prologue

Prologue:

Eldras, the 29th of Ilyara, in the year 736 of the 4th era. One day after the twin elves arrived in the capital of Minrow.

Karrow, renowned across Grinfall as the largest of the twelve lands, is home to elves and diverse biomes unlike any other. Special trees, planted by the pure elves millennia ago, dominate the landscape. These trees are unique, always catching the eyes of newcomers or travelers. They bear a peculiar fruit—pink and spiked, yet delicious and crucial for complex healing potions. These trees are the pride of Karrow, earning it the name "Land of Lomeliumous," derived from the ancient name of the tree.

Situated in the mid-western expanse of this vast land lies the capital of Karrow, Almfaim. Slightly larger than Minrow's capital, Eethemor, Almfaim is a stark contrast in style. Unlike the dense forests and towering oaks of Minrow, Almfaim boasts a more modern aesthetic, characterized by dwarven architecture, grand castles, and intricate brick roads—visually striking to many, though perhaps a biased opinion. Almfaim is still home to the tall, slender Lomelium trees, adorned with golden-green leaves and dotted with pink fruits, ready for harvest.

A gilded wooden carriage rolled through Almfaim's wide, bricked roads, heading towards the city center. From one side of the carriage, a head peeked out briefly before retreating behind the wooden shutters.

"Intolerable. Absolutely horrendous. The only redeeming quality of Almfaim is the splendor of its trees. Beyond that, this place provokes nothing but revulsion in me. How could any elf possibly live in such a manner, akin to the other races?"

"I agree, my Great Ruler," replied an elf seated inside the carriage.

—

Chatter filled the vast hall, where several elves, numbering in the twenties, were spread across the expansive room, all gathered around a grand, round table with five ornate chairs evenly spaced. Three of the chairs were already occupied.

Footsteps echoed outside the door as elven guards approached to open it. Two figures walked in, followed by a small group of finely dressed elves. One of the leading figures was the Great Ruler, here known simply by his given name, Fearon Eltaor Olamyar of Minrow, aged 758, or just Fearon of Minrow. Walking beside him was Gillugus Allumin Farmeir of Hvur, aged 805, often shortened to Gil of Hvur.

"It is high time you both arrived; we have been awaiting your arrival," spoke one of the seated pure elves, Peatrim Lumin Greenuim of Log Isle, aged 827.

"A tedious hour it has been," added another pure elf, clasping his hands together. His name was Wearon Yow Fumir of Karrow, aged 893.

"That is enough. Thank you for your presence. Please sit; we have much to discuss," commanded a more authoritative voice from the opposite side of the entrance. This was Uthorim Adralei Ravayarus of Elvenrow, aged 1004.

"Apologies to all," Fearon said, bowing his head before proceeding to his chair, situated next to Peatrim and the empty seat reserved for Gillugus.

"Hmmh," Wearon cleared his throat and placed his hands on the round table. "Now that we are all present, let us begin this emergency Gathering of Five." He stared at Peatrim, signaling it was his turn to speak.

"We are all aware of the events occurring across Grinfall, from the decline in merchant traffic to groups crossing our borders illegally. We will address each subject, but before we begin, does anyone have any new movements to report?"

Fearon opened his eyes from his meditative state and spoke up. "All, I believe we must add a greater threat of humans to this list," he said abruptly.

"Has this not been the third time this matter has been brought up in our gatherings?" Uthorim added, rubbing his chin. Among all the pure elves gathered around the table, Uthorim was the oldest and arguably the wisest and most respected of the five.

Wearon interlocked his fingers, signifying his thinking state. "Hmm, indeed. Out of the 737 years that this Gathering of Five has existed, this has been a recurrent matter. That's assuming it is the same problem as in past times," Wearon added.

"I am aware of the past problems but slightly unfamiliar with the initial one," Fearon said, confusion furrowing his brow.

The other four elves exchanged glances before turning back to Fearon.

"You were still a young elf, young enough to forget why this Gathering of Five was originally established. Both you and Gil were quite young; however, Gil had already asked before," Peatrim said, clearing his throat. "I, too, was very young but can still remember those events."

Uthorim stared at Peatrim, signaling it was his turn to speak next.

"Fearon, I'm sure you're familiar with the demons that terrorized our homes a thousand years ago. However, the matter with the humans isn't written down on any tablet or scroll. Two hundred sixty-two years after the collapse of Grinfall, things began to improve for all races—except ours. Nevertheless, we held on to our strength and control. But in those short two hundred years, the humans began to achieve greater feats than any other race. Their population grew rapidly, and their advancements in technology became increasingly worrisome. We all foresaw the end of our hold on Grinfall and did what any race would do when faced with such circumstances: we halted their progress by wiping out their populations, starting with their brightest minds."

"This story has similarities to the next event involving humans," Fearon said as he pieced together Uthorim's words.

"Correct. It appears this never-ending cycle will continue among the human race. That is why we have kept our previous crusades shrouded from history, so that the rage and fury of the humans may never grow to motivate them to double their pace of advancement," Uthorim stated.

"It is a difficult task to stay uninvolved in their affairs when they are currently filled with rage and fury amongst their own kind. We elves have never fought a war against our own, while humans seem to live for battle, even against their kin," Wearon added.

"It appears that, amid their own skirmishes, we have now become a target. We consider them our enemy, yet we greatly underestimate them and use that title mockingly. We might need to consider this a viable threat," Fearon stated seriously.

"You want to talk about a threat? May I suggest we move our worries to something happening right under our noses?" Wearon interjected.

"Please proceed," Uthorim announced.

"The cult we are all familiar with has been making rather intriguing moves. Aside from managing to cross several heavily guarded borders, they have been hovering close to every forbidden dungeon, including those within other lands in Grinfall. Their movements can no longer be ignored. Even after interrogating several of their captured men, nothing of their end goal was revealed," Wearon added boldly.

"Did you say forbidden dungeons? May I ask what race the cultists were?" Uthorim inquired.

"Mostly Demonoid, with some from other races," Wearon replied.

"Well, as most of you know, my border has suffered the heaviest casualties from their advancements. Based on this revelation, I can only assume they are eager to brew something dangerous" Fearon added.

"No, this is far worse than dangerous. It could be catastrophic," Uthorim said, worry etched in his face as he grasped his hands tightly.

Every pure elf at the round table turned their gaze to Uthorim.

The only pure elf who had remained silent throughout the meeting, Gil, finally spoke up.

"I'm afraid I share Uthorim's concern. My father once told me the story of the eight demon generals and how, after the war, they were sealed away in locations unknown."

"D-demon generals!" the others exclaimed in shock.

Uthorim alone remained serious.

"This might just be a theory, but if they are searching for forbidden dungeons—dungeons that only we have a vague idea about—then surely... No, impossible," Uthorim said, trying to dismiss his outlandish theory as mere folly.

"Listen, let us not jump to rash conclusions. In my humble opinion, we should focus more on this matter and less on the humans and the markets. Those issues can be resolved after we address the cultist threat," Peatrim added.

The others nodded, trying to contain their worry.

Fearon's thoughts began to drift, recalling the words his beloved daughter had said: "The cult will succeed in their endeavors, causing a significant shift and revealing an intriguing truth. Our other enemy will develop something powerful, something not of magic. Finally, we will fall."

"We will fall." This final prediction weighed heaviest on his chest. "Who is 'we'? The land of Minrow, the elves, or all of mankind?" Fearon pondered silently.