"Excuse me, are you members of Elite Team One?"

Wilran eyed the half-elf wearily. It had been five long days since she and her companions had made the trip from Lightmount to Goldale and by the setting of the sun on the fifth day the weight of exhaustion pressed heavily on her. Her muscles ached and creaked, stiff from sleeping on the hard ground. All she wanted to do now was have a good soak and sleep a warm bed. Still, the half-elf's greeting was friendly enough, and by the military garb and color of her purple beret, Wilran knew the woman to be of some importance.

"Why yes," Wilran replied trying her best to be polite. "What can we do for you?"

The woman stood a bit straighter, offering a crisp salute. "Lieutenant Aldermoon of the Goldale Guard. I've been instructed to intercept you regarding your lodgings."

"Oh?" Tash cut in, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Of the four members of Wilran's team, the Youngling of the Sands was the most suspicious—a habit she had come to accept. Over the past three months, she'd learned to trust Tash's instincts, even if the Galak did play his tarot so close to his chest that it left the rest of them guessing. "Is something wrong?"

The Lieutenant pulled out a note and gave it to Tash as she explained the situation. "Nothing serious. There was a scheduling issue, and we only learned of your arrival earlier today. Unfortunately, we're having trouble finding accommodations large enough for your team."

She handed the note to Tash, who took it without hesitation.

"I apologize for the inconvenience," the lieutenant continued, gesturing toward a large building across the street. "For tonight, we've arranged for you to stay at the inn. It's modest but comfortable. And don't worry about the cost—the Guard will cover it."

Tash read the note but did not share the contents with the rest of them; not that Wilran was surprised. Doubting, it was anything important to begin with, she instead let him fold the letter up, then put it in his diplomatic pouch. She herself stifled a sigh, feeling her patience thin. Letting Tash take the lead, he gestured for Lieutenant Aldermoon to guide them, her thoughts drifting as her stomach grumbled.

Maybe they could get a meal first. She'd earned it after all.

Lost in her thoughts, Wilran barely registered the sound of a loud bell ringing from the direction of the gate as they crossed the street. When the chime finally broke through her haze of exhaustion, it struck her as odd. It seemed far too early or late for the bell to mark a change in time. She turned to ask the lieutenant its meaning, but her question froze on her lips.

Lieutenant Aldermoon had gone pale, her gaze fixed in horror toward the gate. "We're under attack."

All around them the streets exploded into chaos. Panic rippled through the city as screams and shouts filled the air, blending into a cacophony of terror. Dozens of people surged toward the spire, desperate to escape, abandoning their belongings in the frenzied flight. Bags, baskets, and cloaks littered the streets as bodies jostled and shoved, clawing for safety.

Through the chaos, the lieutenant dashed, her movements agile as she weaved through the fleeing masses, heading for the city's defense.

Wilran didn't think twice. Meal, bath, and bed now forgotten, she took off after Aldermoon, shoving her way through the crowd. If the city was under attack, she would fight, no matter the cost. She reached the gate just as it began to close. A guard attempted to stop her; his hand outstretched.

"Ma'am, it's too dangerous! Get inside!"

Before she could respond, Lieutenant Aldermoon drew her sword, her voice sharp. "She's with me, private! Focus on getting the citizens to safety!"

Wilran nodded her thanks and unslung her mace, feeling its familiar weight in her hand. In the distance, the two women scanned the horizon. At first glance, it seemed a meager threat—barely a few dozen goblins charging across the plain. The sight left her confused. They were pests, not an army. The city's thick stone walls could easily withstand them.

She turned to Aldermoon; her brow furrowed. "Is this a regular thing for them? This can't be serious."

The lieutenant, still scanning the field, shook her head, equally baffled. "No... this is suicide. They can't hope to breach the city. Why would they attack like this?"

As the goblins neared, Wilran's companions arrived, weapons ready. Each of them wore the same bewildered expression. The goblins should have posed no real threat—until Tash's voice cut through the confusion, realizing their true purpose.

"There! Look!"

Wilran's eyes followed his outstretched hand, and her breath caught in her throat. She had missed it—a lone figure darting between the scattered rocks, almost invisible amidst the chaos. But now, in the open field, the elf's desperate flight became clear. The poor creature was running for her life, just barely keeping ahead of the goblin horde.

The goblins weren't trying to breach the city walls. They were hunting.

"They're after a citizen! We must protect her!" The lieutenant shouted as she charged.

Wilran followed, her heart racing as she pushed herself to keep pace, but soon found herself outstripped by the more robust members of her team. As she closed the distance, she could see more of the elf and her heart broke. Fear and panic twisted the woman's features. Save for a tattering of clothes that barely clung to a filth ridden body, she was mostly naked. Scars crisscrossed her skin—some old and faded, others fresh and weeping. A deep gash ran down one side of her face, oozing with blood as a busted lip and a black eye graced the other side. So much dirt and grime caked the woman's hair, it was hard to tell her true color, but as Wilran approached, she realized it was a deep, vibrant red.

"Help!" she cried and Wilran obeyed hardening her resolve.

Without missing a beat, she reached into her pouch and pulled out a small silver mirror, its silvery surface bouncing the sun's setting light across the field. With a quick adjustment of her shield, she began the intricate somatic movements required for her spell, whispering a prayer to her goddess for divine intervention.

To her left, she could see Julius, a plucky Youngling of the Plains, trying to buy her time. He belted out a song that echoed across the battlefield and the goblins closest to the elf had fallen over in slumber, having fallen victim to the spell's lullaby. She hoped it would give her the time she needed to finish casting her spell as she channeled her own magic through the mirror, reflecting it towards in the female.

Unfortunately, it was not. Time slipped through her fingers like water. Just as her spell began to take effect, an arrow shot through the air, finding its mark in the elf's shoulder. Wilran's heart plummeted as the elf crumpled to the ground, her hopes dashed in an instant.

However, the battle was not over. Lieutenant Aldermoon and Zuna, their satyr frontline fighter, had clashed with the goblins, their sharp steel decimating the beasts' numbers. In the chaos, Yenry, their halfling wizard, unleashed flames that scorched the goblins attempting to break through their defenses. A smug smirk played on his lips, and his eyes sparkled with excitement, as if he relished the anarchy. Normally, Wilran found Yenry's arrogance grating, but at this moment, she was grateful for his lethal magic.

They had worked well as a team; an elite team created just for a purpose like this. Tash rained down arrows from above, Julius mesmorized the enemy, Yenry burned them to a crisp, Zuna held the bottleneck, and Wilran kept them alive. Aldermoon's presence was unnecessary, but with her there, Wilran had very little to do. Yet still, she considered the battle a failure. The only one she could have helped, was the only one she failed to help. Frustrated at herself as Aldermoon and Zuna mopped up the few remaining goblins that had decided to turn tail and run, she approached the fallen female.

"How sad," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. She did not know who the Youngling of the Stars was, but knew that any youngling of the divine Goddess did not deserve to die alone in the dirt, abandoned and forgotten.

She approached the Saintian, praying that the Goddess would take the elf's spirit up into her arms and carry her off to paradise. However, as she drew closer, something peculiar caught her attention: the elf pulsed with familiar magic. The effects of her spell still lingered, whispering a single truth to Wilran: the elf was alive.

It's not your time, Wilran thought refocusing her prayer. She laid a healing hand on the woman's chest channeling the magic from her own body into hers almost recoiling over its unexpected result. Light surrounded them both and grew in brightness. The elf jerked unexpectedly and sat up gasping for air. For a second, their eyes locked—brown meeting green. The wounds on her cheek and lips healed, her face glowing with a radiant light. Wilran felt an unexplainable kinship with the elf, an instinctual pull that made her trust the stranger with her life. Words hovered on her lips, but before she could speak, the spell faded, and the elf collapsed once more.

Realizing she needed help, Wilran called to the others. "Can someone give me a hand?"

Julius and Tash ran to her as she attempted to gently wake the elf, but to no avail. After a moment, she thought it might be better to try healing her again, but nothing happened. For the first time in her life, the Goddess had refused her request to heal while she still had energy to channel.

Wilran stood, masking the mixed of feelings building up inside her. She turned to Tash and said, "I think we will have to carry her inside." Tash nodded and bent down, ready to lift the elf, but Wilran stopped him. "Maybe, it's best if we get Zuna."

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

He blushed slightly. "Right. Zuna?"

"Hmm..." Julius mused, panning his lips. "That's interesting."

She turned in his direction. "What do you see?"

"Look," he said, gesturing towards the elf's sex. If he was making a point, she wasn't sure what it was or even if it was appropriate.

Flustered, Wilran felt her cheeks warm as she stammered, "I'm not sure what you're trying to say."

Julius rolled his eyes and pointed to a different part of the cloth covering her nether region. "Look at the material."

She looked again, this time with interest, but still couldn't see what Julius was referring to. Like the rest of the unconscious female, the rag was soiled with what she hoped was dirt and earth. Again, she looked back at him.

For a second time, he rolled his eyes. "It's silk." He bent down and touched the fringe cloth wrapped around her shoulders as Lieutenant Aldermoon and the rest of the team gathered around them. He lightly rubbed the cloth in his fingers and stood up. "Cashmere. Whoever this elf is, she's no farm girl. The quality of her clothes is very expensive."

Lieutenant Aldermoon bent down to pick her up. "It's likely someone will know who she is then. We should get her to the hospital."

They made their way back to the gate as a sergeant rushed out to meet them. "Should I sound the all-clear lieutenant?"

Lieutenant Aldermoon shook her head. "No Sargent Lura, I'll handle that myself. First, I must inform the palace and take care of the fallout. I need you to escort Elite Team One to the hospital with the injured civilian. Make sure their fee at the inn is taken care of. If the inn has closed due to the attack on the city, try to find somewhere else that can accommodate them."

The sergeant saluted the lieutenant as she passed the unconscious elf off into Zuna's arms. The city itself was still in chaos. Near the gate, most of the area had been deserted, save for a few soldiers scrambling to extinguish fires that had erupted in the confusion of the attack. Smoke billowed upward in thin curls, blending with the darkening sky.

Further along, they encountered a human woman. She was pressed desperately against a door, holding a youngling in one arm while pounding her fist uselessly against the wood with the other. The sound was hollow, a cry for help that would go unanswered.

Wilran's heart clenched at the sight. Memories rushed back—unwelcome, yet impossible to ignore.

As a youngling, life had been unforgiving. Her family had been desperately poor, surviving on scraps when they could find them. Sometimes, days passed without a meal. Her mother and father would give her whatever small portions they could, often starving themselves in the process. But it was never enough. She could still remember the gaunt shadow of her ribs beneath her skin, the gnawing hunger that never left.

That was, until they vanished, never to be seen again.

It was around the time she was six completions—her parents disappeared, leaving behind nothing but silence. Alone and terrified, she had wandered the streets until a young acolyte found her, taking her to the secret temple of the Goddess. He told her it was the will of the Goddess that she be pulled from the short, violent, and painful life she had been destined for. Mercy and grace she received, and mercy and grace she believed. She clung to that belief, praying each night for the strength to change not only her own circumstances but the fate of others like her. She had sworn to be the instrument of balance—to right the scales between the rich and the poor, the powerful and the powerless. It wasn't until a few months ago, did the Goddess finally grant her request

At that time, she had been nothing more than a sergeant in the Clayborn Reserve, performing her duties in the shadow of the grand city. On the day everything changed, she had been at her post, lost in the monotony of routine, when an eccentric Youngling of the Trees approached her. She wasn't alone—beside her stood Prince Elaneiros himself. Wilran had snapped to attention, her heart racing as she saluted the prince, but something about the youngling made her feel strange. There was a warmth in her gaze that both comforted and unnerved her. It wasn't unfriendly, but it was... different.

The youngling had smiled up at her, eyes twinkling with something she couldn't place. "That's the one."

The prince had frowned, his gaze flicking between the two of them, clearly uncertain. "Are you sure? She doesn't look like much... she's not even an officer."

The youngling nodded confidently. "I'm sure. I'm never wrong."

The prince hesitated; his unease apparent. "I don't even know her name."

"You will soon," the youngling had replied with a smirk.

The prince had sighed, clearly reluctant. "Fine, but you'd better not be wrong about this. I'm the one putting my neck on the line for you." Then, for the first time, the prince had turned his full attention to Wilran. "Sergeant...?"

She had spoken before her mind could catch up. "Stillfond, Your Majesty."

He had shifted uncomfortably, as though weighing his words. "Sergeant Stillfond, you are hereby ordered to Lightmount to join an elite team on behalf of Clayborn, effective immediately. You are to pack your belongings and catch the first boat out of Clayborn by morning. Once there, you'll report to General Nel, who will oversee your training alongside the rest of your team." He had paused, his expression torn, as though the next part was particularly difficult for him to say. "Any questions?"

She had a thousand, but she had only shaken her head. Somehow, deep within her, she had known this moment was what she had been waiting for. This was the path the Goddess had laid out for her since the day she first knelt in the secret temple, the reason she was saved in the first place.

Now, as Wilran walked through the streets of Goldale, a familiar unease settled over her, the same feeling she'd had when she first met the halfling youngling. At the time, she had brushed it aside, attributing it to nerves or the oddity of the encounter. But with the wounded elf weighing heavily on her mind, that sensation returned, more intense than ever. It gnawed at her, an insistent pull she couldn't explain.

By the time they arrived at the hospital, her thoughts were consumed by it. Following the direction of one of the attendants, Zuna gently placed the elf onto a bed that was quickly wheeled away. She stood for a moment, staring after the unconscious woman, a strange kinship still lingering in her chest. There was something deeper at play here, something she couldn't quite put into words. She resolved to return in a day or two—not just to ensure the elf was alright, but to uncover the truth behind the mysterious connection.

After leaving the hospital, they made their way back to the inn. Sergeant Lura spoke briefly with the innkeeper, who found them rooms with ease, noting that many of his patrons hadn't returned since the city's alarm had sounded. While the rest of the team gathered to discuss the night's events, Wilran silently slipped away to her room, craving solitude.

Yet sleep eluded her.

Her mind was restless. When she finally drifted off, her dreams were fractured and unsettling. The divine goddess, whose presence had always been a source of comfort, now haunted her sleep. Visions flickered through her subconscious: herself, bowed in prostration, the eccentric halfling, and something darker—a black mask adorned with swirling, jagged points that seemed to twist and writhe in the dim light of her dreamscape.

The elf she had saved was there too, but she was different, transformed. Dressed in all black, her once auburn hair and bright green eyes had shifted to a deep, unnatural purple. Her face was cold and emotionless, but Wilran could see her hand twitching, slowly lifting the black mask toward her face. The dream unfolded with an agonizing slowness, the mask inching ever closer, dark tendrils creeping along the elf's fingers. Just as the mask was about to settle upon her face, Wilran woke with a start.

Unable to shake the unsettling images, she dressed quickly and made her way downstairs. A human she didn't recognize stood behind the bar, quietly cleaning glasses. When he offered her breakfast, she accepted, though her thoughts were far from the food before her. As she ate, she tried to piece together the fragments of the dream, desperate to hold onto the details before they slipped away entirely. But like most dreams, the more she reached for it, the more it faded, leaving only a lingering sense of dread in its wake.

Realizing that she couldn't afford to let the dream slip away completely, Wilran reached into her pouch, pulled out a small journal, and began to jot down every detail she could remember. Her handwriting was hurried, a mix of frantic scribbles and deliberate notes, as she tried to capture the essence of the dream before it dissolved completely. The black mask, the swirling points, the elf with purple hair and eyes—it all seemed important, though she didn't know why.

In her heart she knew something was happening—something bigger than any of them. And whatever it was, it had only just begun.

An hour after she finished eating, Zuna finally descended the stairs. She too ordered breakfast, exchanging brief words. "Any plans?" her satyr comrade asked.

Wilran hesitated for a moment, weighing her options. The dream still clung to the edges of her mind, and the connection she felt with the elf gnawed at her thoughts. Maybe Zuna would sense it too. She turned to her, curiosity sparking in her eyes.

"How about we check on the elf?" Wilran suggested, her voice betraying hope than she had intended.

To her surprise, Zuna nodded. "Why not?"

Determined, they made their way to the hospital together. Inside, amidst the strong scent of antiseptic, an attendant greeted them with a practiced warmth—the kind that masked exhaustion but kept things moving. They asked about the elf's condition and were directed to a room at the end of the second-floor hall.

The first door they opened revealed not the elf but a youngling, curled up and fast asleep. Wilran frowned, exchanging a glance with Zuna. Something felt off. They tried another door—empty. The next room held an elderly man who scowled at them, his eyes full of suspicion, as if they were there to steal his last breath. Definitely not the right room.

Wilran felt a flicker of frustration but also... something else. A strange pull that guided her gaze to a door across the hall. She didn't know why, but her instincts screamed for her to check it.

She approached it slowly, pushing it open just in time to catch the sharp sound of a smack and the glimmer of tiny reflective particles scattering across the floor.

The room was eerily quiet, but its disarray spoke volumes. The bed was rumpled as if someone had hastily abandoned it, and for reasons she couldn't fathom, a chair sat precariously atop the dresser, teetering slightly. Wilran's eyes darted across the room, catching sight of shattered glass—tiny shards scattered across the floor and tucked away in a towel. At the center of it all, a brush lay on the ground, its handle wrapped tightly in a bandage.

But what troubled her the most was the open window.

A rush of dread surged through her. Without thinking, Wilran clambered onto dresser, then the chair, leaning out the window for a better view. For a moment, there was nothing but the quiet hum of the city below. Then, movement—down by the alley. The elf. She sprinted past a tree, before vanishing into the narrow passage.

Wilran's pulse quickened. Without hesitation, she jumped down from the chair, her voice urgent. "She's outside!"

Zuna was already at her side, racing towards the door. "How did she get down there?"

"I don't know, maybe she climbed the tree," Wilran shot back as they barreled down the hall, her mind racing. When they reached the attendant's station, almost tripping over each other in their rush, Wilran quickly explained what had happened. The woman's face went pale with panic, and without another word, she hurried off to summon the guards from the army headquarters across the street.

Outside, the two split up, Zuna taking the right path while Wilran sprinted to the left. She followed the alley where she'd seen the elf, but by the time she arrived, it was empty. Her heart sank—how had she vanished so quickly? Wilran's gaze darted across the streets, scanning for any sign of movement. She glanced to her left and spotted Zuna, heading toward her. Frustrated but determined, Wilran decided to head back toward the spire.

She made it all the way back without a trace of the elf. But just as she was about to give up hope, a thought crossed her mind—maybe the elf had ducked into one of the nearby shops. As a last-ditch effort, she approached the guard stationed by the entrance to the upper and lower levels.

"Excuse me, have you seen an elven woman with red hair?" she asked, breathless from her run.

"Um...No I'm sorry I... Wait do you mean her?" He said pointing past her. About forty feet away there was some sort of commotion where a merchant was attacking the poor elf as she lay on the ground. She ran to intervene, but before she got there a familiar satyr had caught her eye. It was her captain, the leader of Elite team One.

The captain looked surprised to see such a display going on behind her, but as the merchant stepped back revealing the defeated elf, the captain's surprise changed to shock, from shock to astonishment, and then astonishment to horror. As Wilran approached, the captain said the name of the unknown elf Wilran so desperately wanted to meet.