Ælfen 1: (Dreaming and drooling) Indeed. His face sharper, shoulders broader, gaze calm as still water. Even his silhouette feels… different.
Elf 1: (Long-suffering facepalm) Oh cousin… why did the Maker ever relate us?
High above, the sky bruises. Cloud-bellies darken, swallowing the last pale gold of afternoon.
Another cluster of elves.
Elf 1: (Tilting his head skyward) If we linger here much longer, the rain will drown us where we stand.
Ælfen: (Soft, almost pious) Oh Heavens… is the Elflord vexed?
Elf 2: Who can say? Come. Shelter. Now.
More than a quarter-hour crawls by.
The sky weeps without mercy. Thunder cracks like whips across the vault of heaven.
Royal Examine Castle
The name alone is enough to silence most tongues. Here the worst offenders vanish into stone—questioned, broken, or ended.
Deep in the lowest cell, a single needle-thin shaft of gray light stabs through a high slit window.
Chained at wrists and ankles, kneeling on wet flagstones, is the blonde elf—traitor, schemer, once trusted hand of Duke Balin. The one who dared tamper with the Revealing Stone.
Blonde Elf: (Hoarse, cracking) Let me out!
The keepers do not even glance his way.
Then—a shadow lengthens in the corridor. Boots echo with deliberate calm.
The keepers snap to rigid attention, fear and reverence mingling on their faces. They salute sharply and step aside.
The heavy iron door groans open.
Blonde Elf: (Eyes flaring wide, brows knotting) Elflord…
There stands Alf.
Regal. Lethally still. Rainwater gleams on the pitch black cloak draped across his shoulders like spilled ink. His face betrays nothing.
Blonde Elf: (Head dropping into a mocking sneer) Let me guess why you've come. Ah… to ask why I serve the Duke more faithfully than you? Pfft.
Head Examine Puritant: Speak!
Blonde Elf: Killing me changes nothing. My master's reach circles the globe. Allies in every shadow.
Assistant Royal Commander: The Duke's schemes are dust. His Majesty will never—
Blonde Elf: (Sharp, ugly laugh—then silence, eyes flicking to Alf) You cannot stop what has already begun. My master is twice—no… tenfold the Elflord you will ever be.
Head Examine Puritant: (Hand twitching toward weapon) How dare you—?!
An Elf-Soldier catches the Puritant's elbow—firm, silent warning.
Blonde Elf: What? (Sneering wider) He's weak. (Locking eyes with Alf) Isn't he, oh Elvish King? (Veins standing stark on his neck) You're weak!! And there is nothing you can do about it.
A long, velvet silence.
Alf turns his head fractionally. One gloved hand gestures—almost lazily.
An Elf-Soldier steps forward behind the chained traitor.
Blonde Elf: (Voice cracking into terror) No—no—Uin õf nũa tēt, eid-um nũa'me sjai gæl obun'nk…!
The ropes fall away. Wrists and ankles suddenly free.
Blonde Elf: (Bewildered, voice rising) What… what is this?
Alf extends his gloved hand.
Resting on the black leather palm lies the Death Dũdgar—its blade drinking light, ancient and pitiless.
NOTE: The Death Dũdgar: ancestral execution blade, forged for Elflords alone.
"Uin õf nũa tēt, eid-um nũa'me sjai gæl obun'nk…"
→ "Even if I die, I would never owe my respect…"
Alf tosses it.
Casual. Perfect arc.
The blonde elf catches it instinctively—then freezes, stunned. Every witness inhales sharply. No one but an Elflord should hold that sword.
Royal Advisor: (Voice cracking) Your Majesty…!
Alf raises one hand.
Leave.
They obey without another word.
Blonde Elf: (Rising slowly, blade trembling in his grip) This is the Death… Why…
Alf peels the glove from his left hand.
Deliberately taps his own forehead.
A faint shimmer—then nothing. His Essence, his power, sealed away.
Blonde Elf: (Almost laughing in disbelief) You give me the Death Dũdgar… and block your own Essence? Nëmæ?
Elflord: (Silent).
Blonde Elf: (Settling into a killing stance, grin feral) Heh! Aitoi, nũa'thinë ël kalæ bēmthu a'thon.
NOTE:
"Nëmæ?" (FõLa) → "Why?"
"Aitoi, nũa'thinë ël kalæ bēmthu a'thon." (FõLa) → "Fine, I will grant your death wish."
The cell door slams shut.
From outside:
THUD.
BANG.
Metal screaming on stone.
A wet, choking cough—then one long, animal scream that cuts off like a snapped thread.
Silence.
Absolute.
Seconds later the door opens again.
Alf steps into the torchlight.
Blood gloves the sword. Blood sleeves his forearms. His face—still perfectly composed. As though he has only just finished signing a parchment.
Head Examine Puritant: (Salute crisp) Your Majesty.
Alf walks past without pause. Attendants fall in behind him like shadows.
The Puritant lifts a lantern, peering into the cell.
His breath stops.
Cell Keeper 1: Master…?
Head Examine Puritant: (Motionless).
Cell Keeper 2: Master?
Cell Keepers 1 & 3: (Together, horrified) Mas— Oh goodness…
What lies inside is beyond their usual cruelties.
Cell Keeper 1: (Voice small) What… is he?
Knight Castle – West Dormitory
Bathing Hall
Steam curls thick in the air. Laughter bounces off wet stone. Young elves shove, splash, yelp like puppies.
Cendric—still fully clothed—tries to weave through the chaos without being dragged under.
NOTE: Irony cuts sharp: a girl wearing a boy's name and uniform, standing in the heart of the male baths. Yet Elva (Cendric) has walked rougher paths than most boys here. The Chastity Practice has long since burned modesty from her. Nakedness means nothing.
Voices rise above the din.
Student 1: Hey, new blood! Come bathe with us!
Cendric: Oh no—no, I really must refuse…
Senior Student: (Grinning, clapping a wet hand on his back) Why so shy? We're all built the same under the cloth.
Another Senior: Two days without a wash, mate. You reek.
Cendric gives an awkward chuckle, scratching behind his ear.
Nosy Student (Carter): Exactly. Why hide the goods? Unless… you're not a male?!
The hall falls deathly quiet.
Even the water seems to hold its breath.
Across the chamber the Watchmen exchange glances—finally, blessed silence. They assume the Head Senior has cracked the whip again.
Watchman 1: (Smug) At last. Peace.
Watchmen: (Low chuckle)
Cendric: (Turning slowly to Carter) What exactly do you mean by that? Are you trying to insult me?
---
NEXT CHAPTER
Nosy Student: Quite not…
...
Cendric:
… What must I do to prove I'm male?
Nosy Student: Remove your clothing. If you're one of us, there's no shame in it.
There is a long, heavy silence. And then...
Cendric: …Fine.