The night was a symphony of shifting shadows, and eerie sounds intertwined with the relentless, thundering rhythm of the steeds' urgent gallop. Each strike of their hooves reverberated through the stillness of the soft woodland floor, creating a haunting chorus that echoed among the archaic trees.
Within the depths of the forest's gloom, a group of mysterious figures cloaked in darkness pressed forward with unyielding determination, their billowing cloaks resembling the spectral wings of otherworldly beings caught in a tempest. The elongated shadows of the riders and their mounts stretched far and wide, merging into an unsettling, undulating veil beneath the faint, struggling light of the moon, which fought to penetrate the dense canopy above.
As fleeting moonbeams glanced off their shrouded forms, they unveiled nothing of their faces, shrouding their identities in mystery and casting an unnerving ambience as they pursued their quarry with unwavering fervour.
But the riders' relentless pursuit was matched by a solitary figure's swift and sure movements ahead. As they dashed through the forest, every step seemed to rival the powerful gaits of the steeds that pursued them. With their long, pale hair streaming behind like a silken banner unfurled in the night, they seemed an otherworldly figure illuminated by the ethereal silver light of the moon.
At first glance, one might mistake this person for a woman with their flowing mane, but as they drew nearer, their true identity became clear—a young man with a lean, wiry build that contradicted the immense strength propelling him forward. Each breath he took was not a result of fatigue but a deep, controlled urgency that seemed to fuel his flight through the underbrush.
In a fleeting glance backwards, his bright blue eyes, marked by distinctive slit-shaped pupils, locked onto the riders with an intensity that matched their own. The powerful steeds were gaining ground, their relentless pursuit unyielding, but the young man's gaze betrayed no hint of fear—only a fierce determination that burned brighter with each passing moment.
Scanning the path ahead, a glimmer of recognition illuminated his eyes by chance. What lay before him was an opportunity: a concealed pit blended into the forest's natural foliage. But why here? he thought, squinting ahead to make its form clearer in the darkness. It was invisible to the untrained eye; the trap remained cloaked in its surroundings, but the young man's keen vision effortlessly discerned its intricate contours.
Deftly, he reached into his pouch, fingertips seeking out a specific item. After a moment of searching, his hand closed around a small bundle, carefully wrapped in cloth and tightly bound with rope. Leaning into his stride, he hurled the package towards the pit in a swift motion, his exertion fueled by an electrifying surge of adrenaline. The bundle, still tightly bound, plummeted into the pit with a resounding thud—a fleeting triumph that the young man had no leisure to revel in, for the urgency in his movements was palpable as he drew a small knife from its sheath and retrieved a rough yellow stone from his pouch.
He struck the blade with the stone, causing eager sparks to come alive in the darkness, poised to set something alight. Undeterred by the lack of immediate success, he struck the blade again, coaxing an even brighter spark into existence. Confused, he struck the blade again, but despite his repeated efforts, the flame remained out of reach, and a quick glance over his shoulder confirmed the encroaching presence of dark riders.
With the pit closing in and time running out, he abandoned the stone and frantically searched his pouch for any possible aid. He pulled out a vial containing a translucent green liquid as if by fortune. "Sage oil," he murmured to himself, grasping the slim hope it offered.
He uncorked the vial with his teeth, not wasting a single movement as he drizzled the liquid onto the blade, ensuring an even coating. Once the vial was emptied, he pivoted and hurled it towards his pursuers, not with any hope of impeding them but as a gesture of spite. The vial struck one of the dark riders, eliciting an annoyed grunt that faintly reached the young man's ears before he refocused on the blade glistening with the slick oil, reaching into his pouch and retrieving the yellow stone once more.
Without hesitating, he struck the stone against the steel urgently, and then a bright spark emerged, catching the oil alight and engulfing the blade in brilliant flames. The fiery glow pierced through the darkness, casting a triumphant hue that mirrored the determined expression on the young man's face. He looked toward the pit; the young man pushed his body to its limits and sprinted even faster, putting distance between himself and the dark riders trailing him.
With just a few feet to spare, he leapt with astonishing agility, soaring over the pit while searching for the small bundle he had thrown moments earlier. When he caught a glimpse of the small bundle impaled by a spike within the trap, he didn't hesitate to throw his flaming knife at it, narrowly missing by an inch.
The young man's initial confusion at the miss quickly gave way to relief as the fire from his blade caught the wooden pike and stabilised himself for the descent from his audacious leap. There, a moment of silence fell over the scene until it was replaced by a shattering and thunderous explosion. A great roaring inferno engulfed one of the dark rider's horses, which had been on the brink of leaping the pit. But the rider reacted swiftly; the intense blaze singed the edges of his robes after dismounting in time. The young man, exhausted and gasping for air, observed the scene with a hint of triumph, But he wasted no time, swiftly vanishing into the welcoming shadows with his escape unhindered.
Beyond the searing barrier of the inferno, the air was filled with the haunting cadence of an unfamiliar language as the four cloaked figures gazed upon the vanishing silhouette of a young man. "Nahal ai'kiel?" (Should we chase?) inquired one of the shadowy riders, their imposing figure towering over the others. “My'ra suhil. Tikarsh mahi'el jiher, non'gul sie'rhal,” (Let us not haste. The forest lies ahead, let the boy hope.) declared another rider, shorter in stature but exuding an unmistakable air of authority. “Ju'er, han'hal huik ma'toshir!” (But my lord, we were so close!) retorted the taller figure, their voice tinged with deference yet laced with defiance. The shorter, evidently the leader, gestured skyward with a dismissive shake of the head. “Hu'rshr nirka'el. Nulska, dru'in asakel,” (I will not repeat myself. Retreat, light is upon us.) he proclaimed with a sweeping motion of his arm, and the fiery wall before them shifted, coalescing to form a portal within the flames. In solemn procession, the dark riders crossed the threshold of the portal. As the last of the riders disappeared within, the portal and the wall of fire dispersed, once again enshrouding the forest in impenetrable darkness.
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As he gasped for air, the young man, still buzzing with the rush of the pursuit, stumbled upon a small opening near the cliff's edge. Where before him sprawled a stunning panorama of the forest below, unfolding in all its natural splendour. Casting his eyes toward the distant skyline, he beheld an enchanting display of verdant foliage, from the graceful ferns to the towering trees, swaying gracefully in the gentle dawn light. The entire scene seemed to stretch endlessly toward the distant horizon, where the cerulean sky seamlessly blended with the waning moon.
Enthralled by the beauty surrounding him, he let out a soft sigh and leaned gently against a colossal tree's rough, weathered bark. He relished the tranquillity that cocooned him like a warm embrace, cherishing this fleeting moment of serenity amidst the untamed wilderness.
The young man found himself ensconced in the soothing grip of the serene environment. The sun's tender rays caressed his skin as a refreshing breeze whispered through the air, carrying with it a sense of quietude. Despite his efforts to remain alert, the exhaustion from a night of unending activity and tension began to weigh heavily on him.
He felt his muscles loosening as the subtle call of sleep enticed him, pulling him into its peaceful embrace. With each passing moment, his eyelids grew heavier, and he could feel his determination slipping away. "I just need a moment to rest," he murmured to himself, surrendering to the inviting grasp of weariness.
However, as he teetered on the edge of slumber, he was suddenly startled to attention by an unsettling rustling coming from the dense undergrowth nearby. In a swift, fluid motion, he quickly opened his eyes and cautiously rose to his feet. Instinctively, his hand sought the reassuring grip of his blade's hilt, and with practised finesse, he drew it from its sheath in one seamless movement.
There was a brief lull, a moment of utter tranquillity, before a diminutive figure dashed out from the thick foliage. Reacting with lightning-quick reflexes, his muscles coiled as he prepared to strike at the veiled presence. However, as his gaze honed in on the creature before him, he deftly altered his course of action at the eleventh hour, narrowly missing the small animal with his blade as it sliced through the air. It was a hare, its russet fur seamlessly melding with the forest floor, its wide reddish eyes brimming with apprehension.
As the young man's blade pierced the earth, the hare took advantage of the distraction and dashed away in the opposite direction, its agile leaps carrying it quickly out of sight. Despite the moment's tension, a sheepish smile spread across the youth's face as he carefully sheathed his blade, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. "A timely reminder that danger still lurks nearby," he thought to himself, surveying the cliff's edge and pondering his next steps. "I suspect there might be a village close by, given the existence of a concealed pit within these woods."
His eyes lingered on the breathtaking view for a few moments. He scanned the distant horizon, hoping to glimpse any signs of human habitation. Initially, the expansive landscape was dominated by majestic, towering trees. A fleeting look of annoyance crossed his face, but it swiftly shifted into a gleam of realization in his eyes.
"In the northernmost reaches of the Southern Continent, a majestic grove is renowned as a sanctuary for towering giants was said to exist. These colossal woods stand as stoic borders, demarcating the boundary between the domain of the Southern and the Northern Continent." The youth's eyes widened in awe as he realized the significance of the towering trees below. "This must be Elderwood," he whispered in hushed tones, his voice laden with both reverence and wonder as he took in the breathtaking grandeur of the archaic forest below. Casting his gaze on the land he had crossed, he paused, a sense of realization dawning upon him. "This very spot marks the boundary I've been seeking. I've finally arrived," he declared, his words resonating with a palpable sense of triumph as he once again beheld the vast and sprawling vista before him. "Elador," he breathed softly, a profound air of finality infusing his voice as he acknowledged his long-awaited arrival at his sought-after destination."
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Nature's grandeur was displayed in the grove of giants, with colossal trees casting a canopy that rivalled even the lowest peaks. Amidst the tranquil expanse, whispers broke the silence. "The bearer of Heart," a soft, resonant voice murmured, "his arrival is imminent."
"But what does it matter?" questioned a second voice. "He has come unprepared, prematurely. What is his value?" The voice pondered, "The child, the bearer of Voice, is inexperienced, untested. The bearers are ill-equipped," it concluded, carrying a sense of wisdom and maturity.
"Perhaps," chimed in a third voice, "but we cannot defy destiny. The bearers are fated to meet; it is not a matter of chance." A hushed silence followed after the third voice spoke, signifying agreement among the three voices. "The child, the bearer of Voice, is destined to guide the bearer of Heart on his quest. We have cherished the child during a decade of nurturing, but this is his fate. This is the only way he will grow," the voice finished, its words fading into contemplative silence.
"Then a trial," proposed the first voice, "a test of Heart to demonstrate his ability to protect the child."
"The child does not need protection; you know this better than anyone," stated the third voice, but the second voice disagreed. "Indeed, the child, the bearer of Voice, will become formidable, surpassing the abilities of an ordinary sorcerer. But what about now? It will be years before he reaches his full potential, and his path is perilous. We will not be there to shield the child."
The third voice fell into contemplative silence, a pause that filled the grove with anticipation as it awaited the third's concurrence. After a few moments, the silence was engulfed by a radiant light that bathed the forest, a brilliance so intense and dazzling that gracefully receded as the third voice assented, "So be it. Let the boy face the trial of Heart; let his determination prove his worth." After their accord, the three voices lapsed into silence, returning the giant grove to its tranquil solemnity.