The morning sun bathed the landscape in a soft, golden light, revealing the aftermath of a storm. The fresh scent of rain hung in the air, and puddles dotted the ground, reflecting the bright sky. It was clear from the wet earth and scattered branches that last night had brought a heavy downpour, though now the world seemed at peace.
Oliver stepped carefully over a puddle, his boots sinking slightly into the soft ground. He had only been gone for half a year, but so much had changed in that time. Some events had unfolded in his absence, while others had been set in motion long before, invisible to him until now. The weight of uncertainty pressed on him. He needed to grasp the situation quickly if he wanted to stay ahead.
He had deliberately avoided the human cities, knowing full well that the Black Crow's spies would still be watching for him. It had only been a day since his escape, and they wouldn't have let their guard down. The main gates would be too heavily watched, and once inside, it would be impossible to avoid detection. Facing the Black Crow's hunters would be inevitable if he dared step into their territory.
The elves, however, were a different story. Their affinity with nature allowed them to hide effortlessly among the trees and bushes. Even if they were spotted, they could retreat behind the thick foliage, using the natural world as their shield.
Following the path from his memories, Oliver moved silently through the dense forest, towering trees stretching high above him. The shadows danced in the morning light as he wove his way between trunks, keeping his movements light and his steps quiet. He was heading toward a small elven village, nestled deep within the woods, a place few humans dared to tread.
When he finally reached it, a strange, unsettling silence greeted him. The village, which once bustled with life, was eerily still. Not a single voice could be heard, only the faint rustling of leaves and the occasional chirp of a bird. It was as though the entire place had fallen into a deep slumber.
Oliver stopped at a distance, his instincts warning him not to approach too quickly. Silence like this could be a trap. His mind raced with possibilities: Had they left in a hurry? Were they waiting, hidden, watching for him to stumble into their midst? He wasn't about to risk an arrow or a dagger flying his way without warning.
He knelt and released a bird, conjured from his magic, into the sky. Its translucent wings shimmered in the light as it took flight. Oliver closed his eyes and steadied his breathing, focusing on controlling the bird's movements. It soared over the village, toward the small houses that lined the clearing.
One of the doors was ajar, slightly open, as though someone had left in a hurry. His brow furrowed. What had happened here? He let the bird draw closer, altering its form so it appeared more natural, with white feathers that would blend into the surroundings. A transparent bird might raise alarm if anyone was watching, and he didn't want to startle any remaining elves.
As the bird flew near the house, Oliver noticed something strange. The door hadn't been forced open; it hung loosely on its hinges, as though the owner had stepped out, never to return. Inside, the home was in disarray. Furniture lay overturned, small objects scattered across the floor. It looked as though the inhabitants had struggled against an unseen force, trying desperately to resist, but ultimately failing. It was as if they had been pulled from their beds in the dead of night, powerless to fight back.
His mind raced with questions. The elves were known for their heightened senses, their constant vigilance. How could an entire village be caught off guard like this? It didn't make sense. Normally, at least a portion of the village's population would be on watch, alert to any danger. Yet, someone had walked right into their homes without raising an alarm.
Were the guards bribed? Or perhaps there was a traitor among them, a spy who had lulled them into a false sense of security? Oliver remembered his teacher's warnings of internal betrayal, whispers of elven dissent.
He let the bird drift away from the house, directing it toward the village's observation tower. It hovered above the structure, where the guards should have been stationed. Just like in the house, signs of struggle littered the area; arrows spilled across the ground, alongside a half-eaten meal and an overturned cup. The guards hadn't been bribed; something else had overpowered them.
Oliver eliminated the possibility of the guards simply falling asleep. That was impossible; there were always multiple guards on duty. Even if one was negligent, the others would have noticed any disturbance. But now, with no signs of life, something deeply troubling had occurred.
As the bird circled back, a piece of paper fluttered through the air. Startled by the sudden movement, Oliver almost lost control of the conjured bird. The magic-created creature had no physical body, but the paper's appearance was so abrupt, it still startled him. He watched the paper drift downward, catching a glimpse of it as it fell.
He scratched his head, preparing to look elsewhere, but something about the paper caught his attention. His eyes widened as he took another glance. Something was wrong, terribly wrong.
A faint layer of green powder dusted the surface of the paper. As the wind stirred, it lifted the particles into the air, where they danced briefly before vanishing like smoke. Oliver froze, watching the powder disappear. His instincts kicked in, and he hurried over to the sentry post. This powder might be a critical clue.
As he approached, he caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye; a small rabbit. Quick on his feet, he scooped it up, hoping it might serve as a test subject for whatever this powder was. After all, he had no intention of risking himself without knowing more.
Oliver scanned his surroundings, ensuring the coast was clear before climbing up the wooden structure. The village remained unnervingly silent, and the absence of life around him only deepened the mystery. Once at the top, he gingerly picked up the note, holding it close to the rabbit's twitching nose.
The rabbit, still jittery from fear, wriggled in his grip until its nose made contact with the powder. Immediately, its movements slowed. Its frantic writhing turned to sluggish jerks, and soon, it was completely still.
Oliver bent down, closely inspecting the rabbit's tiny chest. "It's still breathing," he murmured to himself, relief washing over him. "So this powder isn't deadly; just paralyzing."
But who had used it? The elves were known for their knowledge of herbs and potions. Surely they wouldn't fall victim to such a concoction, especially not one made by humans. Even if one elf had been careless, there was no way an entire group of them could have been overpowered without sounding an alarm. The more Oliver thought about it, the less sense it made.
"Could this have been the work of an insider?" he muttered under his breath, remembering his teacher's warnings about possible traitors among the elves.
He needed more information. His eyes swept the sentry post until they landed on a notebook, open on a nearby table. Curious, he flipped to the last entry.
The writing began neatly but trailed off toward the end, growing messier with each sentence.
"Today is a rare day. To celebrate that we are still here, we prepared food and changed into new clothes. Though we remain hidden, the nostalgic fragrance coming from afar brings back memories…"
Oliver squinted as the words became harder to read. It seemed the writer had been affected by something, likely the very same powder. The last legible phrase was clear enough, though—"Thousand-Year-Old Wood."
He paused. Thousand-Year-Old Wood was not literally a tree, but a tall plant, prized for its pleasant fragrance. Among the elves, it was often burned during larger ceremonies, believed to bring blessings. The smell was familiar to Oliver; he had attended such gatherings twice before with his teacher. However, while the wood's scent was calming and could make one sleepy, it had never caused anyone to faint. At most, it induced yawns or a sense of peaceful drowsiness.
His brow furrowed as a suspicion took root in his mind. Could someone have manipulated the properties of Thousand-Year-Old Wood, blending it with something more sinister? He scooped a bit of the powder onto his fingertips, bringing it close to his nose. With a cautious breath, he inhaled.
At first, he felt the familiar calmness of sleep washing over him, just as he'd expected. But then, something darker followed; a creeping numbness spreading through his body, dulling his senses.
"This isn't just Thousand-Year-Old Wood," he whispered, shaking his head to clear the fog. "Someone has mixed the calming fragrance with something paralyzing to disguise its true effect."
He rubbed his temples, fighting off the lingering drowsiness. The realization hit him hard. Whoever was behind this knew the elves' rituals and habits far too well. The timing of the village's activities, the burning of the wood; these were details only an insider would know. No ordinary human could pull this off.
His teacher had been right all along. There was a traitor among the elves.
Oliver glanced back at the notebook, noticing the date of the entry. It was written nearly four months ago; just around the time he had left for school. The pieces of the puzzle were slowly coming together, but there was still more to uncover.
There was no time to waste. He leaped down from the sentry post, landing gracefully on the soft earth below. The evidence in this village was enough to raise his suspicions, but one coincidence wasn't enough to prove a conspiracy. He needed to visit more villages, confirm if this was an isolated incident or part of a larger pattern.
Without hesitation, Oliver set off, his mind racing with possibilities as he recalled the locations of other nearby elven settlements. One village could be a fluke, but if the others showed the same signs, it would be undeniable, something far more dangerous was at play.