"Didn't I fall to my death just now?" Oliver muttered under his breath as he dragged himself out of the cold stream and collapsed onto the jagged rocks nearby. Lying flat on his back, he stared up at the cloudy sky, feeling a strange mixture of relief and disbelief. For once, it seemed his luck had taken a turn for the better.
He replayed the frantic moments in his mind. His speed had been reduced, sure; but nowhere near enough to spare him from serious injury had he hit the ground. With no other options, he'd aimed for the stream, hoping it would cushion his fall and disperse some of the impact. It wasn't deep, but shallow water was still better than solid ground when your life was on the line.
The result? Miraculously, it worked. He was soaked to the bone, his clothes clinging to him like a second skin, but he was alive. "At least I didn't smash myself into a pulp," he thought, smiling wryly. His makeshift traps, carefully crafted in preparation for whatever awaited him, were now drenched, but everything else had survived the plunge. No broken bottles, no leaking supplies.
His heart, still racing from the narrow escape, refused to settle. He let out a long breath. "What a mess," he groaned, rolling onto his side to shake off the water. In a single day, he'd found himself hunted by humans, and the elves weren't exactly friendly either.
But staying still wasn't an option. His junior fellow apprentice was relentless; he'd surely send people to track him down, dead or alive. Oliver glanced at the darkening sky. Rain was coming, and nightfall wouldn't be far behind. The forest, a treacherous realm under the elves' control, offered no refuge. Beyond the trees lay human territory, no more welcoming. There was nowhere to hide.
Frustration bubbled up inside him, and in a fit of irritation, he kicked a loose stone into the stream. The chill of cold droplets hit his face moments later. He groaned again, wiping his forehead. Of course, it was starting to rain. "What you fear always finds you," he muttered under his breath, and without wasting another second, he took off, searching for shelter.
---
Enola stood on the rooftop, staring blankly at the pristine white walls that surrounded her. Her thoughts were scattered, and she didn't even notice the soft creak of a door opening behind him until a voice broke the silence.
"What's going on?"
It was Chris, approaching with his usual casual air. He stopped beside Enola, eyes narrowing slightly. "You've got that look again. Actually, it's worse than last time."
Enola sighed, unable to mask her turmoil. "I'm just wondering… if what I'm doing is the right thing."
Chris tilted his head, confused. "Even if Oliver is our friend, it doesn't give him the right to destroy other people's livelihoods and take lives as he pleases. Why does something so simple seem so hard for you?"
There was a brief pause. Then Enola, almost as if making a decision in real-time, said quietly, "Forget it. I'll tell you everything." She took a deep breath and revealed the truth about the Black Crow, sharing the secret her uncle had entrusted to her.
Chris's reaction was immediate, his expression shifting from surprise to deep contemplation. "Really?" he asked after a long pause. "Well, first of all, thanks for telling me. And second, maybe you're not wrong."
"What do you mean?" Enola's confusion deepened.
Chris turned to face her fully, his tone taking on a calm, almost philosophical edge. "You're just giving yourself more time to decide. If Oliver is still alive, you can keep questioning whether he should live or die. But if he's dead, then the choice is gone forever."
Enola nodded slowly, her mind still turning over the words. "I see… I think."
"But remember," Chris added, his voice serious for once, "don't let that time slip away. You still need to act when the moment is right."
They exchanged a long look, neither saying anything more. The weight of the conversation hung heavy between them.
---
Oliver stumbled across a small cave just as the rain began to pour. The cold wind whipped at his face, driving him inside the shallow shelter. Once safe from the elements, he quickly began to empty his soaked pack, laying everything out in an attempt to dry it.
"What now?" he muttered, staring at the clutter around him. His mind raced through the possibilities. If his teacher was truly dead, then no one could guide him anymore. Though he wasn't particularly afraid of what was to come, the thought of navigating the unknown alone was daunting.
His teacher had been fearless; bold and decisive in ways that Oliver could hardly hope to imitate. Even the most flawless strategies he could devise would pale in comparison to the directness she wielded with such ease.
Sighing, he shook his head and sat down on a rough stone, the cold seeping into his bones. The rain outside intensified, and he found himself staring blankly into the storm, waiting for clarity that he wasn't sure would ever come.
The conflict between these two races, humans and elves, runs far deeper than most realize.
The origin of the Black Crow's rise can, in part, be traced back to the elves themselves.
Long ago, the city wasn't always as desolate as it is now. While it wasn't a thriving metropolis, it was still a place where humans could live off the land, surrounded by lush vegetation. Crops grew, people sustained themselves, and most importantly, they coexisted without intruding on the elves' territory. There was no need to expand. Survival was their only aim.
But the elves; specifically, the ancestors of what we now call the "radicals" didn't see it that way. Back then, they weren't openly known as radicals. Their ancestors believed that the human settlement was nothing more than a strategic front for invasion, a threat to their forest homeland.
So, instead of communicating, instead of reaching out to clarify intentions, they attacked. Quietly, covertly, they waged a war of sabotage. As nature's chosen, the elves could bend the seasons to their will. Winter would bring scorching heat, summer would deliver snow, spring saw flowers wither, and autumn forced growth where there should have been none.
How could human crops stand a chance against such chaos?
Yet, against all odds, some plants always managed to survive. No matter how extreme the conditions, humans clung to life, eking out just enough food to continue.
But that wasn't enough for the radicals. They ignored the pleas of their more peaceful kin, the warnings from those within their own tribe. They drained the very life force from the city and the lands surrounding it, leaving them barren. Even when the seasons returned to normal, nothing could grow. The soil was dead, its vitality stripped away forever.
And so, the Black Crow emerged. Yes, its existence drove up prices, collapsed industries, and plunged many into despair. Yet, in the ruins of that city, for those who hadn't fled, it offered hope; a twisted kind of salvation, but salvation nonetheless.
Oliver used to believe the Black Crow only harmed those who deserved it; that those captured were peaceful people, individuals who had once helped humanity and now needed to be saved. But that illusion had been shattered. Now, even the lower-ranking members of the Black Crow had become perpetrators. Their leadership, once idealistic, now harbored dangerous ambitions.
He shook his head, trying to banish the gnawing irritation rising within him. His teacher had once told him that the right moment would come, a time when the people who needed help would be innocent humans and elves, and only then could he act. Until that moment, he had to remain patient.
---
Meanwhile, Tom lounged comfortably in his chair, listening to reports from his subordinates.
"It's almost ready," one of them informed him. "If we encounter Oliver again, we should extend an helping hand. He's desperate now. Even if our actions raise some eyebrows, he should still choose to side with humans. It's in his nature. From what we've seen of him, he's always been well-prepared. We're making the right move."
Tom nodded, considering. "Good. By the way, how many have been resurrected by the elves' so-called resurrection plan?"
"Four so far. A former Elf King, a swordsman, a pharmacist, and an archer."
"An archer?" Tom raised an eyebrow. "Interesting… I wasn't expecting that. Keep monitoring them."
"Understood."
---
On a high platform overlooking a wide stretch of barren land, Aegnor sat, deep in thought.
"Still no sign of him?" he asked, his tone heavy with frustration.
"No," one of his scouts replied. "We searched everywhere, but all we found were two deep scratches in the ground. No clothing, no evidence of a body."
"Is that so?" Aegnor sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Keep looking. He's out there somewhere."
"Yes, sir." The scout bowed and hurried off, leaving Aegnor to stare out at the horizon, wondering how much longer this hunt would continue.