My eye fluttered as the words slipped from my mouth. “Excuse me?”

“I can read what the ring says.” He repeated.

Flabbergasted, my thoughts spun, but none could come forth.

Seeing how I remained silent, he continued, his voice steady and calm.

One ring to count the hours,

One ring to mark the days,

One ring to hold the past,

Where time’s river sways.

“That’s what it says, I think.” He tilted his head slightly, spinning the ancient ring on his fingers as if it were nothing more than a toy. “Yeah, that’s all.”

“How do you know that?” I murmured, my voice barely more than a whisper, still in shock.

“I don’t know, I just read it.” He shrugged.

He simply shrugged!

I stared at him, and he smiled. Under any other circumstance, that smile might have made my heart flutter, but right now, my mind was too busy reeling.

That golden ring—perhaps older than the deepest roots of the earth—had been the subject of centuries of research and analysis by countless teams of scholars and historians. Yet, they had uncovered little more than its ancient origins. My father had given it to me as a farewell gift, a reminder that my family would always welcome me back. How could this child decrypt its meaning…?

And what meaning it was. Did that mean there were other similar rings? Or was it supposed to mean something entirely different?

No, there was something even more pressing.

What were the chances for the message to finally be revealed?

First, I would have to be exiled to the furthest corner of the Kingdom, my father to give it me the ring preemptively, and then find Apollyon in the middle of nowhere, where, for that to happen, his entire village would first have to be destroyed and then he would have to travel all the way here by accident.

My gaze turned for the window behind him, to the distant tree below the sunlight, its first blooms taking their vivid yellow colors. The spring had taken its roots, and the trees welcomed its waking.

Lyon looked at me curiously, his brown knitting as I had yet to respond to him.

Waving my head, I dispelled my bewilderment.

“Right.”

Flipping through three more pages, the title wrote: Ionian Kingdom, while the map on the bottom half had zoomed into the forest, and a few more names were added.

“Let’s dive into the Ionian Kingdom and its region real quick, and you’re off for the rest of the day.” I said, trying to refocus on the task at hand.

He nodded, leaning closer to the book.

“We’ve already covered the Great Mountain Range,” I traced my finger along the map to show its size, emphasizing how big it truly was, compared to what he had seen in the previous maps, “and that gray area you see below it, is the Misted Treeline.”

“While the Asmit and Rhineheart Kingdoms are safely protected by the Great Mountain Range from the Valley of the Beast, the Elven territory shares its borders with it. What protects us is this expansive forest, surrounded by such a thick fog that not even quint can be traced within it.”

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

“What makes this fog so special? And where did it come from?” He asked, already forgetting about the ring, putting it to the side to pay more attention to the map.

“It is commonly known that the Elves have the highest affinity to quint. This is because we chose a different path of evolution than the humans and dwarfs. We embraced nature rather than altering it to suit our needs. While this made it harder for us to advance compared to the other nations, it allowed us to explore quint on a much deeper level.”

“The Misted Treeline is a testament to that. A group of like-minded Elemancers united to create this spell, pooling their expertise to form a spell powerful enough to form a border between the Ionian Kingdom and the Valley of the Beast—one that, in many ways, surpasses even the Great Mountain Range.”

"Wow!” His eyes grew wide, sparkles dancing within them. “That’s so cool! How did they do that?”

I chuckled, pleased to have piqued his interest.

“Like the dwarfs, elves are limited in the elements they can manifest. For instance, you’ll never see an elf forming a fireball. However, this limitation, combined with the deeper unity that has blossomed among the elves—stronger than that of other races—makes it easier for us to collaborate and build upon each other’s strengths. In essence, the spell is an amalgamation of smaller spells, intricately woven together to create this effect.”

“We can go into more details, and how it came to be on a later day when we explore more about Quint. What do you say?”

He nodded so furiously, and for a moment I was worried his head was about to pop off.

“Alright, now, to continue where we left off: the Ionian Kingdom is divided into four regions. First, there’s Anrenora, closest to the Asmit Kingdom separated only by the Great Mountain Range. Next, this vast expanse below is the Fylanoth region, followed by Lineal, which stretches all the way up to the northern sea. Finally, connecting them all together is Lynerola, named in honor of the Ancient Queen Lynerola.”

“Each region has its own uniqueness that sets it apart. But that’s where we’ll leave it for today.” I said, leaning back into the chair and taking a sip of water.

“We’ve covered more than enough material for a single day. We’ll be delving deeper into the regions tomorrow. Any questions, my dear?”

Is what I said, but in truth, I would have preferred if I explained the Elven domain first before ending our session. However, after the revelation of the ring, my mind wouldn’t allow me to focus, and I needed to short out my thoughts.

Lyon took the book in two hands, studying it closely.

Then he asked: “Where are we?”

My eyes opened wide, and for a moment, froze, refusing to close. Had I really forgotten to mention something so important?

Sighing inwardly for my carelessness, I recomposed myself in a subtle way so that he wouldn’t notice my clumsiness and pointed at the bottom right edge of the page close to the Great Mountain Range and the Misted Treeline.

When I had left, my goal was to go to the furthest away from home, so that no one would find me and this forest was suitable for my needs. It was close to the both borders after all, hidden by the Asmit and Rhineheart kingdom by the Great Moutnain Range, and close to the Misted Treeline so that no one would suspect anyone to be living nearby.

As it turned out, a small outpost of the Asmit Kingdom had settled near the Ashen Heights where it stood us a crossbreed from Asmit, Ionia and the Valley of the Beast, which made Lyons journey that much more unbelievable. One wrong turn and he would have ended either at the Valley of the Beast, or inside the Misted Treeline.

Truly, what were the chances of my finding him?

Watching my finger over the map, he frowned in concern.

“So we live at the edge of the Ionian kingdom?”

“That’s right.” I responded with a nod.

“Isn’t it dangerous?” He asked, a hint of worry in his voice.

I tilted my head and asked a question of my own. “Are we in danger?”

He blinked and ponder for a moment. Then he shook his head. “No.”

A quiet smile touched my lips. “Any other question, my dear?”

He raised a finger to his chin, eyebrows shooting up in a revelation. Then, a moment of hesitation followed. “Can… can I go play outside?”

A light chuckle escaped me. “Of course, my dear. Just don’t wander too far and be back before nightfall. You’re free to do as you wish,” I said, caressing his hair one last time before he could vanish for the rest of the day.

“Yay!” he exclaimed, already darting toward the door.

“Be careful!” I called out, though I wasn’t sure if he heard me.

Once alone, I let out a long sigh.

Before tidying up, I glanced out the window, where I caught a glimpse of Lyon sprinting into the forest, full of wonder and joy—the way a child his age should be.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about his safety, or that I wasn’t tempted to follow him, even though he was an Elemancer. But just as he trusted me, it was now my turn to trust him.

Besides, it wasn’t as if he was alone. I had accounted for that and I still had plenty to do myself.

Sewing wasn’t a skill that could be mastered without practice.

I turned to the piano, its surface bathed in sunlight, making the flowers shine in vibrant colors. My fingers brushed against the keys, and the different melodious notes made it nigh impossible to resist. But the counter, where a needle and half-knitted cloth laid, was waiting for me.

“Maybe later,” I whispered with a regretful sigh.