The thick canopy of Everglen Forest parted slightly as the children stumbled forward, their bodies aching and their breaths ragged. The sun cast golden rays through the gaps in the leaves, illuminating the battered group as they pushed past the dense foliage. Their clothes were torn, stained with dirt and blood—some of it theirs, some of it not. The fight to escape the monster had drained them, and every step forward felt like a battle in itself.
Then, the trees opened up, and what they saw stole the breath from their lungs.
Before them, nestled against the backdrop of jagged mountains, stood an enormous castle—no, not just a castle, but a masterpiece of architecture unlike anything they had ever seen. Spires of golden and ivory metal spiraled skyward, defying logic with their intricate curves and impossible heights. Water cascaded down from the upper levels, flowing through massive, enchanted wheels that shimmered with arcane energy. Smaller towers and bridges wove around the main structure like the roots of an ancient tree, and floating platforms drifted lazily in the air. It was as if the entire structure was alive, pulsing with the heartbeat of an era long forgotten.
The children stood frozen, awe washing over them like a tidal wave.
"This... this can't be real," one of them murmured, voice trembling with exhaustion and disbelief.
They had grown up on tales of Everglen Forest, of the dangers lurking within and the ancient secrets it hid. But none of those stories had prepared them for this.
Despite their wounds and the exhaustion weighing them down, their curiosity drove them forward. Step by step, they made their way through the soft grass, their legs heavy yet unwilling to stop.
Then, one of them let out a small gasp.
Near the base of a massive, ancient tree—one of many that dotted the outskirts of the grand structure—lay a figure.
A lone elf, resting peacefully against the bark, his arms folded beneath his head like a pillow. His long, silver hair shimmered under the dappled sunlight, and his elegant robes, though slightly worn, carried an air of majesty. He was tall, even seated, and his face held a serene expression, as if the worries of the world had long ceased to trouble him.
But the most curious part was not his presence—it was the fact that he was sleeping.
Here, in the heart of the most dangerous forest known to mankind, surrounded by creatures of legend and mystery, this elf was taking a nap as if nothing in the world could harm him.
The children exchanged glances, their minds racing with possibilities.
Who was he?
............
A few hours before the children arrived...
1st POV
I woke up to the soft hum of magic running through the castle, the distant sounds of water cascading down the enchanted spires blending with the wind outside. The sun filtered in through the grand windows of my chamber, casting warm streaks of gold across the polished floor.
Another morning in solitude. Another day in the place I had chosen to retreat to, far from the affairs of the world.
I rose from my bed, stretching slightly as the spirits of the castle stirred. They were ever-watchful, unseen by most, yet I could feel their presence flitting around me, tending to the endless tasks of maintaining this place. The air was cool, but the moment I stepped out of bed, warmth wrapped around me as the spirits adjusted the temperature to my liking.
"Good morning," I murmured to no one in particular, knowing full well they were listening.
A gentle breeze brushed against my skin in response.
I made my way to the bath, where the water was already drawn to the perfect temperature. Stripping off my robes, I lowered myself into the steaming pool, letting the warmth ease away whatever lingering stiffness remained. It was a peaceful routine, one I had followed for centuries.
After bathing, I dressed in my usual robes and sat at the grand dining table, though calling it a "table" felt somewhat excessive given its sheer size. Once, this place had hosted grand feasts, the halls filled with laughter and voices. Now, only I remained. The spirits, ever attentive, placed my breakfast before me—freshly baked bread, fruits, and tea, all prepared without a single mortal hand. I ate in silence, listening to the rustling leaves outside.
Once finished, I rose, stepping out onto the stone pathways leading to the training grounds. I always trained at this hour—it was a habit ingrained into my being. Centuries of refining my swordsmanship, of pushing my body and magic beyond mortal limits, had made me who I was. Even now, despite having no real need for it, I continued. It was not out of necessity but out of a personal vow—one should never stagnate.
The spirits had prepared my swords as always, laying them neatly against the wooden rack. I chose my usual one, its weight familiar in my grip.
The training grounds stood empty, save for me and the whispering winds. It was a vast space, surrounded by old stone walls and enchanted to repair itself from any damage my practice inflicted upon it. I took my stance, closing my eyes for a brief moment before beginning my routine. Each movement was precise, flowing seamlessly into the next. Swordplay was not just about strength—it was an art, a dance where every motion carried intention.
Hours passed, though it felt like mere minutes. By the time I finished, my robes clung to my skin with sweat. With a breath, I dismissed my blade, placing it back where it belonged. Another day, another practice complete.
A change of robes was necessary. Returning to the castle, I stepped into my chambers and discarded the sweat-drenched garments, allowing the spirits to whisk them away. They laid out a fresh set, light and comfortable. Dressed once more, I wandered the halls with no particular destination in mind.
The castle was vast, yet I had long memorized every corridor, every hidden chamber, every forgotten corner. It was my home, but at times, I wondered if it had become a gilded cage of my own making.
After some time, I found myself outside, standing before one of the great trees that lined the outskirts of my domain. The weather was pleasant—warm sunlight, a soft breeze carrying the scent of the earth. It was the kind of day that made the world feel at peace, as if all troubles had momentarily ceased to exist.
I leaned against the tree, letting my body relax as I gazed at the sky. The rustling leaves above provided just enough shade to keep the sunlight from being overbearing.
"Just for a moment," I muttered to myself, closing my eyes.
Sleep claimed me before I even realized it.
And so, as the great Historias Everglen lay resting beneath the tree, unaware of what fate had in store, the children stumbled upon his forgotten sanctuary.
...........