The gate of Fort Gelran creaked slightly in the wind as Arwin led Luenor and Hera through the gated entrance now in disrepair. Father time had not treated the fortress too kindly; the outer wall had collapsed long ago, the grand towers reduced to shattered stone teeth, and yet despite this, the deeper they entered into the fort ruins, the more obvious it was— this ruin had been disturbed.
Arwin slowed, narrowing his eyes even further. Gripping the sword with a tighter hand, they traversed the snowy courtyard.
"This isn't right," he whispered.
Luenor took a gulp. "What do you mean?"
Arwin effectively scanned the ground. Then, he noticed the faintest traces— disturbed snow, footprints just too fresh to have happened decades ago.
"Someone has... been living here," he mumbled.
Even Hera could feel this now. The air felt... observed. As she instinctively moved closer to Luenor, gripping his own gloved hand tightly.
As they went beneath the collapsed arch, Arwin gestured for then to stop.
"There," he said softly, pointing to some lumpy, uneven snow near the dilapidated stairwell. The irregularity of the disturbed snow was not natural. Someone had been moving stones here recently.
"Stay close," Arwin ordered.
They made their way deeper into the fortress, stepping carefully around old debris. But as they neared what appeared to be the remains of an inner keep, Luenor's boot suddenly caught on something—a thin line, barely visible in the snow.
Snap.
Before Arwin could shout, a pressure-triggered rune flared beneath Luenor's foot. A loud crack echoed through the keep, followed by a sudden rush of shifting stone.
Arwin spun around, blade drawn, but it was already too late.
From the shadows above, figures dropped silently to the ground—cloaked in white and grey, blending almost perfectly with the ruined stone and snow.
Elves.
Scores of them, armed with sickle blades and longbows, arrows already placed on the heads of the trio.
Arwin was tense, prepared to cover the children, but even he knew there were just too many.
An elf - taller than all the rest - stepped forward. Pale eyes coldly regarded the trio, while the elf watched with his bow drawn, steady, and aimed.
"Drop your weapon," the elf said in a low voice.
Luenor's breath caught as Hercules clutched his hand in a tight grip.
Arwin didn't move, his jaw clenched.
The elf 's bowstring pulled taut. "Now".
Arwin's jaw clenched tighter as the pressure in the air thickened. Luenor could feel Hera shivering next to him as the bowstring of the elf commander's bow creaked ominously.
"Drop your weapon," the elf said again, flatly.
Arwin's knuckles turned white as he gripped the hilt of his sword. His honor, his life—everything that made him a knight of Sureva—was tied to his sword. A knight did not relinquish his weapon. A knight did not bow to the steel of foreign peoples.
But then, softly, from behind him, she spoke.
"Arwin... drop it."
Her voice quivered with tension; however, the weight of her command fell on him like a hammer. Arwin closed his eyes for a moment. He stopped breathing.
"My Lady…" His voice broke in protest.
"Do it," she whispered again, her fingers moving tightly around Luenor's arm.
Arwin stayed frozen, suspended between his oath and his obligation to his duty to protect the last heirs of Sureva. Finally, with a shaky breath, he dropped his sword into the snow. The hollow thud was louder than a bomb going off.
He had broken his vow.
The elves didn't hesitate. They moved swiftly, binding the trio's hands behind their backs with braided mana-rope, glowing faintly with containment runes. Arwin offered no resistance, though his head hung low, shame written in every line of his face.
"Move," the elf commander ordered.
They were marched deeper into the heart of the ruined fort—but it wasn't a ruin anymore.
As they emerged into the passage, the entire scenery changed before their eyes. The fortress had come back to life.
As Luenor stepped into what could only be described as a hidden village, his jaw dropped, and he blinked his eyes in surprise. Tents and wooden constructions emerged from the stone themselves! Bridges of many woven vines skirted around collapsed towers. Glowing crystal lanterns floated through the air, like fireflies guiding the way through gardens and homes hidden among the ruins. The warm air begged for Luenor to stay even longer, and the light hum of mana infused his skin with sensation.
Behind him, the young elf attendant smirked.
"Welcome to Valen'Dar, human, the heart of the Frostwood Tribes!" The elf exclaimed with pride. "You stand within the Forest's Breath, a place where mana and life breathe together."
"Faren!" hissed a brittle voice from behind Hera.
A female elf, older and far more serious than the other, offered a fuming glare to the boasting warrior before poking a finger at Faren and sternly commanding, "Quiet your tongue."
Annoyed, the elf named Faren bit his teeth together and paused momentarily, as he pushed forward the human.
The three had no choice but to push further into the magical village, as confusion and fear whirled in their heads.