The campfire crackled, though the flames were an odd, shimmering violet. Kaelen had finally managed to get a fire going, though he'd cheated by opening a tiny rift to the core of a sun to provide the initial heat.
Thranduil sat across from him, wrapped in a blanket Kaelen had "pulled" from a high-end tailor's shop in a world that wouldn't exist for another three ages. The Elven prince was chewing on the apple, his eyes never leaving Kaelen.
"You speak of the universe as if it were a tapestry you can unweave at will," Thranduil said, his voice regaining its melodic strength. "My father, Oropher, says the world was sung into being. You... you seem to be the silence between the notes."
Kaelen leaned back against a mossy root. "That's a poetic way of putting it. Back where I'm from, we called it physics. Here? Let's just call it the 'Great Empty.' And it's much friendlier once you get to know it."
The First Lesson: Perception
The next morning, the sun bled through the canopy of the Greenwood, but the forest felt heavy. The shadow of Dol Guldur was a creeping sickness, even this far north.
"I must return to the Elvenking's Halls," Thranduil said, standing up. "My disappearance will have caused a frantic search."
"We'll get you there," Kaelen said, standing and brushing forest floor off his robes. "But you're moving too slowly. You're walking on the ground, Thranduil. You need to learn to walk on the idea of the ground."
Kaelen held out a hand.
The Void Step
Focus: Don't look at where you are. Look at the space between here and there.
Collapse: Imagine the distance is a piece of paper.
Fold: Bring the two corners together.
"Step toward me," Kaelen commanded.
Thranduil hesitated, then took a stride. As his foot descended, the world blurred. The green of the forest stretched into long, white lines of light. The sound of the wind cut out entirely, replaced by a low, humming vibration that resonated in his marrow.
When his foot touched the earth again, the scenery had changed. They were no longer in the deep thicket. They stood on a high limestone ridge overlooking the winding Forest River. The gates of Oropher's subterranean palace were visible in the distance.
Thranduil stumbled, his elven senses reeling. "We just traveled five leagues in a single heartbeat."
"Five and a half," Kaelen corrected with a wink. "You overshot because you were nervous. Don't worry, the nausea passes after the first dozen times."
An Audience with the King
The arrival of the Prince—accompanied by a stranger in starlit robes who had appeared out of thin air—caused an immediate stir. Elven archers leveled bows at Kaelen, their faces masks of suspicion.
"Lower your bows!" Thranduil shouted, stepping forward. "This man saved my life. He is... a guest of the realm."
King Oropher descended from his throne, his presence like a cold mountain wind. He looked at Kaelen, his eyes narrowing. "You do not smell of the Istari. You do not feel like the Eldar. What manner of spirit are you?"
Kaelen bowed, just deeply enough to be polite but not subservient. "I'm just a traveler, King Oropher. I found your son being used as a chew toy by some Orcs and decided to intervene. I've taken a liking to him. He's got potential."
"Potential for what?" Oropher asked, his hand tightening on his staff.
"To be more than a target," Kaelen said smoothly. "With your permission, I'd like to stay a while. Your forest is beautiful, though it has a bit of a pest problem in the south. I find I'm quite good at pest control."
The Master's Quarters
Oropher, sensing a power that could either save his kingdom or erase it, granted Kaelen a dwelling. It wasn't a cave or a palace room, but a small grove near the river where Kaelen "manifested" a cozy stone cottage that seemed to be bigger on the inside than the outside.
Over the following weeks, a routine established itself:
Morning: Kaelen would wander the woods, healing trees by removing the "void" of rot from their centers.
Afternoon: Thranduil would arrive for his lessons, learning to manifest small "void-shields" that could stop a black-arrow mid-flight.
Evening: They would sit by the river, and Kaelen would tell stories of galaxies, black holes, and tea shops in London.
"Master Kaelen," Thranduil asked one evening as he practiced levitating pebbles using localized gravity wells. "Why do you help us? With your power, you could rule this world. You could cast Sauron into the dark and sit upon a throne of stars."
Kaelen sipped his tea—perfectly brewed, as he'd used a micro-rift to heat the water to exactly $95^\circ\text{C}$.
"Thranduil, my friend," Kaelen said, looking up at the sky. "I've seen the end of time. I've seen stars die. Ruling a single planet sounds like a lot of paperwork. I'd much rather teach a future king how to be wise, and perhaps find a recipe for a decent Elven lemon tart."
Thranduil laughed—a rare, genuine sound. The prince was changing. The arrogance was being replaced by a quiet, terrifying competence.
But as they sat in peace, a shadow moved in the south. The Necromancer had felt a ripple in the fabric of reality—a hole where something should be. And the Shadow did not like being ignored.
Kaelen felt it, too. He smiled into his tea. "Let him come," he whispered to the void. "I need some more iron for my garden fence anyway."