The winds above Elarion carried no scent.
Only silence.
No birds sang in the canopies. No water ran in the streams. Even the trees—those vast, living sentinels of the elven realm—held their breath.
For the first time in over a thousand years, Elarion feared war.
And war had already begun to spread its frost-bitten wings.
Return to the Verdant Court
The journey south from Ashmere took Kael, Elyria, and Thrain through the Whispering Glade, a sacred elven path used only by royalty and exiles. The trees there did not merely grow—they remembered, and Kael could feel them watching.
He had changed.
Since taking the Relic of the Flame, the Sword of Emberfall no longer simply burned—it sang.
Sometimes in whispers.
Sometimes in screams.
By the time they reached the towering roots of the Verdant Court, the capital of Elarion, the ancient tree-city was in chaos.
Banners had been lowered. Barricades erected. Sentinels rushed through the boughs like hunted ghosts.
Elyria grabbed the arm of a passing warrior. "What's happened?"
The elf bowed briefly, breath ragged. "They've come. From the north. Riding frozen beasts. We lost the outer watchposts. The queen is preparing the Weave."
Elyria's face hardened. "Then we're already late."
The Frozen Beasts
That night, Kael stood upon one of the high branches of the Verdant Court's outer canopy. From there, he saw them—riders on the horizon. Mounted on winged horrors of frost and bone.
Wyverns, twisted by undeath. Each screeched with a sound like metal shrieking against ice.
At the center of the approaching host was a figure in silver-black armor, its face hidden behind a visor of bone.
A Deathbound General. A creature of Varethul's making.
Kael turned to Thrain, who leaned on his axe nearby. "They'll breach the trees by morning."
The dwarf nodded grimly. "And if they do, your sword won't be enough."
Kael looked down at Emberfall. "It won't be me they want."
The Weave of Protection
Elyria stood with her mother, Queen Seralyth, in the Heartglade—a circular sanctuary of elder trees, where the Weave was strongest.
The Weave was not a wall, nor a spell—it was life. A vast interlocking bond of every living thing in the forest, tied through elven magic and memory.
Together, mother and daughter chanted the rites of protection, their voices weaving threads of silver into the air, forming a shimmering barrier across the forest's northern edge.
But it would not hold forever.
Elyria's voice cracked as she sang.
Queen Seralyth opened her eyes.
"You are thinking of him," she said.
Elyria hesitated. "He bears the flame. But it does not consume him. It's changing him."
The queen nodded. "Or he is changing it."
The Breaking of the Canopy
At dawn, the first wyvern screamed through the sky.
Arrows flew. Magic shattered the air. The Weave held—at first.
Kael joined the elven rangers atop the Watchbough, Emberfall blazing in his hand. When the first of the undead riders descended, he leapt from the branch, plunging the sword into its chest mid-air.
The creature burst into fire and ash.
But the others kept coming.
Below, the Deathbound General rode a wyvern with wings of shadow and frost. Its presence weakened the Weave, cracking the magical fabric like glass under pressure.
Thrain met the breach on the ground, cleaving down undead foot soldiers as they poured through broken roots. For every foe he struck down, another rose. Dwarves are not made for speed, but they do not yield.
Kael turned to Elyria on the upper boughs.
"We must kill the General."
She nodded.
"Then we fly."
The Battle Among the Branches
Elyria summoned a vine-glider—a massive, living hawk-like creature woven from plant and magic. Kael climbed aboard behind her as the beast took flight through the burning canopy.
Arrows hissed past. Frost spells froze the edges of their path. The Weave shimmered with damage.
Ahead, the General's wyvern wheeled in the air, its rider raising a spear of black ice.
The two collided mid-air.
Kael leapt from the glider onto the wyvern's back, sword flashing.
The General struck with precision, blades clashing in mid-air.
Each blow sent sparks flying, fire against frost, prophecy against death.
Below, the forest burned.
The Weave frayed.
And Kael felt something break.
The Queen's Last Stand
In the Heartglade, Queen Seralyth stumbled.
Blood ran from her nose.
The Weave pulsed erratically, flickering between strength and collapse.
One of her attendants cried out. "Your Majesty—you must stop!"
"I cannot," she gasped. "If the Weave falls, the Court falls."
She sank to her knees, hands still raised, magic still flowing.
Elyria's voice echoed in her thoughts.
"You always protected us. Let me protect you."
Death and Flame
Kael battled the Deathbound General as they spiraled downward toward the forest floor. The General's ice blade cracked the air, but Kael's fire blazed hotter now. The Relic of the Flame pulsed through his veins.
He remembered the Seer's words: To win, you must be willing to burn.
The General struck his shoulder.
Kael fell—
—and as the wyvern screamed toward the trees, he plunged Emberfall into the beast's skull.
They hit the forest floor in an explosion of ice and fire.
When the dust settled, the General was gone.
Kael lay still.
Until Elyria found him, dragging his broken body from the crater.
"You're not allowed to die yet," she whispered.
He opened one eye.
"Tell the prophecy."
Aftermath and Firelight
With the General destroyed, the undead host withered. The remaining wyverns scattered, riderless. The Weave stabilized—but at a terrible cost.
Queen Seralyth collapsed at the base of the Heartglade.
Elyria knelt beside her as the queen smiled, her skin already fading into the bark of the ancient tree.
"I give you... the court... my daughter."
Tears streamed down Elyria's cheeks.
"I'm not ready."
"No one ever is," the queen whispered, and then she was gone—returned to the forest from which all elven queens are born.
The Second Relic
Later that night, as the Court mourned and fires burned in solemn tribute, Kael stood alone before the Heartglade.
He reached into the roots where Seralyth had fallen.
There, nestled in the soil, was a crystal of moonlight, wrapped in glowing vines.
The Second Relic.
He took it with reverence.
The blade of Emberfall shifted again.
Now, it sang not just of fire, but of life. Of sacrifice. Of legacy.
Kael looked up at the stars.
Two relics found.
Two thrones threatened.
And Varethul… closer than ever.
The Hollow King Watches
In the north, Varethul gazed into a pool of frozen tears.
He saw the Queen fall.
He saw the sword grow stronger.
And he laughed.
"Two pieces. Two losses.""Let him grow stronger. Let him think he chooses.""The third relic awaits—where orcs bleed the earth dry."