The stunned villagers of Eclion watched in silent awe as the elves moved among them, swift and quiet as the forest's own shadows.
Some clutched their children tighter, while others bowed their heads in a silent prayer of thanks. The sight of Valdrak- white, and enormous- looming behind them, even caused the skeptics shivers of reverence.
Finally finding the courage to step forward, the battered village chief who still felt the sting of the spear-butt on his back, spoke loudly. His voice shook slightly, especially as he turned to Arwin, the only human of the lot.
"Sir," he croaked. "Who are... who are you? And, why did you bring these... forest folk... here?"
Arwin sheathed his sword, and looked immensely soft frond him at the eyes of the villagers in front of him. "It's a long story," Arwin started. "But you deserve to hear it."
He recounted the furious storm of the forest. The mana gates and beasts that came reveling after them. The tribe having to leave their home, children and elders alike. The desperate alliance - elves and humans, standing together to survive through the night.
And then there were the Sureva siblings. Luenor's fight against the Stone Tyrant. His fight after Valdrak had even given them aid, and the white tiger of the forest's might.
As he spoke, the villagers' eyes grew wide. Listening intently, quietly, some wiped away tears from their cheeks as they heard the trials and the pain the strangers had endured.
When Arwin had finished, a heavy silence fell. Faren coughed politely to introduce a response and Arwin turned to him and could read the question on his face.
He let out a lengthy sigh. "There is one more thing. The forest elves.... they need a home. They cannot go back to what is left of their own."
A low murmur moved through the villagers. Some shifted their bodies uncomfortably. The chief regarded his hands and looked up to the elders gathered around him.
"They're elves," said one old woman in a whisper. "Elves are dangerous."
"But they killed the bandits," put in another man. "And they have Valdrak with them. Isn't that a sign?"
There was quiet debate, low voices, concerned urgency. The chief listened to them all, brow knitted with concern.
Finally he raised his head up. "We'll put this to a vote," he said before turning to the group. "Every voice matters."
It was an uncomfortable moment—mothers gripped their children, old men grasped their staffs, and farmers shot questioning looks back and forth at one-another.
When the vote concluded, the chief turned to Arwin, a slow nod rolling from his head to his chest, then dropping in reserve. "They may stay. It's poor land, but it is ours to share."
It was an infrequent full smile that appeared on Arwin's face. "Thank you."
Telmar appeared before the trees and waved his hand little as a signal for the tribe to advance. Thalanar stepped to the head, staff glinting off the sun, and led the elves to the village.
The villagers observed them with cautious curiosity. Children peered out from behind skirts with wide eyes. Warriors and weavers, carpenters and hunters—all watched as the forest's last children wandered towards them.
The village chief approached Thalanar, and bowed deeply. "I am Eamon. This is... humble, but we will find a place for you."
Thalanar returned the bow and spoke lowly and formally, "We ask for no more than kindness. We will return it with the same."
Eamon led him along the dusty pathways of Eclion until they reached a broad clearing on the outskirts of the village. "This territory has been vacant for years. There are old storage sheds and some ruined homes. It is all yours to rebuild."
Thalanar looked around and nodded. "It will be enough."
The elves got to work, starting with dragging the dead bandits to burial pits, cleaning up the square, and repairing the walls the bandits used as cover. As they worked, the children of Eclion slowly approached, their curiosity surpassing their fear. Lyssari laughed, leading Valdrak through the streets as though he were a deified being made tame, showing him off to the children whose eyes widened in wonder.
Hera and Rhea sat apart, speaking only in low voices. Rhea's strong grip on Luenor's arm stayed tightly, tears shone above her muddy cheeks. Luenor was smiling (at first), as a wave of relief and wonder flooded through him, bright as sunlight.
But as Lyssari teased him—her laughter sparking a lightness in him—something turned in him. He realized that these were his mother's people. That he was still an outsider in a place that by virtue of craftiness acquired right of existence.
He gently wove his way out and found his mother's eyes. "Where's Hunter?"
Rhea's demeanour faded; her smile a flame snuffed out by an unseen wind. "He's... in a house at the edge of the village. He's alive, but not well. The healer here did everything he could. But the injuries... they are too deep."
Luenor hardened his jaw. "Take me to him."
She considered him, her eyes darting, then nodded. "Come. Perhaps the elves have means."
Luenor turned to one of the elven healers, a man whose eyes trailed calmness, steadiness in all his movement. Hera noted the healer's reluctance and herself smiled, gave him a sweet nudge.
"Go on," she said, her own eyes glowing. "Help him."
The healer hesitated, looking to Luenor's earnest face and the desperate hope in Rhea's eyes. "Fine..." he quietly huffed. "I will see what I can do."
Together, they followed Rhea through the winding lanes of Eclion, past ruined cottages and half-grown gardens. At the far edge of the village, they reached a small, crumbling hut. Smoke curled faintly from its chimney, the air heavy with the scent of herbs.