Supreme Hunter of Beautiful Souls

The trail narrowed between spiraling roots and ancient trunks. The sky above could barely filter its light through the intertwined treetops—the world below was made of shadow, mist, and silvery leaves that fell like silent snow. The three walked unescorted. No guard dared accompany them, not out of protocol, but out of instinct.

Liora led the way, with the stiffness of someone carrying an invisible burden on her shoulders. Exelia followed a few steps behind, as quiet as a whisper, but with watchful eyes — one hand loose near the hilt of her sword. In the center, Kael walked between the two, the heavy silence in his breathing, the echoes of the meeting still pulsing in his thoughts.

Finally, it was he who broke the veil of stillness:

"You have a beautiful kingdom," he said, without irony, just a statement of fact. "But it is rotting from within."

Liora stopped, resting her hand on a trunk as white as bone. She closed her eyes for a moment, as if seeking solace in the rough bark of the ancient tree.

"Sometimes," she murmured, "what is dying must die completely before something new can flourish."

She turned slowly, facing Kael. "The high elves and the dark elves have gone to war. An ancient, foolish war... but one with roots too deep to be uprooted without bloodshed."

"Because of lineage?" Kael asked, though the answer was already in his eyes.

Liora nodded with ancient sorrow. "For us, royalty is born in the flesh of women. The inheritance is spiritual, matrilineal, alive. But the high elves... they did not accept it. For them, ruling is a right of pure blood and dead traditions."

"Traditions that choose weak kings by appearance," Exelia added bitterly. "They would rather crown a soft-spoken puppet than kneel before a queen they cannot control."

Kael raised an eyebrow. The mist seemed thicker now, as if even the forest was listening.

"And the current queen?"

"She's a dark elf," replied Liora. The respect in her voice was mixed with frustration. "Forged in war. She has done more for the kingdom in twenty years than any council in two centuries. She saved borders, built schools, purified the waters of the Forest of Bones... But all they see is the color of her skin. The cave she was born in. The blood that defies the light."

Kael let out a dry laugh, almost without humor.

"Idiots." He paused. "And the high elf candidate? Is he some lost hero?"

Exelia snorted, almost laughing.

"He can barely govern his own clan without consulting his mother. He's handsome, yes. He speaks like a poet, dresses like an altar... but trembles before any difficult decision. A king of silk."

Kael was silent for a moment, but then his eyes narrowed. There was something deep in his expression—a sharp blade of perception.

"That high elf... and the dark elf queen... are Sylphie's parents, aren't they?"

Liora stopped walking. The question hung in the air like distant thunder. She did not answer immediately. The pain that ran across her face was subtle, but visible like a crack in polished glass. Finally, she nodded slowly.

"Yes. They tried to seal the peace through a political marriage. Two bloodlines, two worlds. And from her was born Sylphie. The only true heir to both thrones."

"She was living hope," whispered Exelia, almost reverently. "But both sides wanted her only as a banner. A symbol. Never as a daughter."

Kael clenched his fists. The mist seemed to envelop his silhouette like a cloak.

"So they tried to hunt her down when she was still a child. Let me guess... high elves with selective justice and hands too clean for the mess they created?"

Liora confirmed with a brief gesture.

"The queen tried to protect her. She hid her with magic and blood. But during a transfer between clans, she was kidnapped." There was a tense silence. "Now... now she's with you. And with the Witch Queen. By her own choice."

Kael looked up at the sky above—where the treetops blocked out the light. His eyes burned with something deep and ancient.

"What do her parents think of this?"

"Shame," said Liora bitterly. "A rebellious daughter. A mixture of everything they hate and everything they pretend to protect."

She paused, her eyes fixed on the roots of the nearest tree. "But for me... the Princess is still the only flame capable of saving this kingdom. It will be her... or the fire that will come after."

Kael took a deep breath. The forest fell completely silent—no leaves, no branches, no wind. It was as if the world was waiting for his answer.

"I will speak to your queen," he said at last, his voice firm as an oath. "I do not promise loyalty. But if she listens to me... I can prevent the next war from devouring the entire world."

They continued along the winding trail, where the mist thickened among the roots of trees that whispered in forgotten tongues. The air seemed thicker, as if the forest were holding its breath.

Then Kael stopped suddenly.

"We're being followed," he said quietly.

Before Exelia could confirm it, the sounds came: light, quick, among the branches. Shadows gliding like experienced predators. Silent arrows emerged from the mist, aimed from all sides.

In seconds, they were surrounded.

Black elves—warriors of the underworld, skin like onyx, eyes sparkling in shades of violet and amber. Their armor was made of enchanted leather and metal fused with shadow. None of them spoke. None smiled.

But then, something unexpected happened.

The figure at the front—a woman with a stern expression, a scar across the left side of her face, and twin spears on her back—raised her hand. Upon seeing Liora, she stopped immediately. The others did the same, as if time had frozen.

"Liora of the Shattered Glade," said the leader, with a short but respectful bow. "We were coming to meet you. We received the call. The roots heard."

Liora took two steps forward, her hood slipping back. She seemed to have no fear—only weariness.

"They are on our side," she said, turning to Kael and Exelia.

The warriors lowered their weapons in unison.

Exelia frowned, her eyes still analyzing every detail. But then, understanding flashed across her face like lightning.

"You chose the Queen," she murmured. It was not an accusation. It was recognition.

Liora turned slowly to her and nodded once.

"I did. Not out of duty. Not out of blood. But because she is the only one who still hears the forest," she said firmly. Then she turned to the leader of the dark elves, her eyes fixed like blades.

"I killed one of the elders," she declared.

A murmur rippled through the elves around them, a rustle of surprise and restrained approval. The leader smiled—a sharp but sincere smile.

"Then the time for neutrality is over. And the old blood has begun to flow," said the leader, her voice firm as cracked obsidian.

Liora nodded, her face hardened with certainty.

"It seems that the time has come to put this Kingdom back on track," she declared, looking over her shoulder, directly at Kael.

He stared at her with slight surprise, but did not respond.

Liora then turned to the group of dark elves.

"This is Kael Scarlet, grandson of the Witch Queen. Our Princess, Sylphie, is in his care. By her own choice," she said clearly.

Silence.

But it was not the suspicious silence of the high elves, full of veiled smiles and disguised contempt. It was a silence full of weight. Of meaning.

The leader of the group slowly uncrossed her arms. Her eyes, once sharp and appraising, softened. Then she knelt. A full bow, with her hand resting on her heart.

"We honor Your Majesty," she said solemnly.

In unison, the other dark elves followed suit. No hesitation. No doubtful glances. Only respect. True respect. Rare respect.

Kael stood motionless, surprised, almost bewildered. He was used to the veiled scorn of the high elves—the restrained laughter, the contempt masked by formality. This, however... this was different.

Liora walked over to him, stopping at his side.

"They don't revere a throne, Kael. Nor a crown. They revere strength, choice, and those who protect the blood of hope. Sylphie is the bridge between two worlds. And you are the only one she has chosen to trust."

Kael looked around. He saw the proud faces kneeling before him. He saw the contrast between the reverence of the dark elves and the arrogance of the others. And for the first time, he didn't feel like a piece off the board.

He felt needed.

Important.

Maybe even... part of something bigger.

"Rise," he said, his voice firm. "We have a kingdom to save. And much old blood yet to be spilled."

...

Royal Palace of the Elves — Throne of Root and Moonstone

The great hall was plunged into darkness. The tall windows let in only beams of bluish light, filtered through the canopy of ancient trees that surrounded the palace.

In the center stood the throne.

Splendid. Forgotten by many as a symbol of legitimate authority — carved from living wood, entwined with silver veins and pulsating roots. And there, sitting with a posture that was pure steel wrapped in silk, was She.

The Queen of the Elves.

At her feet, six bodies.

Elves. High elves.

Assassins.

The expressions on their faces frozen between pain and disbelief. As if they had truly believed they could reach her.

The Queen tapped her fingers lightly on the arm of the throne, the sound echoing like blows on hollow wood.

"Six more assassins..." her voice sounded like muffled thunder. "They must think I'm a joke."

No one answered. No advisor dared to open their mouth. The guards stood motionless like statues.

She rose slowly. No fanfare was necessary. Her presence was a contained storm.

She descended the steps, stepping over the bodies with the same contempt one might have for dead leaves in winter.

"Send the bodies back to their clans," she ordered. "Without hands. Without ears, and tattoo their foreheads with spiritual ink. 'Traitor.'"

She stopped in front of an advisor in a white robe, who was sweating even in the cold of the hall.

"And tell your brothers that if they wish to take my throne... they will have to come themselves."

The advisor lowered his eyes, fearing that the next body there would be his.

The Queen turned to the darkness beyond the stained glass windows.

"Hm... that aura... a witch? ... no... two... but one is... a man?..." Her eyes sparkled and Floressta helped her...

"Witch's aura, red hair... a Scarlet?"...