Adam and Finn left the arena, their footsteps echoing through the empty corridors. The silence between them was heavy, though not oppressive—each was lost in his own thoughts.
They made their way toward the elder's dwelling, passing through the central part of the settlement. Neither spoke a word; only occasionally did Adam cast thoughtful glances at his young companion.
The day inside the cavern was at its peak. Near an unusual fountain, whose waters streamed upward toward the vaulted ceiling, the long-eared inhabitants of the settlement worked diligently. A dozen of them washed clothes, their movements fluid and deliberate, as if performing some ancient dance. The water itself seemed to obey their touch, weaving intricate patterns in the air.
Upon entering Adam's home, the elder motioned toward a massive chair carved from a single block of wood.
"Wait here," he said gently, disappearing into his chambers, leaving Finn to study the spacious room filled with strange objects and books.
Soon Adam returned, carrying a small book that looked more like a worn notebook bound in leather. Despite its obvious age, it radiated an aura of importance and power.
"Take it," Adam offered the book to Finn. "Study it in your room. Perhaps it will help you."
Finn accepted the book but did not rush to leave. The questions that had troubled him all day demanded answers.
"That speed…" he began hesitantly. "How did your warrior move so fast?"
"We are bound to this place," Adam smiled. "Finn, our strength is the strength of this home, of the great tree. We draw power from these walls, from every stone, from every branch."
"And your height…" Finn faltered, glancing up at the elder's towering figure. "Why are you all so tall?"
"We do not know for certain," Adam answered thoughtfully. "But this height grants us an advantage—we are nearly three times stronger than ordinary humans."
Finn hesitated before asking his next question, but curiosity overcame his restraint.
"Who… who are you really?"
Adam's expression grew serious.
"We are copies, Finn. Copies of the ancient elves who lived long before your birth. They were exterminated by humans who envied their harmony with the world. In the great war, the elves could not withstand humanity's endless assaults and perished."
"Then how… how can you exist here?" Finn breathed.
"Because we are not entirely alive," Adam replied softly. "Yes, our hearts beat, we breathe, we feel emotions… But we are creations of a great being, shaped by its will and living according to its command."
Silence settled over the room. Finn stared at the book in his hands, struggling to comprehend what he had heard. These beings—so powerful, so ancient—were but shadows of the past, guardians of lost wisdom.
"And what… what was this being?" Finn asked cautiously, clutching the book tighter.
Adam slowly shook his head, his silver hair swaying in the dim crystal light.
"We do not know," his voice carried a sorrow as old as time. "It happened many millennia ago, in an age when the world was entirely different. Back then, intelligent beings did not merely believe in higher powers—they lived alongside them, fought shoulder to shoulder in great battles."
He approached one of the shelves, letting his long fingers trace the spines of ancient books.
"We are the creation of a being whose name has been erased from memory. No record remains, not even a whisper in the oldest chronicles." Adam turned toward Finn, and in his eyes the boy glimpsed the reflection of grief. "I am the eldest among my kin, yet even I remember only the moment of awakening, not of creation."
Finn stood in silence, unable to form a reply. What words could one offer to a being that remembered an age when gods still walked the earth? What could be said to one who had witnessed the birth and death of civilizations?
Adam seemed not to expect an answer. He smiled faintly and gestured toward the door, signaling that their conversation was at an end.
Finn left the elder's dwelling, lost in thought. He scarcely noticed the heart of the great tree dipping toward sunset, its glow painting the cavern's vaults in warm evening hues. Lights flickered to life in the windows of cottages, casting a gentle, homely radiance.
The streets of the settlement were empty—no living soul crossed his path. Only the whisper of the tree's leaves disturbed the evening stillness. Moments later, Finn was back in his hut, still holding the mysterious book that might contain the answers he sought.
He shut the door tightly behind him. Setting the book on a wooden stand by the bed, he walked over to the tall post where a heavy mug rested. Inside shimmered the golden nectar—the drink he had quickly grown to love.
At first, he intended to sip it slowly while reading. But after the first taste, an insatiable thirst awoke within him. The sweet liquid burned pleasantly down his throat, and Finn could not stop until the mug was drained. Placing it back on the stand, he settled onto the floor, leaning his back against the bed.
The book lay in his hands—worn, ancient, brimming with secrets. Finn ran his fingers over the leather cover, sensing a strange warmth radiating from the old pages. For a few moments, he simply stared at it, gathering the resolve to open it.
At last, he tried to pry it open… but it would not yield. Finn frowned and tried again—with no success. The pages seemed fused together, as if turned into a single slab.
"But… why?" he muttered under his breath, inspecting the cover. "There's no lock…"
He flipped the book around, studying the spine and the edges, but found no latch, no clasp, no mechanism that might hold it shut. It simply refused to open, as though carved from solid wood.
Frustrated by his failed attempts, Finn placed the book back on the stand and leaned against the bedframe. His fingers still remembered the strange warmth of the leather, while his mind buzzed with dozens of unanswered questions.
The oil lamp on the nightstand cast shifting shadows across the walls, filling the hut with a cozy twilight. Finn pulled it closer—perhaps he should examine the book once more under brighter light? But his eyelids were already growing heavy after such a long, wearying day.
The lamp's warm glow wrapped around his hands, soothing and gentle. Finn felt the tension leave his body, as the day's events—exhausting training, his conversation with Adam, the mysteries of the ancient people—faded into the distance.
Clutching the warm lamp to his chest, Finn drifted into sleep without even noticing.