Chapter 00 - Prologue - Ravings of a Madman.

‘How pitiful their ignorance is?’ Shalandar shook his head as he gazed past the tree he hid behind, towards the singing river where many children darted around with twinkles in their eyes.

Clueless, they were. They knew not what was to come. Their only concerns were the activities of the present, playing in the water, not minding their soaked dresses.

‘How ignorant.’ Shalandar repeated in his head, but a smile lit on his face as he watched the childish spectacle.

Was that not the way of children?

Perhaps he should stop pestering the children and focus on what he could do. It was not their fault they were not ready for the future. After all, even he found himself in an unprepared stance.

His sharp ears quivered, causing him to look at the somber sky. The time of twilight was upon them, and the blue sun had already begun its retreat. However, that was not what caught his attention.

There was a tiny object in the sky, just beneath the sea of clouds. It drew closer to him with every passing second. Shalandar watched it studiously. As he gazed, he lost all notion of time, waiting patiently until he could identify the tiny objects.

‘Ahh, they are here. Bless the Firsts, I started to think they would take days.’

The tiny object revealed itself to be a magnificent carriage pulled by fine faerie horses. The large glowing beasts flexed their power as they ran in empty air.

Shalandar shakily smiled as he dusted his regal dress, handpicked by his wife for this special occasion. He took one last look at the children and headed to his home-his castle. He walked down the forest path towards the city gates up ahead.

It didn’t take him quite as long as he wished. On second thought, what did he expect? The city of Gaelon was only a city in name. In truth, it was nothing but a rural settlement, boasting only tens of elvish families.

The houses here were made of wood and plants. The only structure impressive in this small village was his castle, which his stubborn wife demanded to be of stone and not plain wood.

‘We are high elves. Ancestral blood flows through our veins. Why should we live like the others?’ She said in her usual irksome tone.

Walking past the city gate, Shalandar calmed his vexed heart, partly because of his environment. The city was always quiet, just as he enjoyed it. His people admired him for his kindness but did not hold him on a high pedestal as if he was some king or a gift from the gods.

Even as he walked, they merely greeted him and went back to their business. And for that, he cherished them. Nothing could make him give up his life here, not even a request from the King.

Soon, he reached the entrance of his lonely castle. In his eyes, it was simply a large house. It had two twin towers that were never visited, a large gate with no watcher, and tall windows scattered generously across the wall.

Shalandar went to the edge of the gate. His eyes darted around till he found a small red orb planted on this side of the external wall. The gleaming crystal pulsated frequently like a human heart. Shalandar reached out to it, muttering, “[Dxios].”

As if touched by a hot substance, the crystal erupted beams of reddish lights that ate into the wall, towards the gate. Within five breaths, the gate rose, allowing him to pass through.

So, he continued his walk. Past the garden of flowers, past the castle door, towards the hall where he housed all his guests.

He sat on his chair and ordered the few maids he had to prepare for the guests that were coming. And so he waited.

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His eyes fluttered open as he heard the sounds of footsteps approaching the hall. Shalandar adjusted his body quickly.

‘Hells be damn!’ He swore in his mind. He was just having a good sleep. To him, that was rarer than mithril.

The door flung open and his guests, pompously dressed as was the way of the high elves, strode towards him. There were two of them, both men.

‘Hmmm… quite the duo. I wonder who they are. Their dresses tell me their identity is not something so meager as a bird of the King.’

The elf on the left wore a silver robe that complimented his silvery-white hair. The exquisite robe had several golden lines that pulsated here and there as if they were alive. On his head, the elf displayed the marking of the moon-the ethereal star that watched over all elves.

The elf on the right was less flashy. He wore a similar silver robe, but without the magical lines. Since he was blue-haired, his looks were not out of place for a high elf.

Tapping his index finger on the right arm of his chair, Shalandar flashed an amiable smile as he spoke, “Fellow kin, welcome to my castle. I take it your travel was without troubles.”

By the gods… he hated talking like this, but it was necessary for this occasion, especially when they brought him hope.

The elf on the left returned the smile. “It was quite enjoyable watching the land of Ryithh from high above.”

“Yes, I must admit I am tempted to travel the land again with no purpose.” The second elf said.

The elf on the left took a seat across the table. Then, he quickly got to business. “Bless the Firsts! Vi’Shalandar, it is an honor to be in your presence. Your tales across the lands certainly do you justice. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Siveril Mene Thethyra.”

His companion joined the conversation. “Vi’Shalandar, my name is Myrin Mene Xilric.”

Siveril took over after his companion’s introduction. “We come from the King’s court, bearing an offer befitting of someone your stature.”

Shalandar memorized the name of the two elves… Siveril and Myrin. It was easier if he only knew the first names. From the way they carried themselves, Siveril seemed to have a seat in the King’s court while Myrin was more of an attendant. Well, it didn’t matter to him. Since they were from that place, he expected good news.

He maintained his silence, which prompted Siveril to speak up.

Siveril cleared his throat as he grabbed a letter that rested in the hands of Myrin. The letter was sealed with the marking of the King, something he easily recognized.

“This letter was authored by the Fifth Evening, the Voice of the Moon, King of Evelynia.

I shall now read.

Vi'Shalandar, following the successful campaign with the Traveller King, your image has filled my dreams…”

Siveril began his reading after his pompous introduction of the King. The content was little. It stated the king’s desire to see Shalandar in his court. Basically, an invitation. An offer of a seat in the king’s court.

Shalandar frowned as the light in his eyes dimmed. “Hmmm…”

He said nothing more, only the sounds of his finger hitting the chair's edge filled the brewing silence.

Siveril shuddered as he could now feel the aura of one of the greatest mages in Lycroft. His body felt stiff suddenly, and his mind bounced around, looking through his memory.

‘Did I say something wrong?’ Siveril presumed.

He let out a cry, backed up by his companion, “Vi’Shalandar, forgive me if I have offended you. It was not my intention.”

Shalandar sighed and said, “When I saw your carriage in the sky, I had assumed the King got hold of my letter?”

“Yes, that he did.” Siveril nodded sharply without caring for his head.

“Ahhh… So, he read my letter and yet responded with a seat offer. There is chaos brewing. I can feel it. I can see it. I can taste it. Does the King not care about that? Does not my concern warrant even a shred of attention from the king?”

With each passing word, Shalandar peeled off the veil of calmness he wore for over a few months now. The frequency of his finger tapping increased, and his sky-blue eyes lost all their luster.

He winced, shaking off the nightmare in his head. The same nightmare that disturbs him every night.

He sneered, “I understand. You do not need to say another word. The king does not see my concern as anything but the ravings of a madman.”

How ignorant the King was?

His bone rattled and the sounds his fingers produced intensified, now swallowing the silence. To the two elves, it felt like the drums of hell, the sound one hears when death is near.

Feeling apprehensive, Shalandar grabbed the wine cup near him. He downed the winterberry wine into his body. The coldness of the liquid chilled his body. And soon he was back to normal.

Shalandar closed his eyes and sighed, maintaining a tranquil breathing. Immediately he opened his eyes, he observed his two guests. They were terrified, he could tell.

It was no using frightening those who were merely voices of the King. He could not blame his visitors for the thoughtlessness of the King.

Shalandar revealed a smile. “I’m sorry for my shameful act. Tell the King I will think about his offer. We are done here. May the blessed Firsts watch over your journey back.”

He strutted out of the hall. The meeting had fouled his mood. The King’s haughty denseness was like a speck of filth on his regularly maintained mask.

Squeezing his fists, Shalandar decided it was time to take matters into his own hands. The King could dwell in his ignorance for all he cared, but he would not.