Chapter 76: The Last Silver Moon Elf
Wade gazed at the unexpectedly slender figure, listening to the ethereal female voice singing accompanied by the sound of a lute. It was an elf – a silver-haired elf with long locks cascading beside pointed ears, the ends slightly curled. She wore an indigo velvet cloak and a dark green Celtic-style gown that concealed her feet entirely.
Her garments showed signs of wear with patches visible at the hem, and snowflakes clung to her clothing. The elf held an ancient lute, playing a timeless melody. Her upright posture exuded elegance. She resembled neither a dancer nor a church choir nun, but rather a wandering minstrel. Though her attire was worn and humble, simply and plainly matched, it carried an understated nobility about her person that required no adornment to reveal her extraordinary nature.
“Flame Demon Em, this is beyond your domain of power. Return to the shadows,” the elf rebuked the fiery apparition, which responded by erupting in more intense flames.
The elf’s silver hair whipped wildly in the scorching wind as she faced the inferno head-on. The flames abruptly condensed into a single point before shooting toward her. The elf endured it impassively, her serene expression unchanged, though Wade noticed a searing brand appear on her unadorned face – an inverse mirror image of the mark on Quasimodo’s left arm.
Once the brand manifested, the scorching domain vanished. The Demon Mother had turned to charcoal, and all traces of demonic and undead energy disappeared from the square. As calm returned, the elf glanced up at the starlight before turning around. She placed the lute behind her and retrieved a feather-filled deerskin notebook from her robes.
Wade noticed an ancient bronze badge hanging at her waist and froze – it bore an engraved eye identical to one on the twenty-sided die. But that wasn’t the only badge; her notebook bore a second emblem depicting human feet. Both symbols – the open eye and the feet – were patterns Wade had seen somewhere before.
They matched the designs on that twenty-sided die he’d rolled countless times in dreams, their patterns etched indelibly in his memory. Wade puzzled over the elf’s identity, though she had clearly come to his aid. He silently studied her appearance – her utterly unadorned simplicity. She had appeared suddenly, her method of arrival unknown.
Wade tried to glimpse her feet beneath the long gown dragging on the ground, but the fabric completely obscured his view – he couldn’t even tell if she wore shoes. It seemed an intentional concealment. Perhaps, Wade thought, she had arrived through some form of “magic.”
The elf faced Wade but remained silent, instead opening her deerskin book to read intently. She studied its contents carefully, frequently glancing up at the night stars and surveying the square. After a dozen seconds, she closed the book and carefully returned it to her robes.
She bowed slightly to Wade in greeting. Seeing her intent to communicate, Wade returned the courtesy. Yet he felt his “existence” growing increasingly unstable – he was being pulled away. Though he hadn’t directly endured the Flame Demon’s assault, the scorching domain alone had damaged him. This avatar would soon dissipate; his remaining time was nearly gone.
“Releaser of departed souls, I am Yulia Silvermoon,” the elf declared her name. “I came guided by the prophet’s vision. From distant forests, I saw the night’s starlight and arrived here to witness the dark power of Flame Demon Em.”
“That ancient evil, also called Hebrium, has opposed order since the Second Era. The soul it claimed belonged to the descendant of Thornwick’s royal line – Saint Victor’s progeny. The Flame Demon, once grievously wounded by the Saint, appeared today surely to defile and transform that descendant into a demon to be taken into shadows, thus desecrating the Saint’s bloodline.”
“Forgive my sudden arrival,” the elf bowed her head. “The prophet foretold that when starlight rises in the northern night sky, I might find hope of returning home. I’ve wandered long outside my homeland – to return is my final wish. For I am the last Silver Moon Elf; my people have perished.”
She softly revealed her origins as Wade could only watch silently, unable to speak or converse. The melted snow left no ground for sword-written words.
“Em has marked me with its Brand of Slaughter,” the elf continued. “All its servants will sense my location and vow my destruction. I already feel darkness gathering here. Forgive me, I cannot linger.”
“But I’ve found the prophet’s vision. We shall meet again elsewhere. I, Yulia Silvermoon, swear by my name as the last Silver Moon Elf: I shall aid your wish, never deceive you, never harm you, never act against you. I shall devote myself to one who received souls’ grace – when your wish is fulfilled, my homecoming shall come.”
After speaking these words in the common tongue, Yulia uttered syllables of intricate pronunciation. Wade recognized them – when searching for thorns and finding the mage skeleton, he’d glimpsed ancient memories ending with that same language. Yulia and that nameless departed mage had spoken identical syllables.
“May the Dragon God bless you,” Yulia concluded in the common tongue. Her shadow gradually faded as mysteriously as she’d arrived.
“On my way, I saw an old acquaintance who seemed to know you. Darkness approaches – allow me to send you to safety where you’ll meet again.”
With another bow, the elf vanished from Wade’s sight.
——
Some time earlier.
Rapid footsteps and panting echoed through Alvado’s alleys as Lucas sprinted through darkness, clutching the Mist Stone while canine barks and wingbeats pursued him – the necromancer’s minions still giving chase. Night owls swooped overhead, their avian eyes locking onto him.
Lucas ran full-tilt, no longer hiding since he’d been discovered. He knew every route intimately from years navigating these lanes and alleys. In his youth, he’d run like this daily to secure the best marketplace spot for earning living expenses and adventurer registration fees.
He’d trained his stamina through running, rising before dawn regardless of season. Always alone – no one else maintained such discipline. So alone he ran through pre-dawn Alvado, chasing his dreams.