After days of wandering, Mêk'lā and the rest of the Orc refugees made it to the border of Quëtzlá's realm. The elves guarding the border were shocked at the sight of the ragged group of Orcs. If not for the Orcs' tattered clothes and disheveled demeanor, the elves may have thought they were an invading force.
"Who goes there!" One of the elven guards commanded.
"We are deserters of Xöltlá's army. We escaped during his conquest of the Dwarven realm and seek sanctuary within our borders. We also come bearing important information for your leaders regarding Xöltlá's approaching force," Mêk'lā responded.
The elves took a moment to discuss the situation amongst themselves. Then a second elf spoke, from his tone Mêk'lā correctly guessed he was the commander of the guard.
"And what information may you have?" The commander asked.
"That which I will only tell the leader of your forces," Mêk'lā replied.
The elves again took a moment to converse. Then the commander appeared again. "Discard any weapons you may have on you, and we will take you to the commander. If she likes the information you bear, then the rest of your party may be allowed to enter," the commander said to Mêk'lā.
Mêk'lā looked around at the faces of the weary refugees. "If that is what must be," he responded. He then threw down his sword and approached the gate that marked the border of Quëtzlá's realm. A group of Elven guards opened the gate, approached Mêk'lā, and after patting him down to ensure he was unarmed, escorted him through the gates. As the gates closed behind Mêk'lā, the remaining Orc refugees could do nothing but wait and hope.
***
"You have a visitor, your grace," an Elven member of the court announced to Quëtzlá as guards escorted Mêk'lā into the throne room.
"That'll be all," Quëtzlá stated regally while waving her hand. With that motion, the elven guards backed away from Mêk'lā, allowing him to approach the throne. "I hear you bring news of my brother's uprising," Quëtzlá said.
"I do, your grace," Mêk'lā said with a bow, clearly familiar with the formal ways of the elves.
"You may speak," Quëtzlá said softly, her voice embracing Mêk'lā like a warm hug from someone dear whom you have not seen in ages. Though her voice was kind and soft there was an indoubtable strength within it, one that left Mêk'lā in awe. Despite Quëtzlá's welcoming nature, the power in her speech far exceeded that of Xöltlá's, regardless of how menacing he attempted to be. In her presence, Mêk'lā felt like he understood all of existence. Quëtzlá exuded knowledge, power, wisdom, and strength. She was the greatest of leaders, and the matriarchal nature of the Elvish crown, which carries into the modern era, can be attributed to the magnitude of her aura. Mêk'lā stood in awe for moments before he finally responded.
Mêk'lā divulged all he knew, which was more than enough for Quëtzlá to concoct a strategy. After a moment of silent thought, Quëtzlá spoke.
"Your knowledge is greatly appreciated here," Quëtzlá said, standing up from her throne. She approached Mêk'lā, and he thought she moved as if gliding above the ground. Quëtzlá extended her arms in front of her, "You and your brethren are most welcome within my realm," she said. Quëtzlá then embraced Mêk'lā, and he wept.
***
Days passed, as the Elves prepared for war. Xöltlá and his army of Orcs, Dwarves, and the undead marched slowly toward Quëtzlá's realm. The Elves guarding the border of the realm could predict Xöltlá's army's arrival by the stench. Then, after days of anxious waiting, the conflict began.
"Ready!" The same Elven commander who greeted Mêk'lā at the border yelled as Xöltlá's army appeared over the horizon. On the commander's order, thousands of Elven archers knocked arrows. The Elven archers held steady until Xöltlá's army was in range. "Fire!" The commander yelled.
In perfect unity, the Elven archers released their arrows, and a dark cloud of deadly rain fell upon Xöltlá's army. Though many perished, Xöltlá's force continued to march. Once the army came within charging range of the Elven archers, Xöltlá held up a fist, and his forces ceased their march. Xöltlá then dismounted his horse and spoke.
"Those who wish to become one with the abyss today shall be fulfilled, but if any among you want to live unto a new day, lay down your arms."
None of the elves moved, and as Xöltlá stood looking upon them waiting, a sinister and annoyed looked came upon his face. "Remember!" He yelled righteously. "Things did not have to be this way." With that statement, Xöltlá's army charged the Elven border, and the last great battle amongst the Ancient Ones began.
***
After months of fierce battle, and little gain by either side, Xöltlá's forces began to outnumber Quëtzlá's. Using his command of Nether Magic, Xöltlá continued to replenish his army via undead soldiers as he did during his conflict with Itzlí. The strain of the conflict began to impact Quëtzlá and her Elven forces greatly, for she knew that it was only a matter of time before Xöltlá overran them. Desperate, she knew she must seek help from Tëzcál, the eldest of the Ancient Ones and the Lord of Creation. Though, Quëtzlá knew her task may prove unfruitful, as Tëzcál rarely meddled in events outside of his realm and almost exclusively stayed within the walls of his northern fortress. However, Quëtzlá thought, in times such as these, any possible solution, regardless of the odds, must be attempted.
"Hold as long as you can, and wait for my return," she told the commander of her forces, a female elf who had taken over after the previous commander fell in battle. "I am traveling North to seek Tëzcál's help. Fight bravely, and with honor! Perhaps there is still hope we can prevail."
The commander of Quëtzlá's forces dropped to one knee and bowed. "We will keep the aggressors at bay and await your return."
"Rise, Lüma'í," Quëtzlá said softly, walking over to the commander and placing a hand on her shoulder. The commander obeyed and stood straight up, exuding dignity and honor. "You have always served me faithfully," Quëtzlá continued. "I have no doubt that you will continue to serve in the same manner after this war has ended."
"You honor me with your words," Lüma'í said.
Quëtzlá stood for a short while with her hand on Lüma'í's shoulder, smiling kindly at the commander. "Now, I must be going." Quëtzlá then turned around, and with a wave of her arm, vanished.
Lüma'í placed her golden helmet, whose shine matched her name – meaning morning star in Elvish – beautifully back upon her head, and left the throne room to return to the battle. She felt hopeful, entrusting that her Lord would find a solution. Unaware that she would never get the chance to see her Lord again.