Noah's boots pressed into the soft earth, morning dew still clinging to the moss-covered path. Five mid-houses separated his modest wooden dwelling from the chief's manor, each house built into the curvature of old, towering trees. Their canopies stretched so far above that the sun could only peek through in narrow columns of light. Sylvas Reach breathed around him—whispers in the wind, birdsong interlaced with muffled chatter and the occasional ring of a hammer in the distance.
The chime from earlier had echoed again, sharper this time. A call to the chief's manor.
Noah stepped past a pair of thin arching oaks, marking the transition from the village heart to the inner quarters. As he approached, he paused—not out of fear, but something closer to reverence. The manor was unlike any structure he had seen before. Not grand in size, but steeped in deliberate design.
Built from intertwining roots and thick elven timber, it rose in a curved dome, its surface marked with carvings that told ancient stories—hunt scenes, strange creatures, and lines of elven script Noah couldn't decipher. The structure smelled faintly of burned herbs, oak sap, and something else—earthy, almost metallic.
Two guards at the arched entrance gave him a brief nod. Their armor was lighter than human plate—woven of bark and silver thread—but their eyes were sharp, hands resting casually on long daggers tucked at their waists.
Inside, the temperature dropped. The air was cool, tinged with incense smoke curling from copper braziers shaped like coiled lizards. Noah followed a short corridor into the main chamber, the walls slanting upward in a smooth spiral. The hall was wide but quiet, its wooden floor polished and patterned in natural swirls. Wooden beams crossed the ceiling like the ribcage of a living creature.
The chief sat at the end of the chamber, atop a seat carved directly into the tree itself, his posture relaxed but commanding.
He was tall—easily over six feet—with long white hair falling over both shoulders like silk threads. His green eyes glowed faintly even in the filtered light, and the sharp lines of his face bore the calm stillness of someone who had endured centuries of war and peace alike. A dark, swirling tattoo curled up the side of his neck, disappearing into his collar. On his shoulder sat a strange little creature, no bigger than a melon—its body lumpy and tan, its legs like tiny pincers, and two glassy black eyes blinking lazily at Noah.
The advisors stood flanking the throne. One was dressed in sapphire robes stitched with woven vines of gold thread. His left arm was missing, replaced by a glowing arcane bracer. The other wore red layered silks and bore a long twisted staff that hissed softly with residual energy. Both of them watched Noah with the kind of measured stillness that could either be wisdom or quiet judgment.
"You may approach," the chief said, his voice warm but precise. He sounded like a storyteller—not loud, but with gravity.
Noah stepped forward slowly, every instinct telling him not to make a single misstep. He stopped just short of the circular leaf-mark etched in the center of the floor.
"You're Noah," the chief said, almost to himself. "The human boy who walked here without a blade. Or armor. Or guidance."
Noah nodded. "Yes."
The chief studied him, fingers tapping gently on the wooden armrest. The creature on his shoulder gave a low chirp.
"You must be either very foolish," the chief continued, "or very strong."
"I'm not sure which one yet," Noah said, offering a nervous half-smile.
A moment of silence stretched.
The chief stood, stepping down from his seat. As he moved, his long coat, woven from some silken bark-like fabric, whispered with every step. The scent of herbs around him grew stronger, mixed with oils and an underlying trace of smoke.
"You came here for a reason. All beings do," the chief said, now standing just a few feet away. His eyes narrowed slightly. "I'm going to ask you a question. And I want the truth. Not a polished answer, not a survival tactic."
Noah swallowed.
"Why are you here?" the chief asked. "Truly. Where do you come from?"
Noah hesitated. His thoughts scattered. He could say Earth. He could talk about how he woke up in this world with no explanation. About betrayal. About everything he lost and nothing he understood.
But instead, he looked the chief in the eye and said, "Not from here. I can't explain it to you… but I promise I don't mean to hurt anyone. That's not why I'm here."
The advisors shifted. The one with the staff tilted his head, unconvinced.
But the chief… smiled.
It wasn't a grand smile. Just a slow curling at the edge of his mouth. He stepped back and gestured to the advisors. "He's telling the truth."
"You're certain?" the sapphire-robed one asked, raising a brow.
"I am," the chief said. "His tone, the timing of his breaths, the flicker in his pupils. He isn't lying."
Noah blinked. "How…?"
"A gift," the chief said. "One that's served us well in these troubled lands. You don't survive long dealing with dwarves and goblins without learning when someone's hiding a blade behind their words."
The tension broke. One of the guards at the wall chuckled, stepping forward and patting Noah lightly on the shoulder.
"You've got guts, human," he said.
Noah chuckled nervously, still unsure if he was being accepted or simply observed. "So… that's it?"
The chief turned, walking slowly back toward his seat. "You're free to stay. For now. Eat our food. Rest under our trees. But be aware—trust here is earned, not gifted."
"I understand," Noah said.
"Good," the chief replied. "Because these are not peaceful times. The goblins are growing bolder. The Yamagin more frequent in their charges. And our walls… won't hold forever."
The chief sat once more, resting his hands on the armrests. "Perhaps your presence here is no accident."
Noah nodded slowly, his thoughts racing.
For the first time, he wasn't just drifting.
He was here. And he had a chance to matter.
A soft knock echoed from the hall behind. One of the guards opened the side door, whispering something to the red-robed advisor.
The chief raised a hand. "We'll speak again soon, Noah."
Noah turned and walked back through the warm-smelling chamber, passing the carved walls and faintly glowing crystal sconces. The magical creature on the chief's shoulder let out a final clicking noise as he left—as if in farewell or curiosity, he couldn't tell.
Outside, the sun had risen higher, bathing the village in amber light. Smoke curled from the cook tents, the sounds of hammers and murmers returned.
But for Noah… the weight of things had shifted.
Something new stirred in his chest—not fear, not confusion.
Something like belonging.
END OF CHAPTER
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--WORLD FACTS FOR ALL--
Lowarion Eucalypti – The Merchant Who Built a Refuge
Lowarion Eucalypti, Chief of Sylvas Reach, is a rare figure among elves—a leader forged not by bloodline or blade, but by betrayal and vision. Born in the eastern elven kingdom of Naturaza Imperial, Lowarion was once a respected merchant-dealer, known for his negotiation skills and connections across borders. At the age of 212, his rising influence threatened certain foreign merchant factions. In a coordinated ploy, one powerful association from a rival human province blackmailed the Naturazan court, leading to Lowarion's banishment under false charges.
Disgraced and exiled, Lowarion wandered westward. Rather than succumb to bitterness, he gathered other exiles: slaves who'd escaped bondage, war-scarred survivors of fallen elf clans, and wanderers with nowhere to call home. Together, they built Sylvas Reach, a fortified village hidden deep within the southern canopy of Neoabianka. Now 256, Lowarion is considered young by elven standards—but his wisdom, charisma, and gift for detecting falsehoods have made him a respected leader and an unlikely stabilizing force in a land teetering on the edge of chaos.