The elves' faces turned dark, their eyes narrowing with growing tension. The words from Carlos, so simple yet so defiant, cut through the air like a blade.
"You come here, to our home, without permission, without respect," the head elf thought. If only the ancient mortals had wronged us, this would be easier.
But now, here was Carlos—an unwelcome descendant of the humans who had once pushed the elves to the edge of war. He had the gall to stand before them, challenging their honor with his presence. He threatened them in their sanctuary, a boy who clearly had no understanding of the gravity of his actions.
The elves muttered in anger, the bloodlust rising in their chests. They had dreamed of the day they could watch the mortals tear each other apart, savoring the destruction. But this? This wasn't the time to wait. This boy, barely a man, had crossed a line.
The head elf, despite his age and wisdom, understood something more than just rage. His gaze lingered on Carlos, noticing the boy's mask—the unmistakable mark of an Outer God. It was then that realization hit him hard. This wasn't just a rebellious child from the mortal world; this was a child touched by something far older and far more powerful than any elf. An Outer God's blessing was not to be trifled with.
The head elf didn't dare speak those thoughts aloud. Not when Carlos's gaze never wavered from his. It was as though the boy had already read his mind, sizing him up like prey. It was unsettling. Carlos didn't fear the elves. He didn't fear their land. His presence was cold, unyielding.
"Fine," Carlos finally said, cutting through the tension.
The head elf's command broke the silence. "Let's discuss this."
The elves behind him hissed, their impatience palpable. They didn't want to discuss anything; they wanted to kill. To end the threat before it could become real. But the head elf was wise, and even if he hated every moment of this, he had to keep his composure. The boy, with that mask, wasn't just any mortal. And no matter what happened next, the head elf knew he couldn't afford to underestimate him.
Carlos, for his part, had no interest in wasting time. He was here for one thing only. He didn't need to be polite. He didn't need to care about their ancient grudges. The flame within him burned hotter with every second, scorching his hands as if they were aflame with hellfire. He could feel it, but he couldn't stop it. The fire wasn't burning through his gloves; it was burning him from the inside.
His body was a vessel for the god's power, but at a cost. If it comes to fighting, Carlos thought bitterly, I'll burn them all. And I'll burn myself to ash along with them. But if that's what it takes to save Erevan...
Before the head elf could say another word, he turned sharply, his eyes flashing toward the trees. "Fenric, stop!" he shouted.
But it was already too late.
From the shadows of the sakura trees, an elf leapt toward Carlos, his blade flashing in the dim light. Fenric, quick as a shadow, was already in mid-air before Carlos had even finished processing the command. His assault was swift—ferocious—but Carlos was ready.
Without hesitation, Carlos stepped into the attack, meeting Fenric's strike with his own. His hand moved like lightning, a blur of motion as he twisted Fenric's wrist and struck with the other. The impact sent Fenric sliding back, momentarily stunned.
Fenric, however, recovered quickly, his grin widening as he got back to his feet. "You've trained. That wasn't instinct."
Carlos didn't speak. His focus was elsewhere, his hands burning beneath his gloves. He wasn't interested in talking. He had a mission, and it wasn't about proving himself to anyone.
With the fire pulsing through him, he stared at Fenric, his voice low and cold: "Try again… and you'll need a new spine."
The head elf raised his hand, signaling his people to hold. The elves were murmuring in disbelief, but they held back, still unsure of what this boy was capable of. The head elf, however, had already made his decision.
He turned back to Carlos, his tone measured. "One day. You have one day to get what you need. After that, we will no longer stand by."
Carlos nodded, his gaze unyielding. "One day. That's all you get. Then I take the root."
The head elf's jaw clenched, but he gave a single nod. There was nothing more to say. The elves were in no position to challenge him—not with the god's mask upon him. But that didn't mean they would let him have his way without a fight.
Carlos turned away, his eyes already focused on the road ahead, on the palace he had left behind, on his brother. Three days there. Three days back. If the fate had other plans, four days. That was it. Only three days remained.
Even if he had to burn everything in his path.