There were once six houses on the Northshard.
In the shadow of the Hanging Castle, the House of Vampires rules the southern cliffs of the continent.
Deep within the largest and oldest forest in the land, the House of Elves sings and dances to the rhythm of the Mothertree.
The rulers of the skies, the House of Dragons, fly high above the Zataklan Mountains, which divide the continent from the west to center.
Deep beneath these mountains dwell the cities of the House of Demons.
In the great desert to the east, the ancient Desert of Time, the House of Djinn wanders the hot sands.
And in the north, the House of Humans once flourished.
They did not all live together in peace, but they coexisted. Each house had its own culture and magic, fed by the source of its people. There were six great Houses - until the King of Men could no longer accept this.
Under the rule of the Mad King, the fragile balance of the Northshard was shattered.
The House of Humans, united under his twisted vision, turned its gaze south. The Northshard, he believed, should belong to a true ruler - himself.
At first, the other Houses dismissed his claims as empty talk. No single house had ever been able to pose a real threat to the others - not alone. They had fought each other for centuries and knew their limits. But the Mad King was more than a house. He was a tempest.
He gathered the people under his banner, inflamed and poisoned their hearts, and harnessed the boundless power of the Manawell to create a war machine the likes of which the Northshard had never seen.
The first signs were subtle. Small border skirmishes that barely drew attention. But then cities began to fall. Forests burned, villages razed to the ground, and the humans marched on.
They were strong. Stronger than they should have been. Led by the madness of their king, they invaded the Desert of Time, destroying the djinn's holy places and setting fire to the sands. They blasted the mountains and smothered the demons' underground home. They even challenged the rule of the heavens and dared to fight the dragons in their own sky.
And they won.
With each victory, their influence grew. More and more land fell under the control of the House of Humans. Their armies advanced, unstoppable, until the remaining Houses, all but the dragons, had no choice. They united, forming a desperate alliance to stop the inevitable.
But even this alliance was not enough to stop the King of Men. He was too strong, his magic too powerful. Many more years of conflict that claimed countless lives and left the continent in blood and ashes ensued.
And then, one day, the humans were gone.
They had vanished, all of them, erased from existence.
The war was over. The House of Humans was no more.
Sixteen years after the fall of the House of Humans, the Northshard has changed. With the disappearance of the greatest threat the continent had ever seen, the reason for the Houses' alliance also ceased to exist.
The Houses had fought side by side, but they were still divided by centuries of conflict. They withdrew to lick their wounds, to bury their dead, but the disaster would never be forgotten.
***
Kadar whistled a soft melody as he walked back down the path to his home. It was not a conscious song, but a humming that blended with the rhythm of his steps - a habit he had probably copied from the elves, though he never really dared to approach their true songs. The forest was silent, only the rustling of leaves accompanied his path as he caught sight of the familiar tree in the distance.
Kadar stopped short of the house. The familiar oak that formed his father's home towered high into the sky, its gnarled branches encircling the walls like protective arms. He glanced back at the bushes at the edge of the path where he had carefully hidden his crossbow and backpack. No one except Mayiawiel was to know he had them, especially not his father. Satisfied with his hiding place, he moved on.
Before opening the door, he reached out and gently brushed the smooth wood of the frame with his index and middle fingers. Then he stepped inside.
The warm light of the late afternoon filtered through the leaves, and the scent of fresh resin filled the air as he opened the door. It was quiet inside, except for the soft hum of a melody. Kadar recognized it at once. His father often hummed and sang to himself as he worked. He followed the sound into the kitchen and stopped in the doorway.
Elanor sat at the table, an intricately carved knife in his hand, working on a flute. Its surface was smooth and shiny, the wood an unnatural white.
Kadar knew that this flute was made from a special piece of wood - from the Mothertree itself, the mightiest and oldest tree in the Fay'Run Forest, the source of the magic of the House of Elves.
His father had received this piece as a gift when he was still the elven Seer. How he had managed to shape the wood so precisely was a mystery to Kadar. Whenever he held the flute in his hand, it felt almost indestructible, as if it could survive even the sharpest blade.
Elanor's hair, a mixture of faded blond and gray, spoke of the years that had marked him, but he wore it with a timeless elegance. It was hard for Kadar to imagine his father ever looking any different. Elves aged so slowly that their past lives seemed like an insoluble mystery.
"Father?" Kadar's voice broke the humming.
Elanor looked up, the knife in his hand. His face wore a thoughtful expression, but when he saw his son, it became serious.
"Where were you so early? We agreed that you would practice this morning."
His voice wasn't really angry, but that was only because the old elf was good at suppressing it. He was definitely annoyed, as he always was when Kadar missed his music lessons.
Kadar scratched the back of his head, searching for an answer, and finally murmured:
"I was outside with Mayia."
His father stared at him for a moment, then let out a long sigh. Without another word, he dismissed him and gestured to the chair at the table.
"Sit down."
Kadar reluctantly complied and sank into the chair.
Elanor rose slowly, his movements calm and controlled.
"Have you eaten?" he asked as he walked to the kitchen.
Kadar shook his head.
Elanor reached into a woven basket, pulled out a juicy apple, and tossed it to his son. Kadar caught it deftly and took a bite. The sweetness of the apple filled his mouth and for a moment he forgot his tension.
"What was the nature of your wager this time?" Elanor asked as he sat down again, his voice calm but alert.
"Arch-" Kadar began, but Elanor raised his hand.
"Finish first," his father interrupted him sternly.
Kadar frowned, chewed the apple quickly and swallowed.
"Archery," he repeated.
Elanor smiled slightly.
"Then you lost."
Kadar shrugged.
"Of course. It's Mayia, after all."
"You shouldn't call her that."
"Tell it to her, then."
Elanor sighed slightly, but his eyes scanned his son. Kadar felt the tension in his stomach rise again. Finally he took courage and continued:
"Mayia...wiel has asked me to accompany her to the Festival of Peace tomorrow."
Elanor listened, his face unmoved, but when Kadar finished, his gaze fell to the table.
"No," came the answer, cold and final.
"But..." Kadar began, but Elanor cut him off again.
"You should practice," he said sharply, pushing the flute he had been working on towards Kadar.
Kadar stared at the elaborate instrument and then shot an irritated look at his father. But Elanor's eyes brooked no argument.
'Not this again.'
Kadar sighed as he picked up the flute. He gritted his teeth but remained silent. He knew that tone only too well. It was the same tone his father used whenever Kadar would remind him that he was human - and posessed a kind of humanity he was not supposed to have. Perhaps Elanor meant no harm, but Kadar felt the subtle dislike each time, like a fire burning in his heart.
Elanor changed the subject, as healways did.
"Play," he ordered calmly.
To the elves, music was magic, the purest form of their connection to nature.
Kadar raised the flute to his lips. The first notes he played were practiced and melodious, a slow, soothing rhythm that spread throughout the room.
"Stop," Elanor interrupted after a few seconds.
Thirty-two seconds. Almost a record for the shortest performance Kadar had ever managed.
"Yes, Father?" Kadar asked irritably. He knew what would come next. It was always the same.
"Your timing was all wrong," Elanor said calmly.
"Listen to the song, boy."
Kadar rolled his eyes, but he tried. As always. He closed his eyes, concentrated, and listened for the song of the Mothertree. But as always, there was silence. Not even a whisper, not even a hint of melody.
"I hear nothing," he finally admitted, his voice dull and full of suppressed frustration.
But Elanor did not give up. He began to hum a melody that sounded soft and beautiful, but sometimes changed into strange measures and transitions. But even these changes were fluid, like waves flowing into each other.
Kadar closed his eyes and followed the humming with his human ears. He could still do that. He could follow it. He picked up the flute again and played, this time in harmony with his father's song.
But then Elanor fell silent and let him lead. Within seconds, Kadar lost his rhythm. Frustrated, he tore the flute from his lips, but carefully placed it back on the table.
He wasn't about to give up himself just yet.
"Father, I could practice all day today if I could go to the festival with Mayiawiel tomorrow."
Elanor sighed without taking his eyes off the flute.
"We've already had this discussion. You have no business there."
"But..."
"No discussion, Kadar."
Elanor looked at him sharply.
"As a princess, Mayiawiel has duties that are more important than entertaining you. And you shouldn't be wasting your time. The festival..."
His gaze turned away.
"...wouldn't suit you. Start playing the flute.
Kadar's teeth chattered, but he obeyed, even though he was seething inside.
This time it took only nineteen seconds before Elanor interrupted him.
"I can't do it!" he cried, his voice shaking with suppressed rage.
He couldn't. But he wanted to so badly.
"Prick up your ears," his father said calmly.
Kadar was still holding the flute.
"My ears?" he asked with a bitter smile.
"I don't have elven ears! What am I supposed to do about that?!"
The outburst was childish, he knew. But the words spilled out of him, carried by the frustration he could no longer suppress. For as long as he could remember, he had tried to fullfil both his and his fathers wish to cast elven magic.
Ah, it was so unfair. Why were his ears the only thing separating him from the song of the Mothertree?
From feel feeling some sense of belonging?
Elanor remained calm. His face showed no trace of anger, no sign that Kadar's failure or his sudden impatience had hurt him.
"We will continue our training," he said calmly.
"Put the flute back on. I will start the rhythm."
Kadar snorted, but didn't throw the flute away completely. Not yet.
"And what good will that do?" he hissed.
"Do you think the Mothertree will teach me the magic of your people out of pity?"
There it was. A reaction. Just a twitch of the eyelids, barely perceptible, but as clear to Kadar as a scream.
"They are your people too, Kadar," Elanor replied as calmly as he could.
Kadar felt the heat rise behind his cheeks. He should have kept silent. He should have just put the flute back to his lips. But he was tired of failing. Tired of being the one who couldn't live up to expectations in a world full of them. And so he said something he knew wasn't entirely true - but in that moment, it was all he had left to say.
"Just because I grew up in the forest," he began, his voice low and bitter, "does not make me an elf."
Elanor stood erect, a slender, calm figure in the room. His green eyes were fixed on Kadar, but his voice remained calm for now.
"Yes. You speak like an elf, you live like an elf. These are your people, Kadar."
"You mean a blind, mute elf, don't you?" Kadar's voice rose, his words dripping with sarcasm.
"Because I don't hear what every elf child takes for granted!"
"Kadar!" Elanor's tone sharpened, a rare hint of annoyance flashing in his voice.
"You are..."
"A human, damn it! Is that so hard to accept? What kind of elf is not allowed to attend the Festival of Peace, not even once?"
Kadar's voice echoed through the room, uncontrolled and loud.
The next sound was the thud of Elanor's hand slamming down on the table. Kadar nearly jumped back and the tension in the room was palpable. Leaves came loose from the crown of the oak that supported the house, floated down the spiral staircase, and landed softly on the floor.
Elanor looked at him, his posture tense, and when he spoke, his voice was laced with anger.
"You... are not human."
His eyes narrowed slightly and his gaze rested heavily on Kadar.
"You must never be one."