The Elf's Oath

The smoke of the burning village clung to Kaelen’s throat long after the screams had faded. He staggered through the trees, half-dragging, half-supporting the wounded elf at his side. Her weight was lighter than he expected, though every step seemed to cost her more than it should.

“Keep moving,” she said, her tone sharp despite the weakness in her voice. “Don’t look back.”

But Kaelen couldn’t help glancing over his shoulder. Through the treeline, orange fire flickered against the night sky. His home—his village—reduced to ash. His stomach churned at the thought of neighbors he had known since childhood lying broken in the streets.

“Gods…” he whispered. “Why them? Why now?”

The elf shot him a sidelong look, her violet eyes glinting even in the shadows. “Because of you.”

Kaelen stumbled. “Me?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she pulled away from his grasp, straightening with a hiss of pain. Though the arrow remained lodged in her side, she carried herself with an elegance that made Kaelen feel clumsy by comparison.

“You shouldn’t have used that power,” she said at last. “They’ll smell it on you now. The wolves. The others.”

“The others?” Kaelen repeated, his voice tight. “What others? You need to explain what’s happening. Those things came out of nowhere. My—my village is gone. And you—” he gestured at her ears, her hair, the arrow jutting from her side “—you’re clearly not some traveling merchant caught in the wrong place.”

Her gaze lingered on him, unreadable. For a long moment, Kaelen thought she would ignore him. Then she spoke, her voice softening.

“My name is Elira Vaelthorn. And you’re right—I am no merchant. I am an elf of Sylvaen.”

Kaelen blinked. The name stirred faint memories of stories whispered in the tavern, tales of an unseen city hidden deep in the forests, where elves lived beyond the reach of men.

“Then why are you here?” he asked.

Elira lowered herself against a tree trunk, pressing a hand to her wound. Her silver hair spilled across her shoulders like liquid moonlight. She looked less like a traveler and more like a fallen star.

“Because I swore an oath,” she said simply.

Kaelen frowned. “To who?”

Her eyes lifted, piercing straight into him. “To you.”

The forest seemed to still. Even the crickets and owls hushed for a heartbeat.

Kaelen laughed, though it sounded hollow even to him. “That’s impossible. We’ve never met. I’d remember…” He trailed off, because part of him wondered if he really would remember. For months—years—his dreams had been haunted by visions of a silver-haired woman calling his name.

Elira tilted her head, watching him as if reading the thought before he finished it. “Our meeting was never meant to be chance, Kaelen Thorne. Your life is not your own—it never has been.”

He swallowed hard. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” she said, her voice low and steady, “that your blood is older than this village, older than the walls of kings. You are the last of the Thorne line—the bloodline sworn to bind three worlds in balance. And if the wolves found you tonight, then the balance is already unraveling.”

The words landed like stones in his chest. The last of his line? Binding worlds? None of it made sense. He wanted to demand answers, to shout until she told him everything, but his mouth was dry and his body still trembled from the magic he had unleashed.

Finally, he managed: “Then tell me why. Tell me what’s happening to me.”

For the first time, Elira looked uncertain. She turned her face away, staring into the shadows between the trees.

“You’re not ready to know,” she said. “Not yet.”

Kaelen clenched his fists. “Not ready? My home is gone. Everyone I’ve ever known is dead or worse. And you’re telling me I don’t deserve the truth?”

Her gaze snapped back to him, sharp as a drawn blade. “Deserve has nothing to do with it. The truth is a burden, and once you carry it, you can never set it down again.”

Silence hung between them, broken only by the soft rush of wind through the branches.

Kaelen dropped his eyes, anger and grief warring inside him. He wanted to argue, but exhaustion won. “Fine,” he muttered. “But at least let me help with your wound. You’ll bleed out before we reach anywhere safe.”

A shadow of a smile touched her lips. “Stubborn. Just like—” She cut herself off, shaking her head. “Very well. Do what you can.”

Kaelen tore strips of cloth from his shirt and carefully bound the arrow shaft to keep it steady. As he worked, he felt her watching him, her eyes heavy with secrets he could not name.

When he finished, she leaned back against the tree and closed her eyes. “We move at dawn,” she said. “And you’ll need to be ready.”

“Ready for what?”

Her violet eyes opened, and for the briefest moment, Kaelen thought he saw sorrow there.

“For the hunt,” she said.

And far off in the forest, a low, inhuman whisper seemed to answer her, carrying on the wind like a promise:

The boy is awake. The bloodline stirs. Find him.