Things had gone smoothly for Darken. He had avoided any judgment that might threaten his life. Yet he remained confined within the borders of the Elven lands he had entered blindly—lands so intricate and intertwined, escaping them seemed almost impossible. Even if he knew the way, from the glimpse he'd caught before entering King Toras' royal court, the Elven realm looked far denser and more entangled than the forest he'd traveled through before.
After the court session ended, Darken was escorted to a different place—more structured and "natural." Natural not in the wilderness sense, but in how it was crafted: a space resembling the heart of a tree, beautifully carved and breathtakingly designed. His feelings were mixed—part anxiety for what lay ahead, part admiration for the Elves' astonishing ability to shape trees into homes. And yet, he was still taken aback by the sheer size of the trees here—or perhaps, just this one tree whose core he now occupied.
He sat on a mat carefully woven from red bark. To his surprise, it was soft and comfortable—far from what he'd expected. What puzzled him, though, was how a royal family of such status lived such a humble life. There was no luxury here, nothing close to what he'd heard about from the men of the "Dream Caravan."
To be honest... I expected something a lot more extravagant than this. But at the same time...
Darken smiled as he looked around the simple space.
A place like this… it brings me strange comfort. I like it..
Minutes passed before King Toras entered through a doorway draped with a flowing, silk-like curtain. The king looked weary. Rightfully so—his daughter's condition was nothing short of catastrophic. It was only natural for a man of his age and stature to appear burdened under such weight.
The king spoke gently, "Apologies for the delay. I hope the place is comfortable, though I doubt you've ever sat inside the heart of a tree before." He ended with a faint, forced smile.
Darken rose in respect and replied with light humor, "To be honest, I never thought I'd sit in a place like this. I feel like a bird… or maybe a squirrel."
King Toras chuckled faintly and motioned for them both to sit. Darken returned to the reddish mat, while the king sat beside him.
Studying Darken's calm expression, the king said, "That meeting back in the court was rather chaotic… I imagine you're still processing it all."
"I wouldn't say that exactly," Darken replied softly. "I'm used to these kinds of situations—not because I've lived through many… but because in the past…"
He nearly let something slip but quickly improvised, "I mean… I wasn't much of a talker. People often assumed I didn't know what I was saying." He glanced at the king, hoping the explanation would suffice.
King Toras remained silent, dissecting Darken's words as though analyzing each one carefully. Then he smiled again—this time with a trace of sincerity, despite his daughter Eryl's plight.
"Well," he said calmly, "not all of us get to introduce ourselves in the best light. Sometimes, you need to change where you are… to show who you really are."
Those words struck Darken. They resonated with a part of him buried deep—his past as a voiceless slave, and how his freedom had transformed him into the thinker, strategist, and speaker he was today. But even as he reflected, he couldn't ignore the memory of the being known as the Dragon King, who had seemingly blessed him—making him who he had become.
Toras's words hit home, yet also made Darken reflect on the contradictions in who he once was, and who he now appeared to be.
"You seem troubled, boy… Are you alright?" the king asked, cutting into the silence. "From the court until now, you've looked… unsettled."
Caught off guard, Darken hesitated, clearly startled by how transparent he had been. But he quickly composed himself. "Ah… well, I'm not used to sitting and speaking with so many people—let alone a king of one of the rarest races."
King Toras's expression shifted, visibly surprised. "What are you talking about? Who told you the Elves were rare? We're numerous across the continent. Haven't you seen one before?"
Suspicion flashed across the king's face. Darken, now flustered, tried to salvage the moment. In truth, he had never met an Elf up close—perhaps glimpsed one from afar, but never interacted directly. With a little quick thinking, he replied:
"To be honest… I haven't met many people at all in my life. Not even humans. As for Elves, I've only heard stories."
It was a vague answer, but it seemed enough for now.
"Hmmm…" the king mused, then asked, "And what have you heard about us, boy?"
His gaze locked on Darken's, searching for any signs of deception.
It wasn't a hard question. Darken had heard plenty about Elves—or "Fae," as they were called in some places. Most of what he knew came from Aidi, a fellow slave who had taught him many things nearly three years ago during their time with the Dream Caravan.
"What I've heard… what I remember," Darken began confidently, "is that Elves have smooth hair, youthful features that last for decades—maybe even centuries. They're lean, and you'd rarely find a fat one among them. It would be more of a joke than a reality."
Every word he said echoed Aidi's teachings.
King Toras listened intently, then suddenly asked, "You're not from the continent of Andrastes, are you?"
The question froze Darken. Andrastes? He had never heard the name before. He'd been treated like a commodity his entire life—moved from place to place, never truly knowing the world.
Andrastes? What does that even mean? Wait… maybe if I close my eyes, like before…
He shut his eyes for a moment, reaching into his mind. But… nothing. Just silence. No memories came. And Toras noticed.
The king's tone turned firm, though not aggressive. "It seems there is much you don't know, boy. You're not from this continent, nor are you a traveler between lands. You barely even know about our kind, despite the stories being widespread."
Then, with sharper eyes, he asked, "Tell me the truth, boy… What exactly is your past?"
It wasn't a threat, not in tone. But the pressure was real. Darken could feel it—like a hand pressing against his chest.
In that moment, he realized… he had no choice. To avoid disaster, he would need to reveal part of himself. Part of his truth.
I guess... it's time. I don't have choose ...
Darken took a breath… and began.
He spoke of his life—how he was tortured endlessly to amuse the madman Jabilin, treated as nothing more than a discarded object. He revealed what he'd learned from Mary Chwera , the one who told him of Jabilin's true nature. He shared fragments of the life he remembered before his enslavement, never going into great detail, only skimming the edges of what still lingered in his memory.
He spoke for some time, recounting the caravan's destruction, Mary's help, and how he'd fallen into the sea. He even spoke briefly of the overwhelming emotions he had felt, especially when he encountered the mysterious being known as the Dragon King—hoping that King Toras, with his wisdom, might offer some explanation.
But instead of a revelation, what Darken saw in Toras's eyes was something entirely unexpected: sorrow.
"Poor boy…" the king said softly. "You've endured far more than any soul should. Truly, your pain makes the burdens of others seem like jest."
He wiped the corners of his eyes, his voice thick with compassion. "I must confess… I used my gaze to try and detect any lie you might speak. When I sensed hesitation, I applied pressure—subtle, but real. But it seems… I pushed you into revealing something deeply painful."
Then he gently reached out and took Darken's hand. "Forgive me, boy."
A sense of relief washed over Darken. Finally speaking of his suffering lifted a weight he hadn't known was still pressing on him. And yet, another truth became clear: despite his evolving body, sharpened mind, and more refined speech—he was still terrible at face-to-face interaction. And this flaw could very well become his downfall.
He also realized something else: he didn't want to share his past ever again. Not out of shame… but because remembering it hurt more than he could bear.
In a quiet voice, as he held the king's hand in return, he said, "It's alright, Your Majesty. It's my fault… I kept trying to lie. I just didn't want to look… pathetic."
The king gave him a genuine smile, as if Darken's story had lifted a sliver of grief from the burden he carried for his daughter.
"My boy… weakness is no shame. The true shame is choosing to remain weak when you have the power to grow stronger. As for your past—don't repeat it. Ever. Stories like yours… they can become weapons used against you when you least expect it."
He tightened his grip on Darken's hand. "Remember that well, boy."
Darken nodded solemnly, and only then did Toras slowly pull his hand away. After a moment of contemplation, the king continued.
"It seems… you come from the continent of Vingard, the closest one to this land. And the name of our continent… is Andrastes."
He continued without pause, "Here in Andrastes, there are four Elven factions. Some call us 'Fae,' but that term is more common in Vingard. Here, we are known as the Elves."
Darken listened with intense curiosity. For the first time, he'd learned the name of the land he once lived in—Vingard. The continent where he had suffered most. And now? He was in a completely different place, Andrastes. Which meant… he was far from Jabilin.
If I want revenge on that bastard… I'll have to return to Vingard. That's where he is.
But for now… I'll try to live. I'll try to be free. I may not understand freedom yet, but… I will, someday. I'm sure of it.
His thoughts grew heavier with each new truth. But oddly, he didn't feel overwhelmed—he felt hungry for more.
"I hope you'll continue, Your Majesty," he said politely. "I truly want to learn more."
The king gave a small nod and resumed without delay. "In Andrastes, there are four Elven kingdoms—East, West, North, and South. We… are the Eastern Elves, and we live in the Mystic Forest, located at the far eastern edge of the great continent."
He continued, "Each kingdom is distinct in culture and appearance. The Northern Elves, for instance, have hair as green as spring leaves, and eyes resembling those of humans. They're the most human-like in behavior and appearance. The Southern Elves… disappeared over a hundred years ago, right after the Great War against the Dark Lord and the legendary mage Claridis."
He paused before continuing, "The Southern Elves were known for their long, fiery red hair, which they never cut—believing it to be their sacred symbol. Their eyes matched, glowing a brilliant crimson. They were remarkably powerful."
Then, lowering his voice slightly, he added, "As for the Western Elves... they're the worst. Extremely aggressive toward other races. They believe themselves the 'superior race.' Their hair is always cut short and pale blue in color. They were the greatest enemies of the Southern Elves. And now, they claim to be the strongest among us. One of their prominent families is called the Lutherlis."
He turned to Darken, his voice suddenly stern, "If you ever leave the forest and find yourself deep in the continent—do not accept anything from them. No matter how tempting it sounds. Understood?"
Darken blinked at the abrupt warning, but nodded firmly.
Then King Toras spoke once more, "And now, here we are… the Eastern Elves. As you can see, we have golden hair with a subtle silver tint, and our eyes resemble empty voids with soft light shining within—the iris forming gently in their center."
His tone softened. "We do not hate humans to the point of seeking their death. We are cautious, that's all. We do not wish to spill blood… we simply seek peace—whenever possible."
He added, "Our bodies are agile and swift. But how we use that ability varies from one Elven kingdom to another."
Then his voice deepened slightly. "And just so you know… I use the term 'kingdom' to simplify things. In truth, there is no unified Elven kingdom anymore. Over five hundred years ago, there was such a kingdom. But internal conflict between clans and houses tore it apart. And yes, as for magic—it's been around for many, many generations. What human history records… is only what they rediscovered later."
Darken absorbed every word. What struck him most was that even a people as ancient and refined as the Elves faced internal divisions—just like humans.
Do all conflicts arise from difference? Or are they simply part of existence itself?
He sighed lightly and said with genuine respect, "Thank you, Your Majesty… for sharing what I never knew. I truly appreciate it."
He bowed his head slightly in gratitude—an old gesture from his days as a slave, but now… done willingly, for the first time.
King Toras smiled warmly and placed a hand gently on Darken's shoulder. "You're a good young man, Darken. I hope you remain that way, no matter what happens. Kindness… is a rare currency in this world. More people seek it than you might think."
Then, the king's expression grew serious, his gaze sharper. "Now, about Eryl… there's something I must tell you, boy. And I hope… that the words you spoke in the court—those brave words—you meant them. Because if so…"
He looked Darken dead in the eye. "Can I trust you?"
Darken met his gaze with unwavering resolve. "You can. Just tell me… What Must I Do?"
And as those words left his mouth, a storm of thoughts surged within him like a crashing wave: Helping this good king's daughter… it's the least I can do to make up for all the sins my hands have committed.
Through this… I can redeem myself. To help someone truly worthy—that is my choice. My duty.
And in that quiet moment, Darken furrowed his brow, and his eyes hardened with a silent vow. He had made his decision. And there would be… no turning back.