No! No, no, Karan! Karaaaannnnnn!
The heart-wrenching scream still vibrates in the air, shattering the silence like fine crystal. And only a thin tear of blood remains, marking the beginning, or perhaps the end, of everything. But to understand the end, we must return to the beginning.
Ten years ago
Children's laughter floated over the cobblestone streets, mingling with the whisper of the wind through the leaves. Adara ran with an agility that only a hundred-year-old body—barely a teenager to her people—could possess. Her feet barely touched the ground as she crossed the town. "Hey Adara, good morning, Adara." "Adara: Good morning." "You're late, Lady Adara, you must hurry." Upon hearing this, Adara wasted no time and quickened her pace.
Because today was no ordinary day. The Elven Kingdom, hidden behind the living wall of a forest so dense it seemed to breathe, was celebrating. In the heart of that eternal verdure stood the capital, a marvel of white stone and crystal built upon the crystalline waters of a great lake. From afar, the castle seemed to float on the liquid mirror, reflecting the glory of a people who believed themselves eternal.
On one of the ceremonial islets, where the water merged with ancient magic, everything was ready for the Coming-of-Age Ceremony.
Adara paused for a moment to catch her breath. As the daughter of the King's Right Hand, the pressure on her shoulders was as heavy as the jewels she would soon have to wear. Her two older sisters had already gone through this, demonstrating the elegance and power of their lineage; and her younger brother, still a child, watched her with admiration from afar.
She was the bridge between play and duty, between the girl who ran through the forest and the woman the kingdom expected her to become.