The air grew sweeter the deeper we walked, like honey warmed by dawn. The forest, once wild and tangled, gradually transformed. Trees with silver-veined bark stretched high, their canopies filtering sunlight into shifting hues of emerald and sapphire. Flowers bloomed even where no soil should nurture them—growing from bark, stone, and air. Petals as thin as glass hovered weightlessly, caught in invisible breezes that carried the scent of spring after rainfall.
It was beauty unbothered by time.
We passed under an arch formed from living wood, entwined with glowing ivy. And as I stepped past it—
—I entered their home.
The elven village.
It didn't resemble any kingdom I had known. No towering walls. No spires clawing toward the heavens. No thrones built atop dominance.
Instead, the village wove itself into nature. Homes of pale wood and crystal-like stone rose around the trunks of massive trees, shaped rather than built. Stairs spiraled upward along bark, bridges of light thread and root connected one dwelling to the next. In the center stood a shimmering lake, its surface unmoving, perfectly reflecting the trees around it like a mirror untouched by time.
I, who once walked marble corridors and shadowed halls with cloaks of nobility brushing against velvet, found myself feeling small. Not from the grandeur—but from the balance. The elves did not conquer their land; they sang it into harmony.
But that peace did not extend to me.
Eyes followed with every step I took.
Some stared from balconies—others paused in their weaving or garden tending. Their ears twitched faintly, their postures taut. Murmurs rose in the flowing dialect of their kind. Even if I didn't understand every word, I understood the tone.
Disdain.
Caution.
Curiosity.
They saw my pale skin and blood-hue eyes and thought: How did a vampire cross our barrier?
My presence was a bruise on their tranquility. An old echo of war that should have remained buried.
Even the children, smaller and softer in gaze, clung to their mothers' robes when I passed.
I kept my chin high but my eyes steady.
This wasn't Vokhsina. Here, I was no princess.
Just a question walking on foreign roots.
Still, I observed what I could.
The scent of sap and crushed herbs. The distant hum of magical instruments played by unseen hands. The birds here didn't sing—they harmonized, each chirp falling in line like the notes of an ancient choir.
The elf known as Duke walked a step ahead, never once glancing back. My wolf trotted beside me, sniffing the air with silent caution, its fur bristling every time we were stared at too long.
And then, past a narrow clearing lit by floating blue lanterns, I saw it:
A large tree in the heart of the village—its trunk twisted, wide as a castle gate, and its crown so vast it eclipsed even the sky. Nestled into the heart of that tree was a door shaped from roots, pulsating with ancient light.
I didn't need to be told.
The Queen lives there.
And soon… I would be summoned.
The chamber was alive.
It breathed.
I stepped into a space carved not by blade nor hand but by time and magic. Massive roots arched above like cathedral beams, thick with blooming vines that shimmered faintly under the golden glow of floating pollen. The scent of pine, crushed blossoms, and something ancient—like old spellbooks soaked in moonwater—hung in the air.
The great tree, I realized, was not only the heart of the elven village, but a living monument—its interior hollowed yet unbroken, its essence preserved in every curled leaf and laced petal.
And there, in the heart of it all, sat the Elven Queen.
Even before I raised my eyes, I felt her presence.
Not a suffocating aura, not the pressure of dominion like the Vampire Court demanded. This was different. Gentle... yet immense. Like standing before the open sea. Calm, but endless. One wrong step, and I would drown.
She sat upon a throne of living wood shaped into the form of an open flower, petals carved with precision and reverence. Its color shifted in the light—pale lavender at first, then silvered rose, then a deep forest green. Around her feet bloomed tiny white blossoms that never wilted, drinking the magic in the air.
And she herself—
No bard's verse or court painting could do her justice.
The Queen was tall and impossibly graceful, her frame slender yet commanding. Her skin held the hue of moonlit alabaster, not pale from bloodlessness like my kind, but pure, kissed by stars. Her hair was a river of silver-white silk, spilling over her shoulders and coiling like mist around her throne. A crown of glimmering antlerwood rested on her brow, its points etched with glowing runes that pulsed faintly with rhythm—like a heartbeat.
But it was her eyes that silenced me.
A tranquil green—no, deeper. Emerald kissed with starlight. Eyes that did not look at me, but through me. As if weighing every thread in my soul.
Beside her stood Elder Makunishita, the one who had granted me entry. His age was more in aura than appearance, but the reverence others gave him said enough. When he spoke, it was without ceremony, yet all listened.
"My Queen," Makunishita said, his voice low but firm. "This child is the one we found outside the veil. She says she seeks the Great Sage."
The Queen's gaze did not shift from mine. Not yet.
"She is vampire," the Queen said softly, the syllables of her tongue shaped like wind and water. "And alone."
I stepped forward.
"And I come not to spill blood," I said, my voice steadier than my heart. "My name is Vanessa of House Vokhsina. I once held title, court, and kin. Now I hold none."
She regarded me for a long, long moment.
"You come seeking the Sage," she repeated.
"I do. I… I believe she may hold the answers I need."
"To what question?"
"…To why my kingdom no longer breathes."
That made her blink. A subtle gesture—but enough.
Then the elder stepped forward and peered at me more intently, his tone shifting, not unkind.
"You carry no war in your eyes," he murmured. "Only smoke and cinder."
I bowed my head in silence. It was all I had left to offer.
"Tell us then," said the Queen, her tone no longer distant but intrigued. "Tell us of the fall of Nivellan."
I closed my eyes for a moment, drawing breath. And then… I spoke.
"It happened at dawn. We thought the mist was early morning fog. But it wasn't. It was ash. From our outer gates—already burning. The sky turned black before the sun rose."
I saw it again—the fire raining down, the sound of screaming steel, the crumbling of marble.
"We were betrayed. The outer sentries were silenced in silence. They used a kind of... pale fire. Not flame. Something colder. It ate through stone and soul alike. My mother, Lady Valensca, sent me to the catacombs to protect the royal bloodline. By the time I returned above, the palace had fallen."
A pause. My voice caught.
"I saw the court mage hanging from the spires… and my father impaled at the altar of Ancients. I only manage to bury what remains of them."
For a moment, no one spoke. The tree's heart hummed faintly in the silence.
"I fled with nothing," I whispered. "But I remembered something… something my mother once said. That in times when truth is lost and light is stolen, the Great Sage would know the cause."
A longer silence followed. Then at last, the Queen descended her throne, walking gracefully down the steps. She moved like water, robes whispering against the floor, each of her gestures measured and serene.
"Your tale is grave," she said quietly, drawing closer. "And if it is true… then something old has begun to stir."
I bowed deeply. "Please. I ask not for sanctuary. Only knowledge."
The Queen studied me for a long moment more. Then, gently, she tilted her head.
"Vanessa of the Crimson Elder line… the Sage you seek has not been seen in many moons. But we hold records of her last movements. You may study them. You will be given quarters, and a guide."
I blinked.
"You will let me stay?"
"She came without shadows, and with her beast muzzled by choice," said Elder Makunishita behind her. "She seeks peace with empty hands."
The Queen turned back toward her throne.
"You may not find the answers you wish, child of dusk," she said. "But here… at least you may begin again."
I bowed again, lower this time. My knees touched the warm wooden floor.
"Thank you… my Queen."
And when I rose, the Queen had already returned to her seat, her silver hair rippling like water caught in moonlight.
The moment settled like still water after a tossed stone. The soft rustle of silk and leaves accompanied the Elven Queen's movements as she shifted her posture on the grand seat of woven moonwood and living vines that coiled around her throne in graceful arcs. Her gaze remained unwavering—gentle, yet steeped in age-old wisdom.
"Elder Makunishita," her voice rang with silver calm, "see that the child is given a chamber within my quarters."
The elder blinked, then bowed slightly, cautious yet deferent. "Are you certain, my Queen? To allow a vampire—one of royal blood, yes—but still one who may stir old wounds, to dwell so near you?"
"She is of Nivellan descent," the Queen replied, folding her hands lightly over her lap. "A child whose home no longer stands. She does not carry war in her eyes, but loss, and questions too heavy for one her age."
Her words softened the air. Even Duke, the stoic guardian beside me, lowered his chin with a subtle sigh of acceptance.
"I… understand," Elder Makunishita responded, bowing a little deeper this time. "If that is your will, then I shall carry it out gladly."
I, who had been kneeling for the entirety of the conversation, slowly lifted myself—knees stiff, heart fluttering. The Queen's presence was disarming. Ethereal, even. Her hair cascaded like molten silver threaded with starlight, and her skin bore the faint glow of moon-blessed bark. Her eyes—ancient, luminous pools of forest green—seemed to read every fracture within my spirit. Adorned in layered robes of emerald and sapphire, and crowned with what looked like woven branches dipped in frost, she sat with grace only centuries could bestow.
"Follow me then, young one," Elder Makunishita spoke with a calmness that didn't quite mask his curiosity.
I nodded respectfully and stepped into line behind him.
Duke walked alongside us, vigilant and silent as a shadow. It was clear he did not yet trust me—and perhaps he never would. But he was dutiful, not cruel. His gaze, while firm, was not hateful.
As we left the Queen's hall, I cast one last look over my shoulder. She was still watching me, lips pressed together in quiet thought—as if she saw more in me than I could see myself.