With a swift motion, the figure pushed the hood back, revealing—tan skin, traced with faint silver patterns that seemed to shimmer in the moonlight. Her long, silver-white hair cascaded down her back like a river of starlight, framing her charm.
Her sharp features were unwavering, her violet eyes reflecting the unseen presence that had called to her. A moon elf, unmasked in the night.
The same voice, deep and resonant, echoed through the silence. "Enter."
The moment the command was given, the forest parted, and the way was clear. With a steady breath, she stepped forward, her movements fluid and graceful.
Before her loomed the colossal tree—its bark black as midnight, its roots twisting like serpents around the earth, leading upward into the unknown.
She placed a foot on the path, where the roots had formed a natural spiral staircase, winding upward in perfect harmony with the stone that supported them. The path was lit with the faintest glow, as if the tree itself was alive with magic, each step a connection to the ancient power that pulsed within.
As she climbed, the settlement unfolded above her, a dream-like vision that seemed to drift in and out of reality.
Vines wove between the great branches, and the silver leaves of the tree shimmered, casting a soft, ethereal light across the wooden structures suspended in the air.
Bridges of woven roots and luminescent threads linked the towering forms of trees, creating a network of homes, meeting places, and quiet alcoves.
It was a city borne of nature itself, alive with an ancient grace, bathed in the eternal glow of the moon.
The air was cool, filled with the scent of earth and the quiet hum of magic. Here, the moon elves had lived for centuries, hidden from the outside world, yet ever-present within their sacred home.
She moved faster now, eager to reach the heart of the tree.
Ahead, the branches opened, revealing the grand entrance—arched doors of living wood, carved into the very trunk of the tree. Silver light spilled from within, drawing her closer.
As she crossed the threshold, the air grew thick with power. The grand hall stretched before her, walls made of polished bark and branches, glowing softly with the light of moonstone lanterns.
The scent of earth and wood filled the space, and in the center of the hall, a massive spiral staircase wound upward, leading to the higher chambers of the palace. The architecture was both elegant and practical, the natural beauty of the tree blending seamlessly with the artistry of the moon elves.
She moved swiftly, her presence familiar in these halls, as if this place was made for her—the heart of the moon elf city, bathed in silver light, waiting to receive her.
She moved through the palace, the air thickening as she neared the throne room. The walls, etched with moonlit patterns, shimmered in the soft glow of the silver leaves above.
At the door stood two guards, draped in flowing cloaks of midnight blue, their silvery eyes watching with quiet authority. No armor—only the elegance of their robes and the quiet power they emanated. They didn't step aside, but their gaze met hers with silent acknowledgment.
Without a word, she approached. The great doors, carved with ancient symbols, creaked open before her, not by command, but by unspoken magic.
The throne room revealed itself—bathed in moonlight, the throne standing solemnly at the far end. The space held a quiet reverence, as if the palace itself recognized her arrival.
At the base of the throne stood two figures—an elder woman and man. The woman was draped in a robe of white, its fabric flowing like moonlight itself, a soft gleam surrounding her as though she embodied the very light of the moon. On her sleeve, a black crescent was embroidered, mysterious and dark, its curves sharp yet elegant.
Beside her, the elder man wore a robe of black, the deep shadows of the fabric absorbing the light around him. His presence was solemn, imposing, but not menacing. His cloak was adorned with a white crescent, pure and radiant, as though it held the light of the stars within it.
They stood silently, their eyes filled with wisdom and understanding, watching her approach. No words were spoken, yet their presence commanded both respect and reverence.
She moved forward, her footsteps measured and deliberate. The throne, carved from the living wood of the ancient tree, stood ahead—majestic and empty in the center of the room.
The room held its breath, awaiting what would come next.
Without hesitation, she knelt before the empty throne, her movements slow and deliberate.
The silence settled before she spoke, her voice soft as a whisper, like the rustling of velvet in the still of the night.
"I've returned with news from outside," she murmured, the words drifting through the silence like a quiet song.
The elder woman looked at the kneeling figure, her silver eyes gleaming unreadable. She stepped forward, her voice soft but with a warm teasing lilt.
"Tell us, Twyla," she said, "What news could possibly be worthy of reaching the throne? What has stirred the night outside our home?"
The elder man beside her raised an eyebrow, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his lips. "Indeed," he added, his tone warm, "What could demand the throne's attention?"
Ignoring their teasing tone, Twyla, driven by her sense of duty, spoke. "A sudden influx of countless individuals from various races has spread throughout the lands, appearing simultaneously in every direction."
"Every direction?" the elder woman repeated, her teasing lilt fading away.
The elder man's brow lifted slightly, his voice thoughtful. "A gathering of many, yet without warning?" He hummed. "Not merchants, then. Not mere wanderers."
Twyla shook her head. "I don't know what you may not, elders. They move with no clear purpose—no banners raised, no calls for battle—but... they seem lost. Confused, even."
The elder woman's gaze was unreadable, her lips pressing together as she absorbed the information. "Lost?" she murmured, almost to herself. "Yet they seek nothing?"
Twyla hesitated, her fingers twitching at her sides as if unsure of how to explain. "No signs of searching, no clear goal," she replied, her voice uncertain. "Just… suddenly, they appeared in every direction. One moment, nothing. The next, they were here. It's as if they were pulled from somewhere else, without any warning or reason."
The elder man's eyes narrowed slightly, his tone taking on a deeper edge. "And no one understands their presence?"
Twyla shook her head, a faint frown forming. "No, elders. No message, no common purpose. They are scattered across the lands, appearing out of nowhere. Some move together, but not as if by design."
She paused, then added, "Some wear strange clothes—things I've never seen before. And while some gather in groups, others have already begun fighting among themselves. They don't seem to understand why they're here—or even where they are."
The elder woman stepped closer, her silver eyes gleaming. "And the races? Are they familiar to you?"
Twyla shook her head. "Some are—humans, elves, dwarfs, orcs—but others... are races I don't recognize. They're unlike anything I've seen before…But"
The elder man raised an eyebrow. "But?"
Twyla hesitated, her thoughts tangled as she tried to put the strange sight into words. "They are weak," she said slowly, her voice laced with uncertainty. "The Mana I felt from them... it's faint, barely there. Their bodies—" she paused, searching for a way to describe it. "They're unlike anything I've encountered before. They move slowly, like they've been drained, though they've only just arrived."
The elder woman's silver eyes flickered with concern, her brow furrowing as she murmured to herself. "Strange... they move without purpose, without aim. Could it be...?"
The elder man, his expression equally perplexed, muttered under his breath. "Not from this world... but what draws them here?" His gaze seemed distant, lost in thought. "This is... Unheard."
The silence lingered for a moment, thick with confusion and uncertainty, until a voice broke through the stillness—melodic, as if carried on the soft breeze of a moonlit night.
"Strife."
The voice was like the gentle ripple of a lullaby, light and playful, yet carrying an undeniable weight that stirred the very air around them.
It was a voice both soothing and captivating, as though it came from the very heart of the moonlit sky. Every syllable hung in the air like the first note of a forgotten song, calling them to listen.
Twyla's head snapped up, her eyes searching for the source of the voice. The elder woman and man turned as well, their faces shifting into expressions of recognition and respect.
The voice spoke again, its tone sweet and teasing, like the whisper of the night wind through the branches of the ancient tree.
"Strife, yes. It is all so obvious, isn't it?" The voice seemed to dance on the edges of their thoughts, as if the words themselves held a secret smile.
And then, without a sound, she appeared.
It was as though she had always been there, seated upon the empty throne, her presence so commanding that it seemed impossible to think of the throne without her.
One moment, it was empty, and the next, she was there—seated gracefully as if she had been waiting in the shadows all along, watching them without their knowing. Her arrival was seamless, as if the throne and she had always belonged together.
As she settled into the throne, something subtle and magical began to happen. The air itself seemed to shimmer, the very fabric of the room bending with her presence.
The soft moonlight, which had filled the throne room in a gentle, calming glow, suddenly intensified, cascading down from the canopy above like a silver tide.
It was as if the moon itself had drawn closer, bathing the space in a luminous radiance that made the shadows retreat. The light rippled through the room like liquid silver, illuminating every curve and detail of her form.
The polished bark of the walls gleamed under the newfound intensity, casting delicate patterns on the floor. The throne—once a dark, majestic seat—now seemed to glow softly in response to her, its every contour outlined in luminous brilliance.
The woman's dark hair cascaded down her back, shimmering with the faintest silver sheen, as though the night itself had woven her tresses.
Her eyes, gleaming silver like the moon, sparkled with mischievous light, and her smile was playful, filled with untold depths. She moved with an ethereal grace that made her seem both untouchable and utterly captivating.
She was cloaked in a black dress that clung to her form with delicate precision, almost see-through, and shimmered in the moonlight, revealing the faintest hint of her ethereal form beneath.
The dress seemed to pulse with a life of its own, a seamless extension of the moonlight, leaving little to the imagination.
It hugged her body as though it were made of the very fabric of the night itself, flowing effortlessly around her as she shifted in her seat.
The thin, translucent fabric seemed to capture the light, making her look as if she were both part of the shadows and the light at once, an enigma.
Her beauty was intoxicating, almost overwhelming, yet it was not just her appearance that held the room in sway—it was her presence.
It was the kind of beauty that didn't just exist in the physical; it was in the very air around her, something that felt ancient, unknowable, and eternal.
The crown upon her head was understated but regal, a thin band of silver that caught the moonlight, its delicate shape mirroring the crescent of the moon.
It was a symbol of power, but of a power that was soft and enduring, like the moon's glow itself. It rested atop her dark hair, a subtle contrast to the brilliance of her eyes.
She sat upon the throne as if it were the most natural thing in the world, her posture perfect, yet effortless. The throne seemed to hum with life beneath her, as if it, too, were alive and reacting to her presence.
Her voice broke the silence, smooth and melodic, like a lullaby whispered on the wind.
"A Strife between races, lands, continents, and… realms."
Her words lingered in the air, rich with meaning and unspoken weight, drawing the room into an unspoken understanding.
...….
UPCOMING NEXT - CHAPTER 9 - ??.
...….
GLOSSARY -:-
[1] Moon Elves : A reclusive and enigmatic race, deeply connected to the moon and night's rhythm. Some bear faint silver markings, while others remain unmarked. Their hair ranges from midnight to silver-white, and their glowing eyes reflect lunar light. Gifted in lunar and dark magic, they weave illusions, move with heightened agility under moonlight, and communicate through whispered currents in the air. Reserved yet graceful, their presence is both ethereal and elusive.