Luenor stirred awake, the ache in his bones a dull echo of yesterday's chaos.
He found himself resting against Hera, with her lap serving as a make-shift pillow, and he could hear her breathing, steady and calm as he took in the almost imperceptible scent of pine and fire-smoke that clung to her robes. For the first time in what felt like ages, his body was not hustling.
His body was resting.
He dozed off again, and as the sleep-laden thoughts drifted him into slumber, he dreamed.
He was not in the glade anymore. Instead, before him extended a narrow path through the forest, surrounded by tall conifers on either side.
A tonga plodded along in front of him, the wooden wheels creaking with every turn. It was drawn by a bull with dulling white patches, and the tonga carried his mother, Rhea, who held the reigns. Her cloak was torn and dusty, but it belonged to a noblewoman who could turn the mundane into something beautiful. Her hair was loose and disheveled, and her face was paler than the day she received him at her breast.
At the rear of the tonga, Hunter Garlan lay, wrapped in bandages stained with dried blood. He took shallow breaths, and one eye pried open.
"You awake?" Rhea forced.
Hunter grunted, barely audible,-"As if."
"We're here." she whispered. "We made it to Eclion."
The village came into sight now, a jumble of crooked rooftops tucked away, hidden behind the wilderness in the distance; quiet. Remote. Untouched by money and nobility.
Luenor jolted awake with a sharp inhale. The morning mist still blanketed the glade. Most of the elves were still asleep, their breath rising in rhythm. But he noticed movement near the edge—Thalanar and a few elders, including Telmar, were huddled in discussion.
Rubbing his eyes, Luenor stood and made his way toward them.
To his surprise, the elves turned and bowed as he approached. A gesture of respect, not formality. He acknowledged it with a nod—no longer flustered by it, just… accepting.
"What's going on?" he asked, voice still heavy with sleep.
"We are searching for a new home," Thalanar said, his face weary. "This forest, once our guardian, has become a graveyard. We can't rebuild here. It's… no longer ours."
"A shame," one of the elders muttered bitterly.
Luenor hesitated, remembering his dream. "Is Eclion close from here?"
Thalanar raised an eyebrow, then turned to Telmar. "You hired the furthest from the tribe. What lies in that direction?"
Telmar scratched his chin. "Eclion? Hah. That's under Barony Ronney, technically.
" But no one goes there, not even the baron's tax collectors. It's all bandit territory. Most people think it is cursed now."
A crazy idea was taking root in Luenor's mind. "What if you... settled there?"
All the elves froze.
"What?" one said angrily.
"You build new homes. That place is abandoned already. And if my dream is correct... mother and Hunter are there."
"You saw them?" Thalanar asked incredulously.
"Yes. In my dream. She was there. Hunter was there too, but hurt. But if he is with mother, the bandits wouldn't dare come near."
The council erupted into chaos with arguments from all sides. Some saw opportunity, others saw betrayal. How could they, proud guardians of the forest, live under a human baron's subjugation?
Eventually, Thalanar raised his hand. "Enough. The boy has earned a right to speak. And if this Hunter is as strong as Luenor says... perhaps we can survive there."
Grudging nods followed. Not all agreed, but none challenged the decision outright.
As the meeting dissolved, Luenor walked away, leaving the council to their murmurs.
__
Later that morning, Lyssari woke to the sounds of shovels striking dirt. Staring off into the distance, she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and made her way to the sounds—and there she found Luenor and Arwin working hard together.
Arwin had a shovel and he was digging with a vengeance despite the tape and bandaging wrapped tightly around his arms. Luenor was kneeling beside him, whispering something that had to do with mana channels; she heard the phrase "no mana heart" and froze, almost yelling.
"You.... don't... have a mana heart?" Arwin asked, astonished and incredulous.
Luenor looked down. "I never did. I just store mana. Absorb it. That's why... I didn't break during the core's surge."
Lyssari leaned closer. "What are you doing?"
Luenor gifted her a tired smile. "I saw a child among the dead. An elf child. Nobody noticed her. I wanted to give her a grave."
Her breath stopped in her throat. Many moments of silence passed before she gave a curt nod and slowly kneeled beside him.
"I will help."
It wasn't long before others noticed. More elves came. Some brought tools; some just knelt and folded their hands over their hearts.
By the time the child's tiny grave was filled, there were no dry eyes in the glade.
Thalanar stepped up, his tone strong, but assessed the situation with caution. "First we honor our past, before we contemplate our future."
He lifted his gaze to the sky and bowed his head towards the grave.
"We give our lost ones their final resting place....and then we walk to tomorrow."
__
The funeral service lasted until noon.
The elves sang an older hymn, soft and melodic, wrought with a sense of longing for lost trees and brothers frozen in the frozen earth. Luenor stood next to the grieving Lyssari and Hera and listened as they read each name. The mound of graves grew slowly behind them, each one marked with the simple rune of a name painted into wood or stone. A child. A mother. A warrior. A friend.
As many wept none wailed. This grief was not loud grief. This grief was quiet and solemn.
Once the final name was read, Thalanar stepped forward. He looked different from yesterday. He seemed older. He looked like he was worn down but remained stoic.
"We have endured," he said. "And as of this dawn, we begin again."
He turned to Luenor. "The boy who saved our children has shown us a path. It is not the one we dreamed of, nor is it one our ancestors would understand… but it is ours now."
Luenor looked up, startled.
"We shall go to Eclion," Thalanar declared. "We will build homes among humans, not to kneel, but to survive. To endure."
Murmurs stirred again. Some still hesitated. But none raised protest. The funeral had melted away the last edges of resistance.
That evening, the glade was alive with quiet preparation. Packs were bound. Injured elves prepared stretchers. Lyssari helped her father, tying leather straps to salvaged supply crates. Faren instructed younger scouts to carry messages ahead and mark clear paths.
Arwin, bandages taut across his back, sharpened an old blade he'd found among the wreckage.
"Do you really think your mother is in Eclion?" she asked.
"I don't know," he replied. "But… I felt her. I think she's waiting."
They sat in silence. Then, she spoke again.
"When we settle there… would it be alright if I planted a tree for the child?"
Luenor smiled. "I think she'd like that."