They moved under the cover of the night, coats tied tight around their bodies to prevent even the slightest fluttering. Nadier spun the daggers in his hands out of habit while following closely behind the leader of the assassination squad. They jumped the walls that surrounded the manor and landed at the edge of the garden.

The leader signalled for Nadier with a wave before pointing to a building on the far right. Nadier waved back with two fingers to signify an understanding. His target was in that building.

They split up, with the leader melding into the shadow as she headed for the main hall. Nadier stepped around, circling a small pond as he headed for the far right bedchamber. A steady, yellow incandescent light cast a cross from the window onto the ground. Slowly, he peeked around the light and once affirming there was no one else within the room, slowly lifted the panel open.

In a swift motion, he jumped over while holding onto the lintel. Legs first, the dark elf smoothly slid into the room, landing with nary a sound.

Once in, Nadier let out, “What the...”

It was the soft, steady breathing that immediately drew his attention to his surroundings. An arid of colours splashed across the room. Maroon, teal, brown and green made up the walls of splattered art. Wooden toys littered the floor, with a few copper carriage models thrown into the mix. He was surprised he had not stepped on any of them from his entrance. A copper lamp stood on a nightstand with a bottle of milk with a small gas pump spinning the shade of the lamp, casting shadows of animals dancing across the walls.

A wooden crib sat peacefully in the corner of the room on the far side of the door. Gripping his dagger tight, Nadier walked up to the crib and peered into it. Within, the baby not even old enough to have tufts of hair lay asleep.

“It's just a child...” Nadier muttered.

He had not agreed to it. His orders were to kill the Umbersin family, including the heir, but nothing mentioned an infant. It was likely not needed to. Dark elf assassins were meant to follow orders regardless. They must have not thought him independent enough to question. And while he had killed many in his line of work, he had never harmed a child. But it was his mission. His duty. His order.

With knife in hand, the dark elf stood speechless. An untrained line of thoughts ran through his mind. He was bred as assassin. And assassins of the dark elves were as good as a soldier, if not better. An order was the law. Insubordination was met with a trial, and have always ended with death.

He reached for the lamp on the nightstand and with a slight push, sent it breaking into the ground. The baby began to stir, its eyes slowly focussing on the dark figure before.

Nadier muttered, “I'll come back when you're older.”

The whispers of guards from outside signalled his exit, and the assassin quietly slipped out the window as the baby began crying.

***

He woke to the muffled voice of the guards of Ta'Kalenyilgah – The Gate of Dark Kings – outside. At first, it was hard to hear what the elven soldiers were saying through the thickness of the walls of the crates, but as his mind slowly crawled back to life, the words clarified.

“Any undesirables?” the guard asked.

“No, sir,” the trader replied. “Just crates of fruits and vegetables.”

“Very well. We'll still have to look over your goods. These are just standard procedures.”

“Of course,” the trader replied. Nadier found the grip of his daggers.

The caravan shook as a guard got onto the trailer. “Are those tinbreroot I smell?”

“Yes. Fresh off the coast.”

“Ah. Mind if I buy some off you right now? My daughter loves them.”

“Dark elves have children?”

“Of course,” the guard replied. “They do not stay young for as long as you humes do, but they are child nonetheless.”

A few minutes passed with the guard and the trader bartering through the price of tinbreroot. Nadier's throat itched from the dust within his hiding spot and he held back a cough. Another shift in the trailer as a body clambered onto it. The cover of Nadier's crate opened, and the stoutly trader stared into the box. The dark elf grabbed one of the tinbreroot at his feet, a red, root-shaped fruit, and discreetly handed it over to his guardian. The trader took it and closed the lid back on him.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

It did not take long for the caravan to continue its move forward. Even from within his box, Nadier could feel the cool of the underground shade engulfing the surrounding and the smoothness of the ride as they transitioned onto the smooth stones.

He counted the minutes that passed. Then the hours. The steady clattering of wheels on stone rhythmically settling the pace. At the forth hour, they made it through the underground highway, as evidence by the noise from outside indicating they had entered the main city.

Nadier was reminded it was the first time he had returned in over two hundred years.

Readying himself, he shifted in his seat and pushed against the lid of the crate. But the wood did not budge. He tried again, putting force into the corner, yet only a peek of an opening appeared. He had been had. The trader had double-crossed and trapped him.

“That crafty shit...” Nadier cursed. He wondered if there was a bounty for 'The Wanderer' in the capitol.

He squatted uncomfortably, both hands placed at opposite edges of the box. He pushed to the right, then quickly to the left, and immediately right again. The crate tilted rightwards, towards the direction he knew the exit was. His hope was to throw himself out of the trailer and break the wood by crashing onto the ground. Another left and a final right later, the crate toppled over, the dark elf half-crushing a tinbreroot as he landed of his shoulder.

“Don't break anything in there!” the trader shouted. “Just hold your horses. I'll let you out soon.”

Nadier was not taking the chances. He set himself up and with another round of pushing and pulling, fell over again.

“Hey!” the trader shouted. “Stop that!”

Nadier spat out a spit full of dust before completely ignoring the trader. He continued with another roll. He could hear the man cursing in frustration and felt the caravan picking up speed. His captor intended to reach their destination quicker and Nadier quickened his escape attempt. Another three toppling ensued.

Then, they came to a stopped. The dark elf froze at the action, or lack thereof. He realized the sound of the crowds that should otherwise be on the streets were not heard, and instead, they were surrounded by a wall of silence.

Two distinct sets of footsteps broke the quiet. One from the trader as he walked around to the back and another coming closer from a distance. Then, the footsteps stopped and the crate lid to his right opened, the wooden cover falling to the ground as it did so. Nadier peered over the edge. He had been just one roll away from successfully carrying out his attempted escape.

“As expected of you,” a new voice boomed. It was female and carried a lacklustre strength. “Our most infamous child should manage at least this much. Else, I would be sorely disappointed.”

He had only seen her face on portraits of papers announcing her coronation. Her long black silk robe covered her body and extended to her shin, leaving her looking as if she floated about on a cloud of shadows. Without the aeronium that covered dark elves from the light, her skin was pale white. Her onyx long hair was tied in a ponytail and her freckled sharp face was brought out by her night-dark sclera and piercing red iris. The Ha'Lof of the current cycle, the newest high elf of the dark council. Nintarin Waynwalker stood paying off the stoutly trader with a bag of quints.

Nadier climbed out of his confines just as the trader finished counting his coins. With a bow to the Ha'Lof and sly grin to Nadier, the hume climbed back onto his horse and left.

The Wanderer looked to his surroundings. In the darkness of Ta'Galadul, his eyes adjusted, but without any source of light, everything was coloured deeper into grey. He partially remembered the décor on the high stone walls and field-wide room. They were in one of the delivery halls of the Council Chambers building in the centre of Ta'Galadul. The trader left from the double doors which closed from the outside after him.

Ha'Lof Nintarin asked, “How does it feel to be back home?”

“I don't know,” Nadier replied, wiping off the patch of tinbreroot juice from the shoulder of his coat. “I've been stuck in the box the whole time back.”

“Yes, that is true. I apologize for that. But I had hoped to get you here without you being spotted.” She circled him and stood back to back, staring at the walls around them with eyes that shone as if she was looking at a painting. “This is no trap, as I am sure you are wondering of. Perhaps the crate was, but not this.”

“So what is this, if not a trap?” He turned to face her back.

“A request. We will be attacking Everwind soon. Our armies will be ready in a few days, and there will be war between the two countries.” She turned back and scanned his face carefully before asking, “You don't seem surprised.”

“I had my suspicions. What does this have to do with me?”

“Do you know how the dark council members are selected?” Nintarin asked. Nadier's silence replied a negative. She continued, “I'm not surprised. The process is highly secretive. Magic circuits in elves are rare. But those with them are often powerful. The strongest of the Spellblade thus become the leader of the army. The same goes for the other roles on the council. The smartest, the bravest, the wisest, the oldest. From one council member down to another. Ha'Lofs like myself, however, are selected on chance. The youngest seer of two hundred age will take the role.”

“You're a seer?” Nadier asked. “Is that how you found me?”

“Yes. I am a precognitive telepath. I can read glimpses of minds across all of time and space.” She turned to face him, waving her hands across her chest as she explained her powers. “And I heard the outcomes of the events about to unfold. I am not happy with it.”

“I'm guessing you lost the war against Everwind?”

Nintarin paced slowly left and right, or as Nadier saw it, glided. “No. We won. As expected. Commander Haeswahl Nunderberg still leads the army. And she is a military genius like none in our history. Our victory was assured from the beginning.”

Careful of his next choice of words, Nadier paused, giving it some thought. For some reason he felt he was being tested and that his reply would determine Nintarin's exact response. “So what is worse than war?”

“An endless war,” she replied without pause. “We are creatures of the shade. Do you really think we could hold onto the land of light? There will be constant rebellions. Countless dead strewn across the land. Precious aeronium will be lost along with the lives of their hosts.”

“And you want me to stop it?”

“Yes.”

“If you do not want the war, could you not convince the council out of it?”

“I have tried,” she explained. “But aside from the sage, we were overruled by the majority of the council. There is no room back.”

“This is not my fight.”

“That's what your brother said.”

“Why?” That was the next most pressing question, Nadier thought. “Why would the Ha'Lof of the dark elves want to encourage their own defeat?”

She stopped pacing, turning to look him in the eyes. “Each of us represents something. The commander is strength. The advisor is intellect. The sage is wisdom, and so on. I am the visionary. I am responsible for the future of the dark elves.” Her tone settled in one border-lining despair. “I wonder, when my predecessor moved to spare you of your execution, did he too saw the future I am seeing now?”

Nintarin looked to the empty walls again, a glimmer of light in her eyes shone as she pictured the future onto the empty canvas. Nadier waited patiently for her reply.

Finally, she continued, “We are a warrior race, Wanderer. The one thing we excel in is killing. But you are different. When you committed your crime of insubordination, you exceeded us. You became more than a da'raow, more than death.” She walked up to him, close enough that he could see the freckles on her cheeks and the stillness of her eyes. “There is no room for warriors in the coming age. You will represent us dark elves in the new world of gods and heroes, or our race will end in the coming days.”