Zlatnomirheim, the jewel of realms, emerged from the lush embrace of its surroundings like an ethereal dream. Nestled deep within an ancient forest, its beauty was a seamless fusion of nature's splendor and Elven craftsmanship. The kingdom's name was whispered in reverence, carried on the wind with the weight of timeless grace and magic.
Tall, majestic trees created a living canopy that stretched to the heavens. Their vibrant leaves basked in the ever-present light of the realm, casting dappled gold and emerald hues upon the ground below. Blossoms adorned every corner, their fragrance thick enough to make a sober man lightheaded. Even the streams sang — their crystalline waters winding through the kingdom like veins of liquid diamond, carrying melodies of ancient elven songs that even the fish seemed to hum.
Bridges of living vines arched over the waters, connecting tree-houses perched so naturally on the boughs that it was impossible to tell where the forest ended and the city began. Elven spires soared above it all — elegant, impossible structures carved from living wood, shimmering with embedded crystals that caught the sunlight like a thousand silent witnesses.
At the kingdom's heart stood The Great Nexus, an open-air sanctuary and the pulse of Zlatnomirheim's politics and secrets. The walls were draped in vivid tapestries depicting the kingdom's long, bloody, and beautiful history — the sort of artistry only immortal hands could weave.
Amongst this grandeur stood Aelric.
Clad in luxurious black robes, his silver hair fell down his back like a waterfall of moonlight — unnervingly perfect. He stood motionless, his sharp gaze fixed on the sacred center of the Nexus. Even the ever-present birds dared not interrupt him.
His composure was the picture of a ruler — regal, cold, unreadable. But the weight of the kingdom's future pressed visibly on his shoulders, a fact he carried with the grace of a man who'd spent centuries perfecting the art of looking unbothered.
A shuffle of golden armor broke the silence. A palace guard approached, his polished helm reflecting sunlight directly into Aelric's face.
"Your highness, a message. Came by raven," the guard announced, voice stiff with formality — or fear, it was always hard to tell with elves.
With a respectful bow, the guard presented the scroll. Aelric's gaze shifted from the tree to the parchment in the outstretched hand. He accepted it with a nod of acknowledgment, and with a slight motion of his hand, the guard retreated, leaving Aelric alone with whatever news the bird had carried.
Carefully, Aelric unrolled the parchment. His pale fingers ghosted over the inked letters as his eyes scanned the contents. The signature was familiar — Lorianthel — a name that stirred no fear, but no joy either. Then he saw it.
Mei-Ling.
The name inked into the page sent a sharp wave of something — excitement, irritation, fondness — rippling through him.
The message was simple: Mei-Ling was already on her way to Zlatnomirheim.
Aelric's jaw tensed. The upcoming wedding loomed, a grand event that promised both celebration and danger. Alliances would be forged, enemies made, and spies — his own and others — would be thick as moss in these woods.
And she, blissfully unaware, was walking right into it.
With a decisive motion, Aelric ignited the parchment with a controlled flick of his hand — fire blooming then fading, leaving only ash on the wind.
His resolve solidified instantly.
No guards saw him slip away. Cloaked in shadow, Aelric moved through the palace like a ghost, his black robes brushing silent against the stone walls. He spoke to no one, left no trace. Every step was calculated, every corner taken with a predator's grace.
****
The air in the throne room was heavy, stifling beneath the weight of anger and impending death.
Aezaric sat slumped on his throne, his once-mighty form reduced to little more than brittle bones and parchment skin. Illness gnawed at him, but it was cruelty — years of it — that truly carved the deepest lines across his face. His breath rasped, each exhale edged with bitterness.
The news — unwelcome, infuriating — lay like poison in his gut:Aelric was gone,vanished from the palace without word, and worse — Mei-Ling was coming.
The old king's knuckles whitened as his claw-like fingers curled around the throne's gilded armrest. His bloodshot eyes glared at the floor, seething.
"Bring me Vjetromor," he rasped, his voice sharp despite the weakness in his limbs. "Now."
It wasn't long before the doors creaked open and Arch General Vjetromor Medvjedson strode in, regal even without the trappings of ceremony. His silver hair flowed like moonlight, his deep green eyes calm and steady as the sea before a storm.
"My king," Vjetromor bowed low, his voice deep and weathered. "You summoned me."
Aezaric's lips curled back in a sneer. "You heard the whispers, no doubt. Aelric — that ungrateful whelp — has left the palace. And the girl... Mei-Ling... is nearing our borders." He coughed, then growled through gritted teeth, "I will not have them reunite."
Vjetromor remained silent, his jaw tightening only slightly.
"I want every able-bodied soldier under your command," Aezaric snapped. "Find the girl. Bring her to me. Dead or alive. Do you understand, Vjetromor?"
There was a pause — heavy, charged — before the Arch General gave a slow nod. "I understand, my king." His voice was calm, but there was something... fractured beneath it.
"Do not fail me," Aezaric hissed. "The boy is soft. He'll ruin everything."
"As you command," Vjetromor murmured, bowing deeply before turning on his heel, his face set like stone.
****
Clad in a dark hooded cloak, Aelric waited — still as death — in the shadowed alcoves of the palace corridors. The bone-white mask over his face gleamed faintly, a ghost among the gilded halls.
He watched.
Watched as Vjetromor — his father's old friend, his mentor — barked orders to the guards. "Fan out. Search every hall. Prince Aelric is missing. If you find him — bring him to me. No one breathes a word to the king unless it's me."
Aelric's eyes narrowed. So... Grandfather wasted no time.
The moment the guards scattered, Aelric slipped from the darkness like a shadow come alive.
"Vjetromor," he called quietly.
The old General stiffened, head snapping toward the sound. Relief flickered across his features, then swiftly buried beneath the hardened mask of command. "By the gods, Aelric... are you trying to be killed?"
Aelric lowered the mask. "I heard everything."
Vjetromor's shoulders sagged. "Of course you did." He glanced around sharply, then stepped closer, his voice low and harsh. "What were you thinking? Disappearing like that? Do you know what you've done?"
"I know exactly what I'm doing," Aelric shot back, his voice cold, steady. "I'm going after Mei-Ling. I won't let him get to her first."
Vjetromor's face darkened. "Your grandfather's orders are clear — capture her. Dead or alive, Aelric. I cannot protect you from this."
Aelric's jaw clenched. "I'm not asking you to."
"Damn it!" Vjetromor snarled under his breath, grabbing Aelric's arm with surprising strength. "You're like a son to me. Why do you think I stood silent while he spat those orders? Because I agreed?!"
The words hung there — thick, bitter.
"You don't see it... what you're walking into. This is bigger than you, bigger than me. Do you think love will save her? Save you?" Vjetromor's voice cracked. "For once, Aelric... for once, do as you're told."
Aelric's gaze softened, but only for a breath. "I can't. Not this time. He won't take her from me again."
Vjetromor stared, long and hard — the weight of centuries behind his eyes. Then, finally, he sighed. Shoulders sagging, he released Aelric's arm.
"Go," he muttered, voice rough. "Go... before someone else sees you. And pray to the gods. I don't regret this."
Aelric nodded once, grateful but grim. "Thank you."
Without another word, he turned, melting back into the shadows — gone, like he was never there.
****
Aerandor died at KamenFjord (Stone Deep), made his final stand. The stories said he fought until the mines collapsed, blade in hand, back to the stone — a storm of steel and fire until the very end.
Left alone, Vjetromor stood in the silent corridor, his heart heavy with the weight of what he had done — and what was yet to come.
His mind drifted — unbidden — to Aerandor.
The laughter they'd shared... the battles survived... and the promise made at his friend's deathbed.
"Protect my son, Vjetromor. As if he were your own."
His throat tightened. Eyes glistened — the tears of a warrior too proud to shed them.
"I tried, old friend," he whispered to the empty air. "I tried."
With a final glance toward the palace gates, Vjetromor turned back toward the throne room — his duty, his curse — carrying the weight of love, loyalty, and the ghosts of promises past.
****
As night deepened, the tavern's once raucous atmosphere withered into a drunken stupor. The sounds of laughter and clashing mugs faded into snores echoing through the crooked corridors. Feredis, Fror, Gror, Hattori, and Honzo had long since staggered off to their rooms, victims of their own thirst. The lingering scent of ale and burnt meat clung to the air like a stubborn ghost.
In the quiet aftermath, Mei-Ling withdrew to her chamber, welcoming the stillness as a balm against the chaos of the evening.
A single candle flickered beside her, its warm glow dancing across the room's worn wooden walls. Seated gracefully before the small mirror, Mei-Ling combed her long, silky hair with slow, thoughtful strokes. Her reflection was serene — but the flicker in her dark eyes betrayed the weight of a thousand thoughts.
Curled at the foot of the bed, Hoki watched her intently, silent but restless. Miyx, the tiny faeblink, lay nestled against Mei-Ling's lap, his gentle purring the only sound.
Unable to resist, Hoki finally broke the silence. "Why did you help me... back there? You didn't have to."
Mei-Ling paused, glancing toward Hoki with a soft smile. "You reminded me of someone... myself, a long time ago." Her voice was gentle, touched with nostalgia. "Curious, stubborn... always rushing headfirst into trouble."
Hoki's ears twitched. "You? Really?" A skeptical smirk crept across her lips. "You don't seem like the 'rush into trouble' type."
Mei-Ling laughed quietly, setting down the brush. "Oh, I was worse. Back in my realm, there wasn't a tree I didn't try to climb... or fall from."
Hoki's golden eyes gleamed with curiosity. " Valley of a Hundred follows"? Is that where you're from?"
Mei-Ling nodded slowly. "Yes... a land of endless spring, where the air smelled of jasmine and the rivers ran clear as glass." Her gaze drifted toward the candle flame. "It feels... like another life now."
"Tell me," Hoki whispered, inching closer, her voice barely audible. "Tell me about it... about you."
With a wistful sigh, Mei-Ling relented, her voice wrapping around the room like a lullaby. She spoke of her homeland — the towering sakura trees that rained petals like snow, the sun-dappled meadows where spirits danced unseen. She told of strange creatures, half-myth and half-memory, and of her arrival in this realm, so far from all she knew.
"And Aelric?" Hoki pressed, her curiosity bright. "Is that where you met him?"
Mei-Ling's lips curled into a small, secret smile. "No. That... was fate's cruel trick. I met him here, in this realm of tangled politics and forgotten magic."
"Was he as annoying then as he seems now?" Hoki grinned.
Mei-Ling laughed — truly laughed — a sound soft and melodic. "Worse. Arrogant. Sharp-tongued. But... there was something else beneath it." Her smile faded, replaced by something tender. "I never stood a chance."
Hoki's teasing faded as she listened, fully enraptured. The room grew heavier with unspoken words, the bond between them quietly threading tighter.
Mei-Ling's hands fell still in her lap, her gaze drifting beyond the walls — far beyond — to places only memory dared reach. Her voice broke the silence, soft and fragile. "I wonder how my father... and my siblings are..." The words trembled, heavy with a longing she could no longer hide.
Her fingers absently toyed with a loose strand of hair, eyes glistening beneath the flickering candlelight. "Do they think of me... do they miss me... as fiercely as I miss them?"
The question lingered unanswered.
Finally, she rose, moving to the window. The night was still, the moon's silver glow bathing the streets in quiet reverence. Below, the town slumbered — unaware, uncaring.
Hoki shifted, sensing the sorrow settling in Mei-Ling's shoulders. "I... I'm sorry if I pried too much," she whispered.
Mei-Ling turned, her eyes soft. "No, little one. You did nothing wrong." Her voice held a faraway note. "It is a beautiful and vibrant place," she murmured. "I hope... to return there one day."
Hoki yawned, wide and unfiltered, her exhaustion finally dragging at her limbs. "I'd like to see it... someday," she mumbled, curling into the bed, Miyx snuggling close to her chest.
Mei-Ling smiled — a mother's smile — and pulled the blanket gently over the two. "Sleep, Hoki. Dream of cherry blossoms."
Blowing out the candle, she left only the moonlight to watch over them.
Mei-Ling returned to the window, sitting silently as the world slumbered. Her gaze lifted skyward, drawn to the full moon hanging heavy above — a pale witness to her thoughts.
Somewhere out there, beneath the same moon, was Aelric.
"Where are you, my heart?" she whispered, the words carried away by the night breeze.
She stayed like that for a long time — gazing at the stars, dreaming of love, loss, and the uncertain road ahead.