Alea Triscan
We were going to the Royal Capital!
I couldn't believe I actually did! I had earned the right to take part to this year's selection of the royal servants and not those like Ginnda's mayor, but those working directly under the royal family, in Zestier, in the Royal Palace of the Eraliths!
Spending all my childhood since I awakened as a mage practicing in the outergrove of Ginnda truly bore its fruits.
Well, maybe having been so lucky as to find a Zestese noble from one of the Sister Houses lost in the Elshire Forest and hunted down by a few ill-intentioned mana beasts had played part in it...
He was from Sister House Ivsaar, that elf.
"Alea, dear, breathe and calm down," a voice told me, sitting to my right in the carriage taking us to Zestier. "You are shaking in excitement."
My mother, Asfira Triscan, sat by my side holding a little bundle of silk bands in her arms that wrapped a tiny, little creature: my baby brother—Alwyn Triscan.
"We are going to Sprout City of course I am excited—and nervous!" I exclaimed, my breath fast. "What if we meet directly with the King and Queen? Or the King Emeritus?"
The only thought to be face to face with the Eraliths themselves soon, the blessed elves of Spring, protectors of the Elshire Forest and the best of the best of our whole race made me dizzy.
And the fact I would probably be the youngest amongst all candidates didn't help me calm down at all.
But one thing did actually calm me down.
My mother suddenly place the weight of my baby brother, a few weeks old, just old enough to sustain such travel, in my own arms.
"Alwyn works wonders to calm your feelings, wouldn't you say?" Mother asked rhetorically, looking at me with her light blue eyes like a clear day of Spring.
I looked down at my brother, at his white baby hair just like mine and our mother, his closed eyes which behind those sleepy eyelids where brown like a peanut, just like my father, who right now was outside, driving the carriage and taking the reins of the Elenoi Highcolts carrying us to Zestier.
"He really does..." I said, feeling soothed by Alwyn; he was so different from other babies, my brother, he was so calm and silent, never crying and nebee throwing tantrums as if he was already trying to not worry his family while not even a month old.
I hugged Alwyn closer to me, smiling widely as I did so. If I succeeded and became a direct servant of the royal family my family would be able to move to Zestier, financed by the King's aids to the families of those who served in his palace—access to quarters in the Royal Palace, or apartments in other Boughs of Sprout City.
My parents could finally leave Ginnda and our humble home, that, while not exactly the house of poor people, wasn't what my parents deserved for everything they have done.
But more importantly Alwyn could access the best education the Kingdom of Elenoir had to offer!
While lost in my mind, thinking on everything I could do for my family, suddenly the carriage halted as we reached the first stop of our trip.
"Asfira! Alea!" My father, Liron Triscan, called, as he dismounted from the rider's seat. "We have arrived!"
"Pass me Alwyn," my mother said, but I sticked my tongue out and refused to do so, hugging Alwyn closer to me. "He is my baby brother!"
"You won't behave like this with the royals, won't you?" Mother teased as she rolled her eyes at my antics. "I think they have far better entertainers they can ask to than a twenty year old girl."
The points of my ears flushed red as Mother said so.
Getting out of the carriage we stopped in front of a large cottage in the middle of the Elshire Forest, directly connected to one of the main roads of the Kingdom that connected Zestier to the rest of Elenoir.
It was starting to get late and this cottages were done so that travelers had places to rest as they traveled the hard to traverse roads of the elven nation that, like old, gnarly roots of a tree, winded and twisted from Zestier to link cities, villages and hamlets.
"Let me tie the Highcolts and I am ready," Father said, guiding the Highcolts to the stalls flanking the cottage left for the clients.
We spent most of our money for this trip, using the generous offer that the royal family gave the candidates to cover the traveling costs to loan this carriage.
"Alea, come help me with the beasts!" Father called me and, still with a peacefully asleep Alwyn in my arms—this kid truly slept like a log—I reached him.
"I have Alwyn with me, Father," I said, observing as he freed the Highcolts from their reins and feedes them a few wild berries. "I don't know how much of help I can be."
Father turned, his peanut brown eyes—like Alwyn's, whenever my baby brother had them open at least—shining with raw emotion. He searched for something in his pockets and retrieved a small casing of masterfully carved wood.
"I want you to have this," Father said, opening the casing and revealing a jewel inside; it was oval-shaped and orange like a twilight sky observed through the foliage of the trees. "It is a family heirloom. It is probably the most expensive object our family has ever owned!"
He said it with a laugh and then he put the amber jewel around my neck, the necklace being made by a modest plant fiber that contrasted very well the jewel—both in colour and price.
Sealed inside the amber jewel was a tiny Elenoi Bee; sealed both in soace and time by the shining orange material surrounding it.
"Are you sure about it, Father?" I asked. "If it is a family heirloom, then..."
"Nonsense," Father immediately replied. "You are the first Triscan ever to have brought the family to the Royal Capital! It is something worthy of a reward!"
The first Triscan... not that there were much of us left. My uncles and aunts, my granparent; the Second War against Sapin had been brutal to Ginnda—rations had become scarce and our harvest and hunt had to be mostly given to the Treeful Phalanx as we defended from the humans invading from the Grand Mountains.
All the best hunters, my father included, had been conscripted by the now retired King Virion into the army when the human mages invaded.
I subconsciously hugged Alwyn tighter as I gladly accepted my father's gift.
"Thanks," I said and father smiled, a smile meant to disappear just as quickly as it appeared.
It happened without a fraction of a second's warning.
The omnipresent mist of the Elshire Forest—usually a comforting, silver shroud—abruptly thickened, curdling into a choking, unnatural black haze.
"Wha—" Father managed to utter, but the word was severed by a frantic, ear-splitting neigh.
One of the normally docile Elenoi Highcolts he had been tending suddenly reared. Its broad eyes flushed a violently rabid crimson a mere second before it lunged, sinking its heavy teeth directly into Father's shoulder. A harrowing scream tore from his throat.
"Father!" I yelled, surging toward him. Pressing little Alwyn tightly against my chest with my right arm, I twisted my hips and drove my left elbow in a brutal, crushing strike straight into the maddened Highcolt's muzzle. "Father!"
The beast staggered backwards, momentarily stunned. Father groaned in agony, collapsing to his knees as he clutched his torn shoulder. Blood poured freely from the jagged wound—the very idea of an herbivorous Highcolt attacking flesh was an absolute, terrifying absurdity.
The chaos was rapidly spreading. The adjacent stallion whipped itself into a bloodthirsty frenzy, flailing its heavy hooves as it fought desperately against its tethers.
But it wasn't trying to flee. Its bloodshot eyes were locked dead upon us, its jaws violently snapping at the empty air like a starved predator.
What in Everbosk's name is happening? I thought, my gaze darting frantically around the outergrove stable along the Zestier road.
Every single Highcolt in the encampment was devolving into the same rabid frenzy.
The creatures shrieked and bucked, splintering the wooden fences and shattering their stalls in a collective, mindless rage.
"Father, we need to get out of here!" I urged, dropping to a crouch beside him. His arm hung completely limp; the Highcolt's blunt teeth had crushed the joint with the bone-snapping ferocity of a wild Wolferal.
Pressed against my ribs, Alwyn woke up with a startled cry.
Even my baby brother sensed the overwhelming atmospheric dread: the cacophony of shrieking horses, the metallic scent of blood, and the terrifying groan of the stable walls buckling under the frenzied assault.
Bloodcurdling screams erupted from outside the stable, piercing straight through the chaotic din of the maddened horses.
"Mother!" I shouted.
"Asfira!" Father echoed, his voice breaking as he bellowed through the blinding pain of his shattered shoulder.
Hauling Father to his feet, I supported his weight as we stumbled blindly out of the splintering building and into the cold mist.
"Oh, Winter..." Father and I breathed in unison, the blood draining from our faces as we took in the nightmare unfolding outside.
A massive horde of frenzied mana beasts had completely overwhelmed the resthouse. They were tearing through the encampment like a natural disaster, destroying everything in their path and slaughtering anyone unfortunate enough to be caught in the open.
My eyes darted through the swirling mist and the spreading pools of blood, locking onto a Forest Hound.
The beast was aggressively tearing through a pile of debris and mangled bodies, and gripped loosely in its blood-soaked jaws was the unmistakable, severed head of my mother.
My breath hitched, my mind violently rejecting what I was seeing.
And there, towering above the horrific carnage and the screams of the dying, stood a solitary, cloaked figure.
Their face was hidden behind a smooth wooden mask carved into the macabre likeness of a vulture; perfectly still amidst the frenzy, the figure simply observed the massacre in total, chilling silence.
Cylrit
Elves clad in the garments of the Etrillish branch of Vritraism—heavy, sweeping cloaks and wooden masks carved into the likeness of a vulture, mirroring the carrion bird form Sovereign Exeges Vritra was known to assume—and Alacryan mages with thick Etrillish accents immediately surrounded us. Alea Triscan and I had just shattered the war camp's cloaking field.
Alea, standing at my side, was visibly anxious; a deep, instinctual unease seemed to gnaw at her from within. But there was no time to dwell on such premonitions.
The very moment our boots hit the dirt, proudly displaying the crests of the Royal Police of the Kingdom of Elenoir, the Caduchicilist encampment erupted into absolute chaos.
Alea immediately went on the offensive.
Drawing her Courtblade in a flashing silver arc, she wove effortlessly through the enemy's frantic spellfire.
Channelling her plant magic, she drew delicate rose petals from a pouch at her hip, reinforcing them with mana until they hardened into razor-sharp throwing daggers that she launched with lethal precision.
Volleys of arrows and erratic magical blasts ricocheted harmlessly off Fatima's Adaptarmour concealed beneath my uniform.
Unfazed by the barrage, I took my time retrieving a smooth, dense rectangular and pillar-shaped bottle.
Spell-in-a-Bottle, was the name of this object.
It was a bespoke artefact forged by Lord Evascir under Fatima's strict instructions, specifically designed to act as a physical vessel for one of Prince Corvis's signature Bubblespells.
Its singular tactical purpose was to violently jam the spatial frequencies of any Alacryan Tempus Warps, trapping our enemies here.
How the intricate magical mechanics of the device actually worked, however, was entirely beyond me.
I flooded the orb with mana. It flared to life, projecting a wide, shimmering disruption field that swallowed the entirety of the camp.
With the perimeter locked down and their escape routes severed, I drew my weapon and began to reap the Caduchicilists.