Leo faded into the background as the crystal halls of Elderglade melted away.
A new scene appeared, and Caelir found himself following Sylvantherion's steady walk. Their steps echoed against stone walls. The sound was strange in their city of wood and trees. They climbed higher into what looked like a royal room.
Torchlight cast dancing shadows on the elder's silver hair. With each step, the air grew cooler, carrying a strange metallic smell that tickled Caelir's nose.
"Syl," he began, his curiosity finally becoming too much, "where are you leading me?"
Sylvantherion's crimson eyes gleamed in the dim light as he glanced back. "To witness something unprecedented, young one. A collaboration between our kind and a human craftsman."
The words sent a jolt through Caelir. Without thinking, his steps quickened. He moved alongside the elder. "Truly? But I thought..." He stopped himself. He remembered many Council meetings where Sylvantherion had spoken against human partnerships.
A knowing smile touched the elder's lips.
"That I disapproved of such ventures?" He paused, and his robes whispered on the stone floor. "Perhaps. But since you've shown such... enthusiasm for cross-cultural exchange, I thought it prudent to explore the possibility myself."
The passage opened into a round room. Caelir's breath caught in his throat. At its center stood something that could barely be called a chair.
Torchlight shone on its surface. It threw sharp shadows on the walls that seemed to have a life of their own.
This was not like elven craft, with its flowing, natural lines. This piece was all sharp angles and hard edges. It looked aggressive. Metal spikes jutted from its frame like frozen lightning. Each point caught and reflected the light. Flat pieces of other materials crossed in ways that seemed to challenge space itself. It created the illusion of movement even while it was still.
"It's..." Caelir struggled to find words that could describe both his wonder and his unease.
"Different?" the elder supplied. His tone was neutral. "The human craftsman called it 'avant-garde.' Their words for pushing boundaries, I believe."
Caelir circled the piece slowly. He studied how shadows shifted and the flat parts seemed to rearrange with each new angle. It was beautiful in its own way. It was like crystallized chaos, a harmony of discord.
"Go on," the elder encouraged, waving a hand toward the chair. "Experience it for yourself."
Caelir paused and glanced back at his mentor. Sylvantherion's face was calm, but something flickered deep in his ancient eyes.
The room seemed to hold its breath as Caelir took another step forward. The strange metallic scent grew stronger. Here, in this room far from the living heart of Elderglade, he felt the weight of a choice. It was about the future. It was about change, and the delicate balance between the old ways and the new.
His fingers reached out toward the nearest edge.
The torchlight seemed to pulse.
Waiting.
The moment Caelir's weight settled into the chair, a surprising comfort held him. The seat looked sharp, but it cradled him gently.
"Your thoughts?" Sylvantherion's voice echoed softly in the room.
Caelir ran his fingers along the angular armrest. He felt the cool metal warm beneath his touch. "It's... different indeed," he said, tasting the foreign word. "Like stepping into another world's dream. There's room for improvement, of course, but..." He paused, choosing his words with care. "I think that's the beauty of collaboration: the opportunity to grow together."
A faint smile graced the elder's ancient face. With a smooth gesture, he raised his hand. Light gathered between his fingers, forming a necklace. Its metal was not silver or gold, but something different. It wove into patterns like the sacred shapes of the forest. Each curve held whispers of magic that made the air hum.
Caelir's breath caught. The torchlight seemed to dim before the necklace's soft glow. New shadows danced across the room's walls like ghosts.
"A gift," Sylvantherion said. He walked closer, his robes whispering against the stone. "A symbol of my dedication to Elderglade and its future." The words felt heavy with unspoken meaning.
"Syl," Caelir's voice softened with respect, but there was a hint of gentle protest in his tone. "My father already acknowledged your loyalty. Nothing could diminish that."
Something flickered across Sylvantherion's face. Swift as a shooting star. If Caelir had not been watching closely, he might have missed the tightening around the elder's eyes and the barely noticeable tension in his shoulders.
But the moment passed like a ghostly figure as the elder continued his approach. The necklace caught the light with each step. Its patterns seemed to shift and change like living things.
Caelir bowed his head slightly in a sign of acceptance and respect. The elder's hand hovered over the glowing necklace. His fingers trembled before he finally placed it around Caelir's neck.
The metal was cool against his skin as it draped around his neck. It quickly warmed, almost as if it were alive.
The weight of it settled on his collarbones. It felt like a whispered promise, or maybe a warning.
The elder moved back slowly as Caelir lifted his head. His fingers brushed against the necklace. Its complex patterns felt cold, though it seemed to pulse faintly, almost like a heartbeat.
"It's beautiful," Caelir murmured, his voice full of awe. But as soon as the words left his lips, a strange feeling crept through him.
The faint tingling in his chest spread quickly. It grew stronger, like a fire rushing through his veins. His breath hitched. Muscles tensed. His arms and legs grew heavy, as if his body had been on a death march for weeks.
"What's happening?" Caelir's voice was strained and trembling. Panic showed on his face. His mind, once sharp, began to feel dull. His thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm.
His fingers clenched the armrests of the chair, but it felt nearly impossible to move. With great effort, he managed to lift his head. His blurry gaze locked onto the elder. "What... have you done?"
Sylvantherion's face remained calm, but the shadows around his crimson eyes seemed to deepen. "What must be done," he said.
Caelir's jaw tightened as he understood the betrayal. His body failed him even more. His breath came in short gasps. An icy numbness crawled up his limbs, turning his strength to stone. The chair's sharp frame seemed to mock him. Its false comfort was now a prison.
Only his mind, though foggy and slow, remained alive. It was alive enough to scream in protest.
The sharp edges of the chair dug into his mind. It was as if the chair was a helper in the elder's plan.
The elder's face hardened. His voice cracked as he spoke, as if the words were blades scraping his soul. "They reached into the Elven God's heart and hollowed it with their promises of progress. I will not watch them take another."
He stepped closer. "You, with your passion for change, your openness to others… You may see it as progress. I see it for what it is: a poison that seeps slowly until all we hold sacred is eroded."
Caelir's silent cry echoed in his mind. It was a raw, wordless plea.
Sylvantherion's voice shook as he spoke again and seemed to be talking more to himself now. "The traditions of the Eldara are ancient, unyielding. I cannot stand idle while you risk undoing them. Not even for you, my brightest hope."
He turned away slightly. His voice grew softer but just as firm. "The next tears I shed will not be for you, Caelir." His breath shuddered. "But for myself…"
Caelir's mind latched onto the words. He struggled against the paralysis that tightened around him. A scream built in his throat, but his lips would not part. He could only stare, helpless, as the elder began to finish the binding spell.
"You will be the Protector," the elder continued. His hands formed complex signs that sent waves of light across the room. "An eternal barrier to shield Elderglade from the corruption that festers beyond these lands. The humans may call it progress, but we know the truth. They destroy what they touch, as they did to the Elven God."
Hearing about his father sent a wave of pain through Caelir's mind. Images of a kind man flashed before his eyes. A man betrayed, Caelir realized, not by humans, but by his own kind.
"You should not be tainted," Sylvantherion murmured. His voice cracked as if the weight of his actions was finally crushing him. "You must remain pure. This is the way of the Eldara, and I, as an elder, will ensure it."
The room grew very bright as the magic circle under the chair flared to life. Its shining patterns burned into the stone floor like scars. Caelir's body stiffened completely. His limbs were locked in a protective pose. But his spirit fought inside its prison, a storm of rage and betrayal.
Sylvantherion stepped back. His face was hard to read in the shifting light. "Elderglade will remember your name," he said softly.
"You will be its shield, its guardian."
"Its eternal protector..."
As he turned to leave, he paused. A small tremor passed through his shoulders, but he did not look back. "Goodbye, Caelir," he whispered, the words almost lost in the hum of magic. "Defend our kin... forever."
The elder walked away. The light of the circle threw his shape into sharp relief. Caelir's mind screamed inside the prison of his body. He could only watch, silent and frozen, as the elder disappeared into the shadows.
Sylvantherion!
The hum of the magic grew louder. It was a steady, rising sound that shook the room. The spell reached its peak. The light of the circle surged one last time, sealing Caelir's fate.
But deep in his mind, past the despair, a small ember flickered. The elder's words were meant to explain his actions. Instead, they planted a seed of defiance in Caelir's mind.
That ember of rebellion smoldered. Waited for the moment it could burn into something greater. Though he was bound, Caelir would not be silent forever. The elder's betrayal would be answered.
And the next tears the elder shed would indeed be for himself.