As we walked, people bowed their heads to Elarion. Some even whispered his name like a prayer. The Beast Slayer. The Silver Fang. The Heir of Dorta. They did not look at me, and that suited me fine. I preferred the shadows.
The marble doors of the council hall loomed ahead, engraved with the crests of the three races — the open palm of man, the moonleaf of the elves, and the burning sigil of the mages. Two guards stepped aside and struck their spears against the floor. The sound rang like a bell, deep and commanding.
"Lord Elarion Vaerielle," one announced.
"Lady Elyndra Vaerielle."
"And Kaelith Dorran of the Western Marches."
The doors opened with a deep groan, and we entered.
The chamber beyond was circular, its walls lined with crystal veins that pulsed faintly with light. At the far end stood three thrones carved of different stone — obsidian, marble, and crystal — upon which sat the elders of Caelvorn.
The Elder of Men, Tharion Vale, wore a cloak of black fur clasped with a golden lion's head. His hair was gray, his eyes sharp and battle-tired. He was once a general of the human kingdoms before their fall, and rumor said he had buried more friends than he could count.
The Elder of Elves, Myrathen Ae'lin, was tall and thin as a blade of silver grass. His hair fell like spun moonlight down his shoulders, and his skin had the pale glow of old starlight. His gaze was deep and ancient, filled with that mournful wisdom elves carried — the curse of remembering too much, some said it was the curse of living for two centuries.
The Elder of Mages, Archmage Corvell, sat motionless, cloaked in deep indigo. His beard was long, braided with small runestones that glowed faintly with power. His eyes were the color of dying embers — dull, distant, as though they had seen the beginning and end of all things.
The three rose as we approached, their robes sweeping across the marble floor like ghosts of an older age.
"Lord Elarion," Tharion said first, his voice low and gravelly. "You bring word from the outer enclaves?"
Elarion stepped forward, his armor catching the soft blue light of the hall. "I do, my lord. The enclave beyond Moria has fallen. We found what remained in chains. The beasts had raided three nights prior. We freed the captives and brought them through the pass."
The elders exchanged grim glances.
Corvell spoke next, his voice like wind whispering through hollow stone. "And the beasts? Did they pursue you into the highlands?"
"They did not," Elarion replied. "But they have crossed into the old lands of Varethia."
The silence that followed was palpable — a heavy thing that settled over the room like a shroud. Even the runes on the walls dimmed for a moment, as if the mountain itself was holding its breath.
Myrathen rose slowly, his hand resting upon the arm of his crystal throne. "You are certain of this?"
"I saw their tracks myself," Elarion said. "Ogre footprints. Wyvern talons. Signs of movement through the valley of ash."
Corvell's expression did not change, but the runes woven into his beard flared briefly — a flicker of deep, troubled light. "Then the wards are weakening," he murmured. "The spells woven by the first mage cannot hold forever."
Tharion slammed a fist upon his armrest. "Varethia is the only barrie standing! If the beasts move freely there, they will soon reach the outer woods of Caelvorn. The Blood Wars will begin anew."
I watched them argue, my heart a quiet drum in my chest. The child I had rescued earlier was somewhere outside, perhaps sleeping now among the refugees. He would never understand the meaning of this moment, but I did. The world was beginning to stir again — the same world that had nearly ended once before.
Then, as though summoned by fate, Myrathen's cold eyes turned toward me. "And what of you, Lady Elyndra?"
The sudden weight of his gaze made me stiffen.
Elarion's jaw tensed. "She—"
But Myrathen silenced him with a graceful hand. "I would hear it from her lips."
I bowed my head slightly, though pride burned in my chest. "I was in the outer enclave, my lord. When the beasts came, I… hid among the humans until the rescue."
Tharion leaned forward, his weathered face darkening. "Hid? You left the walls of Caelvorn — the one place that could keep you safe — and wandered into lands we cannot defend?"
I met his stare. "I wished to see the world beyond our prison."
"Prison?" Tharion barked. "These walls have kept you alive, girl!"
Myrathen's tone was quieter, but sharper. "You risked not only your life, Elyndra, but ours as well. You know what you are. You know what would happen if the beasts discovered you."
"I do," I said softly. "But I am tired of living as a shadow."
Corvell's eyes finally lifted to meet mine, and in them burned a strange, weary understanding. "A shadow you may be," he said, "but a dangerous one. Your blood is not to be spilled beyond these walls. The moment your lineage is known, both realms will hunt you — man and beast alike."
"I did not mean to endanger anyone," I whispered. "The raid came without warning."
Elarion stepped between us then, his voice hard as tempered steel. "Enough. She has suffered enough scorn for one night. The fault lies with me. I should have kept better watch."
Myrathen's gaze softened faintly — just faintly. "You are her brother, Elarion, not her keeper. Yet the time may come when neither kinship nor sword can shield her. You know this."
He said no more, but the words hung in the air like an omen.
Tharion rose from his throne and began to pace before the others, his boots echoing sharply against the stone. "We must reinforce the passes," he muttered. "If Kaer'Thal's beasts have crossed the Black Ravine, the mountain wards will not hold long. The wyverns will find the skies above the Vale, and when they do, Caelvorn's hiding place will burn."
"We do not have the forces," Elarion said grimly. "Half our soldiers are stationed in the Western tunnels. The rest guard the river gates."
"Then we call the banners," Tharion snapped. "Every man, elf, and mage old enough to wield a blade must stand ready. The world beyond our walls is gone. If we fall, there will be no one left to light a candle in the dark."
Myrathen turned to Corvell. "What of the Council of Mages? Can they restore the wards?"
Corvell's lips curved in a faint, bitter smile. "Restore them? Perhaps. But only with blood. The old magic demands sacrifice, and we have sacrificed enough to fill a thousand years of graves."
The room grew quiet again. Somewhere above, a droplet of water fell from the ceiling and struck the floor with a sound like a single tear.
Tharion sank back into his throne, exhausted by the weight of his fury. "Then we prepare for war," he said softly. "The Blood Wars never truly ended. They merely slept."
Elarion's eyes met mine, and in them I saw the storm of his thoughts — the fear he would not voice. I looked away. I knew the truth he feared: the beasts had found our scent again, and they would not stop until they devoured the last remnant of our kind.
Myrathen's voice cut through the silence. "Lady Elyndra, you are confined within the inner sanctum until further notice. No more ventures beyond the walls."
I opened my mouth to protest, but Elarion's hand on my arm silenced me. His grip was firm, not cruel, but filled with warning.
"As you command," he said on my behalf.
The three elders exchanged solemn nods, and Corvell raised his staff. The runes on the walls flared to life again, bathing the room in silver and blue.
"Then the council is adjourned," the Archmage intoned. "May the mountain hold, and may the moon watch over our dying flame."
As we turned to leave, I cast one last glance at the thrones. The elders looked weary, like statues carved from sorrow. And I wondered — if even they had lost faith, what hope remained for the rest of us?
Outside the chamber, the air felt colder. Elarion walked ahead, his cloak trailing like a shadow of command. Kaelith stayed beside me, his voice low.
"You shouldn't have gone," he said.
"I know," I replied.
"You scared him," Kaelith added with a faint smile. "Elarion hasn't slept in days. He thought he'd lost you to the beasts."
"Would that have been so terrible?" I murmured.
He stopped walking. "Don't say that."
"I'm tired, Kaelith," I said quietly. "Tired of being hidden away. Of pretending I am not what I am."
He studied me for a long moment, his expression softening. "You are what the world is not ready for," he said. "But one day, it will have no choice."
The sound of distant forges filled the silence — hammers striking steel, sparks hissing into darkness. Life went on within the mountain, even as doom crept closer through the world beyond.
When we reached the outer corridor that overlooked the city, I stopped and looked down. Below us, the refugees from the raid were being tended by healers. Fires burned in the courtyards. Children huddled beside their mothers. And among them, the little boy I had rescued was playing quietly with the wooden horse Kaelith had given him.
A strange ache bloomed in my chest — sorrow, perhaps, or guilt.
Elarion turned to me at last. His voice was gentler now, the edge gone from it. "Go to your quarters. Rest. The elders are right — you must remain unseen for now. Whatever happens beyond these walls, I will face it."
I nodded, but my heart rebelled. Deep within, something stirred — the restless whisper of the blood I carried. The blood of man, of elf, and of dragon. It pulsed in my veins like a sleeping storm.
As I watched the fires flicker below, I felt it — faint, distant, yet undeniable — a pull, like a voice carried on the wind. It came from beyond the mountains, from the lands of Kaer'Thal.
A call I did not yet understand.
But soon, I would.
And when that time came, even the gods would tremble.
I did not heed Elarion's command. Instead, I lingered by the window of my quarters, watching the slow bleed of daylight fade beyond the peaks. When night finally descended, I slipped into its silence and made my way toward the ancient oaks by the clear stream that wound through the mountain. Someone awaited me there.