250 So it begins

Stretching my arms wide, I can't help but yawn, the excitement of the new surroundings mixing with a hint of fatigue. So this is Miralithien, huh? The capital city of the Elven kingdom. My gaze drifts across the cityscape, and I'm struck by an undeniable truth. I gotta say, this place is fucking beautiful.

The city unfolds like a canvas of harmonious contrasts – sleek, polished stone structures that rise gracefully towards the sky, their surfaces shimmering subtly as if infused with a life of their own. Between these architectural marvels, lush greenery thrives, with vibrant plants draping over balconies and walls, a testament to the elves' mastery over nature. Skyscrapers with elegant, flowing designs pierce the skyline, their facades adorned with intricate carvings that tell ancient tales. Each building seems to have been grown rather than built, seamlessly integrating the natural world into its very essence.

Holographic screens float amidst this blend of stone and flora, displaying vivid advertisements and public announcements, adding a layer of modernity to the ancient vibes. The streets themselves are bustling with life, yet there's a sense of order and peace that pervades the air. It's a city that breathes, lives, and whispers secrets of the past while boldly facing the future.

Hmmm, I like it.

Professor Ayla, with her usual stern demeanor, turns to us. Her white hair seems to glow against the backdrop of the city. "We're now in Miralithien, this isn't The Great Empire. You no longer have authority, stay close," she instructs, her voice leaving no room for argument, and starts leading the way.

As we walk, I can't help but notice the stares we're getting from the local elves. Their eyes linger on us with a mix of curiosity and something less friendly. I sigh inwardly. The only annoying thing about this place is the fact that every damn elf is a racist piece of shit. No, 'racist' isn't the right word... It's more like they discriminate against anyone who isn't respected by their own kind. I guess this is the effect history has on them.

Observing their clothing, I'm impressed by the elegant simplicity and practicality of their designs. Their attire is a blend of natural fabrics and subtle magical enhancements. Tunics, robes, and dresses are common, all in a range of earthy and muted tones. There's a sense of understated sophistication in the way they dress, each piece tailored to perfection, accentuating their slender, graceful figures.

I should buy some clothes as soon as possible. Then maybe they won't glare at me so much.

Stretching with a satisfying pop, I can feel the tension ease from my muscles. Mmmm... there it is, that felt good. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Kaida exhaling heavily. Her wavy black hair always looks perfect as always, and those blue eyes of hers are clearly broadcasting annoyance today. "Why did they send me here? Why did they have to send Flora elsewhere..." she mutters under her breath, just loud enough for me to catch.

Looking ahead, I can't help but smirk a little. The Elf Academy, our destination, is just nearby. I had a hand in making sure Flora wasn't sent here. The principal was probably fuming when Ayla suggested moving Flora elsewhere. Elves really don't take kindly to humans with plant affinities. It's not just dislike; it's more like detestation. And it doesn't matter much. With Mason gone, it's better for her to grow elsewhere. Her growth in this story is personal, and she won't find what she needs with people like Kaida around.

Professor Ayla suddenly halts, her cyan, baby-blue eyes scanning all the students. "We are guests here. I understand some of you may feel uncomfortable, however, you have no choice but to be here so suck it up," she declares, her voice stern. Then it turns a shade colder. "Don't embarrass me." I raise an eyebrow. She's acting more serious than usual, but given that she hasn't been home in over a decade, it makes sense she doesn't want to leave a bad impression. The elves are going to test her through us as soon as we enter the academy.

I turn to Lysandra and whisper, "I'll make sure you can play with my fire every day, but don't leave my side, and don't stare at anyone." She doesn't respond, just continues hugging the lantern.

Whistling softly, I take in the Academy of Lúthriel, standing proudly as a beacon of elven education and enlightenment. This institution is an awe-inspiring mix of natural beauty and academic excellence, where knowledge is nurtured amid an environment that respects the balance of nature and intellectual pursuit. The Academy's architecture showcases elven ingenuity and their reverence for nature. Made of the same polished stone as the rest of the city, the buildings are wrapped in living green, vines and flowers intertwining with the stone in a gentle embrace. Designed to maximize natural light, the structures feature large, crystal-clear windows and open spaces that welcome the sunlight, creating a dance of light and shadow within.

At the center of the Academy lies the Grand Atrium, a space that takes your breath away. Towering trees, grown through elven magic, reach for the sky. Their leaves filter the sunlight, casting a myriad of patterns on the ground, creating an atmosphere of tranquility and awe. This is where nature and knowledge meet, a perfect representation of elven harmony.

I scratch my neck, musing over the intricacies of elven culture. It sure is cool, if only they weren't so serious all the time. As I'm lost in thought, Isabella sidles up next to me, her presence as assertive as ever. "These people keep staring at me like I'm some commoner," she complains, her brow furrowed in annoyance.

I raise an eyebrow at her. "Why are you here? If I'm right, you practically begged Ayla to let you come." I add with a smirk, knowing full well that I gave Ayla the green light for her attendance.

Isabella rolls her eyes, a typical response from her. "I didn't beg anyone. I merely asked her, and she agreed. And the reason I came is quite obvious," she retorts, pointing a finger at me. "I invested in you, you're going to help me with my research," she declares with a certain air of entitlement.

Sighing, I decide to change the subject. "Yeah, yeah, I know. By the way, did you cut your hair?" I inquire, noting the change in her usually flowing dark brown locks.

She dramatically flips her hair back, a smirk of pride curling her lips. "Yes, I did," she proclaims, clearly satisfied with her new look.

I can't help but groan internally. At least she's not as disrespectful anymore. Curious about her work, I ask, "Show me what you're currently working on."

Isabella hesitates, mulling over my request. Before she can decide, I press on. "Show me, or I won't help you for the rest of the week." She caves in, reluctantly taking out a notebook.

I raise an eyebrow, surprised. "On paper?" I query, a bit taken aback.

She sighs, her patience wearing thin. "Obviously."

I grab the notebook from her, flipping through it as we approach the Academy. "This is horrible. The calculations have so many mistakes, this theory makes no sense, and the magic circle illustrations are perfect but they have no value in the spell itself," I critique bluntly.

Turning to her, I can't help but ask, "Where did you get this shitty theory?" Isabella recoils slightly, her face flushing a soft shade of red. She clears her throat, trying to salvage her dignity. "Y-yeah, it's shitty... I was just testing you," she stammers, her confidence wavering.

She quickly takes out another notebook, eager to divert my attention. "That theory you just skimmed through is based on this partial theory. I-I um... hired someone to see what they could come up with, but as you can see, they failed miserably," she explains, a hint of embarrassment in her voice.

I nod, unimpressed. "Yeah, this looks like it's made by a toddler," I comment nonchalantly.

Isabella nods in agreement, though her tone softens. "Yes, but no need to disrespect them... it's not easy to reverse engineer a spell-casting method," she counters gently.

Handing her back both notebooks, I conclude, "We can talk about it later. Right now, we need to show our respect to the elves." After all, we're in their home now, and it's best to play by their rules... at least for the time being.

Ayla halts abruptly, her posture rigid and alert. I glance up, spotting a group of elves approaching us. There are two older elves, their presence exuding wisdom and authority, and three younger ones, clearly students. The elders are adorned in elaborate robes, one in deep emerald green and the other in a rich sapphire blue, both embellished with intricate golden patterns that speak of their high status. Their hair, silver and white, respectively, falls in graceful waves, framing their age-lined but noble faces.

The students contrast sharply with the elders. The first boy, with striking violet hair and piercing emerald eyes, wears a sleek tunic in a vibrant shade of orange, his demeanor confident yet respectful. Beside him, another boy sports bright red hair and ocean-blue eyes, his clothing a softer shade of yellow, tailored perfectly to his slender form.

The girl among them, with radiant golden hair cascading down her back and eyes the color of the summer sky, is dressed in a flowing gown of delicate lavender. Her expression is stern, her gaze scrutinizing us with evident skepticism.

One of the elders, his voice deep and resonant, addresses Ayla. "Isilcalë," he says, his eyes searching hers. Ayla turns to us, a translation device box being passed around. I've had one of these devices on the whole time, but I keep my observation to myself. 'Isilcalë,' Ayla's Elvish name, resonates with a sense of familiarity and respect.

Facing the elder, Ayla responds with a steady voice, "Eldarion, it's been a long time." Eldarion nods solemnly, his gaze unwavering. "Indeed. I still remember you as a child, the strongest, smartest, and bravest... what happened to you?"

Ayla's expression remains unchanged, her voice even. "I've grown," she replies simply.

The other elder, turning away with a dismissive air, adds, "You're still a child." His words linger in the air as he walks ahead.

Ayla acknowledges him as well. "Fëanor, it's good to see you as well."

She then instructs us, "Single file line." We comply, lining up obediently. I find myself smirking, positioned at the end of the line, a vantage point I prefer.

As we reach the entrance, I pause, drawing a small blade and slicing my palm open. Extending my arm, I let drops of blood fall to the ground, a gesture of respect in their eyes. It's a way elves show respect when entering an important place for the first time. The young elven girl glares at me, her cold gaze piercing, but she remains silent and follows Eldarion.

-

As we arrive at a sparring platform, I scan the area, a frown forming on my face. Do these elves really want to make Ayla look bad? I know they have their issues with humans, but bringing us to a sparring platform as soon as we arrive, in full view of everyone, that's a bold move.

Ayla, maintaining her composure, addresses the situation. "What is the meaning of this?" she asks, her voice calm but laced with seriousness.

Fëanor, seated comfortably, responds nonchalantly. "Isilcalë, it's nothing serious. We simply wish to see what you've achieved in the human world." Ayla remains silent for a moment before replying, "I see."

I sigh, recognizing their ploy. It's clear to me that they want to undermine Ayla's achievements and find an excuse to prevent her from leaving the kingdom again. Isabella and the others are unaware of the underlying intentions, but the message is clear to me.

Eldarion adds, "Don't worry, we picked out students the same age as yours." The boy with the red hair steps onto the platform, his demeanor respectful and composed.

Ayla points at Isabella, signaling her to participate. Isabella ascends the platform, and Eldarion gives the cue, "You may begin."

The red-haired boy, with a thin sword in hand, closes his eyes, seemingly preparing himself. Isabella, somewhat confused, launches a small spell at him. I can't help but sigh as the fight begins. These old men are twisted; to them, it doesn't matter who wins or loses.

Eldarion declares, "The human lost," as Isabella successfully knocks the guy down. She looks around, visibly confused by the abrupt end of the match. Ayla nods, and Isabella steps off the platform, a mix of bewilderment and frustration on her face.

As the guy with violet hair steps onto the platform, Ayla signals Isadora next. Eldarion announces the start of the duel with his usual calm, "You may begin." Again, the boy extends his wand, eyes closed. Isadora waits for a moment, expecting him to open his eyes, but he doesn't. So, she just punches him once, and down he goes. Eldarion declares, "The human lost." I bite my lip to stop myself from laughing out loud. This is turning into a ridiculous charade, a farce designed to troll Ayla.

Eldarion turns to Ayla with a hint of disappointment. "I'm disappointed," he remarks. Ayla starts to explain, "In the human world, they teach students differently," but she's cut off by Fëanor. "Isilcalë, don't make excuses," he says, his face expressionless and cold.

Ayla meets his gaze with equal frostiness. "I have a personal student. How about we end it with him?" she suggests. Eldarion seems intrigued. "A personal student?" After a moment of contemplation, he nods. "I see. It is true humans learn differently. Very well."

Ayla's eyes find mine. I can feel her silent plea. 'Please help me! I promise I'll pay you back,' she seems to be begging. I groan internally. Should I really step in? It's not a big deal, but... I look at Ayla again and can almost visualize her desperate, tearful face. Yeah, she's definitely thinking that.

With a sigh, I start walking towards the platform. Fuck it, I might need to stand out if I want to find that one person. And this just so happens to be the perfect opportunity.

Standing across from me is the girl with golden hair and sky blue eyes. I smirk at her. She's a martial artist, just like the previous ones, her palm extended and eyes closed. Fine, Ayla. I'll show off just for you.

Raising my arm, I close my eyes and speak formally, "I, V, request a duel." Using my other hand, I cut my palm, letting my blood fall to the ground in a traditional elven gesture of respect. "May Mother Earth bear witness," I declare solemnly.

The girl responds, "I, Lúthien, accept your duel," mirroring my action and letting her blood fall onto the platform. "May this be a fair duel," she adds.

"May this be a fair duel," I repeat. When she opens her eyes and glares at me, I can't help but smirk wider. She probably didn't expect anyone to know the proper elven customs for a duel.