prologue 1
"Hurry up, lad. We need to finish before sunset," Roger called out to his son. "After so long, the world will finally know peace again," he added, his voice heavy with a mixture of relief and exhaustion.
Roger, a man in his mid-forties, looked much older than his years—war had aged him prematurely. He and his thirteen-year-old son, Trevor, were busy packing their belongings, cramming them into the weathered cart that had been their lifeline during the conflict.
"But Father, hasn’t the war ended yet?" his daughter asked from where she rested nearby.
Roger knelt beside her, brushing a strand of hair from her face. He smiled softly. "Yes, my dear. The war is over, at long last."
Her face brightened at his reassurance, and Roger felt a sense of peace watching his children smile again, something he had long feared he might never see. They finished loading the cart, both of them weary from the labor. There was a billet nearby where they had taken refuge during the war, and Roger made his way there to purchase food for his children and a modest ale for himself.
The owner of the billet was an older man, even more weathered than Roger. Approaching him, Roger offered his gratitude. "So, this is it. It’s time for us to part ways. Thank you for all your kindness. I’ll never forget it. These past months, you gave shelter to me and my children."
"I didn’t do it out of kindness," the old man replied curtly. "You worked for me, and that’s why I let you stay. I don’t give out charity."
Roger had always tried to make friendly conversation with the man, but it was clear he wasn’t interested. He was guarded, shut off from the world. Roger had never discovered what had made him this way, but he believed no one was born like that—something had hardened the man’s heart.
Still, Roger smiled and nodded before taking his leave. Returning to the cart, he lifted his daughter gently onto it. "Let’s go, my dear," he said.
"Will we never come back here, Father?" Trevor asked, standing beside the cart.
"I don’t know, Trevor," Roger replied thoughtfully. "We go where destiny leads us. If it brings us back here, so be it."
He gave his son a reassuring pat on the shoulder, then climbed onto the cart. As they set off on their journey, a mix of emotions tugged at them. Sadness at leaving the place they had called home for over six months, yet joy at the thought of finally returning to their true home. They were war refugees, but now, at last, the war was over, and they could begin the long journey back to the city they once knew.
"Is Mother waiting for us at home?" his daughter asked, her voice soft with hope.
"Yes," Roger answered, though his tone carried little confidence. "I believe she’s fine."
He had not seen his wife since the day they fled. She hadn’t been in the city when it was attacked, and the thought that she might believe them dead haunted him. But all Roger could hold onto now was hope, fragile though it was.
They traveled down the empty, silent road, the weight of their long journey ahead of them. Though uncertainty clouded their hearts, they carried with them the hope of reunion, their faces touched by the faintest of smiles.
The city was on the verge of being declared the capital of the new empire. It was the largest and most magnificent city in the entire human realm. The streets were adorned with vibrant decorations, and the air was alive with music and dancing. The war had finally ended, bringing about a peace the people had long yearned for. More importantly, a single king would now rule over all humans, replacing the cruel and corrupt lords who had dominated for so long.
In the midst of the celebration, a group of young men were drinking and talking, their spirits high. One of them, with a drink in hand, stood up and called for attention.
"Everyone, a moment please! Let’s take a second to honor those who fought in the war—and let’s not forget to honor ourselves as well, especially our friend Jon," he said, motioning to Jon, who sat across from him. Jon raised his cup and gave a modest smile, while the others patted him on the back and cheered.
"Jon fought in the war, right alongside King Derxes himself!" the boy continued enthusiastically. "Together, they defeated the mighty elves and the ruthless human lords!"
The group cheered even louder.
"They crushed the great Elvish Empire of the East! They killed the Elven king, Meryon, and his son, Rothomir!" he proclaimed, raising his cup higher.
"Yes!" the crowd roared in unison.
"And they overthrew the houses of the cruel human lords, they—"
Jon interrupted the boy, his tone firm but not unkind. "That’s enough, lad. It’s time for the grand moment—the coronation of King Derxes. We should hurry."
Everyone in the group felt a rush of excitement. The cruel human rulers who had oppressed them for years were finally gone, and a new era was dawning—a future filled with hope and the promise of a golden age. They made their way to the grand palace that King Derxes had built after the war. It was an impressive structure, the likes of which had never been seen before by human eyes. Only the elves had constructed such magnificent palaces in the past.
Crowds were pouring in from all corners of the land, eager to witness the coronation and to see the splendor of the new palace. Celebrations filled the streets as people from every walk of life gathered in jubilation.
Roger and his children had also arrived at the city, their faces lighting up with smiles as they took in the sight of their home after so many long months away. The streets were full of laughter, children running, and women singing—an atmosphere of joy and relief. It was the moment they had all been waiting for.
As they made their way through the marketplace, people welcomed them warmly, as they did with all the returning refugees. Roger brought the cart to a stop in front of an inn, and the family dismounted, weary from their long journey. They were hungry, and so they went inside and ordered food.
Roger approached the innkeeper, eager to learn what had transpired in the city after the attack. "What happened to the people when the city was attacked?" Roger asked.
The innkeeper sighed, his voice heavy with sorrow. "Most fled," he said. "Those who didn’t… well, many were killed or taken prisoner, especially the women."
Roger’s heart sank at the words. The weight of the innkeeper’s tone only deepened his worry. The innkeeper noticed Roger’s troubled expression and asked, "Did you lose someone, sir?"
"My wife," Roger replied quietly.
The innkeeper’s face softened. "I’m sorry to hear that. May I ask your name?"
"Roger," he answered.
The innkeeper hesitated before speaking again. "Roger, if she were to return, she would have by now. It’s been too long. You might have been the last to come back."
Roger forced a smile, but there was no joy behind it. His hopes, fragile as they were, had crumbled. He returned to his children, trying to mask his sorrow.
"Is Mother safe?" Trevor asked, his voice tinged with worry.
"I don’t know," Roger admitted, his sadness barely concealed. But he quickly put on a brave face and smiled at them. "But don’t worry—your mother is a tough woman. She’ll make it."
His daughter, Eila, smiled up at him, trying to hold onto hope. "I hope she does," she said softly.
As they sat together, Roger noticed a man nearby staring intently at Eila. The man’s gaze was sharp, and it made Roger uneasy. Sensing the tension, Roger stood up and told his children it was time to leave.
"Let’s go see the king," Roger said, taking his children by the hand as they headed into the crowd that was surging towards the palace. The streets were packed with thousands of people, all eager to witness the coronation.
"Hold tight," Roger instructed his children, guiding them through the dense throng. But as they pushed forward, Roger suddenly realized that Eila was no longer by his side. Panic gripped him as he looked around, calling her name.
"Eila? Eila! Where are you?" he shouted, his voice rising in desperation. "Eila!"
She was missing. Panic gripped Roger as he searched the crowd for his daughter, Eila. Trevor, his son, joined in, shouting her name, but there was no trace of her. Roger’s heart raced, and he felt utterly lost, darting around aimlessly. His eyes landed on a soldier, someone familiar—it was Jon.
"My daughter... I can't find her. She was with me, and now she's gone," Roger said, his voice trembling with fear and desperation. Jon, seeing his distress, quickly stepped in to calm him down. He led Roger to a chair, offering him some water to drink. Trevor stood by, his face full of worry.
"Now, tell me clearly what happened," Jon said, his voice steady.
Roger tried to compose himself. "My daughter, Eila—she was right beside me in the crowd, but I lost her. I’ve looked everywhere, but I can’t find her."
Jon placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Don’t worry, sir. We’ll find her."
Jon motioned to his friend, Harry, who was nearby. "Harry, go with Roger. Search the area thoroughly. And you," he pointed to Trevor, "come with me. Don’t worry, Roger. We’ll find her safe and sound."
Roger nodded, still anxious, but a little more hopeful. Harry and Roger set off in one direction, while Jon and Trevor went the other way, combing the streets and alleys. As they moved, Jon asked Trevor for more details about Eila.
"How old is she? What was she wearing?" Jon inquired.
"She’s seven," Trevor replied. "She was wearing a pink dress. She has golden hair and blue eyes."
"Good. Don’t worry, we’ll find her," Jon said, giving Trevor a reassuring smile.
They searched through the market streets, the old buildings, and even the ruins left behind by the war, but there was no sign of Eila.
Meanwhile, Harry and Roger had reached a river that separated the city from a small forest on the outskirts. They crossed the river and ventured into the woods, hoping to find some trace of the girl. As they walked deeper, the sun began to set, casting long shadows over the land. The road ahead split into two paths. Harry turned to Roger.
You take the left path. I’ll go right. If you see or hear anything, shout for me," Harry instructed.
They parted ways, each moving cautiously through the darkening forest. As Harry ventured deeper into the woods, something caught his eye—a large stone covered in blood, and nearby, the gruesome sight of a horse, cut cleanly in half.
"By the seven hells..." Harry muttered to himself, horrified by the sight.
He moved closer, realizing that the horse was not just any horse—it bore the royal insignia. "It’s... It’s King Derxes' horse," he murmured, confusion and fear gripping him. How had the king's horse ended up in this remote part of the forest, mutilated in such a brutal way?
Before he could process what he was seeing, a sharp cry echoed through the trees. Harry froze, his hand instinctively going to his sword. He turned towards the direction of the sound and cautiously followed it. As the forest grew darker, the light of the rising moon cast eerie shadows around him. Eventually, he saw a faint glow in the distance—a light coming from a house deep within the woods.
"That’s the old forest house," Harry whispered to himself. "No one’s lived there for years... So why is there light?"
He approached the house quietly, his heart pounding. As he neared, he could hear voices inside. Moving closer, he peeked through a window. What he saw made his blood run cold.
Inside were two large, imposing men—both with the long, pointed ears of elves. They were tying up a man who appeared unconscious. It was Roger. Harry’s heart sank. He watched as Roger stirred, slowly regaining consciousness, only to be struck down by one of the elves.
"Shut up, old man!" one of them barked, silencing Roger’s pleas.
Harry crept around the back of the house for a better view. Now, he could see clearly inside. Along with the two elves, there was a tall woman—an elf as well, with long, white hair and piercing blue eyes. Her skin was pale as snow, and she wore a black gown, her neck adorned with a necklace that held a gleaming blue emerald. In her hand, she held a large, menacing dagger. Before her, tied to a table, was a small girl—Eila.
The woman was chanting something in a language Harry didn’t understand, her voice growing louder and more intense. The sight of his daughter on the table made Roger cry out in despair.
"Eila! My daughter, Eila!" Roger’s voice cracked with emotion. He struggled against his bindings, but one of the elves struck him again.
"Silence, you fool!" the elf growled.
The woman’s chanting continued. She raised the dagger, holding it toward the ceiling, as a black smoke began to swirl around it. The air grew thick with dark magic, and Harry, hiding outside, knew that something terrible was about to happen.
Suddenly, the chanting stopped. The elf woman lowered the dagger, bringing it to Eila’s forehead. Slowly, she dragged the blade down the center of the child’s face, drawing blood as it pooled and dripped into a pot below. With a swift motion, she slit Eila’s throat.
"No!" Harry screamed, unable to contain himself any longer. His cry echoed through the forest, alerting the elves inside.
The two elves immediately looked towards the window, spotting Harry. Knowing he was outmatched, Harry did the only thing he could—he ran. The elves quickly gave chase. As Harry sprinted through the trees, he glanced back, seeing one of the elves draw a bow. An arrow flew through the air, striking Harry’s leg. He collapsed in pain but forced himself to pull the arrow out and continue running, blood streaming down his leg.
Another arrow whizzed past, this time hitting his shoulder. But Harry pushed through the pain, mounting his horse and spurring it into a gallop. Behind him, one of the elves raised his bow again, but his companion stopped him.
"Let him go," the second elf said. "We need to return."
Reluctantly, the elf lowered his bow, and they disappeared back into the woods.
Harry was bleeding badly, nearly unconscious by the time he reached the town. As he arrived at the inn, he fell from his horse, collapsing to the ground.
Jon, who was nearby, rushed to his side and caught him in his arms. "What happened? Who did this to you?" Jon demanded, his voice filled with concern.
"The woods... the old house..." Harry struggled to speak, his voice barely a whisper.
"Easy, easy now," Jon said, trying to calm him.
"She killed him... and the girl... elves..." Harry’s words were faint before his eyes rolled back, and he lost consciousness.
"Get the horse and take Harry to the maester," Jon ordered one of his men. As they carried Harry away, Jon turned to Trevor, who had overheard everything. The boy’s face was pale, his eyes wide with shock. Tears streamed down his cheeks.
Trevor knew exactly who Harry had been talking about—his father and sister. Jon's heart broke for the boy. He knelt down and embraced him, trying to offer some comfort.
"I loved them. They were my only family. I didn’t want them to die," Trevor sobbed into Jon’s shoulder.
Jon gently rubbed the boy’s head, his own heart heavy with grief. He couldn’t find the right words, so he just held Trevor closer. "I’m with you," Jon whispered, though he himself was deeply troubled by what he had just heard. Elves, murder, dark magic—it didn’t make sense. Elves weren’t supposed to be anywhere near this city, not after the war.
Jon’s mind raced. He wanted to investigate the woods himself, to see what had happened, but the king’s coronation was happening, and as the king’s closest friend, Jon couldn’t abandon his duty. Still, his gut told him something was wrong.
"We need to go to the woods," Jon muttered to one of his companions.
"It's time, Jon. The king is in the palace now," his friend reminded him.
Reluctantly, Jon decided to stay. He couldn’t leave King Derxes on such an important day, so he brought Trevor with him and headed to the palace.
The palace was splendid, a magnificent structure filled with opulence. The grand hall was already packed with people awaiting the king’s arrival. The air buzzed with excitement and anticipation. Jon, however, couldn’t shake his unease. His thoughts kept drifting back to Harry’s words—elves, murder, a little girl, and Roger’s death.
Jon led Trevor into the hall, trying to remain vigilant. The grand ceremony was about to begin. Just as he was deep in thought, the people rose from their seats. King Derxes entered the hall, accompanied by his queen and several noble lords from different regions. The king, dressed in a dark blue and black robe, looked every bit the powerful ruler he was. His long hair flowed to his shoulders, and the women in the crowd swooned at his presence.
But it was the queen who truly captivated everyone’s attention. She was an elf—undeniably the most beautiful creature in the room. Her golden gown shimmered in the candlelight, and her long, silky blonde hair cascaded down her back. Her sea-blue eyes were like jewels, striking and mesmerizing. Despite the past conflicts between humans and elves, everyone admired her beauty. She stood beside the king, serene and graceful, and beside them stood the noble lords.
Jon’s mind was spinning. His instincts screamed at him that something was amiss. He kept scanning the room, looking for any signs of danger. The elves shouldn’t have been anywhere near here, yet Harry had spoken of them. Jon knew he needed answers, but now was not the time.
As he tried to calm himself, he overheard two girls nearby whispering.
"He’s so handsome," one of them said, glancing at one of the lords.
"I heard he’s the queen’s brother," the other girl responded.
"Isn’t he supposed to be dead? Brother Jon told me once," the first girl said, puzzled.
"I heard the king killed him on the battlefield," the second girl replied.
"Doesn’t that make the queen bitter?" the first girl asked. "I’d be furious if someone killed my brother."
"No, not at all. The queen’s heart is pure. She’s so kind," her friend said confidently.
"How do you know she’s not evil?" the first girl asked, curious.
"I spoke with her once, and I could just feel it. She even mentioned that her mother is coming to the ceremony. I think she’s upset about her son’s and husband’s deaths."
"You’re so lucky. I wish I could talk to her too," the first girl said, her eyes wide with admiration.
"What’s going on here?" Jon interrupted, surprising the two girls. He smiled at them, but his mind was elsewhere.
"Brother, you scared us!" the girl named Mary exclaimed.
Jon chuckled lightly, but his thoughts were serious. "And what were you talking about?"
"The queen," Mary’s friend replied shyly.
"The queen, huh? Shouldn’t girls your age be more interested in the king?" Jon teased, raising an eyebrow at Ana, the other girl.
"But she’s so beautiful, Brother Jon," Ana replied, clearly in awe of the queen.
Jon smiled, though his mind was already racing again. "And what’s this about her mother?"
Ana’s eyes lit up. "The queen told me her mother would be here for the coronation! She said she’s upset about her son and husband, but I can’t wait to see her. She must be beautiful too."
Jon’s expression changed, his confusion deepening. "The queen’s mother... the Queen of the Elves?" he asked, his voice full of disbelief.
"Yes!" Ana confirmed excitedly.
"Who told you this?" Jon asked, now deeply concerned.
"The queen herself!" Ana replied, beaming.
Jon’s heart skipped a beat. No one had told him the Queen of the Elves was coming. If that was true, it could change everything, especially with what Harry had just told him. Something was very, very wrong.
