My name is Raziel of Altafar– the land beneath and between Basinpond and Edgebrook. We Svakkalians, whose blackened skin reminiscent of cinders bestowed us the byname of Ashen Elves, resided in our own communities deep inside the many chasms and hollows that lay beneath the surface world. Our ashen skin struck fear in surface dwellers, as did our natural prowess of the dark arts. We were banished from the surface world, cursed to never step foot outside of Altafar, or else our blackened skin would disintegrate upon feeling the sun’s rays, so they say.

Unbeknownst to the surface dwellers and after centuries had passed, we Ashen Elves, as they liked to call us, were no longer a monoethnicity. The land once known as Altafar had been split into two halves after a civil war: Dvorttal and Svakkal. For centuries, after the first civil war, both nations lived in peace; until inevitably, overpopulation plagued both nations and the land beneath the surface had reached its limit. Waging war was seen as the only option.

During the second war, I was but a child– seventy-five rotations young. Being of elven blood, we age at a rate slower than most living creatures. At the age of seventy-five, my biological age would be comparable to that of a human child of the age sixteen. Where a human would achieve adulthood at eighteen, an Altafarian, what we Ashen were called prior to the war, would be deemed one at one hundred years old, the same is true for our elven cousins.

During the famine, my life changed when I met this young lass. I hadn’t a home then, looking for whatever scraps I could find to serve me for the night. That night, she happened upon me scouring through the garbage outside of her home. She stood watching me as I did so, for how long I haven’t the faintest idea. I remember hearing her voice for the first time; it was music to my ears despite sounding like complete and utter gibberish.

“Ul’pegu Zu.” This was my first time in Dvorttalian territory; my first time hearing the language they’d come up with after our people separated into two. I knew it was dangerous for me, a Svakkalian, to venture past our borders but the odds of finding a meal were worth the danger— everything in Svakkal had been pillaged long ago.

When her rose eyes met mine, I was immediately entranced. Her skin, lighter than mine, shared the same hue as a violet moon. Her soft, silver hair, tied at opposite ends, fell down into two braided twin tails that rested on her shoulders.

Her white nightgown hung from her shoulders as she presented a loaf of bread in the palm of her hands. I noticed then the look of pity in her eyes. I imagined from her perspective, that I looked like a lost pup rummaging through her garbage. “Howu’yah. C’xuogu. Iae ofu Tebsfi, iug?” She stepped but a toe closer, bringing the loaf within arm’s reach.

I was hesitant to accept her offering; her people and mine were enemies. Is it poisoned? Could she be luring me into a trap; to become her father’s slave or housepet? I wish I knew what she was saying.

Nonetheless, my stomach answered for me, roaring like a rabid wolf at the sight of food. The Dvorttalian smiled at me, exhaling rhythmically as she suppressed her snickers. “R’faz H’tu Gaeb’q ar yah, iae ofu. Tufu, yah yag r’fugt.” She gestured the bread toward me, but I remained unmoved.

Her gorgeous smile was mainly what paralyzed me, and as I stood unmoving, she placed the loaf wrapped in cloth atop a stone. “Iae pob h’fegh zu.” Her hand lay atop her heart with sincerity as she spoke. “Y toju ba deoxz’g k’ayht Svakkalians.” Her hand was pointed directly at me the moment she said the name of my people. So she knows. Yet her pointed finger lacked any malice; it was as gentle as her voice. “Yar yah kufu ec ha zu, h’tayg g’hecyaq kof nuhuub Svakkal obuq Dvorttal kaexiq ubuq… Iae pob pazu hazaffak. Ku toju c’xubhi.” After failing to provoke even a syllable out of me, she dismissed herself.

As if I were petrified to stone, I stood unmoving as she retreated back into her home. At the wooden steps of her stone home, she stopped for a moment, taking one last glance at me. A smile rested on her face, one that hid her teeth but it was a smile nonetheless. She lifted her hand and that hand waved to me. “Saaq’bysth.”

The moment the door shut, I snatched the bread as if I’d pillaged it and disappeared into the darkness. Moments later, I found myself sitting alone inside a dank cavity, hidden by a wall of vines. It was where I lived after my family had been killed, but I wouldn’t call it a home; it was barely large enough to lie in.

The bread was in my hand then, still wrapped in cloth. I was afraid to eat, still having ill thoughts about the Dvorttalian. She can’t have followed me– unless this cloth has been enchanted with a tracking spell. I should have disposed of it.

My starved stomach rumbled once more, informing me that if I were to hesitate any longer, it would begin consuming itself. I had no other choice. I unwrapped the Dvorttalian bread and took just one small bite. That instant, I could feel my eyes growing wide, any wider and they would have rolled from their sockets. This is– incredible!

Before I could swallow the first bite, I took another. The bun, as soft as a cloud, stretched as I pulled it with my teeth. It’d been so long since the last time I experienced bread that didn’t crumble as if I were eating dry soil or was covered in mold. With each bite, the lilac-skinned elf transformed closer to a goddess in my mind.

That night, I dreamt of her. There was no war then– only clouds that appeared as bread, and she and I were dancing atop them. Despite never having danced with a maiden before and having the coordination of a newborn wildebeest, our dance was perfection. I imagined what her voice would sound like if she’d spoken my language; her soft voice made my heart flutter with every syllable.

When I awoke from this dream, I wanted nothing more than for it to become my reality, though the clouds made of bread weren’t a necessity. I returned to her home that night and there she was, already waiting for me with more bread wrapped in cloth. Upon seeing her again, I felt a strange fear come over me. For a moment, I hid as she waited on the wooden steps of her home. All I could do was gaze upon her solemn face.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

As I watched her, I pondered why she appeared so pained. She was a Dvorttal elf, living in a modest home with what I assumed to be her family and a stomach that was full. After enough time had passed, I decided to reveal myself. As I emerged from the darkness, that solemn expression faded, her eyes gleamed and her lips formed the gentlest of grins. “Iae pozu...” Her voice was hushed, just as it was the night prior– but this time, there was a sense of relief.

Without a word, I approached her. This time, she brought the bread closer to me, placing it in my hands herself. “Y q’yaq bah nuxyuju abu kog ubaest, ga Y k’foccuq h’ku ar h’tuz yab h’tyag p’xaht raf Iae. Zi oca’xasyug.” I stared back at her blankly as if I were brainless. None of those words had any meaning to me.

I have to talk to her this time. Perhaps she knows the language of old as well.

She started back for her home, but the moment she heard my voice, she halted where she stood. “Thank you. I can’t remember the last time anyone has fed me.” She turned around, looking at me with the same dumbfounded expression that I imagine I must have looked at her with when she first spoke to me. Just as her words were gibberish in my ears, my words were nothing more than scrambled nonsense to hers.

“Iae w’bak Surfacespeak?” The way she spoke was as if she were asking me a question. Did she say Surfacespeak? Is that what they call it? I assumed the question she asked was regarding whether or not I spoke this so-called surface speak. Come to think of it, I never knew the name of our language. Perhaps Surfacespeak was the official name after all.

“Yes?” I nodded my head; even though she couldn’t understand my words, I knew this gesture must have been universal.

The lilac-skinned elf slowly stepped toward me once again, grabbing my hands and inspecting the layer of dirt atop them. “k’tufu toju iae ha su?” Again, she spoke with the cadence of one asking a question, but I couldn’t understand a word. All I knew was that she was dirtying herself by touching me.

“I’m sorry. I don’t understand.” I pointed to my own ears, shaking my head in denial; hoping she would understand what that meant.

It was clear she was growing frustrated by the way she exhaled; not at me, but at the fact that it was impossible for us to communicate with each other. The next thing I knew, she placed her finger on my chest. “Iae.”

She said just that one single word, one that I recognized from the flurry of gibberish she spoke to me. It must be a common word. Does it mean ‘You’? She then placed her fingertips together, creating a pointed shape with her hands. “Tazu?”

Tazu? An arrowhead? Mountain? I tried my best to understand, but none of these words seemed appropriate within the current context of our conversation. “I’m sorry.” I once again shook my head, pointing to my ear. Once more, she appeared frustrated and growled– it was an adorable growl, more like a hum.

“Tazu.” Her voice was a tinge less gentle due to her frustration. Her eyes remained locked onto me as she pointed at her own home before once again making that pointed shape with her hand. “Tazu.” Again she placed her finger atop my chest and said, “Iae.” She then made that shape with her hand once more. “Tazu.”

She’s asking do I have a home?

I shook my head. “I do not have a home… No Tazu. I live in a–” I found myself speaking to her as if she understood me, but I stopped myself. It wasn’t going to work. Instead, I took both of my hands and formed a circular shape. “Cave. No Tazu. Cave.”

I believe she understood me. Rather than appearing frustrated, her shoulders lowered, along with her ears. The way she looked at me, it was as if she felt sorry for me. It was reminiscent of the moment she found me rummaging. “Ku toju o g’cofu faaz.” She once again started forming motions with her hands, but I could not understand what any of it was implying. Her frustration was visible. Rather than trying even more fruitless attempts at communicating through words, she decided to show me.

She grabbed my hand and began dragging me into her home. I don’t know why, but I did not fight it.

If she were leading me to my death, so be it. I had nothing to lose, but much to gain.

The moment I stepped foot inside, I was reminded of what it was like to feel the warmth of an enclosed space. I hadn’t noticed until then, but my body had been in a perpetual state of trembling due to the cold; the trembling ceasing once the door was shut behind me. She pointed to my chest again. “Iae.” She then pointed to the ground. “Tazu.”

Is she telling me that this is my home?

I couldn’t believe that a Dvorttalian– of all people– was offering me refuge; it was almost too good to be true. She could be a temptress, a Dvortallian spy attempting to reveal the location of a Svakkalian sanctuary through me. Well, the joke is on you, lady! I haven’t any knowledge of any sanctuary! Despite anticipating her betrayal, half of my being trusted her. Those kind eyes of hers, maternal in nature, seemed incapable of deception.

First, she allowed me to bathe. I’d forgotten the color of my own skin; it’d been so long since I was last properly cleaned. I remember the moment I saw my own reflection as a clean man; I nearly shed tears. No longer was my skin tainted by dirt, its violet hue was restored. My hair, though still overgrown, had been washed and returned to its silver color as well. Though I was still a child, I’d grown up. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw myself, but that boy from before had long been dead.

Once I was clean, I was greeted by a bowl of stew resting on the dining room table. I could see steam emanating from it, a sight that had been long forgotten after what seemed like eons of living in caves eating cold scraps. The moment the piping hot concoction of potatoes, meat, and carrots graced my tongue, I could no longer hold back my tears.

“Thank you.” I could barely speak without breaking down. As if my tear ducts and hers were connected, I could see puddles forming beneath her eyes as well. Despite our having no understanding of one another, she understood how much being cleaned and fed meant to me.

“Iae pob toju og zept og iae x’yawu.” she told me. I assumed she meant something along the lines of ‘You’re welcome’.

After supper had ended, she showed me the way to the attic. It was in between two bedrooms, one that I presumed to be hers, and another that likely belonged to the head of the household. “G’cofu faaz.” she pointed to the hatch above before pulling on the string and revealing a wooden ladder. She began climbing into the dark abyss, and I of course followed.

Is this where the dream, the facade of this kind soul, ends? I thought to myself as I climbed behind her. There were rumors that the Dvorttal would eat Svakkalians, though I believed those to be nothing more than fairytales so we wouldn’t stray away as younglings. Nonetheless, those fairytales were in the back of my mind.

Perhaps she cleaned and fed me so my flesh was more palatable. The lass reached the top of the ladder and disappeared into the darkness. I myself was near the summit to the abyss; my heart was racing and I could feel myself trembling, not from the cold, but from the fear of the unknown.

When my head passed through the void, and my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I found myself somewhere unexpected.