Arldir and his companions were summoned to the royal court by a direct order from King Toras. It was Aria — his elder sister — who personally led them there after receiving urgent instructions.
The atmosphere within the court was unusually still, devoid of the typical clamor of royal assemblies. Attendance was sparse, limited to a few prominent figures, with King Toras himself presiding from his throne, his gaze sharp and watchful.
As Aria stepped forward, leading the group with Arldir and his comrades following behind, familiar and dignified features became apparent — features that commanded respect at a mere glance. It was the High Commander, Lord of House Tamriol, and father to both Aria and Arldir — Sofrik Tamriol.
Beside him stood another man, regal in bearing and with eyes of unwavering calm — the Lord of House Orbil, a family renowned for their mastery of magical and medicinal elixirs. This was Lomo son of Arbis, the younger brother of the sage Lobo. Despite his age, Lomo appeared more youthful than his elder brother. It was common knowledge that a twenty-year gap separated them. Lobo, once the heir to House Orbil, had chosen a path of study over leadership, devoting himself to herbs and potions and relinquishing the title in favor of his brother.
"The heads of all three houses gathered? This must be about Princess Eryl... Then it's time to act."
So thought Arldir, continuing toward the throne until he reached his father's side — a man whose stern demeanor left little room for warmth. Draped in a heavy cloak that made him appear larger than his lean build suggested, Sofrik's renown stemmed not from stature but from his formidable skills in both combat and magic. These were what made him the rightful head of the house entrusted with guarding the lands of the Eastern Elves.
"It seems everyone is present... Let us begin the meeting," said King Toras, his voice calm yet commanding — a voice that brooked no dissent.
He then turned to Sofrik Tamriol and addressed him with notable respect: "Lord of Tamriol house , Sofrik son of Gildo, First Protector of our lands… I thank you for coming, even at the cost of canceling your journey to the Heartlands. I deeply appreciate it."
Sofrik gave a slight nod and responded in a reverent tone:
"My liege, obeying your summons takes precedence over any voyage. I am always at your service."
The king acknowledged the gesture, then turned his gaze to the Lord of Orbil house , who stood directly across, flanked by two Elves who closely resembled him.
"Lord of Orbil house , Lomo son of Arbis, though your time is consumed with research in service of Sage Lobo, you answered our call swiftly. I value your commitment."
Lomo bowed respectfully.
"My king, to answer your summons is a duty not to be refused. As for my work with my brother, it is of little consequence. My time is yours."
King Toras nodded approvingly, then turned to Aria, Arldir, and their companions, who bowed at once upon meeting his gaze, a sign of deference to his commanding presence.
"Aria, daughter of Sofrik, eldest heir of the house that has safeguarded us — welcome, young lady. Raise your head."
Then he looked to Arldir: "And you… second son of Sofrik, heir to the guardianship of these lands... welcome, young warrior. Raise your head, you and your comrades."
Arldir and the others lifted their heads to meet the king's piercing gaze — a look that seemed to cut through to their very cores.
Archer and Ravar remained silent, standing with stoic composure. Libo, however, wore his anxiety openly, feeling woefully out of place amid such esteemed company.
By the Great Tree… I'm like an insect among giants. All of them are important... and me? Just a flute player!
So ran his thoughts, heart pounding with visible tension.
Yet despite the nerves, a flicker of excitement began to kindle within him, slowly overtaking his fear.
But... if I was summoned, that must mean I'm needed. They must believe I have value... I'll prove I'm worthy!
Conflicting emotions stirred within him — awe and determination — as a solemn gravity hung over the hall. The chilling presence of King Toras, regal and imposing, only heightened the sense that something momentous was about to be revealed.
The king rose from his seat and stepped forward with measured grace. Then, in his steady voice, he spoke: "I've gathered you here today for a clear purpose... to form a special team, tasked with a specific mission. The objective is as follows..."
He stood holding a hand-carved staff of dark wood, etched with intricate markings that reflected a regal, ancient style. Each tap upon the white stone floor produced a solitary tone, rhythmic and precise, amplifying the solemnity of the moment.
With another tap of his staff, the king continued: "Sofrik, I ask you to entrust your children with this task. They must leave our borders in search of clues that may lead us to the one responsible for Princess Eryl's current state. Will you agree?"
His eyes locked on Sofrik, scrutinizing him as though trying to read beyond the spoken word.
Sofrik replied without hesitation: "I have no objection, Your Majesty. However... I cannot send Aria. Her shoulder injury has yet to heal — it would hinder her movement and weaken the group."
The king gave a slight nod, then asked, inquisitively:
"Then you would send your heir?"
Sofrik gestured toward Arldir: "Arldir surpasses his sister in strength and swordsmanship. I trust he will be a valuable asset to this mission. I hope you will place your faith in him as I do."
The king's gaze shifted to Arldir, who stood silent and still, his focus unbroken. He did not avert his eyes. To an astute observer, Arldir looked every bit the image of his father in his youth — and perhaps one day, he would surpass him.
"Very well," the king said at last.
He then turned to Lord Orbil and addressed him gravely:
"Now, Lord Orbil, I'll require further information from you later regarding a specific matter. Unfortunately, I cannot share its details with you, Sofrik."
Sofrik replied calmly, without resentment: "That's perfectly fine, Your Majesty. I won't meddle in matters that don't concern me."
The king nodded, appreciating his candor.
"That will be all. Arldir, go now and begin your preparations. You and your companions will depart as soon as you're ready."
With another firm strike of the staff, the meeting — brief yet weighty — was concluded.
Departure Beyond the Borders
A few hours later, as noon approached, Arldir and his team were ready to set out beyond the borders of the Eastern Elves' domain.
He wore his official combat attire, tailored for elite warriors — his presence and elegance clearly setting him apart. The others were similarly dressed, though none matched Arldir's commanding air. Among them was Libo, the elf of humble origin, unaffiliated with the three great houses of the Eastern Elves.
Alongside Arldir were Archer, Ravar, and Libo — and two others: Trin and Arlom, operatives from House Tamriol. Though not particularly distinguished, the two were reliable in field operations.
"This is my first time stepping beyond our lands..." said Libo, his voice uncertain. "I can't deny I'm nervous."
Archer snapped: "Pull yourself together, Libo. We don't know who might attack — strangers, or the Western Elves. They're everywhere on this continent, acting like they own it. Filth... and let's not forget the humans and twisted beasts sneaking into our forests."
Trin added in a scholarly tone: "You can tell Western Elves apart by their accent. They struggle with our language — the words come out heavy, like their tongues can't handle them. Not even a spell can fix it. Sage Lobo confirmed this more than once."
Arlom chimed in, curious: "You think that outsider the king tolerated might be one of them? You know, shape-shifting charms are sold for dirt cheap in the black market. Commander Toril mentioned that after returning from the Heartlands."
Ravar shook his head: "That outsider — Darken — it's said he speaks the human tongue fluently, though his accent's slightly off compared to central continent natives. Also... Queen Erlsya can distinguish the Western Elven dialects. She spent years undercover among them, long ago."
Archer raised an eyebrow in doubt: "Is that true? That kind of intel shouldn't be public, especially anything about Queen Erlsya!"
Ravar replied calmly: "The Queen didn't descend from one of our major houses, so her story spread easily. It wasn't hidden like others. Some say her lineage conceals more than we're told."
Libo listened in silence, eyes darting between speakers. Then, seizing a brief pause, he spoke, his voice hesitant:
"Queen Erlsya is truly incredible. Not just beautiful... but her past — it's admirable. No wonder Princess Eryl takes after her… She's amazing too."
He paused, flustered by his own sincerity. The tension in his voice drew soft laughter from the group — amused by his innocence.
They walked through the dense shadows of the forest, exchanging words as usual, with Arldir in front — silent, saying nothing through the entire exchange — until he suddenly stopped. The entire group came to a halt.
"What is it, Arldir? Why'd you stop?" Archer asked, glancing around.
Arldir answered calmly and firmly: "We need to split up. We're six. Searching as one group will only slow us down. We'll divide into three teams — two per team."
They exchanged surprised glances, then regrouped. Trin stepped forward: "As you wish. You're the most experienced among us — and our leader. The call is yours."
Arldir gave a faint smile and began: "Libo and I will form the first team. Trin and Archer, you'll be the second. Ravar and Arlom — you're the third."
He gestured to each of them with precision, then continued: "Each team will search a designated area for any clue that might lead us to whoever harmed our beloved princess."
He raised his hand high, as if summoning their resolve — and they dispersed into the forest, each hoping to uncover a piece of the truth.
The Hidden Cabin
Arldir and Libo spent an hour combing the forest, inspecting the ground, parting brush, watching shadows. Libo felt oddly at peace beside Arldir — under the wing of a seasoned warrior, he felt like a student protected by his master.
Suddenly, they emerged into a clearing — barren, save for a decrepit wooden cabin at its center. Its door hung broken, walls slanted and weather-worn — as if time had abandoned it, or something had ravaged it.
"Arldir! Look!" Libo cried excitedly, pointing. "There must be something there! Let's go!"
He ran forward without waiting for a reply. Arldir said nothing — only followed, his silence unsettling, as if something within him had shifted... as if, in that moment, he was no longer the Arldir everyone knew.
Libo burst through the doorway — and was met by chaos: a broken bed, scattered books, a shattered library shelf. It looked like a battle had taken place... or a violent fit of rage.
Libo stepped forward cautiously, anxiety creeping into his chest. His gray eyes scanned the cabin, and suddenly, something caught his attention — a weathered notebook lying off to the side, half-buried in dust, as though someone had deliberately discarded it.
He approached, picked it up, and began flipping through its pages. Each word he read struck at his core, unraveling his composure. His pulse quickened, his eyes widened with every line. The pages held harrowing truths — agonizing details of what had happened to Princess Eryl... the same revelations Darken had once uncovered.
Yes, Libo had found Karl's cabin — the very one where Darken had been before.
"Damn it... Karl Loris... that's his name?! That bastard... he destroyed the princess with unimaginable cruelty..." A tear nearly fell from his eye, but he fought it back, forced himself to breathe.
"I'm certain... He's the one! Karl is the culprit! I've found the evidence!" he shouted, trying to rein in his emotions. The scenes he pictured from the text were unbearable.
And in that moment, he heard footsteps behind him — slow, heavy.
He didn't need to look. He was sure it was Arldir.
"Arldir! This is it — our proof! We'll find the one who hurt our princess, and we'll make him pay!" Libo called out excitedly, still facing the book.
But then, he froze — a thought suddenly flashing through his mind.
"Wait… this handwriting... it's in our language — the script of the Eastern Elves, right? And the writing… isn't this your handwriting?!"
He turned around swiftly to face Arldir — only to find a stranger.
Arldir's eyes were vacant. Emotionless.
In a voice as cold as death, he said,
"Libo… it seems you've crossed the line this time. Far more than you should have."
And the moment Libo turned, a blade pierced his throat — a swift, precise strike directly into his larynx. There was no one else. The blade had come from Arldir.
Libo couldn't even scream — his voice was torn from him. He collapsed, his breath lost forever. Arldir stepped forward with icy calm, his voice devoid of mercy:
"You were always irritating. Why? I'll tell you quickly... before you reach the afterlife."
He withdrew the blade from Libo's neck and kicked him violently into a crumbling table, which shattered beneath his weight. Blood began to flood the floorboards, as if the cabin itself was swallowing what remained of his life.
Arldir continued, indifferent: "Don't worry… Archer and Ravar will bring Trin and Arlom soon. You won't be lonely. See? I'm thoughtful, even in your final moments."
He smiled darkly as he watched Libo writhing, gasping for air — desperate, drowning in his own blood.
Then, in a tone bizarrely out of place, Arldir muttered:
"Eryl… Everyone's so angry about what happened to the princess… I honestly don't get it."
He chuckled softly, scratching the back of his head.
"Oh well. Let's wait for Archer and Ravar. They're taking their time with the hunt."
Arldir stepped out of the cabin, his pace unhurried, eyes drifting toward the noon sky now cloaked in silence. He looked at peace, as if nothing had just occurred. No corpse, no blood, no betrayal.
But then... he stopped.
He felt something.
Something strange — like a shadow passing through him. A vague, heavy sensation. An instinct that something terrible was about to happen.
He tried to ignore it… but his face tightened, and his expression turned grim, hardening like stone.