He took a winding route to the East, passing through an obscure stretch of open land on the outskirts of Furmist. It was a place that seemed rarely traversed—no marked paths, no signs of footsteps left behind.
Ahead of him, a golden light began to emerge beyond the treetops. The once-thick fog had started to thin, gradually yielding to the timid rays of the morning sun peeking through.
Nelvan unfolded the map he had brought with him. A river ran to his left, though he preferred to call it an irrigation stream. Its waters were clear and fresh, the gentle rippling sounds harmonizing with the crunch of gravel beneath his feet.
Along this path, there were few passersby. Most people preferred the main road, the commonly traveled route. The lamps near him had either already gone out or perhaps hadn't been lit at all during the night. The whole scene was far quieter than the main routes of Nliyff.
Many of the buildings he passed were abandoned, though some still showed signs of life. Faint voices reached his pointed ears from the right side, muffled beneath his hooded mantle—but Nelvan paid them no mind. Aside from the cold that had clung to him through the night, avoiding human interaction was something he preferred.
Nelvan had met a few kind people recently—one just yesterday. When his sheep had strayed from the flock, a stranger compensated him with a pouch full of Ruby. He had left the pouch on the table in the dining room, hoping his mother would find the message he had written before he departed.
He had also asked his father to always protect her—no matter what.
Nelvan arrived at a concrete bridge leading to the East Gate of Furmist. At the base of a towering archway—not as grand as the gates of a royal city—he spotted the name of the town carved into stone, along with the territorial boundary and a smaller inscription below it: East Gate.
The walls showed signs of wear, some parts crumbling under the dim glow of oil lamps mounted along the surface. Only two guards were stationed there, dressed neatly in the fashion of Terraverde kingdom patrolmen.
It was a long way from Terraverde's capital, yet this city still fell under its domain.
Nelvan continued walking forward, ignoring the two men who seemed half-conscious. A few sake bottles were scattered atop a wooden table in front of them, and Nelvan chose to leave things as they were.
***
To the east, Nelvan paused at a gently rising hill. The land here stood higher than Furmist's plains. He didn't know this place, but he tried to.
He glanced back—Furmist lay several hundred meters behind, its presence now reduced to faint footprints fading in the morning dew. In silence, Nelvan bid the city farewell, and with it, Nliyff. The village was no longer visible from where he stood.
The image of his father seemed to fade along with the golden light stretching across the horizon. The moment had come, and with it, the journey began.
Halder Valley was marked on the map, though few people knew of it. The place had never been disturbed—not even hunters dared pass through, deterred by age-old myths surrounding it.
Nelvan had once heard a story about Halder Valley from his father when he was ten. He had thought it nothing more than a bedtime tale. But if even a part of it was true, Nelvan would remain cautious. He didn't know how to fight, he was afraid—but his heart churned with a quiet resolve each time doubt tried to rise.
He hoped his determination would carry him through until the end—until he could see his parents again.
Birdsong began to echo gently through the air. The thick fog that had blanketed the land was now lifting, leaving behind a thin haze like a recently extinguished candle.
The atmosphere was silent, broken only by the sound of his footsteps brushing against the rough ground. Rotten leaves cluttered the trail, making him tread more carefully. He simply had to follow the direction of the rising sun to continue eastward.
He unfolded his map once more and saw a name written on it—Gerivyn Forest. That was the forest that made Halder Valley so untouched. A place rarely trodden by hunters, plagued by strange tales of nighttime singing and trees that changed places. The sky above the forest was like a wrinkled cloth—the sun appeared and disappeared at will, and the wind blew from unpredictable directions.
And yet, in the midst of all that uncertainty, Nelvan felt most guided.
Halder Valley lay beyond Gerivyn Forest. A forest filled with dangers—Nelvan couldn't explain it, but a troubling feeling had begun to settle in his chest. He only needed to gather his courage to face the challenge ahead.
It was a long way—Nelvan knew he wouldn't arrive anytime soon. Reaching Gerivyn Forest alone would take five days of travel, along winding routes and paths not drawn on any map.
He began marking recognizable landmarks on the map. On the first day, he kept a steady course and stayed on track.
On the second, he spent time by the riverbank, training with the small dagger his father had given him.
Though he often failed, earning small injuries in the process, he continued with determination burning in his heart.
By the third night, he had set up a small camp between two flat stones, surrounded by towering pine trees like the pillars of an ancient temple. His campfire was small—barely enough to warm his hands. But the fire's presence was more to ease his mind than to push back the cold.
He sat in silence, hugging his knees. He felt incredibly far from home. And the journey so far had not been easy.
Is Eclothera even a real place? The question suddenly floated into his mind. His father hadn't doubted it—not after seeing the mysterious letter Nelvan had shown him.
Smoke from the flickering fire curled into the air, causing Nelvan to look up at the sky.
Millions of stars hung above like lights on the ceiling of a grand room—except this time, it was vast, and it was real. Nelvan missed home, but he refused to let the longing consume him. He had to reach Eclothera.
As the fire began to die down, Nelvan heard something.
Not from the forest—but from the air itself.
A whisper.
Not in the language of men or elves. It was like a sound from underwater—a humming, flowing tone that made no sense at all.
He turned in all directions. Nothing.
But when he opened the Eclothera letter once again, its silver ink lit up, and a new line now shimmered at the bottom:
[Three nights have passed. You are getting closer. Beware of those who walk without a shadow.]
Nelvan swallowed hard. He doused the fire and leaned against the stone, gripping his father's dagger tightly in hand.
In his mind, Nelvan muttered silently, narrowing his gaze, scanning for the source of the voice. Like thin smoke in the dark, it vanished. There couldn't be anyone else here. For the past few days, it had felt like he was the only soul treading this land.
On the fifth day, new oddities began to surface.
Tree branches grew in spiral patterns. Wildflowers bloomed in the dead of winter. A white fox followed him from afar for two hours, then vanished into mist without a sound.
And finally, as twilight fell on the seventh day, he saw it.
Halder Valley.
The land opened like a wound in the middle of the forest. Flat, silent, bathed in a light that didn't come from the sun. The sky above was a swirl of pink and violet—like an eternal dusk. And in the heart of the valley stood an ancient tree—massive, taller than the village bell tower, its roots bursting from the ground, its twisted branches like hands clasped in prayer.
The tree had no leaves. Yet its bark shimmered faintly, and from its trunk flowed a blue mist, drifting slowly like living breath.
Nelvan stepped forward. The air around him changed. Even time itself seemed to slow.
At the base of the tree stood a circular gate—woven from roots and light. At the top, the same emblem from the invitation was carved clearly: dragon, wind, and star.
The gate was open.
And beside it stood someone—or something.
A woman. But her body seemed made of solid light, glowing with hues of purple and blue. Her hair trailed like smoke, and her eyes shimmered dimly like flames inside a lantern.
***