Aethel-Mar was the undisputed jewel of the Old World, a testament to the longevity and boundless arrogance of the High Elven race. It was a sprawling, continental-scale monument of crystalline spires and living architecture, woven from the fabric of the land itself.
The city was built upon five massive, radial terraces, each aligned with one of the foundational elemental clans: Fire, Wind, Wood, Water, and Earth. The air above the city tasted of ozone and mountain clarity, a result of the Sky-Singer Clan's (Wind) perpetual atmospheric purification spells. Beneath the streets of polished jade flowed rivers of magically condensed water, feeding the vast, shimmering fountains maintained by the Azure-Depth Clan (Water). The defensive architecture was intrinsically interwoven with the impossibly ancient, glowing wood of Eldra-Syl, the central Mother Spire, which pulsed with the refined Life Essence of the Elven homeland.
The High Elves themselves were beings of breathtaking, otherworldly beauty, their very existence a proof of their superior affinity to Mana, the ambient magical energy that flowed through their veins as naturally as breath. They walked with a regal, almost unsettling grace, their movements fluid as running water, their luminous skin shimmering faintly in the city's internalized light. They considered other races to be children, and the beasts of chaos, like the Bane Dragon, to be fascinating but ultimately predictable insects.
This profound purity was protected by the Sunstone Wards, a defensive matrix so complex and ancient that it was not merely a shield, but a cosmic statement. It was fueled by the collective Life Essence of every elf, every ancient tree, and every vital resource within the city's domain. The wards were designed to operate on a level of harmony that mathematically rejected any force derived from chaos, corruption, or base physical hunger.
Alistair watched the city, not from a nearby ridge, but from a silent mountain perch three hundred miles away. He did not need distance to feel safe, but he required it for perspective. He was not looking at a city; he was looking at the largest, most potent Blood Qi battery ever created on this plane, a resource that would instantly elevate his own Sanguine Core to heights far beyond his current cultivation stage. He observed the entire, complex web of energy it represented—the Sunstone Wards, the elemental alignment of its defense, and the fatal, fundamental hubris of its creators.
In the highest chamber of Eldra-Syl, surrounded by glasswork that captured and magnified the morning light, the Council of Five Elders—the governing body and the final authority for the Elven race—had convened. They were seated around a massive, polished heartwood table, the air thick with rare perfume and the subtle, structured power radiating from their ancestral foci. Each Elder represented one of the Five Elemental Clans, the foundational pillars of Elven magic.
The debate over the destruction of the Necropolis and the Bane Dragon Vexalis was not urgent; it was a matter of academic curiosity, an unexpected deviation in a carefully planned eon.
"The reports are confirmed," stated Lord Kaelen of the Flameheart Clan (Fire), tapping a finger on the table, causing a tiny spark of silver flame to appear and vanish. His crimson eyes were sharp, reflecting the kinetic energy and temperamental intensity of his element. "The Dragon Vexalis is now a compressed orb of inert matter. The Necropolis is silent. A force—or an anomaly—has destroyed our greatest warrior-beast."
Lady Annelise of the Sylvenmere Clan (Wood), the most ancient of the five, gently ran a hand over the table's smooth, living surface, the wood responding with a faint green luminescence. Her expression was one of profound, centuries-old dismissal. "They call it the Blood Scourge. A Vampire. A creature of base, chaotic consumption. It used some barbaric counter-force, perhaps a high-grade Shadow-Void enchantment, to defeat Vexalis's shadow blast. Chaos can occasionally defeat brute force. This is not unprecedented, Lord Kaelen. Your concern is misplaced."
Lord Kaelen bristled. "My concern is the nature of the destruction, Lady Annelise. The efficiency. The reports state that Vexalis was crushed, not disintegrated. And the Liches were powdered, their energy not merely repelled, but systematically stolen. No residual magic, no trace of dark mana—only absence. This suggests a control of the fundamental building blocks of life essence that goes beyond standard necromancy or shadow arts. It suggests Refinement."
"Refinement of filth remains filth," drawled Lord Zephyrus of the Sky-Singer Clan (Wind). He was clad in robes of flowing, pale silk, and his movements were quick and often impatient, his focus fleeting like a sudden breeze. "We sent scouts—Wind-Runners. They returned with nothing, stating the Keep felt empty. They believe the monster has fled to some mortal kingdom to gorge itself. It is a powerful scavenger, nothing more. It lacks the structure of True Power."
Lady Coralia of the Azure-Depth Clan (Water), her gown shimmering with the color of the deep ocean, spoke with cool, final authority. Her voice was like liquid ice, calming the agitated energies in the chamber. "The monster's motive is consumption, its method is theft. That is why it cannot touch Aethel-Mar. Our defenses are powered by the Five Elements—Fire, Wind, Wood, Water, and Earth—in perfect, ancient synchronicity. It is a system built on harmony, balance, and selfless contribution of mana. The Blood Scourge relies solely on corruption and corrupted life force. Our Sunstone Wards will simply reject this 'Sanguine Essence' upon contact. We are protected by purity, and purity is absolute. The laws of this world protect us from such base anomalies."
The final word belonged to Elder Grok, the Silent of the Stone-Root Clan (Earth). He was the most physically imposing, his silhouette immense, his robes woven with stabilizing threads of granite, his posture utterly immovable. He rarely spoke, but when he did, his words carried the full, unyielding weight of the earth.
"We will dispatch a delegation of five hundred elite Wind-Hunters to the area. If the entity is still there, they will test its limits. If it flees, it confirms its chaotic nature: strong, but cowardly. But regardless, our focus remains on the structural integrity of the city and the upcoming Renewal Ritual. The Wards are our true domain, and no crude monster of blood can breach a defense powered by a structured civilization."
With that, the Council concluded. They had spent an hour discussing a threat that represented the annihilation of their allies, and yet, due to the paralyzing certainty in their own supreme purity and perfect, elemental magic, they dismissed the creature utterly. The terror of the outside world was deemed an annoying distraction, safely contained by Elven conviction.
Alistair observed the conclusion of the Council through the subtle fluctuations in the land's Life Essence. He did not hear their archaic, self-congratulatory words, but he felt the immense, heavy-footed arrogance that solidified their decision.
The Five Elements.
He spent another week in quiet observation, tracing the energy flow of the five Clans. He watched how the intense, active Fire Essence (Kaelen's clan) was used to supercharge the kinetic defenses; how the mobile Wind Essence (Zephyrus's clan) provided constant magical surveillance; how the structural Water Essence (Coralia's clan) provided liquid shielding and transport. Most crucially, he analyzed the interplay between the deep, unmoving Earth Essence (Grok's clan) and the vast, slow-moving Wood Essence (Annelise's clan).
This entire sophisticated system was a fortress, built to repel Fire, Shadow, Ice, and raw Mana. But it had a singular, critical flaw: the Wood Essence—the life of the ancient trees and the roots of Eldra-Syl—was too slow, too organic, and too Life-adjacent to detect his Sanguine Essence as a threat. It would recognize him not as an enemy spell, but as an overwhelming burst of superior, albeit unnaturally potent, Vitality.
Alistair's own power, refined over ten thousand years of hyper-focused discipline, was not bound by their five simple elements. It was the fundamental Life Force that created the elements. To Alistair, the Elven system was a beautiful, predictable machine, and he was the perfect wrench, designed to dismantle it by striking the only thing it did not account for: a superior, foundational power that spoke the same language as life, but with the intent of death.
He noted the precise, sluggish resonance of the Wood Essence flowing into the immobile Earth Essence conduits. This was the city's Achilles' heel.
His goal was no longer to conquer the city, but to reclaim the Life Essence that fueled it, efficiently and completely. The Elves, in their hubris, had graciously provided him with the blueprints for their perfect, self-destructing battery.
"Wind-Hunters," Alistair murmured, a cold, predatory smile finally touching his lips. "Let them come. They will only serve to fuel the next phase."
He stood, his gaze now fixed on the invisible roots that connected Eldra-Syl to the core of the world. The ten-thousand-year assessment was complete. The methodical, unhurried siege of the High Elven capital would commence not with fire and steel, but with the silent, irresistible siphoning of their very existence.