Nocthyrn, Lumithar 18, 528 EK

  A thin veil of mist hugged the edge of the Tenebris Forest, carrying the scent of dew and wet earth. Pine needles whispered in the breeze, spreading the aroma of wood and wildflowers. The reluctant sunlight cast long shadows across the damp ground, deepening the misty, almost sacred hush that cloaked the place.

  In a humble cottage built from old oak, a man stood—broad-shouldered, his skin scored by lines of scars like a map of old stories. Thalric Elandor, a former soldier of Aurelion who had seen the ruin and brutality of war, now led a quieter life at the forest's rim with his wife and son. He measured a full 180 cm and carried wide shoulders; despite his pale, slightly tousled blond hair, he still looked imposing. Small freckles speckled his face and arms—marks left from countless days spent beneath the sun, hunting or fighting.

  Inside, Lirael Faerwen sat by the window. The woodland elf had an uncommon beauty: her pale skin glowed softly, like the veins of a leaf touched by moonlight. Her long green hair fell loose, threaded with wildflowers that looked as if they had grown there by their own will. The scent of forest blooms and damp earth clung to her—a quiet sign of her close bond with the natural world.

  Outside, a seven-year-old boy ran across the yard, his steps light as a sparrow testing its wings for the first time. Thalion Aevanar, half human and half elf, already showed promise in height and a body beginning to inherit his father's strength and his mother's agility. His skin shimmered with a gentle golden hue, and bright blue eyes—typical of his human blood—shone from his still-innocent face. His ears were a touch pointier than most humans', a small mark of the elven blood that flowed through him.

  "Thalion, you're coming hunting with me today," Thalric said, his voice firm and steady.

  The boy turned, the twig in his hand still held up like a wooden sword from his imagination. "Truly, Father?"

  From the doorway, Lirael smiled faintly. "Take this, my child." She placed a slim elven bow into his hands. The wood felt warm, as if it held traces of a subtle, old magic. "Hold it with your heart, not only with your hands," she whispered.

  Thalion traced the fine carvings with his fingertip, feeling the texture of the carefully worked wood. He looked up at his mother, nodded, and then ran, small feet carrying him to follow his father into the woods. The sky above Tenebris remained grey when Thalion and his father prepared to depart. Cold air brushed their skin, bringing the scent of earth newly washed by dew. The smell of ancient moss and rotting timber mixed with the faint perfume of pine needles on the wind.

  Thalion sat astride his mount—a young, pale-brown horse whose dark mane swayed gently whenever it shook its head. The animal's breath came out in thin wisps, blending with the cold morning air. His legs were still too short to grip the horse tightly, but he mimicked his father's posture, straightening his back to sit tall. Beside him, Thalric cut an imposing figure on a larger, more muscular steed. The man stroked the black horse's neck and murmured something that Thalion could not hear. A soft wind passed between them, carrying the horsehair tang mixed with saddle oil and the first hints of sweat, though their journey had only just begun.

  As they entered the forest the air changed—thicker, damper, heavy with the scent of moss and decay. The hooves of their horses whispered against the path, blending with the rustle of leaves shaken by the breeze. Morning birds sang; their melodies braided with the distant murmur of a river. Thalion felt a gentle tremor in the earth with every hoofbeat, as if the land itself breathed along with them. Tenebris was alive—and within it lay secrets waiting to be found.

  They followed a narrow trail carpeted with dry leaves, their footsteps muffled by soft soil. The forest air was full of fresh pine and the must of mushrooms growing at the bases of ancient trunks. Sunlight slipped through the canopy in shafts, painting golden patterns across their skin. "Listen, Thalion," Thalric said as they walked. "Your mother always said we must be wise in choosing what we hunt. And most of all—never go beyond Tenebris proper."

  Thalion lifted his head and stared ahead. In the distance stood a giant tree, its trunk carved with ancient runes—a marker between the safer woods and lands said to be dangerous. "That's the boundary," Thalric said, nodding toward the tree. "Pass it, and you step into a land that is not ours." Thalion nodded, but his gaze remained riveted on the towering shadow beyond. There was something seductive about the darkness there, something that made his chest quicken.

  They rode along a clear little stream, its water flowing slowly over stones smoothed by time. Suddenly Thalion's eye caught a gleam on the far bank. "Father, look!" he cried, pointing at a silver-furred doe drinking at the water's edge within Tenebris. The creature's eyes gleamed like the moon reflected on water. "A Tenebris doe," Thalion breathed in awe. "Can we hunt it?"

  Thalric shook his head; his expression hardened. "No, Thalion. We do not kill what comes from Tenebris. Especially not a rare beast. Did I not tell you—we must be wise in our choice of quarry?" Thalion exhaled but nodded obediently. They rode on until they found a deer drinking lower down. "Why not shoot it now, Father?" Thalion asked. Thalric's smile was faint. "Before I met your mother, I might have slain the first thing I saw without a second thought. But now we choose with our hearts. Follow me, and you'll see why."

  They trailed the deer from a distance, tracking its path through the thicket. After some time it rejoined its herd. Thalion watched how they tended their young and kept vigilant. Thalric pointed to a solitary deer at the herd's edge. "See that one? Aim, Thalion."

  Thalion held his breath; his fingers trembled on the bowstring. His heart hammered and the world seemed to slow. He felt every gust of wind, every tiny movement of the deer that unwittingly led it toward its fate. Then he released the string. Fwuush—the arrow flew, finding the animal's flank. It staggered, then fell. The rest of the herd scattered into the trees.

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  Thalric looked at his son with pride. "You have talent, Thalion." They approached the fallen deer; Thalion could see its eyes blinking weakly. Blood welled from the wound. Thalric drew a dagger from his belt and handed it to his son. "End its suffering, lad. A hunter must know when to grant a death with honor."

  Thalion gripped the cold metal tightly. He knelt, torn between guilt and duty. With a deep breath he plunged the blade into the deer's heart, ensuring a swift, painless end. He handed the dagger back to his father, but Thalric refused it with a faint smile and a rough, scarred hand on his son's shoulder. "Keep it, child. It is yours now. Every hunter should have his own weapon," he said in a voice heavy with hard-won experience—calm, yet full of authority like distant thunder.

  Thalion studied the dagger. Its grip felt cold; its weight felt strangely significant, as though it were more than a mere tool but a responsibility. The blade still bore the deer's blood. The faint iron odor mixed with the damp earth and wet wood around them, and Thalion's stomach turned slightly. He drew a slow breath, trying to push away the odd sensation creeping through his chest. It was the first time he had smelled blood so closely—so real. A quiet realization settled over him: a life had been taken, and that could not be undone. It had created a memory he would not forget.

  They began the walk home. All the way, Thalion could not stop thinking of his father's hunting—Thalric's movements were so silent, nearly a shadow fused with the wood. Now the boy began to grasp that hunting was not merely killing, but understanding the cycle of life. "Father, how did you become so skilled at hunting?" he asked, his voice full of wonder.

  Thalric smiled; his clear blue eyes regarded his son with deep pride. He remembered the first time he taught Thalion to hold a bow, how the small hands had trembled trying to draw the string. "Your mother taught me, Thalion. Not just how to hunt, but how to honor the lives we take. She is wiser than I in many ways."

  Thalion grew quiet, his chest humming in the hush. His mother had long been a symbol of gentleness—a healer who soothed his wounds and grief. Now he saw something deeper in her: a sharp wisdom, a quiet and unshakeable strength. As they neared the cottage, the warm scent of spices slipped into their senses, blending with the evening's dampness. The house was more than shelter—it was their small world, a stronghold against the harshness outside. Lavender and mint from inside mixed with the clean breath of the forest after last night's rain.

  Thalion leapt from his horse and ran inside, face alight. "Mother! Mother! Look! I got my first kill! Your bow is far better than my practice one!" he cried, eyes shining. Lirael, who was tending herbal brews on the old wooden table, turned with a warm smile. Her green eyes, bright as emeralds, shone with deep pride. "Was it truly Thalion who shot it?" she asked, glancing at Thalric carrying in the deer.

  Before Thalric could answer, Thalion cut in, quick and proud. "Oh, do you not believe me? I shot it myself, though Father helped! I ended the old deer's suffering because my arrow missed the vital spot and it kept breathing." Lirael smiled—proud, but her eyes shifted as if weighing something more. She stepped to her son and touched his shoulder with a hand warm as morning dew. "Thalric, did you teach him to hunt as I taught you?" she asked softly, her voice heavy with meaning.

  Thalric smiled and nodded. "Of course. I taught him everything you taught me."

  Lirael inhaled slowly and looked at Thalion. "Very well—tell your mother how you hunted this deer." Thalion began to tell their story: approaching the border of Tenebris, seeing the rare silver doe, and finally choosing the old deer as their quarry. He spoke with enthusiasm, yet with the respect his father had taught him. When he finished, Lirael turned to Thalric with a look that held significance. "So, would you explain to Thalion why you chose that deer, my love?"

  Thalric offered a thin smile. "Why not let Thalion answer first? Then we'll know if he truly understands."

  Thalion thought for a moment, remembering each detail he had observed. "At first I wondered why Father didn't kill the first deer we saw and instead followed, as if he wanted the biggest or to kill more. But when we reached the larger herd he chose this one—not the largest, only a single deer—and I began to understand. If Father said to be wise with our quarry, perhaps he meant to choose an animal whose time had come. This deer was old, alone, with no young to protect. Maybe it would have died soon anyway. Is that so?"

  Thalric was silent for a moment, then smiled with quiet pride. "You truly take after your mother, Thalion. I didn't understand what she meant until my fourth hunt."

  Lirael smiled, but her eyes held something deeper than pride—a knowing of the road that had opened for their son. As if she could see future footsteps not yet made, the path that would lead Thalion to a destiny greater than he could imagine now. She knelt before him, cupped his face gently, and looked deep into his eyes. The air around them smelled of damp earth and pine, laced with the faint iron of the deer's blood. "Remember, my child," she whispered, voice full of wisdom earned over long years as an elf, "every living thing has its time. We take life not for pleasure, not for greed, but to preserve balance. The life we take today gives us the strength for tomorrow. If you must kill, do it with honor—understand that the blood spilled is not ours to keep, but part of a greater circle." She gazed at him with love. "Life is not merely something taken or given, Thalion. Life is a promise. A promise that we will carry on, protect, and honor those who came before us. Never forget that."

  Thalion smiled and laughed softly, proud that he had grasped his parents' lesson. Yet beneath the joy something else grew within him—a dawning awareness that every life has its time, and that one day he would face decisions far greater than choosing what quarry to take. That night, under a star-pierced sky, the cool wind whispered through the trees, as if carrying messages from a wider world. The stars blinked like unseen eyes watching the journey that had begun. Inside the cottage, the firelight danced across the wooden walls, painting a tableau of fate in motion. The scent of damp earth and burning wood mingled with the slow-roasted venison his mother prepared. Thalion sat before the house, staring up at the glittering stars, the dagger his father had given him gripped tightly in his hand. In his heart he knew this night was more than his first hunt. It was the beginning of a long road toward something greater—something he could not yet fully understand.

  Not long after he settled there, savoring the night's quiet broken only by crickets and the rustle of leaves, his mother called him from inside. "Thalion, come in. Tonight you will taste the fruits of your first hunt," Lirael called gently. The rich aroma of spiced roast slipped through every corner of the cottage, bringing memories of past evenings alongside the last embers in the hearth. Thalion slid the dagger into its sheath at his hip and stepped inside. Candlelight warmed the simple table, casting soft silhouettes upon the wooden walls.

  They ate together—three of them—Thalion feeding a slice of venison to his mouth, chewing slowly and enjoying the savory tenderness his mother had cooked to perfection. Lirael spoke in a soft voice, recounting the history of Chalentos: how great kingdoms like Aurelion and Valterion had clashed in wars that had lasted decades. Her voice was a calm melody within their warm home, yet the dark shadow of those tales lingered in Thalion's mind. Just as their last bite neared their lips, a hard, urgent knocking came at the door—like a warning from the darkness outside. A heavy, urgent knocking sounded at the door. Lirael and Thalric exchanged a look.

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