The morning sun bathed the village in a warm glow, and Amukelo set about his chores with a sense of purpose, determined to lighten his mother's load for the day. Mikal and Jarek were already out in the fields, contributing their share to the family's daily needs. As Amukelo was busying himself around the house, Lyna approached him, her expression thoughtful and serious.
"Amu," she began, using her affectionate nickname for him, "I've thought about your request. You can go to see that elf, but promise me this: if you encounter any danger, or if something doesn't feel right, you will come back immediately. Do you understand?"
Amukelo's face lit up with a mixture of excitement and relief. "Thanks, Mom! I will," he promised eagerly, already mentally preparing for the visit. "I'll finish up my chores, and then I'll go."
Lyna, seeing his enthusiasm, smiled gently and shook her head. "Don't worry about that today. I'll take care of them for you," she said, her voice light.
"Are you sure, Mom?" Amukelo asked, wanting to ensure his responsibilities were met.
Lyna laughed, the sound soft and loving. "Only this time," she affirmed.
Amukelo nodded, his heart swelling with gratitude and love. "Thanks, Mom," he said, rushing off to find Eagor, his steps quick with anticipation.
As he sprinted out of the house, he shouted over his shoulder, "I love you, Mom!" and didn't stop to see Lyna's tender smile follow him out the door.
He soon found Eagor, who was equally excited about the adventure ahead. Eagor shared that his parents had also given their permission, adding an extra layer of assurance to their plan. Together, they retraced the path to Syltar's house, a journey that took considerable time but was fueled by their high spirits and vivid memories of their last encounter with the enigmatic elf.
The forest welcomed them with its familiar, verdant embrace, and eventually, the boys arrived at the moss-covered house that had been etched in their memories for two years. It stood just as they remembered, seeming both ancient and somehow outside of time.
Amukelo knocked on the door, his voice carrying a mix of respect and nervous excitement. "Hello, is there someone?" He repeated the question a few times, but the silence that followed left them feeling uneasy.
Just as they were about to give in to their worries, a voice came from behind them. "Who are you, and what do you want from me?" The suddenness of the question made both boys jump back in surprise.
Turning around, they saw Syltar emerging from the shadows of the trees, his expression inscrutable. Upon recognizing the boys, his stern demeanor softened slightly. "Oh, that's you? Have you defeated a hog?" he asked, his eyes narrowing in a mix of curiosity and challenge.
Amukelo nodded vigorously, proud yet still catching his breath from the fright. Syltar regarded him thoughtfully, stroking his chin as if weighing the truth of the boy's claim. "I don't sense any lie. Well, that's impressive. How old are you?" he inquired further.
"We're twelve," Amukelo replied, standing a bit taller.
"Very impressive," Syltar conceded with a nod. After a moment's pause, as if making a decision, he gestured towards the open door of his home. "Well, in that case, come in."
Elated and relieved, Amukelo and Eagor followed the elf inside, their hearts pounding not just from their brisk walk but from the anticipation of what this meeting could mean for their futures.
The interior of Syltar's hut was modest, a clear reflection of the solitary life he led deep within the forest. The small space was meticulously organized, containing everything essential for one person's needs. The bed, though simple, was ingeniously crafted from several layers of dried animal skins stretched over a sturdy frame of branches, providing a surprisingly comfortable place to rest. Adjacent to this was a small kitchen area, where a makeshift stove crafted from stones and clay stood against one wall, a few pots and utensils hanging neatly beside it. Shelves lined another wall, holding jars of herbs and various implements that hinted at a life intertwined with the rhythms of the natural world.
The most striking feature of the hut, however, was the stand holding Syltar's great sword. It was placed prominently, the blade gleaming with a quiet menace and a beauty that spoke of countless battles and adventures. The weapon was not just a tool of defense but a piece of art, reflecting the depth of the elf's long and storied past.
As the boys entered, their eyes were immediately drawn to the sword, but Syltar motioned them towards two chairs he had prepared. Settling himself on the bed, his age-worn face broke into a gentle smile, touched by the boys' clear admiration and curiosity. "Okay, so what do you want to hear from me?" he asked, his voice soft yet carrying an echo of authority.
Amukelo, his eyes still flicking back to the sword, turned his attention fully to Syltar. "We want to hear more of your stories. Your last one was amazing," he said with genuine enthusiasm. Eagor nodded eagerly beside him, his excitement palpable.
"All right, boys," Syltar began, "let me tell you the tale of King Edomir and his greatest test."
Eagor shifted, clearly excited, while Amukelo listened intently.
Syltar's voice grew more serious. "Edomir was a king blessed by the gods themselves. He was a warrior, a leader, and wise beyond his years. But not long before he rose to the throne, there was another—a man named Lord Tharn, once Edomir's mentor, but later a bitter enemy. You see, Tharn, out of fear that Edomir would one day surpass him, betrayed the young warrior and sought to destroy him before his destiny could unfold."
Syltar paused for a moment, letting the boys absorb the weight of the conflict.
"Edomir, though wronged, did not seek revenge immediately. He fled to the wilderness, gathering his strength and allies over time. Years passed, and Lord Tharn continued his pursuit, never letting Edomir find peace. There were many battles, many struggles, but one day... the tables turned."
Syltar leaned in closer, his voice lower now, drawing the boys further into the story.
"Edomir and his men were hiding in the Caverns of Gorthun, and by sheer fate, Lord Tharn unknowingly camped just above them. Tharn had been chasing Edomir for years, intent on his death, but now, Edomir had the upper hand. His men urged him to strike—'This is your chance,' they said. 'The God had delivered him to you! A swift strike, and it's over.'"
"But what do you think Edomir did?" Syltar asked, letting the boys sit in suspense.
Amukelo spoke first, "He struck him down, right? He had to!"
Syltar shook his head with a slight smile. "No. He did something none of his men expected. Instead of killing Tharn, Edomir snuck into the camp while Tharn slept and cut a small piece from his royal cloak. Then, he retreated back to his hiding place."
Amukelo furrowed his brow, confused, but Eagor's eyes gleamed with curiosity.
"The next morning, Edomir called out to Tharn from the distance, holding up the piece of his cloak for all to see. He said, 'Lord Tharn, I had you in my grasp. I could have ended this feud between us forever. But I chose mercy instead of vengeance. Let the God be the judge between us now.'"
Syltar paused, letting the boys digest the significance of the moment.
"Tharn was shaken. For the first time, he realized that Edomir was not the vengeful enemy he'd made him out to be. Edomir had proven he was the better man, not by strength of arms, but by his restraint. Tharn fell to his knees, and though the conflict wasn't fully resolved that day, something changed. From then on, Tharn knew... the God favored Edomir, not because of his sword, but because of his heart."
Syltar's voice softened as he concluded, "It takes far more strength to show mercy than to seek revenge. Edomir could have killed his enemy, but in showing mercy, he became greater than any warrior."
Amukelo and Eagor sat transfixed, the impact of the story evident in their wide eyes and somber expressions.
Syltar looked at them thoughtfully, then noted the fading light outside. "It's getting darker. Go back quickly before it gets dark," he advised, a hint of concern in his voice.
As the boys stood to leave, Amukelo, moved by the story and the storyteller, asked, "Can we come more often to listen to your stories?"
Syltar considered this for a moment, then nodded. "From time to time," he allowed, a smile briefly crossing his features.
Grateful, the boys hurried out of the hut, their minds alive with the images and emotions evoked by Syltar's storytelling. They moved quickly through the dimming forest, the weight of Evran's story adding gravity to their steps, each boy quietly contemplating the lessons of love, loss, and the prices paid for revenge. As they emerged from the forest and back into their village, the echoes of the tale mingled with their thoughts, shaping their young minds with newfound wisdom and a deeper understanding of the complexities of the human heart.