The heavy weight of the magical chains clinked softly as A was pushed forward, his boots crunching against the pristine forest floor of the Elven Empire. The towering trees loomed overhead, their silver leaves whispering faintly as if the forest itself was wary of his presence. Around him, dozens of elves stood tense, their hands hovering near their bows or spell foci, their eyes flickering between fear and curiosity.
A allowed himself a wry grin, playing his part to perfection. Tense little lot, aren’t they? He stumbled deliberately, letting his captors tug on the chains. The magical shackles around his wrists glowed faintly, their enchantments sapping any rebellious impulses he might have. Ironic that I designed these blasted things. Can’t even bring myself to want to escape. A masterpiece of engineering—and now a bloody nuisance.
He kept his head down as they marched him into a clearing. The elves parted, their collective unease palpable as they moved to the sides, forming a wide circle. At the center of the clearing stood a towering silver pedestal, intricately carved with runes and inlaid with emeralds. This was no ordinary platform—it was an arrival point, a place where only one being could descend.
A scanned the surroundings, his mind whirring despite the suppressive effects of the chains. He cataloged the elves’ stances, their weapons, the positioning of the guards. It was instinct now—always looking for angles, for weaknesses
The sound of trickling water reached A’s ears before the sight of the clearing came into view. He was being escorted through the heart of the Elven Empire, and though the chains around his wrists kept his rebellious instincts at bay, they couldn’t suppress his keen eye for detail—or his memories of a place he hadn’t visited in years.
The towering silver trees stretched impossibly high above him, their bark shimmering faintly as though polished by divine hands. Their branches intertwined like the work of a master weaver, forming an endless canopy that dappled the ground with soft, filtered light. Tiny streams of water wove between the roots, their surfaces reflecting the green and silver hues of the forest with perfect clarity. The air was crisp and faintly sweet, filled with the faint hum of nature’s magic. A breeze carried the scent of blooming flowers, sharp and fragrant, almost intoxicating.
They call it the Forest Eternal for a reason. A’s lips twitched into a half-smile despite himself. Still feels like walking through a dream.
The elves guiding him moved with practiced grace, their tall, lithe forms seeming to glide rather than walk. Their features were the embodiment of ethereal beauty—sharp cheekbones, glowing emerald eyes, and long silver hair cascading down their backs like waterfalls. They wore armor of woven silver threads and green crystal, seamless and elegant, as though they were more art than attire. A glanced at one of the guards flanking him and suppressed a pang of irritation at how effortlessly perfect they all looked.
Even in chains, he couldn’t help but note the stark contrast between elves and humans. Humans were sturdy, practical, adaptable. The elves? They were refined, like sculptures carved from the essence of beauty itself. And tall—each one loomed over him by at least a head.
The clearing they entered was no less impressive. It was an amphitheater of natural splendor, a circular expanse bordered by a shimmering river that wound its way lazily around the edge. At the center stood a platform of silverstone, its surface engraved with runes that pulsed faintly with an emerald glow. Water cascaded gently down the sides of the platform, pooling into a crystal-clear basin below. Elven banners of vibrant green and gold fluttered from the trees, each one marked with the sigil of the Avatar of the Elves—an intricate spiral entwined with silver leaves.
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The elves gathered in the clearing stood in rigid silence, their emerald eyes fixed on him with thinly veiled unease. A noted their hands twitching toward their weapons, their postures betraying their tension. It was as if the very presence of a human—let alone the Avatar of Humans in chains—was enough to upset the delicate balance of their sanctuary.
The glow of the runes surged, and with it came a faint shimmer in the air above the platform. Slowly, a figure materialized—a tall elf clad in flowing robes of emerald and silver, his long silver hair catching the light like a cascade of moonlight. A staff carved from a single piece of living wood rested in his hand, its tip adorned with a crystal that pulsed in perfect harmony with the platform beneath him.
The Avatar of the Elves, known as C the Wise, descended gracefully onto the platform, his every movement exuding an aura of divinity. The gathered elves dropped to their knees, heads bowed low, their voices murmuring in unison, "Glory to the Eternal Guide."
A stood where he was, the chains preventing him from bowing even if he’d wanted to. Not that he would. "Well, well," he said, his voice carrying just enough sarcasm to draw a few disapproving glances from the crowd. "If it isn’t the star of the show. Took you long enough."
C’s piercing emerald gaze locked onto him, his expression unreadable as he stepped forward. "A," he said, his voice calm but layered with something deeper—something cold. "What brings you to our lands in chains?"
"Your hospitality, obviously," A quipped, gesturing to the shackles. "Though I have to say, these are a bit much. I’m almost impressed someone thought to use my own invention against me."
C didn’t rise to the bait. "Why are you here?"
A’s playful expression faltered, replaced by a seriousness that rarely surfaced. "Because this war of yours doesn’t make sense, C. The timing, the motives—none of it adds up. I came to get answers, and I’m hoping you’ll be kind enough to give them to me."
For a moment, there was silence. Then, C spoke, his tone measured but distant. "The Elven Empire acts in accordance with what is necessary."
"And who decides what’s necessary?" A asked sharply. "The Duke? You? Or someone else pulling the strings?"
C’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. A coldness that hadn’t been there before. "The Empire’s actions are guided by wisdom and foresight. You wouldn’t understand."
A grinned as he took a step forward, the chains clinking against the silver platform with every motion. His sharp eyes locked onto C’s stoic face, and his tone shifted, carrying the same dry humor that had infuriated countless adversaries in the past.
"Manipulation, huh? I always thought you were smarter than this, C," he said, his voice loud enough to carry across the clearing. "I mean, what’s the point of being the all-wise Avatar of the Elves if you’re just a puppet on someone else’s strings?"
A ripple went through the crowd of gathered elves. Gasps, murmurs of disbelief, and sharp insults filled the air as C’s piercing emerald gaze narrowed, his hands tightening slightly around his staff. The guards flanking A bristled, their silver armor clinking as they stepped closer, gripping their weapons.
"Silence, human!" one of the guards snapped, his voice filled with venom. "You dare insult the Eternal Guide?"
"Oh, I dare," A shot back, his grin widening as he turned to the guard. "What’s the worst you’ll do? Chain me up again? Oh wait, I’m already chained. Well done, genius."
The elf’s face reddened in fury, but A ignored him, his focus back on C. "Still, I’ll give credit where it’s due. Whoever’s pulling your strings is doing a hell of a job. Cold, robotic, detached—none of that old spark left in you. It’s almost like you’re not C anymore."
"Enough," C said, his calm voice cutting through the rising tension like a blade. Yet, even that calm exterior didn’t faze A. If anything, it emboldened him.
"You know, this reminds me of the old days," A continued, stepping closer despite the guards’ attempts to yank him back. The chains rattled, but he barely noticed. "Back when we were equals. Back when we stood side by side at the Siege of the Black Castle. You remember that, don’t you, C?"
The mention of the Black Castle sent another wave of murmurs through the elves. That battle was the stuff of legend, and the memory hung heavy in the air. A’s smile faded, replaced by something sharper, something colder.
"I stood with you back then," he said, his voice lowering. "And I watched your face when my wife died holding the gates. You said we’d fight together, that we’d win together. But instead, you let me walk away. You let me leave everything behind."
He raised his hands, the chains glinting in the dim light. "And you know what? You were right to. Because I failed that day. The Failed Avatar, they called me. The one who walked away from everything. From my duty. From humanity. From her."
Silence blanketed the clearing. Even the guards seemed hesitant, their grip on their weapons loosening slightly as A’s words hung in the air.
"And now," A said, his grin returning like a blade unsheathing, "I see you making the same mistakes. Letting someone else control your decisions. Letting someone else decide what’s ’necessary.’ Maybe we’re not so different after all."
"Enough!" one of the guards shouted, stepping forward with his blade raised. "You will not disrespect—"
The chain snapped.