The Day After, in the Grand Hall,
Following the previous day's events, a large gathering of elves convened in the Grand Hall. Unlike the Council Hall, which was typically reserved for high-ranking and elder elves, the Grand Hall was a space open to all, regardless of status or rank.
Perched atop the Great Tree, the Grand Hall was a place of unmatched grandeur and elegance. Hundreds of rows of seats, sprawling tables, and balconies adorned the vast space. Sunlight streamed through an opening in the ceiling, illuminating a statue symbolizing the Whispering Forest Elves.
Green banners bearing an intricate emblem of the Great Tree decorated the hall's walls. The banners were so heavy that even the strongest gusts of wind could not sway them.
The Elf Lord stood at his designated podium, and all present bowed before him.
An elder elf, a frail yet commanding figure, stepped forward and bowed briefly before saying:
"Your Grace, please begin."
The Elf Lord cleared his throat and addressed the assembly:
"My brothers, we are gathered here today to issue a statement regarding the events of yesterday."
He continued:
"The knight of the Light Empire, Sir Harold Golden Shrine, sustained grave injuries in combat against Elder Talion and was ultimately killed by our forces."
A heavy silence fell over the hall. But then, the Elf Lord spoke words that left everyone stunned:
"But that is not the truth!"
A wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd. If Harold had not been killed, then what had happened to him?
The Elf Lord elaborated:
"Harold Golden Shrine is a mutant. He possesses extraordinary physical strength and regenerative abilities. In truth, he fell into a coma due to severe injuries compounded by an unknown energy emanating from his obsidian pendant."
The elves whispered among themselves, their voices a mix of curiosity and disbelief. Suddenly, one elf stood and called out loudly:
"He harmed us! Even the Four Great Elves cannot absolve him. Harold must be executed!"
Several others joined in agreement, voicing their outrage. The damage to the elves' heritage and the destruction of parts of the Whispering Forest were not matters they could easily overlook.
The Elf Lord raised his hand, and the hall gradually fell silent. Then, with a firm voice, he declared:
"There are two reasons we cannot make such a choice. First, executing a mercenary we brought here ourselves, even under duress, would cast suspicion upon us. Such an action would provide the Empire with an excuse to march against us. Harold is no ordinary knight; he is a Holy Knight. To execute a Holy Knight is to declare war on the Temple and the order of Light!"
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle before continuing:
"The second reason is this: Harold has been chosen by the Scythes of Death and Life. According to our ancestral laws, one chosen by the Scythes is destined to be the great warrior of the elves, who will fight against the darkness and lead us to glory."
The elves listened in astonishment and disbelief.
[A human is to shape the destiny of the elven race?]
This was no trivial matter. The prophecy of the previous Elf Lord foretold that the Scythes would soon find their rightful wielder—someone who would restore the elves to their prime, unify Midragon, and expand its borders beyond the Great Eastern Wall.
The elven council deliberated for hours, engaging in heated debates. Ultimately, it was decided: Harold would be saved.
__________________
The sound of the waterfall continued to flow in the background, as if lending weight and meaning to the profound conversations taking place. Despite their differences, Talion and Lord Elf found themselves aligned on one undeniable truth: the survival of the Elven race.
As time passed, the silence between them grew heavier. Lord Elf, his gaze fixed on the endless cascade of the waterfall, seemed to be sifting through countless possible scenarios in his mind. Talion, on the other hand, wrestled with his internal conflict—his unwavering loyalty to the fate of the Elven race and his deep mistrust of humans.
Finally, Talion broke the silence and said, "My lord, have you ever wondered if our decisions are truly our own? Or are we merely puppets to prophecies that our elders have repeated for centuries?"
Lord Elf cast a sidelong glance at him, his face a mixture of weariness and contemplation. "Prophecies are like lanterns, Talion," he replied. "They guide us, but they do not imprison us. It is up to us to find our path, whether in their light or in their shadow. But..." He paused, his eyes following the ceaseless flow of water. "Sometimes, resisting what we call destiny is nothing but a waste of strength and time. Perhaps, at times, we must have a leap of faith, even if we don't know where it will take us."
Talion nodded slowly, though his expression remained clouded with doubt. "Have a leap of faith, perhaps... but a destiny intertwined with humans fills me with fear and dread. They have never shown us mercy, my lord. Why should we trust them?"
Lord Elf allowed a faint smile to cross his lips. "Perhaps because survival sometimes requires us to act beyond our fears and past wounds, Talion. The world is changing, and if we do not change with it, we will be swept away in its tide."
Nature remained serene, yet the sound of the waterfall now carried a tone of agreement and understanding, as though it, too, acknowledged that survival often depends on altering one's course.
They spent hours discussing various matters: the opposition of Harold's senior allies, the dark forces prowling the Whispering Woods, and the challenges ahead.
---
Six Months Later,
Six months had passed since the incident involving Harold. He was being kept in one of the treetop homes, far from the village. Elven healers examined him several times a day, but there was no sign of improvement.
Harold lay motionless on a soft bed, like a wax statue. No movement, no sound, no change. This state of limbo was deeply troubling not only for the healers but also for the Elven Council.
The potential death of a Holy Knight in Elven lands posed a grave threat. Rumors, spread by travelers and merchants, had reached the Empire. It wouldn't be long before an investigative party ventured into the Whispering Woods.
The Elves were in an incredibly precarious position. Any misstep could ignite a holy war. For a race that had isolated themselves and prided themselves on their independence, the Elves had never forged strong political ties with other races. Their pride had made them many enemies, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.
Now, the fate of the Elves was tied to Harold. If he did not awaken, the eruption of a holy war seemed inevitable...