A few hours earlier, far from where Kaito and Eve were, at the edge of the forest, there lay a small, secluded village with no more than 40 houses. These dwellings were unique, with their windows and doors carved out of large boulders. The wooden gates attached to these stone structures were weathered but sturdy, blending seamlessly with the natural surroundings. Plants grew abundantly over the homes, weaving through the stone and wood, almost as if nature itself had designed them as camouflage.

In this hidden village, the heavy rain poured relentlessly, creating a rhythmic drumming on the stone and wood. The sky was dark, the clouds thick with the weight of the storm. Yet, amidst the downpour, a figure stood under a canopy. It was a man dressed in light green clothing, with dark brown stripes running along his joints, giving the appearance of natural armor. A small stick hung horizontally at his lower back, secured by a strap.

His face was sharp and angular, with the distinct features of an elf. His high cheekbones and pointed ears framed a face that was usually serene, but now it was marked with deep worry. His brow furrowed, and his eyes, usually calm and clear, darted anxiously around him, scanning the rain-soaked landscape. His lips were pressed into a thin line, and there was a slight tremor in his jaw, betraying the tension he felt. The rain clung to his hair and skin, adding to the sense of urgency in his expression.

In a low, almost inaudible voice, he uttered the name of a skill, "Aqua-Shield." As he spoke, a very dim light briefly engulfed him, creating a momentary barrier that repelled the rain, allowing him to remain dry. The light flickered around him, forming a protective aura before fading back into the stormy darkness.

Without wasting another moment, the elf began to run, his footsteps barely making a sound against the wet ground. The rain continued to fall heavily, but his pace remained swift and determined, his path cutting through the heart of the storm as he raced towards the main building of the village, situated at the center.

After a few moments, the elf arrived in front of a modest house within the citadel. His breathing was steady, but the urgency in his movements was undeniable. He approached the door and tapped on it in a specific rhythm, a pattern only known to those familiar with the place. Knock, knock—the sound was precise and deliberate.

As soon as his knuckles left the door, it opened with a quiet "tug," swinging inward without anyone visible on the other side. There was no hesitation in the elf's movements; it was clear he knew this place well. He stepped inside with a sense of purpose, closing the door behind him with a firm thud that echoed through the quiet hallway.

Without pausing, he quickened his pace, his steps light but swift as he made his way through the dimly lit corridor. The air inside was cool, the stone walls absorbing the chill from the recent storm outside. At the end of the hallway, a small room awaited, its space illuminated by daylight streaming through an open door on the opposite side.

In the center of the room, an elf sat on a wooden chair, his posture regal despite the simplicity of his surroundings. Draped over his slender frame was an oversized green cloak, its fabric rich and finely woven. The upper part of the cloak was adorned with golden embroidery, intricate patterns that shimmered faintly in the light, signifying his royal status.

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As the man walked around the table, his movements were precise and respectful, reflecting the gravity of the situation. Upon reaching the other side, he stopped and bowed deeply in front of the elf seated on the wooden chair. The elf's face, though lined with the wisdom of many years, still retained the ageless grace characteristic of his race. His long, pointed ears, peeking from beneath the hood of his oversized green cloak, clearly marked him as one of the elven kind.

After a moment, the man straightened from his bow and took a seat opposite the elder elf.

"Your Majesty, you felt it as well—the thunderous burst of magic in the forest of Azora?"

"Probably, the advance of the army of the Kingdom of Elarion... or maybe something else."

"We need to send a scout before it is too late."

sigh "If this is a plan of Prince Alden of the Kingdom of Syltharis in cooperation with the Kingdom of Elarion, we are certainly doomed."

Seeing no way out of the situation, Faelan, the royal elf, leaned backward in the chair, seemingly exhausted with the situation.

"We can't let them have Liore at any cost. You know as well," thud—he slammed his fist on the table, his eyes overflowing with anger—"that scheming Alden is surely planning to lure her to the royal academy, far from our protection... that lusty monster."

Eldrin, also visibly distressed, leaned back and covered his face with both hands in frustration.

Suddenly, Faelan stood up from his chair and walked toward the balcony, where the storm's fury was making its presence known. The rain was stopped by an invisible barrier, making the water seem to cling to the empty air. Faelan reached the door and passed his hand through the invisible wall, feeling the storm's rage.

"We're out of options. Send three of our top soldiers and make sure they take the telepathic crystal with them." Faelan, as if trying to glimpse into their uncertain future and failing, added, "We can only prepare for what comes next..."

______________________________

As the storm finally began to fade, the air outside was filled with the fresh scent of rain-soaked earth. The cheerful laughter of children could be heard as they called out for Liore to join them in their play. Her voice, light and melodic, floated back, "Just a few more minutes!"

Inside, the mood was much more somber. Faelan sat alone in the dimly lit meeting room, weighed down by his thoughts. He held a delicate cup of purplish liquid, the steam rising gently from it. His eyes were fixed on the window, which framed the vast, rain-drenched landscape. The usual vibrancy of the fields was muted under the gray sky.

Faelan's gaze was distant, his thoughts wandering far from the serene scene before him. The peace in the room contrasted sharply with the turmoil in his heart.

Thuk… thuk… thuk… thug.

"Have you seen my glimshade wand, Grandpa?"

Suddenly, the sound of slender feet drifting like air on the stairs was followed by the melodious voice of a young girl in a hurry. Faelan cherished the voice more than anything.

Turning around, Faelan saw his granddaughter, Liore, hurriedly searching for something. Her delicate, heart-shaped face was framed by her flowing green hair, which cascaded down her back with shimmering golden undertones. Her large, bluish-black eyes sparkled with youthful curiosity and warmth. She wore a pastel-colored dress adorned with delicate floral patterns and soft ruffles, which fluttered gracefully as she moved.

"It should be in Eldrin's workshop, little Liore. Didn't you give it to him for adjustments? And be careful—don't wander too far into the forest or run like that. Why won't you listen to this old man?"

Despite his concerns, Liore was already out the gate, her excitement and freedom evident in her every step. Watching her go, Faelan felt a deep pang of sorrow, a stark reminder of the dangers they faced. He muttered under his breath, frustration and resolve mixing in his voice, "That scheming Prince Alden. How dare he think he can just take her away by inviting her to the Academy, right under our noses… I won't let him... At... any... cost."