Shadow Land
It had taken only minutes for my magic to mend the external scars, but the phantom pain deep inside my bones lingered. Worse, my mana pool felt bone-dry, a shallow puddle where an ocean used to be.
The undead were exactly that—undead. No matter what elemental magic I threw at them, they kept rising, their numbers never dwindling.
And then, there was her.
Scáthach. She wasn't just terrifyingly strong; her regenerative abilities bordered on the insane. When I incinerated her to ash, she practically materialized out of thin air, over and over again. I had poured every ounce of my soul into that fight, yet all I could manage was to stall them, not destroy them.
What truly baffled me, though, was this world itself. There was a suffocating lack of atmosphere—no breeze, no whisper of wind—yet I could still breathe freely. The earth was a barren wasteland with no green in sight, and the sun hung in the sky like a dying ember, barely shedding light. It felt like hell, but without the fire. Just an endless expanse of the dead, ruled by their beautiful queen.
'Is she a goddess of death like Ereshkigal? And what is her connection to this trial?'
Questions swirled in my mind, but one thing was certain: she didn't want me dead. If she did, she'd had a thousand opportunities to end me. Instead, she mostly observed, like a strict professor watching a student sweat through a final exam.
====x====
As we passed through the iron gates and stepped into the manor's front yard, the scenery changed slightly. There was grass, but it was completely drained of color, pale and ghostly. A grand fountain stood in the courtyard, completely dry.
Inside, the manor was an echo chamber of empty rooms. No paintings hung on the walls; only a few pieces of sparse, dusty furniture remained.
"Welcome to my home," Scáthach said, her voice echoing. "This place will be yours to stay."
"Only us?" I asked, glancing around the hollow halls.
"Yes. If you don't count the undead. But have no fear, they cannot breach the walls surrounding the manor. Follow me, little king, I will show you to your room."
"Can I ask you something, Teacher?"
"Sure."
"I've noticed this world seems entirely devoid of life. Is there... you know, food and water here?"
She froze midway. Standing right beside her, I caught the exact moment her expression shattered. Her eyes widened, and her mouth opened slightly in a look of sheer, panicked paralysis.
'Oh, you've got to be kidding me.'
"Of course there is food and water, my foolish student!" she barked, a bit too quickly.
I narrowed my eyes, staring at her with deadpan suspicion. I let out a heavy sigh, realizing what a terrible liar she was.
'Water I can use magic, but other food. Without it I will died from malnutrition.'
"Can I at least hunt and cook something edible?"
"Like I said, there is food," she muttered, suddenly finding the empty floorboards very interesting as she avoided my gaze. "Though, if my student insists... he can hunt some game to the northeast of here," she added in a tone so low I could barely piece the words together.
I sighed again, louder this time, making sure she felt the full weight of my disappointment. "Understood. As for water, I can just manifest it myself with magic."
The moment the word 'water' left my mouth, her head snapped toward me. Her eyes were practically glittering with hope. "You can do that?!"
I recoiled slightly, startled by the sudden shift in her demeanor.
'Man, no water at all? No wonder she smells a bit... ripe.' I kept that incredibly rude thought strictly to myself.
"Sure. I can even make it warm, if Teacher wants."
Before I could even finish the sentence, she yanked my hand, dragging me down the northern wing of the manor at breakneck speed. She kicked a set of double doors open, revealing a massive bath chamber. In the center sat a grand tub adorned with a strange, four-headed horse statue.
"Can you fill it?!" she demanded.
I looked at the wildly excited warrior woman, then glanced back at the bathroom. It was caked in black dust and grime. It looked like it hadn't been touched in centuries.
"This room needs to be cleaned first," I pointed out. "Teacher can wait outside for a couple of hours while I prepare the bath. In the meantime... meanwhile Teacher can you go hunt something edible?"
"Deal!"
She vanished, sprinting out of the manor at a speed that left a literal blur in the air. I could only stare at the empty doorway in awe.
"Where did that cold, calculated warlord go?" I muttered.
====x====
Gekai
Deep within the ancient heart of Alf Forest, the royal castle loomed like a great stone titan. The atmosphere was dead silent, until the rhythmic, heavy thud of hooves shattered the stillness.
Striding boldly toward the gates was a magnificent, long-horned stag. Astride the beast sat a rider wrapped in a heavy, deep-blue cloak, their features completely obscured by a deep hood. Yet, despite the unannounced intrusion, not a single guard dared to raise a weapon. Stitched into the fabric of the cloak was the unmistakable crest of the Lunarian—a crescent moon entwined with ancient trees and stars, woven from shimmering golden silk.
More intimidating than the crest, however, was the raw, oppressive magic radiating from the rider. It pulsed through the air, heavy and suffocating, making every mage in the vicinity feel instantly, overwhelmingly inferior.
Waiting at the grand entrance was Hyrmr. Her long, sapphire hair whipped around her face in the rising wind, but her ocean-blue eyes remained fixed on the approaching visitor with a stern, unyielding gaze.
"Welcome," Hyrmr spoke, her voice cutting sharply through the wind. "The King has been expecting you, My Lady."
At those words, the visitor pulled back her hood, revealing her face. She possessed a small, delicate figure that could easily be mistaken for a human teenager, but her long, elegant ears marked her true heritage. Strands of pale silver hair framed her face, and deep blue eyes locked onto Hyrmr.
"We meet again, Hyrmr," Sindarin said. A faint, rare smile cracked across her usually stoic face.
Hyrmr's attention, however, drifted downward. She stared in disbelief at the majestic creature beneath the rider. "Yes, Lady Sindarin. I am glad to see you well... but forgive me if I am mistaken. Is this stag Tanyl?"
"It is," Sindarin replied smoothly.
She dismounted in one fluid, weightless motion. The moment her feet touched the stone ground, Tanyl leaned in, snuggling affectionately against her. Sindarin's expression softened, patting the stag's head with gentle, practiced strokes.
"I will explain the reason she is with me when we are before the King," Sindarin added, her tone instantly snapping back to a sharp, business-like edge. "I dislike repeating myself."
Though Hyrmr maintained her rigid, stoic posture, a sudden flicker of worry flashed through her eyes.
"Understood," Hyrmr replied, bowing her head slightly. "Please follow me, Lady Sindarin."
====x====
They entered a breathtaking throne hall carved entirely from pure, gleaming white marble. A lush, emerald-green carpet stretched down the center of the room, flanked on either side by massive wall banners representing the Jarls who ruled the regions of Alf Forest:
The Jarl of Fanache, Beldroth: A silver wolf gripping a sword.Levos, the Jarl of Wishe: A stag's horn intertwined with a sacred tree.The Jarl of Ryumilua, Folwin: A curved bow and arrow.The Jarl of Yanite, Calarel: A mystical book and wand.
At the far end of the hall, seated upon a grand throne, was King Larfal Ljos Alf. His long, emerald-green hair cascaded over his shoulders, crowned by an intricate circlet of living sacred wood and a brilliant green gemstone—the traditional accessory worn by the lineage of elven monarchs.
His sharp green eyes tracked the two figures who emerged through the towering doors. Though the King recognized the visitor immediately, he refrained from speaking. They stopped exactly ten meters from the throne. Hyrmr immediately dropped to one knee, placing her right hand over her chest and bowing her head deep.
"My King, I have arrived, and I bring the ambassador from the Lunarian."
Sindarin, however, remained standing. She kept her gaze locked directly on the King. For anyone else, such a blatant display of defiance could be punished by death for disrespecting the crown. But the King, knowing exactly who and what Sindarin was, allowed the breach of protocol.
"Good, Hyrmr. You may take your place beside me," the King spoke, his voice echoing off the marble.
Hyrmr stood and moved swiftly to the right of the throne.
"I welcome you, Sindarin, Ambassador of the Lunarian."
"Thank you for receiving me, King Larfal," Sindarin replied, inclining her head just enough to show formal respect. "King Larfal, I come to bring news regarding Oberon—the son of Levos and Viska."
Beside the throne, Hyrmr instantly tensed, a knot of worry tightening in her chest for her dear nephew. Larfal narrowed his gaze, masking his inner anxiety behind a royal facade.
"He is well," Sindarin continued. "Though, sadly, he will not be returning anytime soon. He is to be trained by my associate."
A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the throne room.
It was incredibly rare for the enigmatic Lunarians to willingly teach an outsider elf; even the King himself had never been granted such an honor, nor had his daughter. The King knew how special Oberon was from the intelligence gathered by his right hand, Hyrmr. The reports painted the boy as highly intelligent, disciplined, a workaholic, and profoundly talented—traits his father, Levos, spoke of with immense pride.
Even so, a burning question echoed in the King's mind.
"Why him, Lady Sindarin?"
"Because it is him. That is all I can say," Sindarin replied plainly.
The Lunarians were always maddeningly vague, rarely speaking with absolute clarity. Hyrmr bit her lip, visibly struggling to hold back her words.
"Speak, Hyrmr," the King permitted, noticing her internal battle.
"Will... will he be okay?" Hyrmr asked softly.
"He is strong and resilient, though he is still trying to grasp his true purpose in this world." Sindarin reached into the folds of her blue cloak and smoothly withdrew a wooden staff—pulling it seamlessly from a hidden pocket dimension. "This is proof of his profound connection with the spirits."
This was no ordinary piece of timber. The moment it appeared, a wave of powerful, raw nature energy flooded the room. Everyone present came to the same, awe-struck conclusion: it was a branch harvested from a Sacred Tree.
Sindarin gestured for the staff to be taken. Hyrmr walked forward to accept it, and the moment her fingers brushed the wood, a clear, familiar sensation washed over her. It felt undeniably like Oberon's aura.
"Fashion it into a magic spear. You have plenty of time," Sindarin instructed. Her expression then darkened, her voice dropping to a chilling register. "And lastly, King Larfal, I bring a warning of grave importance... There is movement between Rakia and the Empire."
The words struck the room like a physical blow. Even the King's stoic eyes flinched at the names.
"Rakia and the Empire?" King Larfal muttered, a sudden, throbbing headache flaring behind his eyes as he pressed his palm to his forehead.
"The tides of war are rising, as they always do. But this time, be exceptionally vigilant, King Larfal."
Without waiting for a reply, Sindarin turned on her heel, her blue cloak billowing behind her as she exited the throne room, leaving a deathly, ringing silence in her wake.
The King stared at the heavy doors for a long moment before his voice broke the quiet. "Hyrmr. Gather all intelligence assets immediately. Ready the Royal Guard."
"Understood, my King," Hyrmr bowed deeply, turning to leave the hall with two armored soldiers flanking her.
Left alone on his throne, King Larfal looked out over his beautiful, fragile kingdom, whispering a grim truth to the empty hall:
"War... War never changes."
====x====
Sindarin left the city behind, her footsteps silent as she headed toward the looming mountains. Suddenly, she stopped mid-step. The forest around her was quiet, but her instincts flared. She sensed a presence lurking close by.
"There is no one around," she murmured into the stillness, testing the shadows.
As if answering her call, a figure stepped out from the darkness of the trees. It was a woman with long, dark hair and glasses, dressed in a striking maid's outfit. Perched atop her head, or perhaps resting against her, was a staff topped with a heavy, hammer-like head.
Sindarin observed her unknown visitor in silence, her expression unreadable.
The woman bowed gracefully. "Greetings, Lady Sindarin. My sincerest apologies for tailing you without your consent," she said, her voice smooth. "My name is Varda. I am a companion and servant to my master, Oberon. I am here to ask about him."
Sindarin scrutinized her. Varda looked perfectly human, but the sheer density of natural energy radiating from her betrayed her true origin. She was something else entirely.
"He is not in this world," Sindarin stated flatly.
Hearing those words, Varda's polite demeanor instantly fractured. The warmth vanished from the air, replaced by a dead, biting cold, though a rigid smile remained plastered on her face. Despite the shock, Varda kept her mind sharp; she knew the figure standing before her was no ordinary elf.
"Stand down," Sindarin commanded, her eyes sharpening as the air around them began to crackle and repel. "Your master is safe. He is in the Realm of Shadows, where the Shadow Queen resides. Her guidance is exactly what your master needs to grow stronger."
The suffocating tension slowly bled out of the air. Varda's white-knuckled grip on her staff finally loosened.
"My apologies for my short-sightedness, Lady Sindarin," Varda murmured, bowing her head.
Without another word, Sindarin waved her hand dismissively, turned her back, and walked away. Varda stood frozen, watching the elf's silhouette slowly dissolve into the dense, dark forest.
Left alone, Varda let out a long sigh, a heavy mix of relief and fear knotting in her chest. For now, her master was safe—and it was up to her to hold down the fort as his right hand.
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