After days of travel, at last the grandeur of the Elven Kingdom appeared on the horizon. Rising from the heart of emerald forests, the city was surrounded by colossal walls that seemed to touch the skies. There were gates in every direction: in the north, in the south, in the east, and in the west.
When Mamir and his companions reached the southern gate, the guards lowered their spears, blocking the road. At first, they did not recognize the travelers. But when they saw Kirarya's face, their eyes widened in shock, their breaths caught in their throats. Whispers broke the silence:
— "Princess Kirarya...! She lives!"
Amid cheers and tears, the gates swung open. The army stood ready to receive them. The elven people poured into the streets, scattering flowers and shouting with joy. They were witnessing the return of a friend they had long believed lost. Mamir and his companions passed through the cheering crowds and prayers, until they reached the magnificent Elven Palace.
The palace doors opened, revealing a throne room adorned with golden and silver engravings. The Elven King — in his late fifties, his eyes full of wisdom — sat upon his throne. Beside him stood the regal and graceful Elven Queen, and near them the young Prince of twelve and the Princess of twenty.
As Kirarya stepped inside, silence fell across the throne room. Then, unable to contain herself, the Queen rushed forward. With tears streaming down her cheeks, she embraced Kirarya.
— "Forgive us! A traitor from among our own betrayed you... For years, the shame of it has haunted us!"
Kirarya's eyes glistened as she shook her head.
— "It no longer matters... My son Mamir and his companions rescued me."
All eyes turned to Mamir. The Elven King rose from his throne and approached him with heavy steps.
— "Son... Did you truly rescue your mother from the hell of Elandur on your own? Was there no army at your side?"
Mamir straightened his shoulders, his voice unwavering:
— "No, Your Majesty. Only my beloved Runya, my friend Ener, and I. Just the three of us fought together."
The king and all present froze, their faces full of astonishment and awe. Murmurs swept through the chamber. The king drew a deep breath and spoke again:
— "Three of Ostomas' dark warlords were there. Each one is equal to an army on their own. Yet you... with only three, you defeated them? Then you have achieved a victory that history will never forget!"
The throne room echoed with his words. Mamir stepped forward, his voice firm, carrying both wrath and resolve:
— "But the war is far from over, Your Majesty. Ostomas' darkness grows stronger than ever. From the depths beneath the southern lands of Trolos, the shadows rise, spreading across the entire continent. If Trolos falls, Elandur will follow. The end of the world will come."
A hush fell. Then Mamir continued:
— "Only two things can wound the darkness: sacred weapons forged in elven light... and weapons tempered in the essence of shadow itself. Years ago, my mother asked for such arms. Now, I make the same request: grant us these weapons. For only they can stop the storm that is coming."
The Elven King looked deep into Mamir's eyes. Then he spread his arms wide, his voice booming through the chamber:
— "Of course, son! If Trolos falls, Elandur will fall as well. Our fates are one! We shall grant you four thousand wagons filled with sacred blades, spears, bows, shields, and supplies! And more..."
His voice grew louder, filled with fire:
— "To mend the wound left by the traitor of ten years past... To honor our loyalty to Kirarya... And to recognize you, the hero who rescued his mother from hell... six thousand elite elven warriors shall march at your side!"
The throne room erupted in cheers and cries. Elves shouted in unison:
— "Long live Mamir of Harland! Long live Kirarya! Death to the darkness!"
Mamir raised his head. Among the crowd, his eyes met Ener's, who smiled proudly at his friend. Behind him, Runya's gaze shone with both love and hope as she held onto him.
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