Chapter: Through the Veil of Roots
Sunlight spilled through the windows of our Montreal living room, painting warm golden patches on the wooden floor. I was curled up beside Ellyn on the sofa, both of us holding picture books in our laps while Mom—Flora—sat between us. Her voice was gentle, steady, as she pointed to the letters.
"That's A," she said, her finger tracing the symbol. "A is for apple. Can you say it?"
"Apple!" Ellyn and I said at the same time.
She smiled, eyes crinkling. "Good. Now what comes next?"
We leaned closer, but today wasn't like the other lessons. These letters weren't the usual English ones we learned in school. They had loops, hooks, and strokes that looked more like sigils than letters. The Drevaran script felt alive—like the letters shimmered when I stared too long.
"B is for Bresil," Flora continued, pointing to the next one. "It's a Drevaran fruit, sweet and glowing like lanterns."
"Ellyn," I whispered, "do you think they really glow?"
"They do," she said confidently, flipping to the next page. "Mom said they grow near rivers."
From across the room, Dad sat watching us from the other sofa. His eyes—soft and green—held that faraway look again. He didn't say anything, but I could tell his thoughts were somewhere deeper, older.
He always got like that when we read the Drevaran books or spoke the language from elven races. He said it reminded him of home.
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Wilfred's Point Of View
Her calm voice and patient tone brought a nostalgic ache to my chest—an echo of a childhood far removed from the bustling city outside our home.
My thoughts drifted.
Back then, I had been just as curious as my children. Growing up in the quiet heart of Stalen Village, hidden deep in the forests of Montreal—a place no human had ever walked—I'd longed for something more. The dense canopy above and the whispering leaves were beautiful, yes, but I yearned to see beyond the borders of our elven realm.
Stalen was protected by magic that repelled intruders, hidden behind layers of illusions. Only those with permission—or elven blood—could step foot in it.
I had approached my parents—the previous Chiefs—with my wish to venture out. My mother, Isilya, had looked at me with quiet understanding. My father had been more hesitant, but eventually agreed. On one condition: I was to bring back knowledge that could enrich the village and ensure its survival.
I'd taken that promise seriously. And it was on one of my earliest excursions into the human world that I met Flora. We were just children then, thrown together in a shared classroom during primary school. Flora's quiet strength had caught my attention immediately. We'd bonded over our love of books, our curious natures, and later, our shared secrets.
Our friendship had grown into something more—something enduring.
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Back to Ellan's POV
My father always got that look when the Drevaran books came out.
Like he was remembering something too big for words.
I glanced up. "Dad?"
"Hmm?" He snapped out of it with a smile.
"Do you think I'll be able to read the whole Drevaran library someday?"
His smile widened. "With your mother's patience and your curiosity? I have no doubt."
Ellyn beamed. "I want to learn the Varnic script too—the one that curls like wind."
"You're both doing better than I did at your age," Flora said, smoothing back my hair.
Dad stood, stretching. His silver-white hair shimmered under the light before he flicked his fingers. In a second, it turned dark, blending in with the human world again.
I still found that magic fascinating, even if it was just a disguise spell.
"Where are you going?" Mom asked.
"To Stalen," he replied. "Thought I'd check in with the council."
"Can we come?" Ellyn jumped up immediately.
"Grandma!" I added.
Mom stood, brushing invisible lint from her dress. "Well… looks like we're all going."
Dad gave a mock sigh. "You're sure they're ready?"
"They've learned enough," she said, looking down at us with that quiet pride. "They deserve to see where they're from."
And just like that, plans shifted.
Mom drew a sigil in the air—elegant and glowing—and a rune circle burst beneath our feet, humming with warmth and power. I felt Ellyn squeeze my hand as the magic wrapped around us.
Then, in a blink of light, we vanished.
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We arrived in a place older than anything Montreal had to offer.
The first thing I noticed was the scent—earthy, deep, and comforting. Then came the forest: towering trees with glowing vines, air filled with soft birdsong and drifting pollen. Fairylights floated through the branches, and the leaves above shimmered with soft blue hues.
Stalen Village.
Home.
Dad took a deep breath. "Still the same."
"Smells like moss and roasted nuts," Ellyn said, nose wrinkling. "I love it."
The treehouse stood ahead, massive and elegant with its spiral balconies and lantern-lit bridges. As we walked toward it, the front door opened.
"Wilfred," Grandma Isilya said, stepping out. "It's been a long time." She was tall and graceful, her silver hair like moonlight.
"I was here last week," Dad replied.
She laughed. "Exactly. Too long."
Ellyn ran up to hug her. I followed slower, still a bit shy. Grandma crouched and opened her arms.
"Come, my boy," she said, pulling me close. "You've grown."
Her warmth reminded me of stories. She always smelled of herbs.
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Inside, the treehouse had polished benches and warm light. While Dad went off to the council, Mom took us exploring. The village shimmered with little enchantments—wind charms, whispering leaves, lights that responded to our steps.
We saw spirit flowers that closed when touched and paths that shifted slightly when we weren't looking. Ellyn kept pointing to every sparkle in the air, naming them like they were her friends.
Then we saw them.
Tiny winged people. Fairies.
I stopped in my tracks. "Ellyn… are those… flying people?"
She squinted. "They've got wings. Glowy ones."
I watched them swirl through the leaves. I didn't blink. If I did, I thought they might vanish.
We ran to Mom.
"What are the tiny people?" I asked.
"They're fairies," she said, kneeling. "They're part of this world. And you can see them because you're part of it too."
"Do they speak?" Ellyn asked.
"Not in our words," Mom replied. "But maybe one day you'll hear them."
We spent the rest of the day exploring. The elven language lessons came to life—signs in scripts, carved symbols, street names we could read. We raced to each one, sounding them out. Even the village children joined in, showing us how to pronounce tricky glyphs.
As the sun lowered over Stalen, casting golden rays through the treetops, Ellyn and I joined a circle of elven children playing games. We tossed glowing seeds like fireflies, raced along twisting paths, and shared honeybread from the village baker.
That evening, as the family sat around a meal of forest fruits and roasted roots, laughter filled the air. Stories were exchanged—tales of the past, of the forest's wisdom, and of ancient spirits that once walked the land.
Dad returned late from his council duty, smiling. He looked at me and Ellyn, cheeks rosy from the day's adventure, and at Mom, who leaned back against the bench with a contented sigh.
He ruffled my hair. "How was your first day enjoying the village?"
"Better than books," I said.
He chuckled. "Then you're ready for more."
As the sun dipped low and the soft music of the forest quieted, Stalen Village bathed in golden twilight. That evening, my family dined together under the great treehouse canopy. Laughter echoed among the branches, and the flickering glow of spirit lanterns danced in the air.
But all good days must end.
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The next afternoon, we stood once again in the clearing where the magical formation had brought us the day before. The trees rustled gently in the warm summer breeze, and the air shimmered with soft magical energy.
Grandma Isilya stood a few steps away, arms folded, watching us with a warm but wistful expression.
Grandma waved from the clearing. "Come back soon."
"I come every week," Dad replied with a small grin.
Grandma gave Dad a pointed look. "I mean with your family."
Mom chuckled and stepped forward. "We'll come again later. I promise."
Ellyn waved. "Bye, Grandma!"
I waved too, a little slower, trying to memorize every branch.
As the magical sigil beneath our feet lit up once more with red-violet light, Grandma gave us a final smile and a wave.
Then, in a pulse of light and energy, our family vanished—leaving behind the peace of Stalen, until our next return.