It had been 20,000 years since the three witches set fire to Yggdrasil.
And though their war ended only twenty years ago, its shadow still lingered like smoke in the branches of the World Tree.
In those twenty years since my father's death, after the age of legends, I've done everything to grow wiser, stronger, and worthy of a crown.
But nothing shook me more than the day I met Grimhild Yorgana.
One of the witches herself.
The day I saw her—my entire life turned upside down.
+
"Fhiron! Get inside this instant, stop wasting time with that human boy!"
The voice belonged to Avery, a tall elf with flowing red hair, a sharp beauty, and the tone of someone who always got her way.
She was protective to the point of suffocation, and her nature always pressed on me like a cage.
"But he came all the way here, Avery! He's not like the others."
I protested, turning to the boy beside me.
"He's different, he's my friend!" I yelled.
"Inside. Now!" She barked as her voice echoed off the stone walls of the castle.
Her tone cut through me like a blade.
I flinched and glanced at Beowulf, the human boy who had access to the Bifrost just to get here.
His dark eyes lit with hurt as I lowered my head.
"...I'm sorry, Beowulf. Maybe another time. I have to go."
I turned, walking toward the gates where guards and officers stood watch, their eyes as cold as steel.
My heart twisted from our departure.
"Don't worry, Fhiron!" Beowulf shouted, forcing a smile as he waved. "We'll meet again. Maybe when we're older we can go to Midgard together!"
"No!" Avery yelled, glaring at him. "Fhiron will never set foot in that cesspool. Midgard is crawling with beasts and monsters. You humans are dangerous enough!"
I froze at the words, shame burning my chest.
Slowly, I turned back.
My lips moved, but nothing came out; only a look, one filled with sorrow that said everything.
"Goodbye, Beowulf... until next time."
The gates began to shut, but Beowulf didn't give up.
He lunged forward, only to be stopped by elven officers who shoved him back.
"Why?!" His voice cracked. "Why do you all hate humans so much? I'm not like them, I'm not greedy, I'm not selfish! I just wanted to prove it!"
"Silence, boy!" Avery's voice thundered. "Your people are chaos given form. We owe you nothing, and you will never earn our gratitude after the war!"
The doors slammed shut.
"...This isn't fair." Beowulf's whisper barely carried over the courtyard.
His fists clenched, trembling.
"We're not all the same..."
He was only sixteen. A boy with more hope in him than most men carried in their entire lives.
Every day he had snuck into Alfheim, and every day we laughed, we played, we dreamed.
He was my closest friend.
My only friend.
And in a single moment, it was gone.
The Day of Ruin had left humanity scarred in the eyes of elves, and even fairies.
All the beauty Beowulf tried to show was buried beneath the weight of his people's sins.
To them, he was only proof of corruption.
To me, he was proof of something greater.
But no one listened.
"Time to go." One of the guards said, hauling Beowulf up by the arm.
A portal to the Bifrost came into view as a dimensional rift opened with radiant colors.
They dragged him to it like a prisoner.
"Return to Midgard. That is where you belong."
Beowulf didn't struggle, he simply looked down with a hollow voice.
"...Dammit."
Tears slipped down his cheeks as he whispered.
"I just wanted to show you... that humans could be different. That we could be friends. But maybe... maybe that's impossible."
The guards ignored him as they threw him into the portal.
His body dissolved into pure light and was carried away across the branches of Yggdrasil until Midgard reclaimed him.
He was sent back into his room, far away from Alfheim, where he sat on his bed with his face in his hands.
"Fhiron..." He whispered as the sound broke into a sob.
And just like that, our laughter, our promises, our dreams, everything, was silenced by the hatred between our races.
+
Three years had passed since that day.
For the elves, three years was nothing. It was a few months, or a blink in eternity.
But for a human—for Beowulf—it was a lifetime.
Fhiron walked the marble road of Galawen; the jewel of Alfheim, with two armored escorts trailing at his back.
Their presence felt less like protection and more like chains.
His jaw was tight with irritation seeping through his normally calm expression.
"I don't need guards." He muttered. "Tell my cousin Avery I'm no child to be watched. I can handle myself."
The guards exchanged uneasy glances before bowing their heads.
"Forgive us, Lord Fhiron, but our orders are clear. Your safety is absolute. We made a promise to King Anglorathin to watch over you!"
Fhiron stopped with his fists curling at his sides.
The elves passing by slowed to watch, widening their eyes.
"You dare defy me? I'm not my father, I can be far harsher than he ever was."
"Even so." One guard said carefully. "Without you, Alfheim would crumble. We cannot risk it."
Fhiron's lip curled.
"I am the second strongest elf in this realm. Who among us could stand against me, save an outsider? Your 'protection' only insults me."
Before the guard could answer, the ground shook violently.
The air ripped with a thunderclap as a mushroom cloud bloomed in the distance, its shadow stretching toward Galawen.
Screams immediately filled the streets.
"What in the?!" Fhiron's voice was drowned out by the panic.
"An intruder!" An officer cried. "Protect the King!"
The guards surged forward, their weapons enchanted with the might of Solaria.
"Lord Fhiron, retreat to the palace! We'll hold them off!"
"You fools!" Fhiron yelled while golden light emanated from his body. "You'd waste yourselves for nothing! I am no coward!"
A magic circle appeared underneath his feet, and in a flash of light, he vanished.
Rulmedia, the teleportation spell, sent him through space, leaving his escorts behind, stunned and helpless.
"Lord Fhiron!" They shouted, but he was gone.
Fhiron reappeared in the chaos of the streets, pushing past his terrified people as they fled in droves.
Fear hung thick in the air, like a suffocating weight.
"Who dares attack Alfheim?" His voice cut above the screams, fury, and disbelief entwined.
Particles of Solaria stirred around him, coalescing into luminous wings that uncurled with divine brilliance.
With one flap, he soared skyward like a streak of gold tearing through the clouds.
He flew toward the heart of the explosion as his senses sharpened just in time to dodge a streak of dark magic that hissed past him like venom.
Nothing could get past the Elf King and his keen senses. He was able to detect minute changes in the air thousands of kilometers away, as well as see hidden spells the size of atoms.
His Mana Control was by far the strongest.
Once the wave of dark magic passed by, his eyes widened.
That aura, that texture... it was foreign.
He dove, landing on the outskirts of the ruined meadow, and there he saw him.
A boy cloaked in an eerie black haze with the stain of darkness seeping from every pore.
His friend.
His brother in spirit.
Beowulf.
Fhiron's heart felt like it was about to give out.
"No. It can't be you!"
Beowulf lifted his head.
His eyes were hollow, trembling with grief as his voice was broken.
"...It was the only way to see you again, Fhiron."
"See me again? Beowulf, what have you done?"
"I... I borrowed power."
Beowulf whispered with his voice quivering with shame.
"From him. From Nyarlathotep! He told me... if I broke into Alfheim, if I caused enough chaos, I'd reach you through the Bifrost. And he was right. I made it back!"
Fhiron stepped closer, his chest filled with dread.
"Nyarlathotep? Whoever he is, he is using you! He's feeding on your pain and heartache. Can't you see? This isn't the way. You're threatening my home, Beowulf!"
The words hit Beowulf like a spear.
His body trembled, tears spilling freely down his face.
"Threatening... your home? I-I didn't think of that. I didn't care. I just wanted to see you again. Just you!"
Fhiron's anger crumbled.
Slowly, he extended a hand with his voice becoming raw with desperation.
"Then let me save you, Beowulf. Please. Trust me, and I'll take you back to Midgard safely. We'll find a way. Together!"
Beowulf's eyes widened as his breath hitched.
His shaking hand rose to meet Fhiron's.
"Fhiron... I've always trusted you. With all my heart!"
Their hands nearly touched, then a sudden blaze of agony tore through Fhiron's gut.
"Ghh—aaahhh!" He staggered back, clutching his stomach as pain unlike anything he'd ever known consumed him.
His body screamed with fire, his nerves lit a trillionfold.
Beowulf's fist still lingered in the air, wreathed in Nyarlathotep's curse.
His eyes were wide with horror as his own tears fell faster.
"Fhiron, I-I didn't mean—!"
Fhiron grit his teeth, forcing his trembling legs to stand firm despite the agony that coursed through him.
A mere touch of Nyarlathotep's curse caused an unimaginable pain that would drive any person to suicide, regardless of their race.
But Fhiron endured; his willpower was greatly enhanced for his friend's sake.
With his golden wings shuddering, he grit his teeth.
"No... I won't fall to this poison!" He growled through clenched teeth.
His vision blurred, but his resolve burned hotter.
He reached for Beowulf again.
"I will save you... no matter what it takes!"