"Careful!"
Hercules rears up, neighing wildly.
Dorcha throws himself at me.
We hit the ground and he shields me with his body.
I can feel his heart pounding fast—he's scared. He leans his mouth close to my ear.
"You were about to be skewered. Stay down," he whispers.
I hear a sharp hiss, then a dull thud. I lift my eyes toward the tree trunk behind us: an arrow is embedded in a branch, barely half a centimeter from my head.
I swallow. If he hadn't been there…
"Th-thank you," I murmur.
A melodic song, amplified and impossibly sweet, rises into the air.
Hercules calms down at once.
"Elves… and they were supposed to be peaceful!" Dorcha snaps, glaring at me as he jumps up and draws his sword. I understand—maybe I shouldn't have trusted so easily.
"And who says we aren't? It depends on who we're dealing with…"
I get to my feet too.
Perched on a tree branch is a young elf. Tall, pale-skinned, with a slender build, pointed ears, and emerald-green hair falling straight to his knees.
He turns toward another nearby tree.
"Nalar, come here. There are two Nuvolani with a magnificent black stallion," he says.
"Let me see, Inmus!"
A girl lands softly beside him, very similar in appearance, only her hair is a darker green, cascading in countless bubble-like braids all the way to her feet.
They're both dressed in curious garments made of leaves and a strange, soft brown fabric.
Armed with bows and arrows, and completely unimpressed by Dorcha's sword, they smile—curious and friendly.
"H-hello…" I venture.
They leap down from the branch with an elegant, intricate flip. Dorcha steps in front of me.
"Hello!" they reply together.
Their aerial movement is flawless.
"Wow! How do you do that?"
Dorcha stays still, tense.
"Who are you?" he asks Inmus sharply.
"Didn't you just say it yourself?" he replies calmly. "Who are you, rather?"
There's no point lying.
"We're looking for Aeltiàfisar!"
Their eyes narrow to slits. Dorcha shoots me a deadly look.
Please let this go well…
"Why are you looking for him?" they ask, suspicious.
"Well… it's a long story…"
"…but the future of our world depends on it," my friend finishes for me.
Inmus and Nalar exchange a glance and nod.
"Then you will speak with our Sovereign. He will decide if—and how—you may meet the Knight of the Golden Light."
They grab us by the waist and lift us as if we weigh nothing at all. How is that possible? Oh clouds, help us!
I look at Dorcha, but what I see doesn't reassure me at all—he looks disoriented too.
And now? Where are they taking us?
They whistle. A strange, piercing sound.
Hercules rears and starts following us as we move forward—held at their sides like two bags, leaping from branch to branch!
I didn't think it was possible to get seasick on land.
Apparently, it is.
Very much so.
-----
I think we've arrived. They're slowing down.
If this pointy-eared guy doesn't let go of me right now, I swear I'll skewer him with my sword.
"Here we are. This is the center of the main settlement of our realm—the village of Bealist. This is where the Crown resides," he says, setting me down on the terrace of a towering oak.
Nalar comes alongside us and does the same with the girl.
I look around. She does too.
Well, well… I hadn't noticed before! Their houses are woven among the branches of the trees! There are so many I can't see the end of them.
So… most likely, this city stretches all the way from the beach. Good to know.
The elf woman looks at Aileen, who seems disoriented. Not that I feel any calmer.
"No one can find us unless we want them to," she says. That explains everything.
"I'll go announce you," she continues. "Wait here. Inmus, make sure they don't get into trouble."
Tough one, this Nalar. She looks about my age, but she carries herself like my stepmother.
"She is," Inmus says, reading my thoughts. "Nalar is my mother. She's one hundred and forty years old. I'm only ninety."
Yeah, sure… even Aileen bursts out laughing. Who would believe that?
But he bristles.
Figures. If you're going to tell stories, at least make them believable. Let's hear what he comes up with.
"I'm not mocking you! We elves are immortal."
So what? As if the other chosen races of our world aren't. But still—from sixteen to ninety to one hundred and forty, you can tell the difference…
"Yes, but… it's different!"
"Hey!" I snap, annoyed. "Would you stop reading my mind? At your venerable age, hasn't anyone told you it's rude? And why would it be different anyway?"
That hits home. He looks embarrassed.
"Well… my mother and I are basically kids like you, while King Baelkers and Prince Aeltiàfisar are many thousands of years old. Now sit down and wait. In silence."
Honestly, I'm relieved he's the one talking less. Just looking at him irritates me.
This strange elf actually seems nice. He points to a bench and invites us to sit.
Aileen and I do. I'm eager to meet the King—what does a thousand-year-old elf look like? I've never met one before. Helbert was only seven hundred… Mom and Dad… well, they're much younger!
There's a balustrade. I lean over. My friend does the same.
This kingdom is beautiful—kind of like mine, but here people don't live pressed against clouds. Children run everywhere, graceful maidens prepare lunch, young warriors—girls and boys—challenge each other with swords and bows!
They're impressive.
"Dorcha, did you see that? How do they do it? It looks like they're flying!"
He seems to watch them, but doesn't answer. He's lost in thought.
Maybe he came with me and now regrets it… maybe he misses his mom and dad.
What a beautiful people… their faces are all so delicate…
"His Majesty has agreed to receive you," Nalar announces, appearing silently like a cloud.
I nearly jump out of my skin—I wasn't expecting her at all!
Dorcha, on the other hand, was.
I don't know how he did it, but he turned around an instant before she arrived.
She and her son escort us toward a tiny opening inside the trunk.
They point at it. Well? What are we supposed to do—turn into ants?
"Please," she insists, indicating it again.
"How exactly are we supposed to fit through that hole?" Dorcha asks, beating me to it.
Nalar smiles. Is she teasing us? Not nice.
"Haven't you noticed that you've shrunk, now that you're here on the tree?"
What? Shrunk? Is that possible?
Actually… wait—now that I think about it… how did I not notice sooner? The trees look ten times larger than normal, and so do the flowers, the stones, the insects—everything around us!
We're stunned.
"We elves are one with nature, which is why we adapt to it so easily," Inmus explains. "Those who stay with us gain the same privileges. To enter that hole—as you call it—you only need to want it."
That makes more sense. Alright. Let's try.
I turn back to the small opening. Dorcha does the same. He takes my hand and nods.
He closes his eyes, focusing. I do the same.
We become tiny—like two gnats. We slip inside as the two elves walk away.
-----
"So you have arrived at last."
From deep within the trunk comes a voice… ancient, I'd say. Yet I see no one.
"Come closer, Princess Aileen. Don't be shy. And you as well, Prince Dorcha."
We exchange a startled glance, then step forward.
Little by little, as the space brightens, we see him.
An elderly elf—tall, slender. His silver hair flows all the way to the ground like a trailing veil. He wears a white robe embroidered in gold thread with the symbols of air, water, fire, thunder, and earth. Upon his head rests a delicate platinum crown, etched with flowers and set with tiny diamonds.
He's powerful. I feel it. I know it.
"…Aeltiàfisar?" I venture.
"No, Princess. I am Baelkers, Sovereign of the Elven people. Prince Aeltiàfisar is my elder brother. For what reason do you seek him?"
Strange… if he's the elder, why isn't Aeltiàfisar the King?
But that doesn't matter now. Instead—
"…how do you know who we are?" I ask.
He seems unsettled.
He remains silent for a moment, then lowers himself to my eye level and looks straight at me.
"You are… the spiritual reincarnation of Aer."
What?
Suddenly, the blonde streak in my hair begins to glow intensely. What's happening?
Dorcha is about to draw his sword, but Baelkers smiles at him, calming him. Then the elf turns back to me, studying me closely.
"Yes… just as I suspected. Within you shines a spark of little Lanitae as well."
My lock of hair glows again.
I'm confused. Completely.
"Aer? Lanitae?" I ask. "Who are they?"
A shadow of sadness crosses his face.
He sits down cross-legged on a thick, furred carpet and gestures for us to do the same. He seems lost in distant thoughts, as if he wants to speak but doesn't know where to begin.
"Aer was a Nuvolana, like you," he finally says. "In time, she and my brother fell deeply in love and were married. From their union was born Lanitae, a child of unimaginable power. Sadly, neither he nor Aer still walk among us. For ages untold, they have dwelled in the Realm of the Great Light."
"I don't understand… Aer and Lanitae died hundreds of years ago, didn't they?"
"Thousands. But that is not the point, young Aileen."
His voice is deep, mesmerizing.
"Blood is not inherited. Light is. You are the living memory of Aer, and as I told you, you also carry within you a fragment of the spiritual power of Lanitae—her son, your ancient brother of the soul. You are the only Nuvolana pure enough to welcome both light and power into your heart."
I half-close my eyes, trying to grasp the full meaning of his words.
"So… if I am the spiritual reincarnation of a Nuvolana and of an Elven Nuvolano, then I…"
Baelkers smiles at me gently.
"…you are neither one nor the other, and yet you are both. You are exactly as only you can be."