In the throne room, the familiar soft hum of living wood surrounded them, Kirellion motioned for them to stand in front of the throne. The guards withdrew but still remained vigilant. Thalanar remained seated, a predatory piercing gaze remaining on the trio.
Kirellion leaned upon his staff again and spoke, gently this time. "Tell us child, your story. Do not be afraid, but speak truth. The forest hears you."
No one spoke for a moment. Slowly, Hera stepped forward, she appeared small before so many sharp-eyed elves but her voice did not shake at first.
"We...we are all that is left of House Sureva."
The assembled elves gasped with mute surprise, whispers overlapped themselves in response to her statement. Even Thalanar leaned forward to listen, an inscrutable expression on his face.
Kirellion raised his hand silencing the gathering throng of elves.
"Continue," he said gently.
Hera's breath came faster as she fought to tell her story. She told of the fall of Sureva, told of the night they watched their home burn, of the execution of their father. She spoke of the plot, the false evidence, and of how Duke Siegfried now had their family's name in ruins.
But halfway through, her voice cracked. She paused, struggling to hold back the tears threatening to spill. Her shoulders trembled, and she choked on the words as the weight of it all finally broke through.
"I… I watched them hang my father…" Hera whispered, her voice breaking into sobs. "And I… I couldn't do anything… I couldn't…"
Luenor reached out to steady her, but it was Arwin who stepped forward.
The knight clenched his fists, bowing his head as he took over the story. He recounted everything Hera could not—Richard's sacrifice, the ambush in the snow, the explosion in the Frostwood. He told of their narrow escape from Nag's forces and their flight to the fort.
The room fell into stunned silence as the story ended.
Kirellion lowered his head, closing his eyes as if weighing the weight of every word. The elves shifted uneasily, their expressions mixed—some looked doubtful, others sympathetic, and a few openly skeptical.
Finally, Thalanar broke the silence.
"Strong words," he said quietly. "But outside these walls, your House is guilty of crimes against our people. Slaver. Forbidden magic. Murder. Why should we think otherwise?"
Arwin tensed, but before he could speak, Luenor stepped forward.
"My father... didn't need slaves. He had the loyalty of his people," Luenor said. His voice was unsteady at first, but grew steadier. "Our clan, in building Sureva, gave of themselves, yes... but not by taking lives. The black market? Why? Our riches were from the Frostwood silver in its veins and from trading routes older than the half of the kingdom."
He balled his fists. "And my mother... she was a descendant of Sieha Qamarcus-- the one who fought for peace with both elves and dwarves."
His words hung in the air like ice on the wind.
Whispers ignited among the elves. Kirellion turned to Thalanar and made eye contact. Their words remained unvoiced, but their silent debate pulsed like a current between them.
Finally, Thalanar nodded to the councilors of their tribe amassed at the base of the throne, who leaned in to whisper in their native tongue, but both knew it was ancient. They contemplated for what was a surprisingly long thrum of silence.
At last, Thalanar leaned back.
"You speak boldly… and perhaps truthfully," the chief said. "But Valen'Dar will not carry the weight of your House's feud. You shall not be prisoners here."
Kirellion tapped his staff once on the ground. "We offer you safe rest for the night. In the morning, you will be escorted to the nearest human village. From there… your path is your own."
Arwin's jaw tightened, clearly wanting to protest, but he said nothing. He knew better than to press his luck here.
Luenor nodded, gently pulling Hera closer as she wiped her face.
Kirellion motioned to Faren, the younger elf who had first boasted of their tribe's strength. The elf approached with a smirk that had softened to something more curious than mocking.
"This way," Faren said, motioning them to follow.
The trio was led out of the great hall, through winding wooden bridges and crystal-lit corridors. The air smelled of fresh herbs and burning incense. Villagers watched from a distance as Faren escorted them to a modest hut nestled beneath a great arching root.
"There," Faren said, gesturing toward the entrance. "Water, bedding, and a little warmth. It's not much, but you'll sleep safely tonight."
He paused before leaving, glancing at Luenor once more with a small grin.
"Rest while you can, Surevas. Tomorrow, the forest sends you back to the world."
And with that, Faren disappeared into the shadows, leaving the three alone for the first time in what felt like forever.
Luenor let out a long, shaky breath.
Safe—for now.