CHAPTER 18
The Night the Lathriel Fell eighteen years ago.
The night smelled of pine and cold earth when the Arcane Knights crossed into the Lathriel’s territory.
Cian remembered the way the moonlight filtered through the branches, pale and thin, casting long shadows across the forest floor.
He had been sixteen, newly sworn, still carrying the weight of his oath like a fresh brand.
The Order had told them the elves were dangerous.
They told them the Lathriel harbored something that threatened the balance of the realms. What they were doing was necessary.
But the forest was quiet.
The elves kept to themselves. They traded rarely with the humans.
They did not raid. They did not provoke.
Cian had never once heard of a Lathriel blade raised against a human.
Still, the Order believed that the elves guarded secrets too dangerous to trust. Rumors had spread through the quarters of dark magic beneath the roots, of pacts made in ancient tongues.
The council spoke in hushed tones of a threat that could undermine the balance of the realms if left unchecked.
So the Order marched with glorious purpose, their boots crushing fallen leaves, their breath rising in cold clouds.
Yet they were ordered to hide their identity, to shroud their emblems of the Arcane Knights.
He felt unease settle beneath his ribs.
The village appeared through the trees, lanterns glowing softly in the windows, smoke drifting from chimneys.
It looked peaceful. Ordinary. A place where families slept, unaware of the danger approaching.
Cian slowed his pace, but the others did not.
Their commander raised a hand, signaling the formation to spread.
“Retrieve the relic,” the commander said. “Eliminate resistance.”
Cian felt his pulse tighten. “What resistance?”
The commander did not answer.
They moved.
The first scream tore through the night like a blade.
Cian flinched. Flames erupted along the outer homes, fire spreading unnaturally fast. Knights surged forward, blades drawn, armor clattering.
Elves stumbled from their doors, confused, terrified, unarmed.
Cian watched one fall before he understood what was happening.
This was not retrieval.
This was slaughter.
He drew his sword, but his feet refused to move.
His breath came sharp, uneven. In the haze of panic, Cian remembered the promise he’d made at his swearing, to protect the defenseless and never raise his blade in cruelty.
He could almost hear Ser Aldric’s voice, steady and firm: Loyalty to the Order is nothing without loyalty to your own conscience.
Had he mistaken duty for righteousness? He had trained for battle, but not for this.
Not for innocent people. Not for families. Not for children.
A young elven man lunged at him, wild with fear, a sword clutched in shaking hands. Cian blocked the strike, the impact jarring his arm. The elf attacked again, desperate. Cian parried, stepped back, and tried to speak.
“Stop. I do not want to hurt you.”
The elf didn’t listen. Panic drove him. He swung again, and Cian reacted on instinct.
The flat of his blade struck the elf’s shoulder, sending him flailing.
As he flew by, Cian quickly took his elbow and struck the man in the temple, knocking him out.
The man hit the ground hard, breath knocked from his lungs.
Cian stepped back, horrified by what he had done.
Another elf charged him, this one older, wielding a staff. Cian blocked the strike, then another. The man fought with skill, but Cian was faster. He disarmed him, sending the staff skidding across the dirt. The elf fell to his knees, hands raised.
“Please,” he said. “My family.”
Cian hesitated.
A knight behind him did not.
Steel flashed. The elf collapsed.
Cian spun. “He surrendered!”
The knight shrugged. “These are our orders. He resisted, and he paid the price.”
Cian felt something inside him fracture and then flare. Anger.
The village burned around them. Flames climbed the walls, smoke billowed into the sky, embers drifted like dying stars.
Elves ran through the chaos, some fighting, most fleeing.
Knights cut them down. Cian moved through the village in a daze, blocking strikes, disarming attackers, trying not to kill.
With every desperate face he saw, with each cry he could not answer, guilt knotted inside him, heavy and suffocating.
The horror of what he was a part of pressed down on him until he could barely breathe.
He shouted for the others to stop, but the roar of fire drowned out his voice.
This was wrong.
He turned toward the center of the village, searching for the commander, searching for answers. That was when he saw Damon.
Damon was his age, newly sworn, eager to prove himself.
He had always been reckless, always hungry for recognition.
Cian had always considered him a friend, training in the lists together, breaking fast after a hard morning's drill, laughing over bruises earned during sparring, they had been inseparable.
Tonight, his eyes gleamed with something darker. He dragged a young elven girl by her dark hair, pulling her from behind a cart. She screamed, small and terrified, her feet scrambling against the dirt.
Cian froze.
The girl could not have been more than twelve.
Damon threw her to the ground. Her head struck a stone embedded in the dirt. She cried out, then went still, dazed. Blood trickled down her temple. Damon raised his sword.
Cian moved.
He reached Damon before the blade fell, grabbing his arm. “Stop.”
Damon jerked away. “She’s one of them.”
“She is just a child!”
Cian stepped between them. “Put the sword down.”
Damon’s eyes narrowed. “This is our duty.”
Cian shook his head. “No.”
“If you’re not with us, Cian. Then you’re against us.”
Damon lunged, breaking Cian's hold of his wrist before taking another swing.
Cian blocked the strike, the impact rattling his bones. Damon attacked again, faster, angrier. Their blades clashed, sparks flying. Damon fought with wild aggression, each strike aimed to kill. Cian parried, stepped back, and tried to speak with him.
“Damon, stop.” Cian felt rage rise. “She is an innocent!”
Damon swung at his head. Cian ducked, then countered. Their blades locked. Damon shoved him back, breath ragged, eyes wild.
“You’re weak!” Damon spat. “You are betraying our Order!”
“The Order is betraying itself!”
Damon screamed and charged.
Cian reacted on instinct. He sidestepped, pivoted, and struck. His blade plunged into Damon’s chest, deep enough to stagger him. Damon gasped, dropping his sword. He fell to his knees, clutching his wound.
Cian stared at him, horrified.
He had not meant to strike so hard. He had not meant to hurt him. He had only meant to stop him. Damon collapsed, breath shallow, blood pooling beneath him.
Cian knelt beside him. “Damon.”
Damon’s brown eyes fluttered closed. “Cian…”
He looked toward the girl. She lay still, breathing faintly, blood streaking her temple. He moved to her, lifting her gently. She whimpered, then went limp against his chest. He held her close, shielding her from the flames.
The village burned around them. Knights shouted. Elves screamed. The commander’s voice rose above the chaos, ordering the search for the relic. Cian ignored him. He carried the girl through the smoke, away from the fire, away from the bodies.
He reached the forest’s edge, breath shaking.
She stirred weakly. Her eyes opened, unfocused. Bright hazel, with sparks of amber.
Cian felt his heart stop.
He whispered, “You’re safe.”
He looked back at the burning village.
Smoke rose into the sky. Flames devoured homes. Bodies lay scattered across the dirt. The Arcane Knights moved through the chaos with cold efficiency, searching, killing, burning.
Cian held the girl closer, feeling her small heartbeat against his chest. He turned away from the village, from the order, from everything he had believed. He walked into the forest, each step heavy with the weight of what he had done and what he had failed to stop.
He walked until the flames were only a distant glow behind the trees. The girl slept against him, her breath soft, her pulse steady. He kept moving, unsure of where he was going, only knowing he could not stop.
The forest swallowed the last of the flames behind him. Cian moved through the trees with the girl held tightly against his chest, her small body limp, her breath faint.
The forest swallowed the last of the flames behind him.
Cian moved through the trees with the girl held tightly against his chest, her small body limp.
Shadows pressed in from all sides, and he wondered what dangers might await them beyond these trees.
He feared the Order would not leave him to his conscience, that they would hunt him till the ends of the earth.
He did not know how long he walked.
The night was cold, the air sharp with pine and damp earth. Branches brushed his shoulders. Leaves whispered overhead. The girl stirred once, a soft sound escaping her, then fell silent again. Cian tightened his hold, adjusting her weight so her head rested against his shoulder.
He reached a stream at the edge of the forest, its water glinting faintly beneath the moonlight. He knelt beside it, lowering her gently. She whimpered, her eyes fluttering.
He dipped his hand into the cold water and touched it to her forehead. She flinched, then relaxed. He cleaned the blood from her temple, careful not to disturb the wound. Her breathing steadied, but she remained dazed, drifting in and out of consciousness.
He whispered, “Stay with me.”
She did not answer.
Cian looked back in the direction of the burning village. He could still see smoke rising in thick columns, drifting across the sky. The Arcane Knights would move through the ruins, searching for survivors and the relic, making sure no one would be left alive to spread the truth.
He could not let them find her.
He lifted her again, cradling her close, and continued deeper into the forest. The trees grew denser. The air grew colder. The night pressed against him, heavy and silent. He walked until his legs trembled, until his breath came ragged, until the weight of everything threatened to crush him.
After an hour, he reached a small clearing where the trees formed a natural shelter overhead. Moss covered the ground. A fallen log rested near the center. It was quiet, untouched by fire or screams. It was safe enough.
He set her down gently, arranging her so she lay on the moss, her head supported by his cloak. She stirred again, her small hand curling weakly against the fabric.
He knelt beside her, watching her chest rise and fall.
She was alive.
He exhaled, his breath shaking.
He needed help. He needed someone who could protect her. Someone who could hide her. Someone who could keep her far from the order’s reach. The human village beyond the ridge was close, but not close enough to safety. Humans feared elves. They also talked.
The Diwaller did not.
They lived deeper in the forest, past the ridge and the river bend, in a settlement woven into the roots of ancient trees.
They were reclusive, bound by old customs, and fiercely protective of their own.
They did not trust outsiders, but they did not abandon children.
And they were far enough from the Arcane Knights that no patrol would stumble upon them by accident.
She would be safe with them.
Hours passed. Cian was rested enough to continue their journey to the Diwaller.
Cian pressed forward, guided by memory of maps he had seen and instinct, following the faint trail that led toward the Diwaller’s territory.
Dawn had just touched the horizon. Mist curled around the forest floor, drifting in thin ribbons. The trees rose tall and ancient, their roots twisting like old scars. The world here was quiet.
The Diwaller lived beyond the ridge, in a territory marked by old stones carved with runes.
He reached the first boundary stone, half-buried beneath moss and roots. The runes carved into its surface glowed faintly in the dawn light, marking the edge of Diwaller land. Cian knelt beside it, lowering the girl gently onto the soft earth.
He adjusted her cloak so it covered her shoulders, tucking it beneath her to keep her warm. She looked impossibly small against the roots and moss, fragile in a way that made his chest tighten.
He stayed there for a moment, kneeling beside her.
Smoke still clung to his clothes. Blood streaked his armor.
His breath was calmer than before. He had no idea what would come next.
He only knew he could not stay. If the Diwaller found him here, bloodied and armored, they would not listen to explanations.
They would see only a human knight with a badly injured elf on their land.
He stood slowly, the weight of the night settling over him like a shroud. He took one last look at her.
A sound drifted through the trees. Soft footsteps. Low voices in what sounded like Diwaller language. The rustle of underbrush.
Cian stepped back from the boundary stone.
He whispered to the unconscious girl, “Forgive me.”
Without looking back, he disappeared from view, hoping to deal with his own demons.
???
Moments later, the hunting party emerged from the trees.
A younger Rena led them, her bow slung across her back, her eyes sharp beneath the morning light. She moved with the confidence of someone who knew every root and stone in the forest. When she reached the boundary marker, she raised a hand, signaling the others to halt.
Something lay at the base of the stone.
Rena approached slowly, her breath catching when she saw the child. A small elven girl, unconscious, dried blood streaking her temple, her body curled against the moss as though she had simply fallen asleep.
Rena knelt beside her.
She touched the girl’s cheek gently. The child stirred, a faint sound escaping her lips. Relief washed through Rena, sharp and sudden.
“She is alive,” Rena said.
The hunters gathered around her, their expressions shifting from caution to concern. Rena lifted the girl carefully, cradling her in her arms. The child’s eyes fluttered open for a moment, unfocused and dazed.
Rena whispered, “You are home now.”
The girl’s eyes closed again.
Rena stood, holding her close, and turned toward the grove.
The hunting party moved with haste, disappearing into the forest with the child held securely in Rena’s arms.
Behind them, the boundary stone stood silent.
And far beyond the trees, Cian walked alone, unaware that the girl he had saved would one day become the reason for every choice he would make.