House of Light

Lady Freya glanced at me with a hint of approval as I entered her chamber. The night was veiled in a curtain of cold rain, the kind that made the world outside seem distant and still, save for the steady rhythm of droplets against stone. Earlier that morning, I'd left fresh hay in the stable for Mr. Benji, the warhorse I'd rescued years ago. He was a beast of strength and loyalty, and I took care to see him fed before setting my mind to the evening ahead.

Nights like this held a certain rhythm. I'd sneak into Lady Freya's chamber, drawn to the stories she alone could tell, tales woven from threads of history and mystery. She was a woman of profound wisdom, her years carved by experiences beyond my understanding. "Come in, Richy," she called softly, her voice imbued with the warmth that the storm outside lacked. "By now, you should know sneaking around changes a little on a night like this."

She always wore that knowing smile when the rain fell, as if the storm granted her leave to delve into the past. And I was there to listen, as earnestly as she listened to Pastor Jeremy's sermons on holy Sundays.

"Lady Freya," I began, settling by the hearth where the embers glowed faintly, "the merchants speak of war, inevitable and close. I hear the rumors and can't help but think of the stories you've told me—of how the present is shaped by the past. I need to understand why we live the way we do, why conflict is so common these days."

Lady Freya's dark brow arched, her honey-brown eyes reflecting a quiet pride as she regarded me. She knew my curiosity was natural for someone my age. When you're young, the past holds a certain allure, but as you grow older, the present demands attention, with all its harsh realities.

"Well then," she sighed, gesturing for me to sit closer, "if it's understanding you seek, I shall tell you a story—a tale bound to the troubles we face now."

I leaned in, anticipation and a tinge of disappointment mingling within me. Another dive into the past, I thought. She noticed my hesitance and patted my knee gently. "To grasp the present, you must first know how it came to be. The answers often lie in the stories of old." I nodded, readying myself for the tale. Her voice, smooth and comforting like the sound of raindrops against glass, wove the story's beginning.

"Richy, every conflict has a root buried deep in darkness, and the wars of today stem from unresolved sins of the past. Centuries ago, there was a fragile balance that kept the five realms united. This harmony was ordained by the Gods, who entrusted its protection to one race. The Elven King, the first of his kind, was given a sacred gift—the Moonlight. The Gods built a temple deep within the Silent Sea, a place where this light connected Myros and Vaelira. Under this radiance, peace flourished, and songs filled the forests. Creatures of all kinds thrived in loyalty to the light, and harmony reigned."

"Let me guess," I interjected, excitement bubbling over, "then something happened." Lady Freya smiled at my impatience and continued, "Indeed, something did happen. Humans, with their ceaseless ambition and restless hearts, began questioning why the Elves were chosen to bear such power. What made the Elves so deserving? What gave them such a sacred bond with the divine? Such questions gave rise to envy, and with envy, darkness took root. The peace was shattered, and the songs of the forests fell silent as war erupted."

"You see, Richy," she said, her tone tinged with somber wisdom, "light and darkness are bound together, as inseparable as day and night. When envy festered within human hearts, it twisted the light into something foul, leading to a conflict that couldn't be avoided. The Elves were slaughtered, their lands torn apart, and those who survived retreated into shadow, waiting for the day when they might reclaim what was lost." I frowned, pondering her words. "If the Gods could change the course of events, why did they let the Elves suffer?"

Lady Freya turned her silver head toward the rain-streaked window, gazing at the tempest outside as though seeking answers beyond our realm. A faint, wistful smile curled at her lips. "You're growing wise, Richy. The Gods grant us life, but they cannot dictate our every step. We are their creation, yes, but we're also given the freedom to choose our paths. Our souls are not fully theirs. When humans let envy lead them astray, they brought forth the darkness from within themselves. The war was the consequence of that choice."

She paused, taking a sip from her cup of warm goat's milk, then continued. "The light was stolen, and the Elven kingdom laid waste. But the Elves were not entirely lost. They endured, as those who fight for their very existence always do. Over centuries, their numbers dwindled, yet their hidden sanctuary—Valarya—remained unconquered, protected by the last remnants of the Moonlight."

"Years later, a new king arose among the Elves, a ruler of Valaryan blood—wise and cunning. He gathered his scattered people and forged alliances across the world. Though he lacked the power to reclaim the Moonlight, he focused on rebuilding his kingdom and restoring hope—that's what a true king does. But his reign was brief. The strength of men grew, their conquests multiplying. Lands were seized, and borders redrawn."

"The Elven King understood that so long as his people survived, they would be seen as a threat. War broke out again—darker and more savage than before." "It was about wiping out the Elves for good, wasn't it?" I murmured, sorrow tugging at my heart.

"Indeed," Lady Freya replied softly, her voice heavy with regret. "But..." She leaned closer, her eyes gleaming with a hint of mystery. "Legends say the King had a child—a prodigy born of the Moonlight. It is foretold that one day, the Moon Temple will be restored and the songs will once again fill the forests."

A thick silence settled over the room, broken only by the steady patter of rain against the window. I looked out at the dark, swirling clouds and sighed. "If only that were true." The night was deep, the stars hidden from sight, and only the distant sound of Mr. Benji stirring in the stable reminded us that, beyond the stories and the rain, life still moved on.