In a tense moment, when the air seemed thick with anxiety, a mysterious man muttered under his breath, though loud enough for those around him to hear. "I've never heard of them sending radicals on missions before," he said, his voice filled with suspicion. "But the other side… they'd rather spill innocent blood just to guarantee their safety. That's something radicals would do. Could it be they're running out of soldiers?"
Suddenly, a calm but firm voice interrupted his thoughts. "Sir, please wait a moment."
The voice belonged to an elf; a female, her tone measured but unwavering.
The man didn't turn around immediately. His fingers tightened around his bowstring as he responded, his voice tinged with mockery. "Wait a minute? If I heard correctly, that sounded more like a request. Funny thing about requests though, do they usually come with a crossbow aimed at your head?"
The elf woman's voice remained composed. "Yes, but perhaps you could lower the iron arrow first."
She didn't deny the crossbow's presence, acknowledging it without apology. The male elf who had been the target of the mysterious man's weapon exhaled in visible relief, a tension he had been holding in finally loosening from his body.
Noting the shift in the male elf's expression, the mysterious man slowly lowered his bow. For a fleeting moment, everyone dared to relax, thinking the confrontation was over. But before anyone could fully breathe easy, the man pivoted sharply, his bow now trained on the female elf who had spoken moments before.
"You," he said coldly, his eyes narrowing as he adjusted his aim, "are you the leader?"
His voice betrayed a faint flicker of recognition as he peered at her. It was a face he had seen before, beneath the sprawling branches of the World Tree. She was one of them; a member of the Peaceful Faction, the very faction that opposed the radical elves.
But now, things felt different. He couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that something had changed. There were only a few possibilities: either the Peaceful Faction had abandoned their hopes of coexisting with humans and joined the radicals, or just the male elf had defected. Worse still, perhaps they were all still peacekeepers at heart, but their resolve was slowly crumbling, their ideas growing closer to the radicals'. If that were true, if they were now willing to sacrifice innocent lives in the name of self-preservation, it was only a matter of time before peace was lost entirely.
If the first possibility was true, there was still hope, a chance that some elves wanted to solve the conflict rationally, without bloodshed. If only the male elf had turned, there was still a path forward. But if they had all begun to adopt radical thinking, the future was grim. Hatred would build upon hatred. Violence would escalate, and soon enough, the flames of war would consume both humans and elves, leaving neither race with the opportunity to negotiate peace.
That thought haunted him. He would have left the elves' territory already if not for the rise of the radicals. If only peaceful elves remained, he would've fought alongside them without hesitation. But now, the presence of radicals complicated everything.
He didn't want to fight for the elves anymore, not even with friends among them. He feared what might come next. After all, this land was home to someone he cared about deeply, and he hoped; desperately, that things hadn't deteriorated beyond repair.
The elf woman's eyes remained locked on his, her expression unwavering despite the arrow aimed directly at her. "Yes, I'm the leader," she said, her voice steady. "So what?"
Her composure caught him off guard. Most people would falter, faced with a drawn bow. But not her. She didn't flinch.
The man's voice lowered, his tone colder now. "Then tell me; where do you stand? Which side do you support?"
"Peaceful," she replied without hesitation.
"Is that so?" His eyes narrowed, studying her face for any sign of a lie. His lips parted slightly as he wet them, his finger trembling ever so slightly on the bowstring. He wasn't sure if he believed her. "Do you think the decision he made was right or wrong?"
It was a test; a test that might determine her fate. If she uttered the wrong word, if her answer didn't align with his moral code, he wouldn't hesitate. His fingers were poised to release the arrow.
He had made a promise to himself. No matter what happened, he would never side with those who would kill innocent people to further their cause. He had to stand against the senseless slaughter, even if it meant opposing powerful forces on his own.
She hesitated for only a fraction of a second. "I think it's wrong."
The man's eyes lingered on her, the tension thick between them. A single bead of sweat slipped from beneath his mask, tracing a path down his forehead.
"What's wrong?" the question hung in the air, weighted with concern.
"I…" the man hesitated, guilt choking his words. "I disobeyed orders. I should've evacuated when I was told to. I shouldn't have pointed my arrow at that innocent little girl. It was my error, my misjudgment, and she nearly paid for it."
"But she lives here!" the male elf suddenly shouted, his voice rising in anger and frustration. "She and her parents survive off the money they got after selling our own people! They grew up feasting on our suffering! Eating our flesh and drinking our blood! Who's to say she won't become just like the others, another one to harm us? Rather than letting her grow into a threat, isn't it better to stop her now, before she gets the chance?"
He paused, taking a sharp breath as if searching for the right words, the kind that would shock those around him. His eyes darkened with conviction.
"As long as she has hands and feet, she can build traps, brew poisons. Even those who just benefit from the Black Crows, those who live here, under their shadow: are our enemies! She doesn't have to raise a sword; she just has to exist!"
The mysterious man stood frozen, stunned by the raw venom in the elf's words. His mind flashed back to the morning; the soldier who had rushed in to comfort the little girl, his sword held not as a threat but as a shield. That soldier hadn't feared discovery. He feared for those who lived here.
It's only been six months… The thought rang in the man's mind. How had things spiraled so quickly? The last time he had been here, it hadn't been this bad. Had it?
He recalled the uneasy glances, the nervous way people avoided his eyes. Things had changed.
"Is he a pacifist?" he asked, his voice softer now, directed toward the female elf.
She nodded slowly. "Yes."
A heavy sigh escaped him, the weight of realization pressing down. "I didn't expect… in just half a year, people from the Peaceful Faction would hold ideas more extreme than the radicals." He shook his head, eyes clouded with disappointment. "You should keep an eye on them."
He turned to leave, hoping to end the confrontation, but the male elf's voice cut through the air, sharp and mocking.
"Why are you pretending to be the good guy now? You accepted the mission from the Black Crow, didn't you? And now you stand here, pretending you're righteous, questioning why we'd aim arrows at her?"
The man paused, his back still turned. It was early morning, and in this narrow alley, only soldiers and he had come. The male elf's voice took on a more dangerous tone.
Oliver felt the shift; a murderous intent rising like a silent tide. Was the male elf threatening her?
It was fine, she thought. She had dealt with worse. But if he spoke with his real face and stirred more trouble, she couldn't just warn him. He would have to be silenced; perhaps permanently.
"And now," the male elf continued, growing more confident, "with so many people here, what do you think you can do? In the end, you're just a hypocrite, chasing the Black Crow's bounty. Who among us would join forces with someone like you? Tomorrow, I'll make sure everyone sees your true—"
His words were abruptly cut off by a sharp cry of pain. His body crumpled to the ground, and crimson blood began to pool beneath him. The arrow hadn't simply grazed him; it had pierced his leg clean through, pinning him to the ground. The speed of it all left the others stunned, unsure of how or when the shot had even been fired.
The male elf's agonized screams echoed into the night.
"Make him stop talking," the mysterious man said coldly, not even sparing a glance toward the fallen elf. His voice was a warning. He walked past the group without looking back, knowing now wasn't the time to escalate things further. There were too many of them here.
An elf rushed over to tend to the injured man, but no one paid attention to Oliver.
The moon dipped below the horizon as the night gave way to dawn. A new day began, but sleep eluded Oliver. The peacekeepers' ideas, once gentle, had begun to twist into something more dangerous, more radical. She couldn't ignore it any longer.
Rising from her seat, she walked to the window and gazed out at the rising sun. The sky was awash in hues of orange and gold, and for a moment, everything seemed peaceful; beautiful, even. But Oliver couldn't shake the feeling of dread gnawing at her.
The troubles wouldn't go away. The divide between peace and violence was narrowing, and it wouldn't be long before the whole world burned.
With a heavy sigh, she turned away from the window, her thoughts a tangled web of uncertainty and impending chaos. The beauty of the morning felt like a mockery to the storm brewing within. It was only a matter of time before everything fell apart.