The dawn was pale and cool, the kind of morning that whispered promises of rain. The forest lay in a subdued hush, its usual vibrancy muted. Elara stepped lightly through the glade, her gaze sharp as she inspected her garden. It was a routine she had adopted in recent weeks, though the familiar act did little to calm her growing unease.
Her fingers brushed over the curling leaves of her sage, a plant that had once flourished under her care. Now its edges were tinged with brown, its stems brittle to the touch. She frowned and crouched to examine the soil, digging lightly with her fingers. It was moist, rich with the nutrients she had cultivated for centuries.
"It is not you," she murmured softly, her voice barely audible over the faint rustle of the wind. "But something is taking you."
The thought lingered as she straightened, brushing her hands against her long tunic. She moved to the small row of yarrow, its delicate flowers drooping under the weight of some unseen affliction. Each plant told the same story – of slow, quiet decay.
As she worked, the sound of something breaking – a snap of a twig – pricked her ears. She stiffened, her sharp senses honing in on the disturbance. A rustle followed, faint but unmistakable, like boots clumsily treading where they did not belong.
She turned toward the sound, her posture rigid, her hand instinctively moving toward the hilt of the slender dagger she wore at her side. Few dared to enter her forest, and fewer still came uninvited.
From the edge of the glade, a figure emerged – a mortal man, broad-shouldered and dressed in the practical garb of a farmer. His boots were caked with mud and his hair a disheveled mess, as though from a long journey. His expression was one of cautious determination. He looked around as though expecting to be ambushed by some mythical creature.
"Hello there!" he called, his voice loud enough to make Elara wince.
Elara's eyes narrowed, her fingers wrapping around her dagger. She stepped forward, her movements as graceful as they were deliberate.
"Lost, human?"
The man froze, his gaze snapping to her. For a moment, he seemed taken aback, as though he had not expected to find her so quickly – or perhaps at all. But his surprise quickly gave way to a lopsided grin.
"Not lost," he replied, his tone defensive but steady. "Looking for help. My name's Kenric, I'm a farmer."
"Humans don't belong here," she said, her tone icy. "Your kind takes what it wants and leaves the rest to rot. Why should I help you?"
The farmer's jaw tightened. "I don't have time for this. My village is dying. Crops withering, wells drying up."
At the mention of the crops withering, Elara's gaze darkened ever so slightly, a flicker of something – worry, perhaps – crossing her features. She began to pace, almost as if lost in her thoughts.
"I had hoped it was contained," she murmured, almost to herself.
Kenric watched her, a look of surprise overtaking his features. "So… you do know something about it?"
"I know enough to fear it," she said, her tone sharp. She stopped pacing and fixed him with a hard stare.
"But I do not trust humans. Your kind brings chaos wherever you go. Why should I involve myself in your troubles?"
Kenric frowned, his earlier reverence giving way to frustration. "Because it's not just my trouble. This blight is killing everything – plants, animals, the land itself. It'll reach here, too, if it hasn't already."
Elara's jaw tightened but she said nothing, contemplating his words with her options.
Kenric took a step closer, his voice softening. "Please. My family… they won't survive this. I'll do whatever you ask – just help me find a way to stop it."
Elara's brow furrowed. "What brought you to me of all people? What makes you think I would be of any help?"
Kenric's shoulders relaxed, his features softening. "Heard you're the smartest being alive – or so the stories go. Thought I'd see if it's true."
Elara's expression formed a mix of suspicion and annoyance. "You came all this way to test the truth of a story?"
Kenric shrugged, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world. "Not exactly. Where I'm from, we have stories that have been passed down through generations. One of them is about a wood elf that lives in this forest and has supposedly read every book and knows all the history stories. Folks said that if anyone could help us, it'd be you."
She studied him, her sharp gaze taking in every detail. His clothes were worn but sturdy, his hands calloused, his posture relaxed despite the tension in her own. He did not look like a threat, but neither did he look like someone she wished to entertain.
"You come uninvited, unannounced," she said coldly. "I will ponder your request, if you will answer me these questions."
Kenric eyed her with skepticism but nodded weakly.
"What do you know of the blight?" Elara asked, getting straight to the point.
"Started small – just a patch of corn dying off here and there. But now it's spreading to the wheat, the barley… even the livestock are acting strange."
Elara studied him in silence, weighing his words. The blight was no longer contained to her forest, then. Its reach was growing, faster than she had anticipated.
"Where is your home, farmer?"
"The other side of the mainland, about a 20 days journey."
Silence stretched between them as Elara realized the implications of what the farmer was relaying, and the understanding that this was not something to be taken lightly. If the blight had already spread so far they needed to move quickly, unless their chance to save the land had already passed.
Finally, Elara spoke, her voice as smooth as polished stone but lacking any trace of warmth. "Come inside. Tell me everything."
And so Kenric stood by the hearth in Elara's home and began to narrate his story, his voice thick with despair and exhaustion. He described the slow, relentless withering of his land, the dying crops, the sickly animals, the chilling silence that had replaced the vibrant symphony of nature, even the streams had turned sluggish and dark. He spoke of the growing fear in his village, the despair that clung to his neighbors like a shroud. They'd tried everything – new seeds, prayers to every god, even consulting the village herbalist – but nothing had worked.
This was when an old hunter in his village had spoken up, and told Kenric of a wood elf that lived deep in the forest, far from their town. The tales saying that she knew the secrets of the earth itself.
So Kenric, desperate and clinging to any hope he had left to save his village, had taken months to find her. Months of asking questions in towns where people looked at him as though he'd lost his mind, of following trails that grew colder with every step. Until finally, someone had pointed him in the right direction of the wood elf's home.
When Kenric had finally finished his story Elara stood motionless by the window, her gaze fixed on the trees beyond, their leaves muted and dull in the morning light. Kenric's words echoed in her mind, unsettling as a distant thunderstorm – The blight has spread across the continent. My village is dying.
She had known the land was sick. For months, she had watched her forest falter under a creeping malaise. But she had told herself it was contained, a passing affliction that she could cure in time. Now, the weight of Kenric's tale pressed heavily on her, stirring a deep unease in her heart.
This was no mere illness of the soil. It was something far greater – a corruption that reached beyond her forest, spreading like rot in a fallen tree. And it was growing.
Reluctantly, she turned away from the window. Kenric stood by her hearth, hands stuffed in his pockets, his gaze wandering curiously over Elara's shelves and trinkets. His presence in her home unsettled her more than the blight itself. Humans brought chaos and noise, and her sanctuary was no place for either. But the blight was bigger than her disdain for mankind. It was bigger than both of them.
With a sigh, she gestured toward a wooden chair near the fire. "You may sit. But do not touch anything."
Kenric perked up, his lips quirking into a lopsided grin. "Not even the shiny things?"
Elara shot him a glare. "Especially not the shiny things."
Her home was a reflection of her long life – an ancient, winding place filled with the relics of centuries past. The walls were lined with shelves, each groaning under the weight of leather-bound tomes, jars of herbs, and odd artifacts collected from distant lands. A small table near the hearth was cluttered with tools of her craft – quills and inks, dried flowers bundled with twine, and an assortment of gemstones that gleamed faintly in the firelight.
Kenric's eyes darted from one item to the next, curiosity evident in every glance. "What's in that jar?" he asked, pointing to a glass vessel filled with a pale green liquid.
Elara, busy scanning the spines of her books, didn't bother looking up. "A tincture for calming fevered minds."
"And that?" He gestured toward a cluster of crystals arranged in a pattern on the shelf.
"Protection wards," she said curtly.
Kenric stepped closer to the shelf, squinting at the crystals. "Do they work?"
"They will not work if you disturb them," Elara snapped, turning sharply toward him. Her long silver hair swayed with the movement, catching the firelight like strands of moonlight. "I told you – sit."
Kenric raised his hands in mock surrender and plopped into the chair. "Right. No touching."
Satisfied he was staying put, Elara resumed her search. Her fingers trailed over the worn leather bindings of her books, each one marked with symbols of languages long forgotten by mankind. The scent of parchment and herbs filled the air, mingling with the faint tang of smoke from the hearth.
She murmured to herself as she read the titles, her voice a soft thread of Elvish weaving through the room. At last, she pulled a tome from the shelf, its cover embossed with silver runes. She carried it to the table and opened it with reverence, the pages crackling softly as they turned.
Kenric watched her with quiet fascination. "So, is that the book? The one with all the answers?"
Elara gave him a withering look. "It is a book. Whether it holds the answers remains to be seen."
Undeterred by her bruteness, Kenric leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You know, I thought you'd be taller."
Elara's fingers stilled on the page. She gl anced up, one brow arched in disbelief. "Excuse me?"
"Well," he said with a shrug, "in the stories, you're this towering figure – wise and powerful. Thought you'd be, I don't know… more intimidating."
Elara straightened, folding her arms across her chest. "You think I'm not intimidating?"
Kenric chuckled. "Oh, you're intimidating all right. Just not in the way I expected."
For a moment, silence hung between them, broken only by the crackle of the fire. Elara's gaze softened – just a fraction – and she allowed herself a brief smile. "Humans have always been prone to embellishment."
Kenric grinned, "Well, I'll take the real Elara over the stories any day."
She shook her head, returning her attention to the book. As she read, a shadow of worry crept back into her expression. The blight was no mere sickness; it was something ancient, something unnatural.
And it was spreading… quickly.
Finally, she closed the book with a soft thud and looked at Kenric.
"You've brought me troubling news, farmer. If the blight has reached as far as your village, then we have little time to waste."
Kenric's smile faded. "So… you'll help?"
Elara nodded slowly. "I will help. But you must understand – this will not be an easy journey. There are dangers far worse than the blight."
Kenric stood, his expression resolute. "I've come this far. I'm not turning back now."
Elara studied him for a moment, then turned toward the shelves once more. "Very well. But remember – no touching."
Kenric chuckled, following her gaze to the many strange and beautiful things that filled her home. "No promises."