Far from the shadows of the village, nestled deep within the Forest Elves' territory, stood a gleaming city carved from silvered trees and ancient stone—a place where various demi-humans and mythical races resided in harmony. At its heart lay a grand hall—an elegant showroom of magic and craftsmanship, where enchanted weapons rested in shimmering display cases, scrolls and books floated gently in the air, and ancient relics hummed with latent power.
Inside, the air shimmered with subtle enchantments, casting soft hues of gold ,
saffron and indigo across the exquisitely polished walls. Weapons of all kinds—from sleek obsidian katars and daggers to radiant crystal-bladed swords—lined the displays, each piece whispering tales of its own creation and past glories.
Suddenly moving person appear with graceful purpose among them was miss Cetana, the esteemed curator of this revered hall. Though known to be a woman of middle years, her radiant presence, spirited stride, youthful poise, and striking beauty made her appear no older than a blossoming maiden of twenty-one. Draped in opulent robes that shimmered like starlight, she moved with a quiet confidence that drew every eye and hushed every whisper.
As she came near to examined a floating spear that glimmered with inherent magic, a young elf accompanied by a hesitant demi-human attendant cat girl (half cat, half human) approached, carrying a delicately carved dagger wrapped in shimmering silver cloth.
"Miss Cetana," the young elf inquired respectfully, "where shall I place this item?"
Miss Cetana turned, her sharp eyes catching the faintest tremor in the young elf's hands. "Oh, be careful, child!" she exclaimed, her voice like a melodic chime. "That's a ceremonial dagger (khanjar)—crafted from a unicorn's horn as a gift for Lady Navya's son. If you drop it, it won't be the weapon that breaks, but our reputation."
The young elf's eyes widened in alarm as she quickly steadied her grip, the cat-girl attendant also reaching out to offer support.
Miss Cetana's expression softened, though her tone remained firm. "This hall isn't just a shop; Cetanā isn't merely a name, it's a title of responsibility. It's a sanctuary of legacy and power. Every piece here carries not just magic—but trust. If the people believe our magical items no longer hold strength and quality, then it's became useless, what we done till now or in future ."
Nearby, a towering ogre grunted as he carefully lifted a glowing chest onto a marble pedestal, beads of sweat rolling down his brow.
"Thank you, Bruk," Cetana said with a small, acknowledging nod. "Gently, as always."
Bruk smiled sheepishly and returned a slow, careful nod.
Cetana turned back to the floating artifacts, her hands clasped gracefully behind her back, her eyes surveying the room with the meticulous gaze of a seasoned master. As she seen a stone glowing with magic , here she seen a cat-girl with good physical body , than she said to that cat-girl please clean that stone properly. Someone asked me to give him this magic stone metal for research purposes. Here, the cat-girl asked Lady Cetanā if there was anything special about this stone. Lady Cetana replied that it was incredibly difficult to melt and that no known magic seemed to affect it , here that cat-girl replyed lady now i understand it all the details. Miss Cetana given faint smile still played on her lips.
The grand hall shimmered under the soft glow of sunlight streaming through windows, the gentle hum of magical relics echoing like distant whispers within a deep cavern. Servant elves moved with quiet precision, polishing glass cases and subtly adjusting the floating artifacts in mid-air. Demi-humans of various lineages—some with feline grace, others with scaled arms or subtle tusks— diligently under Cetana's watchful gaze.
Then, the heavy door creaked open.
A tall elve person figure stepped inside, cloaked in a veil of dusk-colored robes. His very presence seemed to silence the room, like a sudden falling shadow. Miss Cetanā, who had been intently inspecting a levitating orb of flame-etched steel, paused. Her elegant composure shifted serious subtly, a hint of wariness sharpening her features.
Her voice, though calm, carried a clear command:
"Everyone, please… leave us. I have matters to discuss to him in private."
There was no protest, only a silent exchange of glances as the staff respectfully obeyed her instruction.
In a far corner of the hall, a demi-human (half human, half dog), with soft brown fur covering his arms and distinctly snout-like features, that demi-humans move toward near a young elf maid.
"Who is that elf?" he whispered, his ears twitching with suspicion. "The way Lady Cetana looked at him—it's as if she'd seen a ghost."
The young elf maid bit her lip, her gaze darting towards the cloaked figure, whose expression quiet confidence and full attitude, as she walked slowly towards Lady Cetana. "As far as I know, every time he comes, Lady Cetana sends us all out. She only ever meets him alone."
The half dog-like demi-human narrowed his eyes, a low suspicion in his gaze. "He doesn't belong here, does he?"
"No," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "He's not allowed in this part of the forest. He belongs to a criminal group.
The demi-human growled softly, a hint of concern in his tone. "So he's dangerous?"
A faint smile touched the maid's lips, a spark of confidence in her eyes. "Maybe. But don't forget—Miss Cetana possesses a powerful skill that most of us can't even imagine. She doesn't need protection; she is powerful enough on her own."
"Still," he muttered, his gaze fixed on the closed door. "She's one of us. She's an elf, and as far as I know, elves or other magical creatures don't typically possess any exceptionally powerful magical skills."
The maid turned to him, her voice softer now, tinged with correction.
"That's true, but she's a Half-elf," she clarified gently. "And that makes her no less formidable."
With that, the great hall fell into a deeper silence, the staff dispersing like shadows under the moonlight.
Within the hall, two figures stood facing each other—an elegant woman adorned in silk-stitched robes, and a wild-eyed elf clad in travel-stained armor.
Miss Cetana didn't turn to face him immediately. Her gaze remained fixed on a silver-bladed glaive suspended in magical stasis, her voice calm and precise as she spoke.
"So… what brings the infamous Captain of the Crushers of Hope Group to my humble establishment?" she inquired, the title rolling off her tongue.
The elven captain turned slightly, a crooked smile flickering on his lips like firelight on broken glass.
"Oh, come now, Miss Cetana," he sneered softly. "Or should I say… Pragya? Your old name, isn't it?"
Cetana's hands froze mid-air, her elegant composure momentarily shattered. Her eyes, usually sharp with wit and poise, widened in a sudden flash of dread.
"That was my name… I've buried it. Don't speak it," she whispered, her voice low and almost pleading.
The captain chuckled, stepping closer, the sound of his worn boots tapping on the stone floor echoing in the sudden silence.
"And yet you speak mine—the name the locals branded my group with, a whispered warning: Crusher of Hope Group. Doesn't feel so good, does it?"
She turned now, facing him fully, her expression once more a mask of unreadable elegance.
"Very well. I suppose we're even. But tell me—what is it you truly want?"
The captain leaned back slightly, arms folded, his tone suddenly more casual.
"I was just passing through the outer woods and figured I'd pay an old friend a visit. So that, we can have small tea party."
Cetana with confused reaction replied "seriously, Are you out of your mind."
He smiled, paused, then added with a flicker of seriousness,
" I thought you'd want to know something important . My scouts and I were moving when we noticed a few forest elf soldiers… dead. Clean kills, no sign of beasts – it was totally murder. Something foul is stirring out there."
Cetana's face darkened, her eyes shadowed with thought. Her fingers curled slightly, as if reaching for a memory. For a short moment, she said nothing.
Then, with a sudden exhale, she spoke, her voice softer now, tinged with a strange mix of resignation and understanding.
"This forest holds secrets that even the deepest roots fear to whisper… But thank you for bringing this to my attention."
She walked towards a long obsidian table along the side wall, pouring herself a drink from a slender silver pitcher. Without looking up, she inquired with a detached politeness,
"Would you care for something to drink, Captain?"
The elf's grin widened, a glint of mischievous amusement in his eyes.
""Not a drink, Pragya… but perhaps a new weapon or some powerful magical items."
Cetana smirked, placing her glass down gently.
"Oh, I think I have just the thing for someone like you… but first, if you want to check, you can freely look at the magical items."
"We have many pieces that might suit your... rather unique style."
The elve captain chuckled, running a calloused hand through his wind-blown hair as he wandered deeper into the magical showroom. His eyes flicked across blades, daggers, knives, some rings , staves glowing with runes, scrolls, and other enchanted artifacts.
"Well, well," he muttered, half to himself, "you've certainly built something impressive here. Some of these weapons—rare, powerful, dangerous—and a few weapon items made of unicorn horn are also wow, nice."
The elve captain walked slowly along the marble-tiled floor, sunlight streaming through the enchanted windows and casting shifting glows on his armor as he admired the array of floating relics and whispering weapons.
"You've built something remarkable, Cetana," he said, his voice edged with genuine admiration. "Your shop… it's like stepping into a vault of magical power. Everything touched by magic, all under one roof."
Miss Cetana offered a gentle smile, but her gaze drifted, a fleeting trace of sorrow shadowing her eyes. "Not everything," she murmured softly, her voice barely audible.
The captain paused, turning to face her, his head tilting slightly in curiosity. "Oh? What could possibly be missing from this shop grand hall?"
Her reply came slowly, "The White Lotus."
The captain's expression shifted, surprise momentarily replacing his usual smirk. "You mean that magical White Lotus? The one kept under heavy guard within the temple in the Forest Elves' capital?"
She nodded once, her voice calm but laced with a deep longing. "Yes… the very same. A flower of pure, undiluted magic. No root, no seed—only its bloom flower. Some people tell the story that it first appeared alongside the golden coin demon, on that time the demon used the White Lotus… to grant a wish, a wish that resulted in the birth of fifteen hundred magical races into this world."
Here, the elven captain said, clipping his words slightly, "Not only does your shop hold wondrous items and weapons, but you also possess remarkable knowledge."
With a glint of pride in her eyes, Cetana folded her arms. "That's why this shop is the very heart of this town's economy. Elves, demi-humans, beings of all different races, and avid collectors—all seek out my establishment."
The captain nodded slowly, his gaze thoughtful. "I remember when you were… different. You've come a long way, Pragya—no, Miss Cetanā, the name that signifies the soul of this town's economy, the merchant queen of elven steel and unspoken secrets. But tell me… what happened to the woman who ran this place before you? The one who once held this position?"
For a fleeting moment, Cetana's smile remained perfectly in place, but a flicker of coldness danced in her eyes. "She is no longer alive," she stated evenly, her voice devoid of emotion. "And her story is one I no longer share. The past should remain buried, Captain."
Knowing her temperament, the elven captain thought to himself, I wouldn't be surprised if Pragya had a hand in that.
"Alright, alright," he replied aloud, holding his hands up in mock surrender with a mischievous grin. "Didn't mean to stir the ashes."
As he wandered further into the hall, his attention snagged on a trio of framed paintings mounted on the far wall—ancient, faded, yet radiating a palpable, quiet power. A puzzled look creased his brow.
"What are these pictures? All these bird-like creatures? Or is there something more to them?" the captain inquired, his gaze fixed on the artwork.
Miss Cetana walked over and stood beside him, her tone softening with a hint of reverence. "They are not just pictures. Each one depicts a creature believed to walk—or fly— we have evidence and information of existence, but now we can't able to find this creature."
She gestured to the first painting, which portrayed the delicate figure of a bird with shimmering feathers gazing longingly towards a luminous silver moon.
"This is the Chakor bird. Legends say it feeds solely on moonlight. It's a symbol of deep yearning, of intense, often unrequited love. Some even whisper that it serves the moon god Chandra himself."
The second painting pulsed with a wild energy—an enormous winged beast wreathed in storm clouds, its eyes crackling with vivid lightning.
"This," Cetanā continued, her voice hushed with awe, "is the Thunderbird. It commands the very storms, bringing life-giving rain or utter ruin. A guardian of nature's balance, yet also a harbinger of immense destruction."
The captain raised a curious brow. "And the last one?"
She gestured to the final painting—a majestic figure with the powerful body of a lion and the noble wings of an eagle, its gaze fierce and seemingly eternal.
"The Griffin," she said, her voice imbued with respect. "A creature revered by warriors, embodying both fierce beast and watchful sentinel."
As the captain nodded thoughtfully, she added with a faint, almost conspiratorial smile, "And that's not all. There are still other whispers… of creatures like the Buru—a colossal lizard said to slumber beneath the deepest.
The captain's grin widened, now tinged with genuine curiosity.
She's sharp—far too sharp, he mused inwardly, watching Cetana. She possesses remarkable knowledge about wondrous creatures, but she also gives me a headache. He considered, If I ask nicely, perhaps she'll offer a weapon for free or at a significant discount. He watched her with narrowed eyes. just maybe, I could walk out with a blade or two without emptying my satchel.
Before he could voice his thoughts, the heavy doors of the grand hall burst open with a jarring metallic groan. A quartet of strangers strode in—three imposing men flanking a fourth figure who was bound and limp between them. One of the shop's elve attendants rushed forward came near to them, hands raised in protest.
"Please!" the attendant servent pleaded, her voice filled with urgency. "You cannot barge in like this! Lady Cetana is in a private discussion—this is not an appropriate time!"
The hall fell silent. Cetana's posture subtly stiffened, her hand almost imperceptibly moving towards a wand partially concealed beneath her velvet sash. Beside her, the captain's eyes narrowed with suspicion, his hand instinctively dropping to the familiar hilt of the sword blade at his side, its handle grip worn smooth from countless battles.
Cetana's gaze locked onto the group as they entered her magical hall with an air of unearned confidence. Her voice, though outwardly calm, held a sharp undercurrent. "Who are you to interrupt a private audience within my shop place?"
Before the others could speak, the captain stepped forward, his tone firm as steel. "State your names—and your purpose. This is not a marketplace, and we are not fools."
The man in the lead advanced slightly—tall, pale, with eyes that held the weary knowledge of too much experience and the cold glint of little remorse. He offered a shallow bow, more out of ingrained habit than genuine respect.
"I am Ravin," he stated coolly. "We serve under Lord Deva, and Miss Olivia instructed us to meet you here. She also provided the location of your."
That name dropped into the tense silence like a heavy stone into still water. Even Cetana's composed expression flickered with surprise. Olivia remembers me even now, she thought slowly.
"And what is it you have brought?" she asked aloud, her voice low and laced with apprehension.
Ravin offered a small, knowing smile, then nodded to Zahir and Sunil. Zahir carefully unwrapped a cloth bundle in his hands. Within lay a small, ornate box. As Ravin opened it, a single golden coin was revealed.
"We have the golden curse coin," Ravin announced. The elve captain and Miss Cetanā exchanged wide-eyed glances, both exclaiming in unison, "Whatttt...?!"