The Return of Corey

In the unfathomable depths of the earth, beneath the vast continent of Alaric, lay a man in a coffin forgotten by time, his mind trapped in a whirlwind of thoughts he should not allow himself. *"What did I do wrong?"* The question reverberated in his conscience like an endless echo in the halls of ancient judgment. There, under the heavy shadow of the coffin lid, his horns, once proud as the branches of a celestial tree, had been reduced to ashes, a vestige of lost mana. His hair, white as the burning heart of a star, was tangled with mud and dried blood, emblems of a harrowing past.

Grey raised his trembling hands toward the coffin lid. He pushed, and the movement's echo resonated in the darkness that enveloped him. Outside, the world remained shrouded in shadows, unchanged for the two thousand years of his imprisonment. He took a deep breath, and his body began to absorb the floating mana particles, each a tiny ray of hope in a void of desolation. With effort, he sat up, his skeletal figure a sad testament to the long march of time.

—How long will it take to return to my Ryujin form?—he murmured, his voice barely a whisper lost among the shadows. He stood on his weak legs and looked around. —Where am I? This place… The mana is too dense. Could it be a cave? No, this is too vast.

He moved forward, each step a challenge for his weary body. He had no direction, only following the mana currents, their faint glimmers guiding him along the shadowy path. Thoughts assaulted him like waves in a stormy sea: "Why did they do this to me? Weren't they supposed to be my friends?" Without answers, he pressed on, his mind trapped in a tangle of broken memories.

Suddenly, a faint light, a glow between orange and red, appeared in the distance. Grey paused, squinting, the light bathing his pale face with searing warmth.

—A light?—he murmured. As he approached, the air grew heavy and scorching, an intense heat that burned like a dragon's breath. —What is this? A volcano?

Before him, a colossal mountain of fire and rock rose, spewing rivers of lava plunging into a deep chasm, as if the earth itself was breathing with fury. At the summit, a small yet imposing figure wielded a hammer ignited by the flames. The glow revealed the hardened face of a dwarf, his curled beard trembling as he looked at Grey with a gleam of cunning and solemnity.

The dwarf descended with firm steps, dropping his hammer to the ground with a crash that reverberated throughout the cavern. He examined Grey from head to toe and, after a moment, spoke:

—You look hungry,—he said, with a voice as deep and rough as stone itself. —Wait here. I have something for you, but don't move, or you'll get lost in this place.

Grey nodded, though confusion weighed on him like a dense fog. The dwarf returned to the summit and resumed his work, striking the metal with force. Each hammer blow resonated like a call of hope, a song to the future amid the darkness.

Finally, the dwarf returned, carrying something wrapped in cloth, his figure illuminated by the volcano's fiery light. He extended the object to Grey, who took it hesitantly, carefully unwrapping the fabric. What emerged was a magnificent blade, undulating like a living whip, its tip sparking as it touched the ground.

—This is…—Grey whispered, gazing at the weapon with a mix of awe and reverence.

—Zadkiel renewed, Mr. Grey. I have dedicated my days to forging this version of your weapon, adapted to the times that run. I assume you do not yet have enough mana to give it its full form, but when you regain your strength, do not hesitate to try it. However, listen well: the world out there is more dangerous than when demons walked the earth. Leave, and do not act rashly. They will come soon.

—They? Who are they? And who are you?—Grey hurled the questions as if trying to break the veil of mystery that surrounded him. —Why are you helping me? What is this place? I need answers!

The dwarf raised a hand, his gesture severe but not devoid of understanding.

—Mr. Grey, the answers you seek are to be found in the Kingdom of the Elves, out there." But leave before they find you and imprison you again. The races can no longer bear the weight of the current kings.

Grey looked at him with uncertainty, but something in the dwarf's voice resonated as truth. Finally, he asked one last question:

—Where is the exit?

The dwarf pointed behind the volcano.

—Follow the passage. You will emerge near the woods where the elves dwell. But be careful; the forest is watched both within and without.

Grey nodded once more and departed. His steps carried him towards the entrance of the passageway, where a faint light promised freedom. As he advanced, his thoughts cleared, though he still bore the weight of many unanswered questions. In the shadows, he adjusted the mana barrier he had raised around his body and continued, his skeletal figure moving through the darkness until, at last, the sunlight touched his face.

The Elven Forest, known to the wise as the Kingdom of the Eternal Trees, is a place of unparalleled splendor and mystery, where magic and nature intertwine like an ancient tapestry woven by divine hands. There, mana flows in invisible currents, emanating directly from the fiery core of the earth. The trees, immense as titans, stand with trunks as wide as towers, their crowns brushing the skies as if reaching for the stars. In these wooden giants dwell the elves, whose homes are carved both in the depths of the trunks and in the highest branches. Their cities are not mere constructions, but living manifestations of an art that respects and merges with nature.

The elven people, with their pointed ears and keen gaze, are the most skillful hunters of Alaric. Their territory, as beautiful as it is relentless, is guarded fiercely, and those who dare steal from its sacred soil rarely return. But for those blessed with extraordinary beauty, the Magical Paths open up like secret trails, revealing the heart of the forest. There stands the residence of Eleanor Astor, Queen of the Elves, a living palace, woven among colossal branches and trunks. The palace is a labyrinth: its halls and chambers weave in and out of the trees, and its confines house both the majesty of her court and the dark dungeons where prisoners languish, victims of the queen and her firm belief in equality among races.

Eleanor Astor is known for her unyielding justice and her love for harmony among the races of Alaric, but she does not tolerate discrimination. Her punishment for those who disdain diversity is merciless. In her kingdom, even beauty is a sacred ideal. Near the legendary Tree of Life, the tallest in the forest and closest to the earth's core, lies a lake whose waters have the power to renew the flesh and spirit, leaving the skin pure as that of a newborn. This forest, sacred and formidable, awaits those brave—or foolish—enough to venture into its heart.

Grey advanced along the Magical Path, his silhouette a solitary specter among the towering greenery. The beauty that once defined him was still present, though veiled by the weight of his imprisonment. His body, nearly reduced to bones, began to rebuild, nourished by his immortality and the dense mana currents permeating the air. Despite his weakness, his presence remained imposing, so overwhelming that even the wolves, which had stalked him from the underbrush, vanished into the forest with a muffled howl.

Small fairies and butterflies flew around, leaving trails of light like threads of silver and gold. Grey kept his gaze fixed on the path, a trail marked by bright points and mana undulations floating above the ground. The forest seemed to breathe, alive with an energy that echoed his own inner strength.

—How much longer will this path take?—he murmured to himself, his voice barely audible amidst the whisper of the leaves. He drew the whip sword from his back, its heavy blade dragging like a sleeping serpent. —The dwarf said I should unleash its power once out of the cave. Let's see if it responds as before.

Concentrating the mana circulating through his weakened body, Grey directed the energy into the sword. The blade eagerly absorbed the mana, its surface beginning to glow with a dark black luminescence, like red-hot obsidian. Wisps of smoke emanated from its edge, descending to the ground in shadows that withered the plants around him. Grey halted the flow, and the weapon returned to its inert state, though no less lethal.

—It's good to have you back, old friend,—he whispered with a barely perceptible smile. He sheathed the weapon on his back and continued on, guided by the glow of the path. —I hope I don't get lost… though this forest seems a place where that could easily happen.

Grey had entered the Elven Forest with a purpose: to find Eleanor Astor. Deep within his being, he knew she held the key to unraveling the reason for his long confinement. He harbored no kind intentions; the days of diplomacy were long gone, buried along with his former life. Now, he was driven by the desire for answers, and if those answers required blood, he wouldn't hesitate to stain his hands. His shattered soul and hardened heart would accept nothing less than the truth, regardless of the price.

As he walked, the forest seemed to watch him. From the treetops, invisible creatures observed, and the mana currents dancing around him seemed to carry a veiled message: "This place will judge you, Grey. Be careful what you seek, for you might find it."