Aegnor stood atop a high ledge, overlooking the land below with a distant gaze. He seemed unaware of Oliver's presence, lost in the weight of his own thoughts. "To ensure that the greatest heroes throughout history could protect their tribes for generations, the elven ancestors crafted a secret technique," Aegnor mused to himself. "They would carefully preserve the souls of the dying in gems they carved with intricate care. All it takes is placing one of these gems into the body of a fallen person, one who bears a resemblance to the original soul. And like that, they return to life." He paused for a moment, his voice tinged with mystery. "But only the elves hold this knowledge, and it wasn't easy for me to use it."
He glanced down, not bothering to acknowledge Oliver, who was preoccupied with his own task below.
Oliver was too busy to respond anyway. Sweat trickled down his face as he trained, but he couldn't help but hear Aegnor's monologue. However, he paid little mind to it, thinking it might be some rambling. "Besides her, several others have been resurrected. After all, this isn't a simple affair," Aegnor added, speaking more to the wind than to anyone else.
Lying in the shade nearby, a woman sighed softly, stretching her limbs as she bit into a piece of fruit. "Death is such a sad thing, isn't it?" Her voice was calm, almost as if she were talking to herself.
Oliver, drenched in sweat from his exertion, glanced over, confused. "Huh? What did you say?" he asked, wiping his brow.
The woman gave another resigned sigh, clearly uninterested in explaining herself. "Nothing. Just keep practicing, kid. You ask too many questions."
But the offhand comment had piqued Oliver's curiosity. "If you're going to say something, just say it. Why keep secrets?"
She chuckled softly, her gaze turning distant. "Oh, kid… Even if I told you, you wouldn't understand. It's a thing unique to us elves."
Oliver frowned, growing more curious by the second. "What's so special about elves?"
With a slow, deliberate tone, she explained, "We live for centuries. Our holy water heals all diseases. Death, the thing that terrifies other races, feels so far from us. It's not something we fear."
Oliver's frown deepened. "So... why the sadness?"
"Didn't you hear me?" She raised an eyebrow.
"I heard you just fine," he muttered, rolling his eyes.
She let out a patient sigh. "Because of our long lifespan, death seems like a distant concept. It doesn't touch us the way it does others. We don't worry about it, not with our holy water and our thousand-year lives. Death just doesn't relate to us like it does to other races."
She took another bite of her fruit, her tone casual as if they were discussing the weather. "Tell me, when you think of elves, do you associate us with death?"
Oliver shook his head, "No, not really."
"That's exactly it. But for other races? It's different." She tossed the remains of the fruit aside. "When a friend of ours dies, how long do you think we mourn?"
Oliver nodded slowly, still not fully understanding but following along.
She fixed her gaze on him, a sadness flickering behind her eyes. "But you? Could you even begin to grasp that kind of sadness?"
For a brief moment, Oliver thought he understood. It wasn't just about the loss of friends or comrades; it was a sadness that transcended the simplicity of life and death.
His voice came out quieter now. "Did you... bring her back?"
"Yes," she admitted softly.
Oliver wasn't surprised. It was just like her, after all. "Did she say anything? Anything at all before...?"
"No," Aegnor responded before the woman could speak again, cutting off any further questions.
"Really?" Oliver asked, feeling there was more to the story. His hand slipped into his pack, pulling something out as he pondered his next move.
Aegnor's tone grew colder. "This is where the bond between fellow disciples ends. Let's not speak of it further. If the Black Crow heard of this... or if you happened to let something slip…"
Oliver's gaze sharpened, his sadness transforming into resolve. He wasn't the type to simply wait for fate to strike him down. "Save that talk for when we meet the master," he replied, his tone steady.
The wind began to pick up, its force filled with magical energy. Oliver felt its power gathering around him, a whisper of the elemental forces at play. The woman across from him lowered her head, her eyes narrowing as she focused. When she lifted her gaze, her sharp eyes locked onto his, and any warmth they held was gone; replaced with the cold intent to kill.
Oliver wasted no time. He raised his longbow, an arrow already nocked, and aimed with precision. His fingers released the string, sending the arrow soaring toward her, cutting through the wind.
And without waiting to see the result, he turned on his heel and ran, his legs moving faster than they ever had before.
Oliver knew all too well that his opponent's magic was on an entirely different level. Even from this distance, the intensity of the magical wind element surrounding her was undeniable. The fact that he could feel it so strongly meant only one thing; the force she wielded was far more terrifying than anything he had encountered. A quick glance at his arrow confirmed his fears. Unlike his previous battles, where wind magic had deflected the projectile, this time, the arrow was reduced to nothing, ground into dust by the overwhelming power she commanded.
"She's stronger than before, more attuned to the wind than she was in life," Oliver thought grimly. There was no doubt; she was like a being born for the element of wind itself.
In an instant, she was upon him. But Oliver had been prepared. With lightning reflexes, he pulled out two objects, one of which was a smoke bomb. He tossed it to the ground, and thick clouds of smoke billowed around them. Though the wind began to quickly disperse the cover, it still bought him a precious few seconds. Without wasting a moment, he used the distraction to create distance between them again.
As she floated in the air, adjusting her posture to chase him down once more, the second object he had planted earlier came into play; explosives. The quiet of the forest was shattered by a series of deafening blasts. Flames surged upwards, igniting the trees and sending plumes of thick smoke into the sky.
She acted immediately, the wind swirling around her as she shot upwards to avoid the danger below. But her quick retreat had served its purpose; Oliver had gained more time.
He could feel the winds closing in behind him, growing stronger with each passing second. His feet pounded against the ground, but he knew he wouldn't make it to the safety of the forest at this pace. In a desperate move, he funneled the last reserves of his magic into his legs, launching himself forward with a burst of speed. The added force propelled him just far enough to disappear into the dense trees.
Lilly hovered at the edge of the forest, her sharp eyes scanning the path Oliver had taken. But she didn't pursue.
"That's enough," a calm voice said from behind. Aegnor approached, gazing into the forest where Oliver had vanished. "We only needed to scare him. Let someone else handle the fire."
Lilly nodded, and with a sweep of her hand, a powerful gust of wind extinguished the burning vegetation in seconds. Other elves followed, using water magic to put out the remaining flames.
Oliver, meanwhile, moved quickly through the trees, his senses heightened, his eyes never leaving the path behind him. He refused to believe they would let him go so easily. There was no way the bond of being former disciples would grant him any mercy now.
Feeling uneasy, he set up several small traps as he moved. They were crude; nothing that would stop an experienced pursuer, but enough to give him a warning if triggered. At least that would buy him time if anyone followed.
As he moved, Oliver eyed the small bottle of clear liquid he carried; a last resort. It was holy water, drawn from the sap of the World Tree, the most sacred treasure of the elves. The liquid could restore his magic, but it came at a cost. Unlike regular magic potions, which steadily replenished magic, the holy water's effects were instant and overwhelming. With his limited capacity for magic, there was a real risk of his body being unable to handle it. Worse still, once it was used, it was gone; replacing it was nearly impossible, especially with the tenuous relationship he now had with the elves.
He hoped he wouldn't need to use it.
Suddenly, the sound of an explosion rang out in the distance. One of the traps had been triggered.
"Of course," Oliver muttered bitterly. "With my luck, it was bound to happen."
Reluctantly, he uncorked the bottle and carefully let a single drop of the holy water fall onto his tongue. Instantly, a surge of magic coursed through his body, filling him with renewed strength. He focused the energy, and the magical bird he had conjured earlier, which had disappeared due to his lack of power, reappeared in a flash of light.
But even as his magic returned, something nagged at him. He glanced upwards, searching the sky. Was the pursuer hiding behind the canopy of leaves? His brow furrowed in concentration, but he saw nothing.
Still, he didn't stop moving, his senses on high alert for whatever might come next.