The trip to the market was a short one. On the way, Warwick took out a sheet of parchment from his pack and pestered the fishfolk into telling him the proper pronunciation of his written set of words. Once that was done, he focused on one of the guards and offered him a small dagger if he would speak the same words – but in elvish.

They arrived at the market with little fanfare. A few kids were more curious of Warwick, thinking he was some kind of fish creature because of the scale armor he wore and his conversations with the fishfolk.

After the fishfolk finished their trading, they offered to take Warwick and Eda to the island, provided they could find a boat on which they could tether their mounts. One of the fisherman promptly agreed for a gold coin and Shale’s reassurance that the boat would be returned to the shore unharmed. They walked back to the shore with the fisherman, who led them to his prized boat before leaving.

Eda stared at the narrow dinghy. There was barely enough space for two people, much less five.

“I think the boat is meant for us,” Warwick said, reading her thoughts. “Shale said they had mounts. Some sort of sea horses, maybe?”

“Indeed, we have our own mounts.” Shale confirmed. “Come, my guards have finished tethering your boat to our mounts. It will only take half an hour to the island.”

“Half an hour?” Warwick wondered. The walk to the lake took two hours and the distance to the island was twice that. “How fast will we go?”

“Quite fast,” Shale answered.

“Tortles!” grinned one of the guards as he dove to the lake.

Indeed, the mounts were turtles. Three massive creatures the size of a small house emerged from the depths, rope-like tethers of seaweed tied to their shells and unto the small boat.

“Turtles, huh,” Eda stepped inside the small boat choosing a seat at the front. “Well, come on,” she urged Warwick, “don’t let the turtles wait.”

Warwick checked his pack and hopped on the boat. He was curious what the island held, as well as what the fishfolk called its guardian.

Once they were moving, Eda turned to Warwick and asked, “You think we’ll see a ghost in the island?”

“Not sure,” Warwick answered, “but we’re bound to see something.”

“Do you think it’s the elven princess? Elves live long, don’t they?” Eda piped excitedly. “They can live for centuries.”

“Only in elven lands,” Warwick interrupted, his voice taking a somber tone, “and they don’t stay elves for more than a century.”

Eda stayed silent. She grew up hearing stories of how elves turned to trees in Aelvord. The elven kingdoms in the world were largely made up of elves who fled their home to avoid the quietude and complacency their island home imparted in them. They traded their long lives for the chance to live normal ones – not one trapped in a dream and not caring for the world.

They arrived at the island faster than they anticipated. Shale promised they would return by midday, after they brought back their wares to their home.

Warwick and Eda said their farewells and pulled the boat ashore to stop it from drifting off.

“Do you think we’ll find anything here?” Eda asked, a bit spooked.

Warwick pointed down. “The elven city is right under our feet. If we dive down, we might find a few things.”

Eda kicked a pebble into the water. “I’d rather not do that,” she smiled sheepishly. “Let’s just check out the island.” She found the thought of exploring a mass graveyard quite chilling – especially one in the water.

Vegetation grew denser as they walked. Even as they stayed close the island’s shore, saplings and trees began to appear. As they neared the farthest end of the island, the two could see a copse of trees near the shore.

“Something doesn’t feel right,” Eda whispered, clinging closer to Warwick.

There was a heaviness in the air – the wind was still, sunlight seemed dimmer, and even the crashing of the soft waves on the island shore sounded muted. The place felt subdued. Defeated.

A sudden wail emerged from within the small copse. The cry of anguish held traces of humanity long subsumed by a bestial entity.

“Banshee,” Eda cried, remembering the tales of fallen elves that turned into wailing spirits. She activated the magic in her bracelets, lining her body with protective magic.

“No,” Warwick whispered as he drew his falchion. “That was no spirit.”

Warwick stared beyond the trees. There was a small mound near the center of copse – and what seemed like an entrance to the depths. He saw a shape, then a blur – it was a creature moving impossibly fast!

“Behind me, Eda,” he warned. He could feel his senses sharpening to the point that he could feel the touch of his shirt on his back. His heart began to beat harder and faster, pumping blood and adrenaline into his taut muscles. Rampage.

A shrill scream announced the arrival of the creature. Warwick felt a wave of fear upon hearing the piercing sound, but the effects of rampage prevented him from panicking. Eda was shaken, her mind filled with gloom and fear.

The thing was no banshee. It had the corporeal body of an elf but its limbs were twisted and elongated unnaturally.

The creature sprang into the air, its arms out and claws bared as it eyed it prey. Wicked claws met the ascending spin of rise, sending the creature crashing to the ground together with its attacker.

It spun in the air and landed in a crouch. It bared sharpened teeth as its eyes glared red and yellow.

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Warwick landed on his feet. He bore claw marks on his armor and his face. The injury would have been more serious had he not toughened his skin with magic at the last moment – an ability he learned he could use when rampage was ongoing.

“Claw attack: 3-8, Eda,” he rattled the numbers to his companion. “If it comes near you, fry it with Bloodburn.”

The numbers shook Eda out of her torpor. Her protective shield could take 30 damage before dissipating – it would take the creature a few seconds to get through it.

She steeled her mind as she watched Warwick clash with the creature. The two were trading blows, but she could see Warwick taking a bit more damage. Claw marks lined his arms and shoulders – and a bleeding gash ran across his face.

“Druxit grafive Malizé!”

An earth lance erupted from the ground behind Warwick. It passed his shoulders, just as he dipped to build momentum for infinity’s second rising attack.

The spear of earth and stone caught the creature as it jumped – impaling it momentarily before it dissipated into a line of dust and sand – and giving Warwick a clear line of attack.

Eda watched the two clash again and again, waiting for the cues to launch her attack.

There were no need for words between her and Warwick. Their years of fighting together made her understand most of his attacks. She knew his sequences by heart – the shifts in his stances, the pauses between strikes, the arcs of his attacks and their follow-ups.

Warwick was quite predictable – but she soon realized his movements were meant for her to see and follow.

Another earth lance erupted from beneath Warwick just as he used a double jump to clear the creature’s height. Jagged rock struck his opponent as it turned, locking it in place as he landed a crash to its shoulder blades followed by a double to its body.

The creature lashed out with a claw that Warwick barely managed to block with his vambrace. He noticed small chips of wood breaking off from the creature’s claw as he blocked, confirming his assumption that it was a former elf.

It was indeed a guardian. Left on its own, the creature would have quietly melded with the earth, becoming one of the trees in the island. Too late for that, Warwick surmised as he held the creature’s claws at bay with his sword and vambraces.

“It’s just an elf,” he noted. “A tired old elf.”

The creature paused its attack and shrieked in frustration and rage. The spell-like scream did little now – whether it was its opponents steeling their resolve or perhaps it was the shroud being lifted from its existence.

Two slashes struck the creature as it screamed – one of them shearing its right arm. It howled in imagined pain and anger as it swung its other arm, only to be met by armor once again.

“It’s Aedina,” Eda spoke in low tone, the fear in her voice overcome by grief. “We shouldn’t have come, Warwick. We shouldn’t have come.”

“Burn it, Eda” Warwick urged her. “That thing isn’t the princess. It’s a hunk of pain and sorrow.”

The creature lunged at him with its remaining arm. Its unnatural speed long gone – its movements slowing with each passing moment.

Warwick’s instincts told him to kill the elf-thing – even if it was the fabled princess. A part of him wanted to do it for the fisherman and the safety of unwary travelers who might visit the island – but a part of him also wanted to just leave.

“Vehara graffis malisiv!”

The decision was out of his hands.

A lance of fire struck the creature, setting it aflame. Its burning limbs crackled in the heat, bits of bark tearing off as it flailed to quell the flames. It’s anger at the island’s forgotten, It lumbered to the water, seemingly seeking refuge.

Eda rushed to Warwick and embraced him, tears flowing in her eyes. “It’s horrible, Warwick. We killed the princess.”

Warwick ran his hand on her hair to comfort her. “She went here to die.”

“Did she?”

“She wanted to die with h—” Warwick broke the embrace and turned to the burning elf. “She wanted to die with her people.”

He threw his sword to the side and ran to the creature. He grabbed it by its slim trunk-like torso and dove into the water with the creature in tow. They plunged into the water and into the depths.

There was no slope to the island. It stood like a pillar from the depths, formed by long dead elven mages who sought to save their loved ones.

The creature thrashed helplessly in its captors arms – its branch-like hands clawing uselessly against armor. They sank in silence, broken only by the occasional bubbles that escaped from Warwick’s armor.

His left hand flashed as they fell, casting a spell that would summon air – only to fail. Slightly panicking, Warwick repeated the movements – this time using the last of his breath as a medium to summon breathable air.

Soon they reached the bottom of the lake – once the center of the now-gone elven city. Warwick instinctively went for his sword, forgetting for a moment that he left it on the island. He scanned the nearby surroundings and found a large piece of marble – perhaps once a part of a statue or monument.

He placed the stone atop the now-feeble Aedina. She would die in the water with her people as she wanted – for no tree could grow in the depths of a lake. The creature raised its remaining arm to claw at him or perhaps give thanks. Warwick saw a gleam in its hands – a ring, revealed as the bark that covered the creature’s fingers was torn by battle or flame.

Warwick grabbed the ring, sliding it from the thing that was once a princess’ hand. He wondered if he made the right choice – and if it was the most ideal conclusion of the strange quest.

He rose to light, summoning air one last time before breaking through the surface. He found Eda waiting for him, a look of concern on her face.

“The princess wanted you to have this,” he handed the ring to Eda. It was undoubtedly magical, and Warwick had an idea what magic it contained. “She gave it willingly. She was happy in the end.”

Eda smiled as she took the ring. “We should bring this back to her family – or to other elves.

Warwick shook his head. Audina’s kin were all underwater – and no elf would want the ring of a disgraced hero. “Keep it.” he insisted. “It’s our reward for finishing the quest. Get your father to identify its enchantments – we need every advantage once we begin adventuring.”

“Did we do the right thing?”

Warwick paused. “Yes,” he assured her. “Aedina wanted to die. At least now, the island would be safe to visit.”

Eda sighed and clutched the ring. She wanted to leave for the boat but Warwick insisted on searching the mound within the trees – ultimately finding nothing.

They walked to the small dinghy and watched the sun going down as they somberly waited for Shale’s return.