Alden opened his eyes against the rough bark of the tree. The world returned in a slow sway: light filtered through the leaves, the damp scent of earth, the distant echo of a battle that was no longer there.

  Lyanna was seated beside him. She did not speak; she only watched him, tension held beneath her calm gaze. Serah stood guard nearby, motionless as a statue, while the Wolf slept with her muzzle resting between Alden’s legs, breathing deeply.

  Alden raised a hand and touched the animal’s head. She released a low sigh, as if confirming that he was still there.

  A few steps away, Kaelor and Kael spoke in hushed tones, their faces marked by concern. Vaerion and two other elves kept watch around the clearing, alert and silent.

  At last, Lyanna spoke, her voice firm yet gentle.

  “You came back.”

  Alden tried to sit up; a warm pang in his chest reminded him of the fire’s pulse.

  She steadied him by the shoulder.

  “Don’t move too fast,” she said. “That was too much energy for someone who’s only beginning to understand it.”

  Serah added, without taking her eyes off the forest:

  “The Agaroth fell. The Krogars fled. The area is clear.”

  From a few paces away, Doran grunted.

  “What you did was madness… but damn fine madness.”

  Alden exhaled slowly, letting the pieces of the moment settle back into place.

  “I’m fine,” he said at last.

  Kaelor smiled, keeping his emotion low in his voice.

  “Thanks to you, we’re safe.”

  Vaerion spoke with practical authority.

  “Give the boy time to recover. We’ll regroup and head for Thalan’dor as soon as we’re ready.”

  The others nodded and moved off. Gradually, they left Alden and the Wolf in Lyanna’s care.

  Alden stroked the animal’s head; the she-wolf sighed and pressed the weight of her brow into his hand.

  “She’ll be all right,” Lyanna said, watching them with restrained tenderness. “She’s brave… and beautiful. There seems to be a bond between you.”

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  He managed a tired smile.

  “What’s her name?”

  Alden looked down at the creature, searching for a name that had not yet existed.

  “She doesn’t have one,” he admitted. “I never gave her one.”

  Lyanna considered it for a few seconds and gently brushed the Wolf’s fur.

  “What about… Luthara? It means Moon Guardian in the ancient tongue of the Fair Folk. I think it suits her.”

  Alden repeated the name softly.

  “Luthara… I like it.”

  The Wolf lifted her head for a moment, as if sensing something, then settled it back against his legs.

  ***

  On the road to Thalan’dor, Alden and Lyanna walked side by side; Luthara paced with them, steady and alert. Kael approached with his usual grin.

  “The elf with the twin blades… impressive,” he murmured. “And beautiful.”

  Lyanna didn’t even look at him.

  “You’re ridiculous. She’s over a hundred years old.”

  Kael shrugged.

  “That’s not too old.”

  Alden let out a weary laugh. Lyanna rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t quite hide a brief smile.

  Kaelor caught up to Serah.

  “Are we far?” he asked quietly. “It’ll be dark soon.”

  “No,” she replied without lifting her gaze from the path. “We’ll reach Thalan’dor before nightfall.”

  They walked a few steps in silence.

  “Thank you—for earlier,” Kaelor said, glancing at her. “I saw how you and Lyanna protected Alden when he lost consciousness.”

  Serah tilted her head slightly, never slowing.

  “I only did what was necessary.”

  Another brief silence, lighter this time.

  “Still, I appreciate it,” Kaelor added, sincerely.

  This time, Serah looked at him.

  “I saw what that boy did,” she said quietly. “The Mark. The sword. The way the fire answered him. He doesn’t control it—but he didn’t hesitate to protect us.”

  Kaelor nodded, unsure what to add.

  Then Vaerion’s voice reached them from the front.

  “We’re here.”

  Thalan’dor emerged among the trees like a place of quiet refuge: simple homes gathered around a crystal-clear lake, and at its center, an island crowned by an immense tree whose pink leaves gleamed like a dawn held in place. Blue crystal lanterns lit the paths with a soft, dreamlike glow.

  ***

  As the group advanced, townsfolk and onlookers peered from doors and windows.

  “Who are they?”

  “Vaerion is with them… it must be serious.”

  The captain led them to the largest building by the water. After brief preparations, they were presented before the council. Vaerion summarized what had occurred in the forest.

  An elder then rose. It was Maelorin, wearing a timeworn robe and bearing an ancient gaze.

  “Speak truthfully,” he commanded.

  Kaelor stepped forward and recounted what mattered most: the Mark, Alden’s maternal bloodline, the attack on the village, their flight to Drauhen, and the events that had brought them to Larethil.

  As he spoke, the council members reacted in murmurs: a thin-browed elf clicked his tongue skeptically; a silver-haired woman frowned at the name Galathor; another let out a faint sound when the Mark was mentioned.

  When Kaelor finished, Maelorin turned to Vaerion.

  “Your assessment?”

  Vaerion glanced at Serah, seeking a nearly imperceptible nod, then replied:

  “I saw it with my own eyes. The Mark. Eryndhal. And the fire answering his will. He doesn’t control his gift, but he possesses it. And they did not lie about what happened in the forest.”

  The council fell silent. Maelorin walked toward Alden. His eyes, clear despite the years, studied him as though reading beyond flesh and bone.

  “Then,” he said solemnly, “I will take you before the Lareth, the Tree of the Fair Folk. It will judge your heart. If you are the one of prophecy, we will know.”

  Alden swallowed.

  “And if I’m not?”

  “If the Tree does not accept you,” Maelorin replied, “Eryndhal will be reclaimed for its protection. And the council will decide your fate—whether merciful or not.”

  The threat settled over them like a restrained shadow.

  With that, the audience ended. Outside, night spread across Thalan’dor as the lake reflected the pink leaves of the great tree.

  Alden looked to his companions. The Mark pulsed beneath his shirt, hot as a warning.

  If the Tree rejected him, he would not only lose the sword.

  He would lose far more.

  Thank you for reading this chapter.I hope you enjoyed it and that you’ll continue on to the next one.

  I’d love to hear your thoughts on Thalan’dor, the elven council, and the trial awaiting Alden.As always, comments, ideas, and theories are very welcome.

  New chapters are released every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

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  See you in Myranthel.