In the bewitching embrace of midnight, the forest was painted in hues of silver under the pale glow of the moon. The wind, carrying the chill of the night, whispered through the ancient trees. Yet, nestled on a sturdy branch, Elvina felt an unusual warmth seeping through the cold.
Her golden hair cascaded like molten sunlight as she swayed her legs, suspended in the serenity of the moment. The night air, touched by an ethereal spirit, seemed to wrap around her with a sense of sentient delight. It played with her hair and rustled the leaves in joyful cadence, as if celebrating the presence of the adventurous elf.
With a worn-out notebook in one hand and a quilt in the other, Elvina gazed into the depths of the forest. The trees bore witness to the tales as she etched under the moon's gentle glow.
"I was currently trying to find my way out in this forest," she wrote, her emerald eyes reflecting the moon's shimmer. "My name is Elvina, and this is my first journal since I escaped from home."
The midnight breeze carried her words into the secrets of the forest, as if the very air longed to know the tales woven by the young elf's heart.
"I can feel my excitement and curiosity for the outside world," she mused, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of anticipation and nostalgia. "Although I love my home, my mom, and dad, as well as everyone else, including Mr. Forest, I'm sure they will understand; after all, I am already an adult!"
The wind, now a companion to her musings, carried her words into the depths of the forest, where ancient trees seemed to nod in acknowledgment. Elvina, confident in her skills, couldn't help but express her pride.
"I don't mean to brag, but I am considered one of the most dedicated archers and mages in our village. So, I’m pretty sure I can handle myself," she declared, puffing out her non-existent chest in proudness.
As she reminisced, a touch of melancholy crossed her face. "Miss Talia, my instructor, said I have the potential to become one of the greatest royal guards of the high council. Sadly, I don’t want to sacrifice my life for others. For others, it may be an honor, but for me, it was dull life."
Elvina shook her head "I don’t get the idea of guarding someone as an honor. I’m more of an explorer of truth than a fighter. I’m always curious about everything."
The silver leaves above rustled in agreement, echoing her desire for knowledge. "As I grew older, I realized I had already read everything about the village. All that was left was to go to the main capital and apply to become a royal mage, there I can sate my curiosity as they held largest library. Sadly, I need to dedicate my life to the council if that happens. I have so much to explore, and attaching myself to the council is out of the question."
High in the ancient branches, Elvina contemplated the vast tapestry of her future, the forest holding its breath in anticipation of the adventures that beckoned beyond the familiar borders of home.
As her thoughts danced among the leaves, the wind, once a gentle whisper, turned turbulent. A discordant symphony of clashing metals pierced the tranquility of the night, causing Elvina's emerald eyes to sharpen with caution. Elvina swiftly stowed her worn-out journal into a small brown bag slung across her shoulder. Her fingers then instinctively found the familiar contours of her bow while adorning her quiver which holds 10 arrows.
"Wind step," she muttered, a whispered invocation. In response, the air around her feet swirled into a cyclone, carrying her gracefully to the forest floor. With a sense of urgency, she rushed toward the tumult, the ground beneath her feet feeling the urgency of her purpose.
Approaching the source of the commotion, she halted at the edge of a moonlit clearing. Nine figures came into view, caught in a chaotic ballet of blades. A young man, desperately fending off six assailants, screamed amidst the fray. An old man engaged in a one-on-one battle with another adversary.
Elvina's keen senses caught the faint whistling of wind, and her gaze instinctively rose. An arrow materialized from the shadows, striking the old man's feet. Though he grunted in pain, he maintained his focus on his opponent. Seizing the opportunity, the enemy pressed the attack, leaving the old man vulnerable.
The young man, momentarily distracted, became the target of a swift strike. A sword found its mark, slicing across his chest. The forest seemed to hold its breath, mirroring Elvina's internal struggle.
Should I help? She look at the desperate young man as he tried to protect himself.
If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
Elvina nodded firmly. "It's unfair to fight against such odds. I should even the playing field."
Silently, like a shadow melting into the night, Elvina stepped back, ensuring she put enough distance between herself and the unfolding chaos. In the moonlit silence, she leaped gracefully onto the highest tree within her reach.
Perched on the highest branch, she closed her eyes, surrendering herself to the symphony of the night wind. The cool breeze whispered secrets only the forest knew, and Elvina absorbed its essence, a dance of air and anticipation. Opening her eyes, emerald orbs gleaming with focus, she clutched her bow, pulling an arrow from the leather-clad quiver at her side.
Aligning the arrow with her bow, Elvina pointed it toward the northeast corner of the forest. With a powerful pull, she let the tension build, maintaining her concentration. The wind, a faithful ally, spoke to her in the rustling leaves, revealing the position of her assailants. As the arrow sailed into the night, she watched its trajectory with the keen gaze of a predator.
Her eyes then flickered toward the ongoing conflict below. She pulled an arrow from her quiver and whisper to it. An arrow suddenly enchanted with wind magic materialized in her hand. "Wind pierce," she whispered, her voice blending with the night. The arrow's tip glowed with an ethereal light as it absorbed the essence of the wind.
With precision, Elvina targeted the adversary of the old man, who was still locked in a desperate struggle. Her held bow hummed with tension as she released the enchanted arrow. Time seemed to slow as the arrow, guided by both skill and magic, streaked toward its intended destination.
The forest held its breath as the arrow found its mark, disrupting the rhythm of the conflict below.
(Ian pov)
In the midst of the chaotic skirmish, Ian's mind was a tumultuous storm of expletives. "Fuck!" reverberated through his thoughts like a desperate mantra. He found himself surrounded by six adversaries, each one a looming threat closing in on him. Their sinister intent hung heavy in the air, and Ian's breaths came in ragged bursts.
While the enemies seemed to relish the torment they were about to unleash upon him, his guardian, Sebastian, was engaged in a fierce struggle. The injury to Sebastian's feet compromised his mobility, and Ian's heart pounded in his chest as he witnessed the uneven contest.
"Shit!" Ian muttered, his desperation escalating with every passing moment. His pleas for assistance echoed in the silence of the forest, seeking any ally, any intervention that could tip the scales in his favor.
As if answering his silent call, an unexpected twist unfolded. The enemy engaged in combat with Sebastian suddenly jerked to the left, narrowly evading an arrow that materialized seemingly from thin air. The old man, seizing the opportunity with calculated precision, struck with a swift slash of his sword. The enemy's eyes widened in shock as the blade materialized near his neck.
In the perilous dance of experts, a single mistake could prove fatal, and the old man exploited it to the fullest. The six assailants, frozen in horror, watched as their leader's head rolled away in a swift, decisive motion.
The forest echoed with the collective gasp of the remaining enemies. Before they could comprehend the sudden turn of events, the old man, fueled by a burst of energy, appeared amongst them. In the blink of an eye, his sword traced arcs of deadly grace, leaving each enemy with a slash on their neck.
Clutching their throats in a desperate attempt to contain the inevitable, the six enemies fell simultaneously, like marionettes whose strings had been abruptly cut. The old man, having exerted his last reserves of strength, dropped to his knees.
"Grandpa," Ian breathed, the relief palpable in his voice. The old man, victorious but exhausted, turned to Ian with a weary smile. In the moonlit aftermath of the skirmish, a semblance of calm returned to the forest, broken only by the ragged breaths of the victorious but spent warriors.
Sebastian, summoning the remnants of his strength, made a deliberate effort to stand and address the forest with gratitude.
"Friend, whoever you are, we owe you our thanks. Can we have the honor to know your name?" His words hung in the air, greeted only by the serene melody of the wind chimes.
As the clearing embraced a tranquil hush, a single footstep resonated, stirring the moonlit stillness. Ian, attuned to the subtle nuances of the night, tensed at the approaching sound. Despite his weariness, the old man, fueled by an instinct forged in countless battles, snapped to attention. His eyes widened in wonder, sensing an unseen presence drawing near.
The owner of the approaching footsteps soon revealed herself. Ian turned his gaze toward their savior, a young woman with a ponytail of raven-black hair. Her age seemed to mirror his, and she donned a brown leather armor meticulously crafted from animal hide as she cradled a bow in her hand.
The old man regarded her with a mixture of curiosity and admiration. A silent understanding passed between them, acknowledging the debt owed to their mysterious ally. The clearing held its breath as the trio stood in a delicate dance of curiosity and unspoken gratitude.
The moon, a silent witness to their encounter, cast its silvery glow upon the clearing as the trio stood in a delicate equilibrium. The lingering silence, once pregnant with the resonance of wind chimes, began to stretch, weaving an awkward tapestry of uncertainty.
A sigh escaped Ian's lips, breaking the fragile stillness. "I suppose introductions are in order," he said, a hesitant smile playing on his lips. "I'm Ian, and this is my guardian, Sebastian." He gestured towards the old man, whose expression softened with a nod of acknowledgment.
She just tilted her head in a gesture of curiosity, observed Ian as if deciphering the nuances of his words. Ian, slightly flustered, scratched his head and exchanged a glance with Sebastian.
Sebastian, ever the tactful one, cleared his throat, breaking the momentary awkwardness. "Let's find somewhere to rest first," he suggested, his weary eyes reflecting the toll of the recent skirmish. He cast a knowing look at Ian, acknowledging the need for respite. He felt a twinge of pain as he glanced down at the arrow tip lodged in his foot.