Darken's footsteps touched the forbidden lands of the Elves once more—but this time, everything about him was different. His presence carried a darker weight, his demeanor sharper, his intentions stripped of ambiguity:
one goal, one name—Claridis. Yet strangely, in this place, his attack was aimed at Arldir, whose name bore no connection to Claridis at all. Perhaps… there was another secret, one only Darken knew.
King Toras said nothing, motioning silently for everyone else to follow his lead and hold back, avoiding any clash with Darken. This was not the Darken he once spoke to beneath the Great Tree, the man who shared quiet words and steady breaths. No—this was someone else entirely.
A figure wreathed in a dreadful aura, shifting like living tendrils through the air, carrying with it a murderous intent so palpable it seemed to suffocate the wind itself.
Darken stood still for a moment… then stepped forward, deliberate and unyielding. Without warning, he launched himself toward a breach in the stone wall, bursting out of the royal court into the open grounds, where clusters of terrified elves gathered around the roots of the Great Tree.
His landing struck with such force that it sent them scattering, leaping instinctively away from him.
Around the tree's base, several elven dwellings lay broken, half-buried beneath clouds of drifting dust. From between the wreckage, Arldir emerged, his face carved in anger and contempt.
"How dare you strike at me, you filthy human!"
At first glance, Arldir's form had changed—almost beyond recognition. His facial features remained, but strange jagged black markings now stretched across his skin, trailing beneath his neck. His body had grown taller, broader, every muscle defined with unnatural precision, as though he had ascended into something greater… or darker. Even his voice carried an edge—deep, venomous, resonating with malice.
"I don't know how you've come here, nor how you wield such an overwhelming aura… but!" Arldir roared, his voice booming like thunder. "Defeating me has always been among your highest, most foolish dreams, you arrogant wretch!"
With each word, Arldir advanced, his footsteps crushing deep impressions even into the hardest stone. The sight alone unsettled his kin—elves who rarely knew fear—yet even their terror of Darken's suffocating presence paled beside what Arldir had become. Instinct took over, and the nearby elves fled, driven by one primal command: survive.
But Arldir knew his words meant nothing. He could see it in Darken's stillness, in those unmoving, hollow eyes.
Realizing this, Arldir lunged, determined to end it swiftly.
He hurled his fist forward with staggering force, intent on ending the fight in a single blow.
The impact struck Darken's face directly. A violent shockwave erupted from the collision, scattering loose debris and sending leaves spiraling high into the air.
Yet… something was wrong.
Arldir's breath caught in his throat. Darken stood unshaken—untouched—his expression unreadable. Panic flared, and Arldir leapt back, searching for another opening. Then he noticed it: the faint ripple of Darken's skin knitting itself back together, healing instantly.
Arldir clenched his jaw, trying to convince himself he had made progress.
"Interesting… truly interesting," he muttered coldly, masking his unease. "You're… no mere human after all."
And yet, his thoughts betrayed him.
' That pill… they said it would double my strength. And it has. My body's larger, faster, harder—like I wear steel as flesh. And still… His eyes narrowed. '
' That human feels stronger. Why? How? We elves are born superior to humans; even without the pill, our strength surpasses theirs. With it, I should be unmatched—stronger than their mightiest warrior. But this man… This man is something else entirely. '
Despite his newfound power, despite his cunning, Arldir felt it—the same suffocating sensation everyone else did: weakness. A crawling helplessness that clung like frost beneath the skin. But unlike the others, he forced himself forward, refusing to yield. Perhaps it was bravery.
Perhaps it was stupidity.
In that moment, he attacked again, aiming directly for Darken's unmoving figure—a seemingly perfect target.
He surged forward faster than before, his fist cutting the air mere inches from Darken's face. He expected the same outcome. He expected resistance. Instead, Darken vanished from his line of sight.
A pivot, smooth and effortless, brought Darken behind him in an instant. Before Arldir could react, a brutal kick slammed into his back, hurling him across the clearing and into the colossal trunk of the Great Tree. The impact rattled the earth, shaking the halls above where Princess Eve and her elder sister, Eryl, remained.
"Ghhhk!" Arldir choked, dragging himself from the splintered wreckage, fury twisting his features.
"How—how is this possible?! Who the hell are you?!" he roared, but Darken gave no reply.
Silent.Relentless. Each step Darken took toward him was measured, heavy, deliberate—a predator advancing upon its prey.
Arldir understood. Words were meaningless now. And so he turned, fleeing into the depths of the forest. His path angled sharply, heading toward the Firefly River… or perhaps beyond, into the untamed second territory of the Elves.
Darken's gaze locked on him, and then—he moved.
His sprint tore through the ground, each step detonating like distant thunder, propelling him forward with inhuman speed. The earth itself seemed to recoil beneath his feet as he closed the distance, relentless as the shadow of death itself.
Meanwhile, within the royal court, King Toras and those with him struggled to gather their thoughts, their minds still shaken by the overwhelming presence of both Darken and Arldir. Among them, however, Sofrik moved with calm precision, stepping forward toward the breach in the stone wall through which Darken and Arldir had vanished into the wilds.
Standing on the edge, Sofrik's gaze swept beyond the broken threshold. He spotted his son dashing deep into the forest, with Darken in relentless pursuit.
"I… can't believe this," Sofrik whispered under his breath, his voice faint beneath the distant cries and chaos spilling through the ruins around him.
"King Toras… I truly don't understand," said Aria, her voice strained with unease, her mind replaying the chaos she had just witnessed.
"My love…" spoke Queen Erlsya softly, her words directed at her husband, who still knelt, leaning on one knee for balance.
Everyone waited.
All eyes were on the king, awaiting his decision.
When a people are thrust into crisis, there is but one anchor left—their king, their hope, their salvation.
Yet Toras himself felt the same suffocating dread they all carried—the same uncertainty, the same weakness.
But he forced himself to stand, burying the storm of thoughts tearing through his mind: Arldir's sudden betrayal, Darken's unnatural arrival, and the inexplicable force he wielded.
With effort, Toras pushed himself to his feet, leaning heavily on his staff, and stepped forward with weary resolve.
His slow, weighted steps carried him toward Sofrik, head of the Tamriol family, until the two stood face-to-face.
For a fleeting moment, Toras allowed himself to glance outside, catching fragments of the battle that had unfolded in those short, devastating minutes.
"Sofrik," Toras began, his voice low but steady, "my heart grieves for what has happened. Accepting the truth will not be easy—even when we have no choice but to face it. But in times like these… we must stand firm. We cannot afford to falter, not when our people… our kin… need us more than ever."
Toras placed a hand firmly on Sofrik's shoulder.
"No matter what happens, no matter what comes, I will bear this burden—as a king, as a father, and as an elf of this land." He paused briefly before adding, "Do what must be done, Sofrik. You have my leave to act."
His words carried weight—not just urgency, but an unspoken mix of anxiety, grief, and a crushing sense of responsibility. Toras knew all too well where the blame would fall.
He had trusted Darken. He had shown mercy to Arldir. And now the cost of those choices was bleeding into the soil of their sacred grounds.
Sofrik remained silent, his expression unreadable, his stillness suffocating the tension within the hall.
Those gathered feared something worse—a clash between Sofrik and the king, here and now. But instead, Sofrik took a single step back… and bowed deeply.
Without a word, he turned, striding toward the court's great entrance. Just before leaving, however, he stopped, casting a glance over his shoulder.
"Your Majesty…"
Toras raised his eyes to meet him.
"We are children of this land," Sofrik said, his tone quiet but firm. "We bear this burden together. We are no strangers to one another. What you carry… we carry as well, my king."
And with that, Sofrik departed, leaving his words hanging heavy in the silence behind him.
For Toras, a fleeting sense of relief brushed against his chest—only to vanish just as quickly, replaced by grim resolve. He turned toward those remaining in the hall, his voice sharp but composed.
"Aria, take Queen Erlsya and ascend to the summit of the Great Tree. If you sense the tree beginning to collapse, seek the Root Chamber beneath it. Even if the tree falls, that chamber will hold."
Then his gaze shifted to Archer, who had been silent all this time. "As for you… I will pass judgment later. For now, do something—anything—to earn even a fraction of leniency."
His tone cut sharp with anger, yet beneath it lingered a faint trace of mercy.
Before Toras could move, a thunderous sound split the air—deep, violent, echoing from the heart of the forest.
He froze.
Darken and Arldir were still clashing.
Far beyond, near the Firefly River, Arldir's body slammed violently into the water, sending waves surging high into the air. Darken, perched upon a sturdy branch above, stood unshaken, his expression cold, unreadable… lifeless.
"Damn you… damn you a thousand times!"
Arldir's roar reverberated through the forest, his rage consuming him. And he had every right—he was the one bleeding, his body battered and broken, while Darken bore only faint smears of blood… blood not his own, but that of those he had slain in the Wolf Valley and here, upon the Elven grounds.
Then, unexpectedly, elven warriors—the Children of the Land—rushed into the fray, raining arrows upon Darken in a relentless volley, while others ran toward Arldir's fallen form to aid him, their understanding clouded by ignorance.
"Lord Arldir! Are you hurt? We came to help you against that invader!"
Arldir's gaze flicked toward them, sharp and calculating.
He realized, almost bitterly, that he now had the support of the very people who should have seen him as a traitor.
Still… he smiled faintly, dragging himself upright before stepping out of the river.
Meanwhile, Darken leapt effortlessly from branch to branch, evading the incoming arrows—though several found their mark, embedding deep into his body.
' Tsk Tsk ... Fools '
Arldir thought, his smirk widening.
' Blind, ignorant fools. But this works to my advantage. Let's see how the human handles those who have no stake in this battle. '
A spark of confidence returned to him. Surely, Darken would never harm innocents. Surely, he would hesitate.
But Arldir was wrong.
Darken descended like a storm, tearing through the elven warriors with brutal efficiency. Those who tried to run screamed and died mid-step; others were cut down before a sound could leave their throats.
Even Arldir—who cared little for their lives—felt his breath falter as he watched the sheer, unrestrained savagery unfold before him.
When it was over, Darken turned, his gaze locking on Arldir.
And then, slowly, he began to advance.
"who the fack are you?!" Arldir's voice cracked despite himself. "No human could do this—kill like this—without blinking! WHO ARE YOU REALLY?!"
Darken, silent until now, walked with steady, deliberate steps, each one sinking heavily into the earth.
Finally, he spoke. His voice was low, cold, devoid of all emotion.
"I must kill… Claridis."
Three words. Flat. Empty. Uncaring.
But their weight struck Arldir harder than any blow could.
Because behind that hollow tone, he sensed only one thing: madness. And yet… confusion, too.
' Claridis? '
Arldir's mind reeled.
' Did he just say… Claridis? The legendary Dark Lord? The master of forbidden magic himself? '
Memories clawed their way back—of a past meeting, shadowed figures cloaked from head to toe, voices hushed and hidden. Pieces of a greater puzzle, now snapping violently together.
But there was no time to dwell.
Darken was upon him. The air between them cracked as a strike came hurtling toward Arldir's face. Instinctively, he crossed his arms, bracing against the blow. He managed to block it—but the sheer force hurled him backward, sending him crashing once more into the Firefly River, crimson blooming through its once-pristine waters.
"Damn it!" Arldir snarled, dragging himself up through the thick mud beneath the shallows. "This fight's pointless! You're the only one attacking! What kind of battle is this supposed to be?!"
But the riverbank gave him no aid—the soft, sinking mud made it nearly impossible to steady himself, his altered weight from the black pill dragging him deeper.
Darken, undeterred, stepped forward, nearing the river's edge. From his vantage, Arldir could see the worn wooden bridge to the right, its structure already splintered from their clash, creaking under the strain of impending collapse.
Darken… was closing in. And this time, it felt different. This time, it felt final.
Out of nowhere, a small child darted out from between the thick shrubs, rushing forward to block Darken's path, standing like a fragile barrier between him and Arldir. The latter froze in shock, just as startled by the boy's sudden appearance.
It was a young elf — frail, innocent, and far too small to be standing there.
"I… I won't let you hurt big brother! I won't let you!! Go away, or the dragon will come and kill you!" The boy's trembling voice carried both fear and childish determination, but his words… meant nothing.
Darken remained motionless for several seconds, showing no reaction whatsoever. Even Arldir hadn't expected a child to try and protect him — nor did he expect Darken to actually respond. And yet, the reality revealed itself a moment later when Darken shifted his right shoulder back, tightening his fist with crushing force.
The boy shut his eyes tightly, unaware of the shadow looming over him, while Arldir's widened gaze reflected disbelief. He, who wished to enslave the eastern elves, now watched in horror as Darken… prepared to kill the child without hesitation.
The moment Darken hurled his fist straight toward the boy's head, it should have marked the end of a young life.
But, unexpectedly, his punch stopped mere inches away — frozen mid-air, as though an invisible force restrained him.
And indeed… someone had.
A stranger.
An unfamiliar figure whose sudden presence was so unsettling that even Darken — the same man who had slaughtered countless lives in cold blood — felt his chest tighten. For the first time since his transformation… fear crept into his expression.
Through his crimson eyes, Darken saw him clearly: a towering figure with a commanding, powerful frame. His face was hidden beneath a veil of swirling black smoke, smooth and fluid like living shadows, revealing only his mouth.
With a single hand — and without effort — the stranger had stopped Darken's full-force strike as though it were nothing. He wasn't even gripping him tightly.
"Your enemy stands before you, yet you choose to strike a child? You've made enough mistakes for today, young boy ."
The stranger's voice was calm yet carried an undeniable weight. It was masculine, soothing, almost gentle… but beneath it lay a strength that could shatter mountains. And like the moon piercing through a shroud of clouds, his faint, serene smile stood out among his otherwise hidden features.
Darken, despite his overwhelming power, leapt back instinctively, his body tense and alert. Yet while fear settled in his chest, those around him felt the opposite: a strange, tranquil warmth spread across the battlefield. The cries faded. The trembling eased. Even the children who had been sobbing moments ago went silent, as if the long, oppressive night had finally given way to the dawn.
Arldir, watching from the river, felt his breath hitch beneath the weight of this unshakable presence. For a moment, he thought of stepping closer, to see the stranger's face… but then, the figure raised his hand — directly at him.
"You, elf… you've committed too many sins in your lifetime. You had a chance to repent, to turn away from the path you chose. Everyone has that chance. But instead, you embraced a world where shadows are worshipped… at the cost of peace. For that… I sentence you to death."
Without moving a muscle further, Arldir's body erupted like a fragile bubble — a silent burst that turned the flowing river beneath him crimson, staining the water with a spreading veil of red.
"Do not be afraid, little one," the stranger said softly, turning to the trembling child. "You're safe now. But… I cannot remain here for long. So take care of yourself, young hero. And remember… we never met."
With a gentle hand, he brushed the boy's hair, sending him into a calm, dreamless sleep, his small body resting peacefully on the soft grass.
Then, slowly, the stranger turned toward Darken — who stood on edge, his entire body coiled like a beast expecting a fatal strike. Darken's voice trembled ever so slightly: "Who… are you?"
The stranger's smile deepened, warm yet enigmatic.
"Even if I told you, you wouldn't know me. And even if you did… my name must never be spoken. Not here. Not anywhere. What matters, Darken… son of Ethreos… is that you remember who you truly are."
And with that, the figure dissolved into his flowing black smoke, vanishing without a trace.
Darken remained frozen, stunned by everything he had just witnessed. Slowly, the crimson faded from his eyes, returning them to their natural color, but the tension in his expression didn't ease.
' Iswear… I know that man. I know him so well… that I want to run.But damn it — where have I seen him before? When did I ever meet someone that powerful?
That strength… it's not natural. '
He stood there in absolute silence, his mind spiraling. One thought, and one thought alone, consumed him: Who was that stranger? And how does he know me… and my truth?