The Original Realm

The slums, with their twisting alleys and patchwork buildings, seemed alive in the quiet way forgotten places always were. Even at night, faint echoes of life persisted—the scuffle of boots on cobblestones, hushed conversations drifting through broken shutters, the creak of warped wooden doors. Luke leaned against a crumbling wall in the same clearing where Eleanor had been taken. The faint embers of a fire someone had started earlier still smoldered, their dim glow illuminating the faces of the few who had gathered.

He scanned the group: a wiry man with a crooked nose and a permanent scowl, a woman with sharp, birdlike features and watchful eyes, and a boy no older than twelve clutching a wooden trinket. These were the people who knew the underbelly of Sylvera, the ones who might have answers.

"She's not in the common jail." The woman, Maren, spoke first, her voice low and clipped. "If that's what you were thinking. Too obvious, too public. You'd have seen her on the way in."

Luke nodded. "I figured as much. Where else would they take her?"

The scowling man, Hadrik, spit into the dirt before speaking. "Three places. First, there's the forest cell. Old thing, built out in the depths. Meant for keeping prisoners quiet and out of sight." He crossed his arms, his expression skeptical. "But you've been out there, haven't you? If you didn't see it, then she's probably not there."

Luke frowned. He'd spent days in the forest, searching every inch of the terrain as he trained. There had been no sign of a cell, no structure that might serve as a prison. Still, doubt lingered. He couldn't entirely rule it out.

"The second option?" he asked, his voice tense.

Maren nodded toward the horizon, where the grand silhouette of Sylvera's sacred tree loomed against the night sky. "The Grand Cell. Hidden beneath the roots of that big sacred tree the city folk love so much. If she's there, you won't get her out easy. Guards all around, magical wards, and Sylveria herself isn't far off."

The mention of Sylveria sent a chill down Luke's spine. The thought of facing her again, of her cold judgment and unyielding power, made his stomach twist. But he couldn't afford to flinch now.

"And the third?" he pressed.

Hadrik snorted. "The commoners' jail. Right by the main road, open for everyone to see. But like Maren said, she's not there. Sylveria wouldn't risk someone breaking her out where half the city could watch."

Luke nodded slowly, piecing the information together. The commoners' jail was unlikely—it would be too easy, and Sylveria wouldn't make it easy. The forest cell? Possible, but its absence during his week of training made him doubt its existence. That left the Grand Cell beneath the sacred tree. It fit Sylveria's style: hidden, protected, and symbolic. It would also allow her to control the situation if Luke attempted a rescue, minimizing public scrutiny.

"Under the sacred tree," Luke murmured, mostly to himself. "That's where she is."

Maren's sharp eyes softened slightly, her tone almost maternal. "If you're wrong, you'll lose her for good. You sure about this?"

Luke straightened, his resolve hardening. "If I don't act, I've already lost her."

The sacred tree of Sylvera was a marvel of nature and magic, a towering monolith of life whose roots clawed deep into the earth, unseen but profoundly felt. The trunk, vast enough to dwarf the city's largest structures, stood as a testament to its ancient strength. Its bark bore intricate, natural patterns that resembled flowing rivers, and its canopy stretched across the sky like an emerald cathedral, shimmering faintly with an ethereal glow even under the pale light of the moon. The atmosphere around the tree was reverent, the air thick with a sense of sanctity that made even the bravest hesitate to speak above a whisper.

At the base of the tree, the city's artisans had constructed a shrine—a delicate yet imposing structure of glowing runes and silver inlays that pulsed softly with magic. Offerings from the devout were placed along its polished steps: fresh flowers, shimmering coins, and vials of luminescent liquid. It was a place of worship and reverence, where the mystical and the mundane intertwined seamlessly.

Beside it loomed a castle, its angular towers and sturdy walls blending into the natural grandeur. The fortress served as Sylveria's residence, its dark stone now restored after Aldric's recent assault. The shattered walls where his thrown tree had struck were mended with reinforced stone, seamless yet fresh, a stark reminder of the power and fury once unleashed here. Guards patrolled the battlements with renewed vigilance, their shadows cutting sharp angles against the silvery glow of the tree.

The site, serene yet fortified, exuded an unyielding strength, a blend of nature's majesty and humanity's determination. It was the heart of Sylvera, and its pulse echoed with the weight of its history and purpose.

Beneath this magnificent structure lays the Grand Cell. It was carved into the earth itself, a series of chambers connected by narrow, dimly lit corridors. The walls pulsed faintly with the glow of enchanted runes, designed to suppress magical abilities and keep prisoners docile. Thick, iron-barred doors lined the halls, each cell secured with complex, magically enhanced locks.

Eleanor sat in one of these cells, her arms crossed and her foot tapping against the stone floor in a steady rhythm. The room was sparse: a cot with a thin blanket, a small wooden table, and a single torch flickering weakly on the wall. Her bow sat mockingly on a pedestal just outside the bars, its familiar weight and comfort out of reach. She scowled at it, muttering curses under her breath.

"I'm bored," she announced loudly, her voice echoing off the stone walls. "This is a cruel and unusual punishment. I demand entertainment."

From somewhere beyond her cell, a low chuckle answered her. Aldric. His voice, deep and gravelly, carried a teasing edge. "Patience was never your strong suit, Eleanor."

"Patience is for people who aren't locked in a glorified cave," she snapped. "Let me out. The blond human's clearly given up. It's over. Let me leave and go back to Maren, I miss her."

Aldric's laughter echoed again, this time tinged with amusement. "You underestimate him."

"Do I?" Eleanor rolled her eyes. "It's been a week. Either he's run off or he's lying in a ditch somewhere, too broken to get up. Either way, I'm stuck here."

From the far end of the corridor, Sylveria's calm, authoritative voice cut through the conversation. "It does seem odd," she admitted. "I expected him to prepare, but a week with no sign of him? Even the most determined man's resolve has limits."

Aldric leaned against the wall near Eleanor's cell, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. "You forget, Sylveria. He's not an ordinary man."

Sylveria raised an eyebrow, her skepticism clear. "And what exactly is he, then? Why did you choose him, of all people, as your pupil?"

Eleanor perked up at this, her curiosity piqued. "Yeah, that's a good question. Why him? What could possibly make you think he's worth all this effort?"

Aldric was silent for a moment, his gaze distant. Then, with a faint smile, he spoke. "Because I saw something in him. A fire. A drive to change his fate. Most people resign themselves to their lot in life. Luke refuses to."

Eleanor snorted. "So he's stubborn. Great. That's not exactly rare."

Sylveria's eyes narrowed. "There's more to it, isn't there?"

Aldric met her gaze, his expression unreadable. "You'll see soon enough."

Eleanor groaned, leaning back against the wall of her cell. "Cryptic as ever. You're impossible, Aldric."

Eleanor smirked, glancing between Sylveria and Aldric. "You know, you didn't actually answer the question? You just dodged it. How does he—blond, clumsy, human—end up as your pupil? Did he save you from a falling tree or something?"

Aldric, arms still crossed, said nothing, his expression a perfect mask of indifference.

Eleanor pressed on, clearly enjoying herself. "Maybe he caught your attention by accident. Or—" she grinned mischievously—"you lost a bet. That would explain a lot."

Sylveria's lips quirked at the corner, but her sharp eyes stayed on Aldric. He didn't react, his composure intact, though a faint tension in his jaw betrayed him for a split second.

"Amusing," he said dryly, his gaze distant. "But baseless."

Eleanor laughed, leaning back against the wall. "Oh, come on. Admit it—you're stuck with him because of a gamble."

Sylveria shook her head, her focus returning to the cell's faintly glowing runes. "Whatever the reason, it hardly matters now. If Luke doesn't act soon, his worth won't need questioning."

Aldric straightened slightly, his calm demeanor resolute. "He'll act. That, I promise."

Sylveria's gaze lingered on Aldric, her sharp mind racing. She didn't trust him completely—his motives were always layered, his actions deliberate yet shrouded in mystery. But she couldn't deny his insight. He'd been right before, and that unsettled her.

A tense silence settled over the group, broken only by the faint hum of the runes on the walls. Then Aldric straightened, his demeanor shifting

"Be ready," he said simply.

Sylveria frowned, her voice tinged with suspicion. "Why?"

Aldric's smile was faint but confident. "Because he's coming."

Sylveria crossed her arms, her expression doubtful. "You're sure? What makes you think—"

"He's come," Aldric interrupted, his tone firm. "To make you bite your words."

The weight of his words hung in the air, and for the first time, Sylveria felt a flicker of uncertainty. The silence was heavy, charged with anticipation.

Somewhere outside, a shadow moved beneath the sacred tree.