The quiet of the hidden garden wrapped around them like a warm cloak. After days of running, fighting, and barely surviving, the serenity of the fairy village felt unreal. The soft rustling of leaves, the gentle hum of nature, and the twinkling lights of the fairies moving about their home soothed their battle-worn hearts.
The four sat beneath a wide tree, its luminous petals falling like soft embers. General Morgan, still recovering, leaned back with his eyes closed, breathing in the calming air. Khezly tended to a fresh cut on her arm while Darion sat across her, staring at the canopy above before turning toward her with a curious gaze.
"How did you know there was a hidden garden here?" he asked, voice soft but filled with curiosity.
Khezly paused, then met his eyes with a faint smile. "Even if fairies and elves have their differences, there's one thing we've always shared and that is our love for nature. Its rhythms, its whispers, they speak to us, if we listen. This place, I didn't know exactly where it was. But I felt it. The way the wind moved, the way the forest grew thicker… it was calling."
Darion nodded thoughtfully, clearly amazed. "That's impressive."
But then Khezly turned her attention, sharp and sudden, toward Xenric.
"What about you?" she asked, tilting her head slightly. "You led us here first. How did you know there was a village at all?"
Xenric, who had been quietly resting with his arms folded, blinked. All eyes turned to him. Darion's, inquisitive, Khezly's, piercing, even General Morgan, half-awake, cracked open one eye.
Xenric smirked faintly, then shrugged. "It was obvious," he said coolly. "The way the forest shifted, something was here. I didn't expect it to be a fairy village, though. Just got lucky, I guess."
Khezly narrowed her eyes at him, as if she could see through his words. "Lucky, huh?"
Xenric didn't respond, only looked away toward the glowing pond at the heart of the village.
The others said nothing more, but the moment lingered. In that magical garden, surrounded by wonder and mystery, it was clear, there were still secrets between them. And some paths, though shared, were still walked alone.
The day passed quietly under the enchanted canopy of the fairy village. Time seemed slower there, gentler. The four had been offered rest, food, and, most importantly, healing. The fairies, though small in stature, wielded powerful restorative magic. Their soft lights danced over wounds, sealing torn flesh and soothing deep aches. Even General Morgan, whose injuries had left him nearly immobile, stood tall again by dusk, the lines of pain on his face softened.
Xenric sat near a crystal-clear spring, watching as a tiny fairy fluttered over his burned shoulder, mending the raw skin. The faint golden glow of their wings blurred with the sunlight, and for a brief moment, he forgot about the battles, the losses, the crown. He simply breathed.
Darion emerged from a grove, stretching his arms wide, his strength fully returned. "I feel like I could fight a dozen orcs," he said with a grin.
"You said that last time," Khezly replied, stepping beside him, her expression unreadable. "Then nearly got thrown off a cliff."
He laughed. "And yet, here I am."
As the sun began to set and the soft hues of twilight bled into the sky, the group gathered near the heart of the village. The fairy queen did not appear again, but her presence lingered, as though watching them with unseen eyes.
It was time.
"We should move at first light," Morgan said, gripping the hilt of a newly gifted blade made of fae-silver. "Aeronberg may be gone, but there may still be something there. Clues. Survivors. Hope."
Xenric nodded. "We go back, not for battle. But for what remains."
Khezly said nothing at first, her gaze distant, fixed northward, or rather, southward now that they were returning. "Kargrosh may still have troops scavenging," she finally warned. "We need to be swift and quiet."
"Then we move at dawn," Darion affirmed.
The fairies, in their usual silence, began to flutter around them, as if giving a wordless farewell. Flowers bloomed along their path as they made their way toward the forest's edge. The night was calm, but beneath that calm, the memory of war still burned.
And so, after a full day's rest, the four, Xenric, Darion, Khezly, and Morgan set out once again. This time, not running from the past, but returning to face it.
The sun barely peeked over the horizon when the four set out from the fairy village, shrouded in the cool mist of dawn. They moved like shadows, quiet and alert, hearts braced for the sight of death and the stench of war. Each step toward Aeronberg carried weight, a mixture of dread, grief, and fragile hope.
As they neared the outskirts of the once-mighty kingdom, silence hung heavily in the air.
No drums of war.
No clash of steel.
No guttural orc howls.
Nothing.
Khezly's eyes narrowed. "Where are they?" she whispered, scanning the landscape.
Xenric crouched low, his fingers brushing over broken soil marked by deep boot prints and blood. "They were here. Not long ago."
Darion's hand hovered near the dagger strapped to his thigh, eyes shifting warily. "It's too quiet. This could be a trap."
And yet, not a soul stirred. The air was still, unnaturally so.
They waited.
An hour.
Then two.
The ruins loomed just ahead, the charred gates of Aeronberg collapsed and blackened. Vultures circled overhead in lazy spirals, the only sign of life in a kingdom once filled with song.
General Morgan could no longer bear the waiting.
"I must see it," he said, his voice thick with unspoken anguish. Without waiting, he strode forward toward what remained of his home.
The others followed.
What greeted them was devastation.
The streets were coated in soot and blood, the smell of scorched flesh lingering in the windless air. Towering spires once proud and golden now lay in ruins, toppled like broken fingers clawing the sky. The royal banners had turned to ash. Bodies, soldiers, citizens, orcs, littered the ground, some barely distinguishable from the rubble.
Aeronberg was dead.
The marketplace was a graveyard, stalls crushed, cobblestones cracked and stained dark. A toppled fountain leaked water into the dirt, mixing with blood to form a grim, rust-colored stream. The castle's once-brilliant facade had collapsed inward, its stone walls cracked open like a broken ribcage. Even the great halls were buried in dust and silence.
Khezly swallowed hard. "So many." she murmured.
General Morgan fell to his knees, the weight of loss finally crumbling his resolve. "My people, my kingdom…"
Xenric's jaw tightened, eyes scanning every scorched crevice. "There are no guards. No soldiers. Not even looters."
"It's as if they vanished," Darion said, awe and horror mixing in his voice. "Or, were called somewhere else."
The silence now was more than eerie, it was wrong.