After the clash with the shadows, silence fell upon the ruined village. The streets were littered with the fallen, and the stench of death clung to the air. Mamir and Visrok stood among the wreckage, breathless, their minds reeling. Their soldiers had been slaughtered helplessly, torn apart by creatures that could not be slain by steel. Only the rare Elf Light weapons carried by the White Cloaks had saved them from total annihilation.
Mamir clenched his fists, his voice heavy with anger and resolve.
"Then guide us. The people of Harland will not bow to shadows again."
The leader of the White Cloaks, Seron Valar, stepped forward. His expression carried both wisdom and sorrow.
"Shadows are no ordinary foe, prince. Only the Elf Light can harm them. And that light… is all but gone."
Visrok's eyes widened.
"Then what hope is there? With so little Elf Light, how can we defend an entire kingdom?"
Seron's gaze turned distant, as though recalling an ancient memory.
"The answer lies not in these lands, but far beyond the sea—on the continent of Elandur. Once, it was the heart of elven rule. We believe the Elven Royal Line still endures there. If they can be persuaded to share their light once more, the balance can be restored."
Visrok shook his head.
"Elandur? That's madness. No one has reached it for centuries—it doesn't even exist on maps anymore!"
But Seron's eyes hardened, and he fixed them upon Mamir.
"Yet someone must go. A man of courage, of wit, of heart. A man open to the light. That man is you, Mamir."
Mamir's breath caught. "Alone?"
"Yes," Seron replied gravely. "This journey is your trial. Across the seas you will face endless perils—lost cities, cursed forests, ancient beasts. But above all, you must find the Elven Royalty. If you can earn their trust, if you can bring back their light, then the shadows will face their true bane."
Visrok stepped forward, anger flashing in his eyes.
"You cannot send him alone! If he goes, then I—"
"No," Seron interrupted sharply. "Your path lies here, Visrok. You must guard Harland and your father's throne. Mamir's destiny lies across the sea. Each of you serves the same war, but in different battles."
Mamir fell silent, weighing the burden placed upon him. Then he raised his head, his eyes filled with steel.
"If this is the only way to defeat the shadows… then I will go to Elandur."
That same night, in the palace…
In the depths of a hidden chamber, Artheon knelt before a circle of black candles. Shadows flickered across his face as he whispered with a twisted smile:
"The shadows grow stronger… My lord, your return draws near. Ostomas Harland, soon the world shall drown in your darkness once again."
The candle flames turned pitch black. A chilling whisper echoed through the chamber—an omen of what was to come.
Chapter End:
Mamir receives from the White Cloaks a secret map and a compass infused with Elf Light. With these, he sets sail into the unknown, beginning his perilous voyage toward the legendary continent of Elandur—where new allies and unimaginable dangers await.