Suddenly, a lively little bird darted through the air, its vibrant feathers glinting in the sunlight as it swooped down toward Oliver. The cheerful chirping echoed around him, a clear invitation to pay attention.
With a deft motion, he extended his fingers and caught the bird mid-flight. Elves possessed a unique ability to communicate with and tame various creatures, a skill that allowed them to enlist these animals in battles or for searching tasks; abilities that other races simply could not master.
While this little bird was indeed a tamed creature, its purpose today was straightforward: to inform Oliver that he was welcome to approach the elves' gathering place. The elves, known for their cautious nature, would never allow humans to wander near their hidden sanctuary without first ensuring that no ill-intentioned individuals were lurking nearby. They relied on their trusted animals to scout the area, observing the surroundings thoroughly before granting any access. Their wariness stemmed from past encounters that had left them vulnerable.
Guided by the familiar trails etched in his memory, Oliver navigated through dense underbrush that obscured his view. After weaving through countless plants, he finally arrived at the elven village nearest to the human city. The door stood open, as if welcoming him in; a stark contrast to the bustling atmosphere he had experienced on his last visit when elves had filled the space.
Shaking off a fleeting sense of unease, he stepped inside.
"Mr. Oliver, you've arrived!" An elf approached him with a warm smile. "Our lord is waiting for you up ahead. Come quickly!"
Oliver nodded and followed the elf, though a gnawing feeling of apprehension clung to him. Rather than dismissing the magical bird he had summoned, he allowed it to continue circling above. The mention of "our lord" troubled him; typically, the elves referred to their leaders as queens or kings. Why was there suddenly a lord among them in just six months?
As he entered an open square, his doubts deepened. Towering trees surrounded him, and two rows of stone tables were laden with a bounty of food and drink. Everything appeared festive and welcoming, yet his sense of foreboding only intensified.
Across the square, he spotted a familiar figure: a black-haired human, leaning back with his eyes closed, looking somewhat bored.
"Aegnor," Oliver thought. This man was once a close friend; one of the few who had shared in their studies alongside two other elves under the same mentor. While Oliver had immersed himself in archery, Aegnor had dabbled in the ancient, esoteric arts. The other two were passionate about magic and potions, respectively.
Despite the tension that had marred their friendship in the past, Oliver felt a flicker of hope that they could reconnect. After all, they hadn't seen each other for nearly half a year; old grievances seemed trivial now.
However, as he lifted his foot to step forward, an unsettling sensation washed over him, halting his movement. It felt as though a hundred eyes were fixed upon him. The circling bird provided an alarming update, its sharp instinct tuned to danger.
"Fifty-two light crossbows, twenty heavy crossbows, thirty-four ordinary longbows, and eighteen specialized longbows," he announced, his voice steady yet laced with incredulity. The elves aiming their weapons at him froze, their expressions a mix of shock and disbelief. Aegnor's eyes snapped open, revealing a look of surprise.
"What do you intend to do?" Oliver asked, his tone sharp. Despite their past disagreements, he hadn't stolen Aegnor's girlfriend nor spoken ill of him to their teacher. What was the meaning behind this display of hostility?
"Some say you accepted the Black Crow's mission and even injured him," Aegnor replied, his voice steady but filled with tension.
"First of all, those two matters are unrelated. I injured him only because he threatened me. As for the Black Crow's mission, it's merely about finding someone. I don't see how more people would help locate the hidden elves," Oliver shot back, his frustration simmering beneath the surface.
"Is that so?" Aegnor nodded thoughtfully, seemingly in agreement. Yet he made no move to lower the crossbows aimed at Oliver, and the tension in the air grew thick, fraught with unspoken questions and old rivalries.
Oliver lowered his foot back to the ground, the weight of his decision sinking in. Part of his reasoning was practical; his current position would make it difficult for at least one-sixth of the elves to shoot at him due to the way they were positioned. The other reason was simple: he was irritated.
"What's the meaning of this?" he demanded, his voice sharp with frustration.
Aegnor raised an eyebrow, his face impassive. "Meaning? How about you guess?"
Oliver's scowl deepened. "Tsk. Enough with the games. If you have something to say, then say it. If not, just be upfront about your doubts. Or is that what this is; doubting me?"
It wasn't the first time he had been faced with suspicion, but it was tiresome. He had helped them before, time and again, and still, these doubts always seemed to arise. People always seemed to question whether those who aided them shared any common ground with the radicals who sought conflict.
"Of course not," Aegnor replied, his tone still infuriatingly calm. "It was put to a vote. Not counting those who abstained, many believe there's something off about you."
Oliver's patience was wearing thin. "And what do you plan to do with that conclusion?"
Aegnor shrugged, his demeanor cool. "We follow the vote."
Oliver's eyes narrowed, his voice edged with anger. "Really? What makes you so confident, Aegnor? Do you think that you, the elves who brought me here, and these 124 others; 126 people in total, can actually defeat me? Even if I'm not at my best, I could still take down every one of you with a bow and arrow."
Aegnor finally allowed a chuckle to slip through, though it lacked warmth. "126? You think that's all I have? No, no, Oliver. I'm not foolish enough to believe I can do this with just these elves. There's one more; one last person."
A frown tugged at Oliver's brow. "The last person?" he thought. What was Aegnor hiding? Silence stretched between them, thick with tension.
"Really," Aegnor finally said, clapping his hands. "No matter how much we talk, it's all just noise."
Oliver reacted instantly, nocking an arrow to his bow, his muscles tensing as he prepared for an attack. But instead of arrows or blades, a gust of wind rushed toward him. It was only wind; yet the force of it knocked the arrow from his grip. His fingers, usually so sure and steady, loosened against his will, and the arrow clattered to the ground. He blinked in disbelief, his heart racing.
---
"If one day we face each other as enemies, swords drawn, what will you do?"
The question drifted on the wind as the sunset painted the sky, casting long shadows. She didn't even glance at Oliver, who sat nearby, trying to bandage a wound on his arm. The question, seemingly out of nowhere, unsettled him.
"What kind of question is that?" he muttered, tightening the bandage with more force than necessary. "Of course I'm not going to sit and wait for death."
"Idiot," she sighed, her voice soft but tinged with an odd mixture of affection and exasperation.
Oliver frowned, not understanding. "What was that for?"
She shook her head, stepping closer. "You can't even bandage a wound properly," she said, gently removing the bandage he had just wrapped. As the fabric peeled away, the wound reopened, blood seeping out once more.
Oliver winced but said nothing. In the quiet between them, he wondered if her single word "idiot" had been her way of acknowledging something deeper. Perhaps she understood him more than he realized.
---
She hovered in the air before him, her dull eyes fixed on the ground below. She wore clothing he had never seen her in before; garments that seemed more suited to battle. In each hand, she held a rapier, the blades glinting in the waning light, and around her swirled the fierce energy of the wind. Whether the wind kept her afloat or whether it gathered because of her power was impossible to tell.
Oliver's teacher stood beside him, unresponsive, as though the reunion, once imagined to be touching, had turned into something far colder. The air around him seemed to drop in temperature, sending a chill down his spine. This was the final person Aegnor had hinted at: the one who had remained hidden until now.
She was the enemy.
Oliver's back felt cold with dread, and his instinct told him to raise his bow, to aim at her. But as he stood there, the wind lashing at his face, his hands clutching his weapon tightly, he found that he couldn't do it.
Even as everything around him screamed that she was a threat, even though his body was tensed for battle, his heart refused to follow through. He didn't want to fight her. He couldn't bring himself to do it.