Chapter 50 ELVISH FESTIVAL I
(HAVEN)
I sit on the edge of my bed while two maids move around me, fussing over silks and pins and soft layers of Elvish fabric. The dress is pale moon-green, threaded with silver that catches the light every time I breathe. It’s beautiful, and somewhat ethereal.
I told Tyren I could dress myself, but he just had to insist on having his servants assist me.
Somehow there's this tight feeling in my chest that just refuses to leave. You the kind of feeling you get when you are sure something bad will happen.
“The festival begins at sundown,” one of them says gently as she smooths the sleeves. “The Elves will be honored that you and the king are attending.”
I nod, but my attention drifts. My reflection stares back at me from the mirror…calm on the surface, eyes too sharp for someone meant to be celebrating peace.
The Elvish Festival is meant to symbolize renewal, balance, and harmony between species.
Funny how those words feel hollow now.
The moment the maids step outside to fetch some hair ornaments, a strange pressure blooms behind my eyes.
Not pain, but something worse.
The room flickers.
At first, I think it’s the candles, the flames waver, stretching too long, bending in unnatural ways. But then the air shifts, thickening, pressing against my lungs like smoke that hasn’t yet formed.
“Haven?”
The voice sounds distant. Wrong. Like it’s coming from underwater.
The walls dissolve.
Not crumble….vanish.
And suddenly, the palace is gone.
The bed beneath me disappears and suddenly I’m standing barefoot on scorched stone. Heat licks at my skin, sharp and suffocating, and the sky above is not a sky at all but a bruised red expanse choked with ash.
I spin slowly, my heart slamming against my ribs.
Everywhere I look… destruction.
Cities reduced to skeletal ruins. Towers split clean in half, their remains smoldering. Rivers boiled dry, their beds cracked and bleeding smoke. Bodies…no, I can’t…I force myself to look anyway.
They lie scattered like discarded pieces on a game board.
Elves, humans, shifters, and other creatures I don’t recognize but somehow know belong to this world.
My world.
A sob claws its way up my throat, but no sound comes out.
What the fuck happened here? Where is everyone I know?
I want to scream, but something in my gut warns me against that.
Then I hear it.
Low, rich, and delighted laughter.
I turn toward it, dread sinking deep into my bones, and there he is.
Eurolys!
He stands at the center of it all, untouched by the ruin around him. His dark robes are pristine, his silver hair loose around his shoulders like a crown of arrogance. Power rolls off him in visible waves, the air bending to his will.
He throws his head back and laughs again, spreading his arms wide as if embracing the carnage.
“Do you see it?” he calls, his voice echoing unnaturally. “Perfection.”
I take a step back, my pulse roaring in my ears.
“You did this,” I whisper, though my voice feels small, useless.
His gaze snaps to me, and he smiles.
Not kindly. Not even cruelly, but triumphantly.
“You always were slow to understand, Haven,” he says, strolling toward me as though the ground itself bows beneath his feet. “This continent was fractured long before I touched it. I merely… finished the work.”
I shake my head, terror and fury tangling in my chest. “They won’t follow you. Not all of them.”
“Oh, they already have.” He gestures lazily, and the shadows around us move. They rise, forming kneeling figures…dark silhouettes with glowing eyes. “Those who resisted are ash. Those who remain… belong to me.”
My stomach drops.
“No,” I breathe. “This isn’t real. This is just…”
“A vision?” he interrupts, amused. “Yes. And no.” He leans closer, his eyes burning with something ancient and vile. “It’s a promise.”
The ground beneath my feet cracks, light bleeding through the fissures like molten fire.
“You cannot stop this,” Eurolys continues, his voice soft now, almost intimate. “Your mother failed. Auren is failing. And you?” He laughs quietly. “You will have to choose. Just like she did.”
My chest tightens painfully. “I won’t be like her.”
His smile widens. “That’s what she said too, before she offered me what I asked for like a good girl.”
The world shatters.
I gasp sharply and jerk forward, hands clutching at my chest as I suck in air like I’ve been drowning.
I’m back in my room.
Candles flicker harmlessly. The walls are solid. The dress still clings to my body, cool and elegant. One of the maids rushes toward me, alarm written all over her face.
“Your Grace…are you unwell?”
My heart is racing, my skin damp with cold sweat.
But my mind is terrifyingly clear.
That wasn’t just fear, nor imagination. It was a promise of what is to come.
I lift my gaze to the mirror again, meeting my own reflection…no longer calm, no longer uncertain.
Eurolys thinks he’s already won.
And that means I’m running out of time.
I don't have much time to stop him before my visions stop being just visions.
\~~~
The Elvish festival, like everything else in Tir’Narel so far, is nothing like I expect it to be.
For one, it isn’t loud.
There are no drunken cheers, no reckless music clashing into the night.
Instead, the air hums…literally…with something ancient and alive. Soft melodies float from unseen sources, not carried by instruments alone but by magic itself. It weaves through the courtyards and bridges, curling around pillars of white stone and spiraling up into the glowing canopies of the trees.
Trees that shine.
Their leaves shimmer in shades of gold, emerald, and silver, casting gentle light over the open grounds. Floating orbs—wisps of contained starlight—drift lazily above the crowd, responding to laughter, emotion, intention. The brighter the joy, the warmer they glow.
It feels like a sacred ritual.
It’s beautiful.
It should feel comforting, but it isn't.
My vision still burns behind my eyes like an afterimage I can’t blink away.
Auren walks beside me, his presence steady, grounding. He wears ceremonial black tonight, embroidered with faint silver runes along the collar and cuffs. The fabric clings to him like it was designed with him in mind—which it probably was. Every step he takes draws subtle attention, respectful bows from elves and murmurs that ripple through the crowd.
I lace my fingers tighter around his arm, my instinct already screaming at me to protect him.
He glances down at me, concern flickering briefly across his face before he schools it into something lighter. “You’re quiet,” he murmurs. “That usually means you’re either plotting something dangerous… or about to start a fight.”
“Can’t it be both?” I reply softly.
That earns a small smirk. “I married a menace.”
We step onto the central dais, a wide platform grown directly from the roots of the Great Tree. Its bark forms natural steps and seats, polished smooth by centuries of use. Elders in flowing robes wait for us there, their eyes luminous, ageless.
The High Seer steps forward.
Her hair is white as frost, braided with living vines that bloom faintly as she moves. When she speaks, the entire clearing stills.
“Tonight, we honor balance,” she says, voice carrying without effort. “Between magic and flesh. Between crown and people. Between what was broken… and what yet survives.”
Something in her gaze lingers on me.
My chest tightens.
Elves begin to dance—not wildly, but deliberately. Each movement is precise, ritualistic. Their steps trace glowing patterns into the ground, symbols that pulse with soft light before fading. Children scatter petals that dissolve before touching the earth. Elders hum harmonies that resonate deep in my bones, like the world itself is remembering something old.
Auren leans closer. “They’re reinforcing the key lines,” he explains quietly. “The festival strengthens the wards across Tir’Narel. It’s… necessary.”
Necessary in case of an attack.
My vision flashes unbidden—cracked ground, molten light bleeding through fissures.
“How long will it hold?” I ask.
He pauses. Just a fraction too long.
“That depends,” he says carefully, “on how much fun they decide to have. After the solemnity phase is done with, the elves will go crazy.”
The High Seer raises her staff, and the air shivers.
“Let the Flame-Bearer step forward.”
I expect my husband to step forward, not turn around and face me with a smile.
“Go ahead, little flame."
“Huh?"
But the eyes are already on me. Curious, expectant.
Some wary.
“But…”
" The flame bearer is me , yes. But this year I want you to do the honors.”
I give him a look filled with uncertainty, but he only smiles and pushes me forward.
I am really skeptical, but I step forward anyway.
The moment my foot touches the center of the dais, the ground beneath me warms. Not painfully. Recognizing. The moon-green threads of my dress glow faintly, responding to something deep within me. Murmurs ripple through the crowd.
The Seer studies me closely, then lowers her voice so only I can hear. “You have seen what comes,” she says, not a question.
My throat tightens. “Yes.”
“And it did not break you.”
“No,” I say, voice steady despite everything screaming inside me. “It didn’t.”
“And you will aid the elves in the upcoming battle?"
" Yes.”
She nods once, satisfied. “Then the festival may continue.”
Relief exhales through the crowd. Music rises again, stronger now, layered with hope and defiance. The orbs of light burn brighter, lifting higher into the branches.
But as I step back to Auren’s side, my skin prickles.
Because even surrounded by beauty, by ancient magic and careful joy, I can feel it.
The tension beneath the celebration, the cracks hidden under the dance, and the sense that this is not just a festival…
It’s more like a farewell rehearsal.
I lift my gaze to the glowing trees, to the sky still mercifully whole.
“Enjoy it while you can, Eurolys,” I think darkly. "Because I see you now, and I won't stop till you are locked away forever."