The sun had barely pierced through the morning mist as Lif and Liora stepped out from the village's boundaries, silence falling between them like a second fog. With tensions settled, the elves finally gave them proper directions, and for once, they weren't wrapped in suspicion or fear.
"The path to Herene runs along the eastern woodline," one elder had said. "Follow the river until it forks. Take the right path. That'll lead you to the kingdom's outer wall."
"Thank you," Liora had said with a short nod.
Now, back under the trees, the woods were calmer. Birds chirped overhead. Leaves rustled with a lazy wind, and the air carried the scent of pine and wet moss. It would've felt peaceful—if not for the unspoken tension still lingering from the village encounter.
Liora looked over, walking beside him with her hands behind her head. "So… back there. Why didn't you fight them for real?"
Lif didn't answer immediately. His eyes remained fixed ahead.
"I mean," she continued, "you were just blocking. No retaliation, no threat displays." She smirked. "What, you trying to be mysterious?"
Lif exhaled slowly. "I've got history with elves," he said at last. "Not exactly friendly."
She paused. "Oh… is that why you didn't like me when we met?"
He gave a small nod.
"Well," she said after a moment, "elves are... complicated. Some of them fear humans. Can't blame them entirely. You're scary when you want to be. I mean, you took on four of them like it was nothing. Didn't even flinch."
Lif chuckled quietly.
She smiled at him. "And you say I'm not good with words."
Just then, the wind shifted.
What began as a soft breeze rapidly surged into a violent gust. Trees bent. Birds scattered. The ground trembled beneath them. Liora stumbled, yelping as she grabbed a nearby branch for support. Lif stood his ground, bracing against the wind with narrowed eyes.
A second blast roared through, more focused this time. Something wasn't right.
Lif's hand instinctively went to grab Liora's arm.
The storm died as fast as it had risen. In the uneasy silence that followed, the two exchanged a glance—and without a word, turned toward the source.
They crept uphill, weaving through dense brush and tall ferns. Then the treeline opened, and what they saw took their breath away.
A clearing, carved by sheer force, lay ahead. Cracks split the earth like lightning strikes. Trees had been flattened into twisted heaps of splinters. At the center stood a man.
He was tall, and his presence was cold. He wore a long black coat over a white shirt and trousers, the fabric stained from battle yet strangely elegant. His black hair billowed around him like a dark halo, caught in an unseen storm.
Hovering above him were three Etherglides, massive and nightmarish. Their translucent tentacles lashed out like serpents, each strike generating gale-force winds. But none landed. Each blow stopped short—as if striking an invisible wall around him.
He stood motionless, arms crossed, utterly unfazed.
Liora clutched Lif's sleeve. "What's he doing?! Fighting three adult Etherglides is basically suicide."
Before Lif could answer, the man sighed.
With one smooth motion, he swung his arm.
A crescent blade of wind exploded from his hand—slicing through one of the Etherglides effortlessly. The creature twitched once before falling in two.
Liora gasped.
The other two Etherglides shrieked and surged forward, tentacles flailing. The man raised both hands, and the air twisted around them. A vacuum formed—a crushing cyclone of pressure.
His fingers curled inward.
Wind screamed.
The two beasts convulsed, suspended midair as though caught in an invisible fist. The pressure crushed them slowly, methodically—until with a sickening pop, they burst into nothing but a strange liquid.
Silence returned.
Liora stared, wide-eyed. "...He just, popped them??"
Lif turned his head to Liora. "Wait, you said Etherglides aren't hostile.???"
Liora shrugged. "Must be hungry."
Still holding Lif's arm, Liora stepped forward.
The man, sensing their presence, tilted his head slightly. Wind coiled around his hand like a snake, but as he saw the two kids, he relaxed. Releasing the wind in his hand, his voice—calm and smooth—cut through the still air. "Hey."
Liora hurried up to him, eyes wide. "That was awesome! You just whoosh, and then boom! What was that? What kind of wind? I've never seen anything like that before."
He held up a hand gently. "I don't usually explain myself to strangers."
His tone was soft, almost apologetic, but firm.
Liora pouted, then brightened. "I'm Liora, 13, constellation Thalora. This is Lif. He's 12, Hollowborn."
Lif gave a nod of acknowledgment.
"Well, now we're not strangers," she said, folding her arms.
The man chuckled. "Illys. 19. And as you saw... my constellation's Zephyra."
He opened his palm, A translucent green snake with delicate, shimmering wings coiled gently around his fingers. "This is Gryfid," he said softly,
"and I'm a wanderer."
Liora tilted her head. "Wanderer? Like… no home?"
"home's wherever the wind takes me," he said simply.
Now that they stood near him, the size difference was jarring. Liora, tall for her age at 170 cm, barely reached his shoulder. Lif looked like a child next to him. But despite his towering presence, Illys's aura was calm. He wasn't threatening—just... vast.
Illys studied them both. "Where are you heading?"
"Herene," Lif answered.
Illys raised an eyebrow. "Then you're walking the wrong way."
He turned, pointing past the collapsed trees. "That way—northeast. Follow the blue-leaf trees. They shimmer at noon. You can't miss them."
Lif groaned. "You serious?"
Liora winced. "Oops."
Lif facepalmed. "You said you knew the way."
"That's what the elder told me!"
Illys smiled faintly. "You two are a riot."
Liora bowed dramatically. "Thanks for saving us the two-hour detour."
Illys nodded. "Take care. The Etherglides weren't the only things stirring in these woods. Night's coming."
As they turned to leave, Liora called back, "Hey, Illys! You sure we won't see you again?"
The wind carried his voice behind them: "You might. If the wind wants it."
And with that, he vanished into the trees, his figure swallowed by rustling leaves and fading light.