nothing but a shimmer, as if he had never been there at all.