He awoke as the last rays of the sun painted the sky an ominous red. He awoke with a dry throat, burning eyes, and sticky cheeks. With aching ribs from lying on his crossbow. And yet he did not move, but simply lay there.
Feeling the fine wind cooling his hot cheeks, listening to a mighty river somewhere nearby.
Enjoyed the silence. Missed the singing.
For the first time in his life, as Kadar looked up into the darkening sky, there was nothing above him. No canopy of leaves, no towering trunks or branches. His gaze fell freely upon the sky. Slowly he turned his head. The blades of grass tickled his cheeks.
Dozens of meters away from him was the Fay'Run Forest. The edge of the mighty forest - for Kadar was outside now.
Kadar slowly sat up as the fine wind continued to blow across the vast grassy landscape, inviting his disheveled hair to dance. His gaze lingered on the edge of the forest, its towering silhouettes now just shadows against the blood-red sky in the fading sun.
It was strangely peaceful. From out here, no one could have guessed that somewhere deep inside this forest, hell itself had just been unleashed. Not a sound made its way outside. No sign that the Fay'Run forest was anything more than just mysterious.
Kadar turned slowly, his breath catching in his throat. For the first time in his life, he saw the world outside the forest. There was no maze of trees swallowing the horizon.
Just freedom. And beauty.
Before him stretched an endless plain of grass, a sea of golden and green blades swaying gently in the breeze. Small streams snaked through the land like silver threads, and a mighty river - wider and calmer than Kadar had ever seen - ran along the base of a distant hill. At the center of the hill, a lake reflected the sun's fading rays, shimmering like liquid fire.
He himself sat on a hill high enough to see everything. It was the widest and clearest view he had ever had in his life. Not a single branch blocked the horizon, not a single root crept through the grass. It was so different, so breathtaking.
And yet... Kadar felt more alone than ever. How he wished he could have shared this moment with his father. Or at least with Mayiawiel.
He closed his eyes. His father... His heart tightened. His father had saved him. With a power and magic Kadar had never seen before. The hymn he had sung - he had not known it, could not understand what it meant. But it had brought him here. Away from all that threatened him. Away from his father.
He opened his eyes and looked back at the forest. It hurt. A part of him wanted to run back. He wanted to find the way back to the elven capital and get his father out of this hell. The King of the Rattle had said that Elanor would be judged. But now that he saw the forest from the outside... Kadar was not sure there would even be a court.
Perhaps... perhaps his father was already dead.
The thought hit him like a blow to the chest. His breathing became heavy, and for a moment he felt the pain paralyze him. But then he shook his head. He couldn't give up. Not now. He had to save his father.
He forced himself to his feet, but his muscles were stiff, as if he had been asleep for ages - or had he been unconscious? His first step nearly knocked him over again. A dull pain shot through his body, but he gritted his teeth. He had to move. He had to do something.
He felt the rough wood of the crossbow in his hand. He had held on to it the whole time. On his back hung the damaged backpack, a buckle missing and one side dented. The sight made him sad. But it was nothing he couldn't fix. And there was still the long, cloth wrapped object hanging heavily on his shoulder.
Kadar dropped his eyes to the ground. Next to him in the grass lay the bag his father had given him. His birthday present.
His farewell present.
A sharp pain shot through him as he bent down to pick it up. His ribs ached, but he gritted through the pain. He picked up the bag, held it in his hands and stared at it as if he could find answers in it. But the bag was silent. It suddenly felt heavier than before, as if it carried all the unspoken words he could no longer say to his father.
Kadar held it to his chest. The tears he had tried to hold back stung his eyes. This was all he had left of his father. Of his home. Of the world he knew.
Kadar knelt in the grass, his fingers shaking as he placed the damaged backpack in front of him. He forced himself to stay calm, forced himself to act, to push back the painful thoughts that flooded inside him. His hands automatically reached for the bag, carefully placing it in the broken backpack. But he didn't open it.
He couldn't.
Something about it felt final, like a farewell he didn't want to accept. As if opening the bag would seal his father's death and make the truth irrevocable. His fingers lingered briefly, hesitating. Then he closed the backpack tightly and turned his attention to the broken buckle.
"Mend it," he muttered to himself, "just mend it."
He desperately searched for something useful until his eyes fell on his own arm. The elven robe Mayiawiel had lent him. With a mixture of defiance and bitterness, he tore off the sleeves that he had never really felt belonged to him. He roughly intertwined the delicate strips of cloth, tying them into a braid that now served as a makeshift buckle. He attached it to his backpack, adjusted the wrapped object on his back, and finally stood.
His breathing was heavy, but he forced himself to continue. Slowly, with each step, he pushed back the fear.
"Calm down. Find him."
His own voice was barely more than a whisper. But it drove him on as he approached the edge of the forest. The massive trees towered before him, their shadows long and menacing in the setting sun.
"The elves will be looking for me," he murmured as he counted the footsteps that brought him closer.
"They'll hunt me down. Let them come."
He knew he had no chance against their magic. But this forest was his home, as much as it was theirs. He had explored every tree, every trail, every hidden corner.
"I know this forest as well as they do."
His words sounded more determined than he felt.
He thought of Mayiawiel, fleetingly, a spark of hope in his inner darkness. Maybe... maybe she could help him. Maybe...
But before he could finish the thought, an invisible force struck him and threw him backwards. The impact took his breath away, but Kadar rolled and jumped to his feet, his crossbow in his hands, ready for battle.
There was nothing before him. Just the trees of the forest, tall and still, their branches swaying in the gentle wind. Kadar blinked, turned around, searching for an enemy. But all he heard was silence.
A sinking feeling crept into his stomach.
'Oh no...'
Slowly, carefully, he took a step forward. Nothing happened, but it felt as if something was pressing against his body, an invisible weight trying to hold him back. He took another step.
Painfully. Struggling. His feet felt like they were being dragged through deep mud.
The third step almost brought him to the edge of the forest, but then he ran into an invisible wall. A barrier as impenetrable as the storm his father had conjured.
'No.'
He pushed against it with all his might, ran towards it again - only to be thrown back like a leaf in the wind. The pain of his impact was nothing compared to the shock that spread through his chest.
"No!"
He tried again, running to the side, looking for a weak spot in the invisible wall. But it was unyielding, insurmountable.
The forest would not let him in.
Kadar fell to his knees, his hands digging into the grass as his body trembled. A single tear slid down his cheek, the last he could cry.
'Father...'
It wasn't an accident. Not a whim of nature, but an elven spell. His father hadn't just brought him here - he had banished him.
Finally, the realization came. Elanor had banished him from the forest. Saved him. And left himself behind.
Kadar gritted his teeth, but the pain could not be suppressed. His father was alone. Amidst the flames, the hatred, the chaos.
And there was nothing Kadar could do.
***
As the last shadows of day fell from the sky and the world was shrouded in darkness, Kadar forced himself to move. He could no longer stay in one place. But every step was heavy, and the thoughts of his father and the guilt that haunted him clung to him like a chain.
What finally drove him forward was the thirst that had parched his throat like sandpaper. It was the only thing that gave him the strength to leave this place. His steps were slow and uncertain, a weary beat accompanied by the soft murmur of water in the distance.
He stumbled forward in the darkness, his vision blurred, his thoughts like a mist. He finally found a stream, but only after falling into the cold water with his knees and hands. The icy water pulled him out of his trance for a moment, but it didn't feel any colder than he felt.
He bent down and drank. Drinking was easy. It didn't take much, and for a moment it felt like salvation. The water went down his burning throat and he could finally breathe.
When his thirst was quenched, he stood up and waded through the stream with heavy, wet boots and crossed it. His movements were mechanical, each step the minimum necessary to get ahead.
He didn't know where he was going. He didn't care.
If he couldn't go back, then no place mattered. No destination, no goal worth pursuing.
But staying here was not an option either. He knew they would hunt him. Sooner or later the elves would find him. And when they did, they would probably kill him - like an animal, hunted and without mercy.
'They hate me,' he thought again, and the words echoed like a dark refrain in his mind.
But fatigue took away any possibility of running or hiding. His legs just kept dragging him through the darkness, without goal, without direction.
The moon, hidden behind a thin layer of clouds, provided little light. Kadar was alone, his path accompanied only by the darkness.
He simply walked for a long time. Grass brushed against his boots, streams glistened faintly in the night, and now and then he heard the scurrying of an animal. But he didn't really notice anything, as his gaze was empty.
He stopped again to drink water, his knees in the mud, his hands in the cold water. It gave him just enough to move again. But there was nothing left but thirst. No will, no hope.
Eventually hunger set in, a weak, creeping pull in his stomach. A rational part of him knew he had to find something to eat. But even that thought was only a faint flame in his hollowed-out insides.
And so Kadar walked on. Step by step through the dark fields, the broken backpack on his back, the crossbow in his hand. He had no goal. No end in sight. Only the constant wandering until the sun illuminated the new day, shedding light on a world that felt as empty as he did.
And with the light came his pursuers.