It was the middle of the night when Kadar heard soft footsteps on the creaking stairs. He lay awake in his bed, enveloped in the silence of the house. The faint light of the moon fell through the small windows, causing shadows to dance on the wooden floor.
As always, Kadar slept downstairs in the house, while his father lived in the treetop rooms upstairs. Now he heard Elanor's footsteps slowly approaching the first floor.
He couldn't sleep. The day had been too frustrating. The morning with Mayiawiel had been wonderful - as easy and free as it always was with her. But after that... After that, everything had gone wrong.
Kadar pulled the blanket tighter around him and stared at the wall. No, he wasn't really angry at his father. Of course, he wished Elanor would just understand that he could never truly master elven magic. He had asked so many times if he could at least try human magic. Each time his father had refused.
"It is impossible," Elanor had said.
But to Kadar's ears that sounded like a cheap excuse.
His father wanted to turn him into an elf. He hated humans - rightfully so. But then again, he had raised Kadar, so there had to be some sort of acceptance, right?
Kadar sighed softly and shook his head. No, that wasn't it. He wasn't angry with his father. He was angry with himself.
At the fact that he had given up. Because if there was one thing Kadar had always sworn to himself, it was never to give up. No matter what it was.
Because otherwise he had nothing. No home, no sense of belonging, no identity. Just the work, the fight - and the hope that one day he would succeed. If he couldn't use magic just by being born, like every other being on the Northshard, then he would have to work. And suffer. And work until it worked.
But it wasn't always easy.
Today, he had given up the flute. He had given up listening to the song of the Mothertree.
Kadar turned and stared at the rough wooden beams of the wall beside his bed. His father's footsteps echoed faintly in the living room. Then they stopped.
The door to his room opened softly.
He knew his father was behind him now. But he didn't turn around.
"Kadar..." Elanor's voice was as calm as ever, as controlled.
Kadar remained silent.
"Are you asleep?" his father asked softly.
"..."
Again, Kadar did not answer.
He heard Elanor breathing deeply. Then he felt his father's weight on the edge of the bed. A gentle hand rested on his head, stroking his hair.
For several minutes, Kadar just lay there, feeling the touch. Not a word was spoken between them. It was as if Elanor was saying all the unspoken words with that small gesture.
Then his father stood up, his weight disappearing from the edge of the bed.
"Tomorrow is your birthday..." Elanor whispered.
Kadar closed his eyes as he heard the door close and Elanor's footsteps slowly make their way back upstairs. The warmth of the touch lingered, and finally he drifted off to sleep.
The next morning, the forest was still shrouded in darkness when Kadar slipped quietly out of the house. The air was crisp and clear, with a hint of morning dew on the leaves. His father was still asleep upstairs, and Kadar was careful not to make a sound as he closed the door behind him.
He walked to the bushes where he had hidden his backpack the day before. It was soaked with the night's moisture, but when he looked inside, he was relieved to see that the crossbow had remained dry. Kadar checked the weapon, cocked it briefly, and then put it back in his pack.
With a determined look at the dawning horizon, he set off. The forest was silent and still dark around him, but Kadar knew it as well as he knew his own thoughts. The path led him through the undergrowth until he finally reached the clearing where the first rays of sunlight tentatively filtered through the leaves.
Mayiawiel was already waiting, her golden and brown hair falling in a long braid over her shoulder.
Her yellow eyes lit up when she saw Kadar.
"Well?" she asked, an expectant smile on her lips.
Kadar returned her smile, albeit a little wryly.
"He said I could come."
Mayiawiel's face lit up, her joy infectious. She reached behind her and pulled out a carefully folded bundle of cloth.
"Come on, put this on!"
Kadar raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"What's that?"
"You'll see," she replied mischievously, holding the bundle out to him.
***
The morning sun cast its tentative rays through the dense canopy of the Fay'Run forest, but the shadows of night still lingered stubbornly between the mighty trunks.
Kadar pulled the hood of his borrowed robe down over his face and adjusted his grip on the backpack slung over his shoulder. The elven robe Mayiawiel had brought him felt light and unfamiliar, but it was enough to keep him out of sight among the other elves - as long as no one looked too closely. The hood hid his round ears, and the wide sleeves and loose-fitting robe covered the rest.
"No one would look too closely," Mayiawiel had assured him. "There have been no humans for sixteen years."
Kadar pressed his lips together. The thought did not reassure him. He knew that it wasn't only his appearance that could betray him.
The first sounds of music reached him as they broke through the tree line and the main street of the elven capital opened before them. The streets were lined with flowers of every color imaginable, waving gently against the houses.
Musicians were everywhere, playing flutes, harps, or small drums. The melodies floated through the air like a living, breathing part of the city.
Kadar stopped and stared. The elven city was a work of art that seemed to have been carved out of the forest itself. The buildings grew seamlessly out of the trees, and the streets looked more like enchanted paths lined with bright flowers. It was as if the entire city was a single living organism.
It was his first time in the capital city.
"Impressive, isn't it?"
Mayiawiel's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. She was standing next to him, her eyes bright with anticipation.
Kadar nodded silently. He wanted to say something, but the words caught in his throat. It was overwhelming - and yet he felt like a stranger in a world that was not his own.
"Come on, we have to keep going. There's a lot to see and I want to show you everything!"
Mayiawiel took his hand and gently pulled him along.
The streets were bustling with life. Elves in elaborate robes danced to the rhythmic sounds of harps, their movements so graceful and synchronized that it seemed almost magical. And it probably was just that. Magic.
Children ran through the crowds, laughing as they carried little garlands of flowers, and there was singing everywhere - harmonious melodies spreading from every corner of the city, forming a kind of invisible web that connected everything.
They were all singing to the song of the Mothertree.
Kadar kept his head down, trying not to draw attention to himself. But he couldn't keep his eyes from wandering to the elves around him. Their ease, their grace - it all made him painfully aware of how different he was.
"Relax, Kadar," Mayiawiel whispered as they moved through the crowd.
"No one will notice you. You look just like everyone else here. Trust me."
He didn't answer, but pulled his hood down a little.
Mayiawiel looked so pleased. He had never seen her so radiant, and she continued to pull him through the streets, smiling at him again and again. She had also donned a hood, but for a different reason than Kadar. The most famous elven princess of the House couldn't just walk around openly in the streets.
Mayiawiel stopped in the middle of the street and Kadar had to stop abruptly to avoid running into her. She turned to him, a twinkle in her golden eyes.
"Do you know what else is happening today?" she asked, her voice softer, almost reverent.
Kadar pulled his hood back a little to see her better and shook his head.
"The funeral of Archdruid Ivnel," Mayiawiel said, as if the name alone carried a world of meaning.
Kadar just nodded silently. He knew that Archdruid Ivnel had died a few months ago, but that the funeral would coincide with the festival was news to him.
Now that Ivnel was dead, a new Archdruid would be chosen, but not until next spring, as always.
His father had taught him the traditions and history of the elves, whether he wanted to or not. Ivnel was not just a druid - he was the Archdruid. The highest guardian of the Mothertree and the balance of the Three Kings.
The Three Kings represented everything the House of Elves stood for: harmony, order, and unity.
And the instruments were both their symbols and their calling. The flute for clarity and guidance, the harp for beauty and harmony, the rattle for liveliness and movement.
Together they were the heartbeat of their people.
Kadar glanced sideways at Mayiawiel. She, too, would one day be one of those three veins. He could hardly imagine what a burden that must be.
But for the moment, his friend was full of anticipation. For her, the Archdruid's death was a return to nature, a part of the great cycle the elves so revered. And she was probably just happy to be a part of the festival.
A small voice suddenly reached Kadar's ear. He turned slightly to the side and saw an elf girl walking beside her mother.
"Mom," the girl asked with an innocent look, "why can't Ivnel just come back?"
The mother patted her daughter's head affectionately and smiled softly.
"Death is also a return, my heart," she said softly.
"But nothing can return a soul to a body - not even the most powerful magic."
The girl looked pensive. Her mother thought of something to cheer her up.
"Come on, let's go watch the play!"
The girl beamed, and her mother led them into the crowd. Kadar's eyes followed them until they disappeared.
"You want to watch the play too?" Mayiawiel's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
She grinned mischievously at him, her eyes sparkling again.
"I-" Kadar started, but before he could answer, she grabbed his hand and pulled him along.
"You'll love it!" she shouted happily as they made their way through the crowd, leaving him no choice.
The stage was simple, just a raised square of intertwining branches lined with flowers and plants. A large crowd of elves had gathered in front of it, their faces turned toward the stage in anticipation. Some were standing on the ground, others atop the treetops and on the mighty suspension bridges that connected them.
The music fell silent around them, and a harmonious chord rang out, drawing everyone's attention.
Kadar and Mayiawiel stood at the edge of the crowd, with a clear view of the stage.
Two elves stepped forward. One wore a crooked crown of twigs decorated with dry leaves. His robe hung in tatters from his shoulders, as if he had hastily gathered it from rags. The other elf wore shining white armor that sparkled in the light, a bow on his back, and a posture that radiated pride and grace.
The crowd erupted in laughter as the 'human king' began to sing in an exaggeratedly high voice:
All hail the king of men,
The elves, the demons,
My shadow will cover all of them!
He stumbled deliberately, waved his arms, and nearly fell down before rising with a dramatic gesture. The crowd roared with laughter.
The elven warrior stepped forward, his head held high, his voice clear and strong:
Once you were great, for a human at least,
Now all of Northshard will remember you as a beast!
He turned, spread his arms, and sang triumphantly:
All hail the king of men,
He is dead, never to reign again!
The people are dead!
The men are dead!
The women are dead!
The children are dead!
Oh say, hail the King of Men!
The crowd joined in the chorus, their voices echoing through the streets.
The King of Men staggered back, pulled himself together in apparent indignation, and began to sing again, louder this time:
We built the cities, we conquered the lands,
We have robbed the Djinn of their sacred sands!
And when the elves bravely sought us out,
We captured their own, we had no doubt!
He gesticulated wildly, pretending to command an invisible army.
But the elven warrior came closer, his voice full of contempt:
Our children were afraid, our warriors died,
But in the end, it was you who cried.
You left nothing behind but the emptiness of your kind,
All this, just for the death of your only child.
He raised his bow high and the crowd erupted in cheers. Together they sang the chorus once more in mockery:
All hail the king of men,
He is dead, never to reign again!
The people are dead!
The men are dead!
The women are dead!
The children are dead!
Oh say, hail the King of Men!