The morning mist still hung over the quiet forest clearing near Aelar's home.
A figure stepped into view.
Icariel's dark eyes narrowed, his enhanced vision flaring with clarity—and what he saw made his chest tighten.
An overwhelming amount of mana—denser, purer than anything he'd ever sensed. The air shimmered around the figure like a heatwave. Inside their chest, eight magic circles—maybe more—spun like orbiting stars.
His voice stayed calm, but a tremor of dread rippled through his mind.
"Voice… what is that?"
"Call Aelar," the Voice replied without delay. "If this one means harm, you're finished."
Icariel instinctively stepped back, half-raising an arm. "What do you want?"
The figure tilted their head slightly and spoke—low, sharp, undeniable. "Answer me. How did you know I was there?"
Wind gathered in Icariel's palm, his voice hardening. "Back off. I won't warn you twice."
The figure stepped forward. "Then don't."
Mana surged through Icariel's veins, crackling under his skin. Every instinct screamed at him to run—but turning his back meant death.
He raised his hand—Wind Slash coming to life.
The forest stirred. Leaves tore free, branches trembled, and the air grew heavy with tension.
"Oh?" the cloaked figure mused, head cocking. "Finally done trembling?"
Icariel clenched his teeth—but instead of striking, he drew in a breath. A deep one. Deeper than any spell required.
Then he shouted—
"TEACHER!!! HELP!!"
His voice split the air like thunder.
Birds exploded from the canopy in a frenzy. Even the trees seemed to flinch.
The figure recoiled.
"What—?!"
For an instant, her shimmering cloak faltered. Long dark hair spilled free, and her silhouette snapped into perfect clarity.
Icariel's other hand shot up—both palms open. Wind howled around him like a storm.
Twin Wind Slashes erupted, tearing through the mist like blades—fast as arrows, sharp enough to split stone.
Caught off guard, the woman dodged with ease—but not before muttering, "Impudent little…"
Behind her, one of the ancient trees groaned—its trunk sheared in half.
With a thunderous crack, it toppled.
Branches exploded. Earth quaked. The crash echoed like war drums through the forest.
Icariel turned and bolted toward Aelar's house, feet pounding the ground.
The figure gave chase.
Just then—his senses flared.
Another mana signature. Fast. Focused. Familiar.
Aelar.
He was sprinting into the clearing, silver hair trailing like a comet, eyes blazing with urgency.
"What's happening?!" he shouted, clad in sleek black clothes like Icariel's—only neater, sharper.
Icariel ran to him full speed, then spun, pointing behind him. "Teacher! She's chasing me—she's insanely strong! She has more mana than you!"
Aelar froze.
His eyes landed on the figure now emerging from the mist—fully visible.
He went still.
Icariel summoned a flaming spear. It hovered beside him—untouched, ready. "If we fight together, we can win, right?" he said quickly.
But Aelar didn't move.
"Teacher?" Icariel said, catching the tension in his limbs.
The stranger was only a few steps away now. Behind them, the house door creaked open. Elif and Elena stood there, wide-eyed.
Aelar's brow rose so high it nearly reached his hairline.
"…Truly?"
He stepped forward slowly, lowering his guard.
"What are you doing here, my Highness… without your guards?"
"…Highness?" Icariel blinked.
The woman pulled down her hood.
Long curls spilled free, dark as night and tied in a high ponytail. Her face—gods above—was painfully beautiful. Sharp green eyes glowed with intelligence and command. Her lips, soft and pink, curled slightly in annoyance. Her skin gleamed, flawless beneath her suit.
Her ears were short—almost human—but tipped just enough to reveal her elven blood.
She was tall, graceful, dangerous. Her combat attire clung to her like a second skin—a sleek black bodysuit threaded with arcane patterns. Her boots rose high, etched with faint magical runes. A translucent cape shimmered faintly behind her.
Her stomach was toned, her frame honed—power laced into every breath she took.
She crossed her arms and stared at Icariel.
"Aelar," she said, calm but commanding, "perhaps teach your student not to scream obscenities at strangers."
Icariel froze.
Aelar bowed his head slightly. "Forgive me, but… what brings our Highness here alone?"
She smiled faintly, a flicker of mischief in her eyes. "What are you suggesting, Aelar? Am I no longer allowed to walk through my own lands?"
"Of course not, Highness," he said quickly. "It's just… dangerous to go unguarded."
She waved a hand. "You know I'm strong enough."
"I do," Aelar admitted. "Still…"
She turned slightly, casting a glance back toward the winding forest path. "I was just out for an early walk. You know how I love the quiet of the mornings," she said, her gaze lingering on the spot where the stranger lay. "I was passing by your house when I spotted him—" she pointed toward Icariel, "—sprawled on the ground like some lost creature. I figured he was the human you took in. I wasn't planning on disturbing him, but as soon as he woke up… he saw right through my stealth. Effortlessly. I found that rather intriguing."
Elena blinked, stunned. "He saw through Princess Virethiel's stealth…?"
Elif's eyes widened. "No way…"
Aelar remained silent. "That strange awareness of his… it must've sensed her."
"I didn't know who you were!" Icariel said defensively. "What would you do if someone was silently watching you sleep like some shadow in the woods?!"
"Icariel," Aelar warned under his breath.
But the woman… laughed.
"Hah… how amusing," she said. "You really are a mountain boy."
She turned to Aelar. "Since I've come this far, I think I'll stay for morning tea. Don't you agree?"
"It would be an honor, Highness," Aelar said, then turned to Elif. "Stay here with Icariel."
The princess, Aelar, and Elena turned toward the house. Before entering, Virethiel glanced back with a teasing smile, then vanished inside.
"…She's really annoying," Icariel muttered.
"Shhh," Elif hissed. "Don't say that about our princess."
"Princess?" he repeated.
Elif nodded solemnly. "Yes. She's one of the three daughters of the Elf Queen—the one who rules this tribe and protects a section of the Life Tree."
"Really?" he said, still watching the house.
"Really," Elif confirmed, her silver eyes sharp. "Want to walk a bit while they drink?"
"Sure," Icariel replied.
They strolled toward the center of the village, mist curling gently around their steps.
"There are three princesses total," Elif explained. "Children of the Elf Queen—who rules all tribes. Each princess guards a part of the Life Tree."
"So the other two are… somewhere else?"
"Exactly."
"…Are they all as weird as her?"
"I said stop talking like that!" Elif snapped. "They're a blessing! And yes, all incredibly strong."
"I could tell. She had more mana than even your dad."
"She does," Elif said proudly. "She surpasses every elf in raw mana—even the other princesses. They're called the Fruits of the Life Tree."
"Fruits?" Icariel arched a brow.
"Long story," she waved it off. "Anyway, while she has more mana, in terms of skill and technique? My father's still stronger."
"Really?" Icariel asked. "Compared to the others here, how strong is he?"
"Only the other warleaders could match him," Elif said firmly. "No one else—not even most nobles—stand a chance. Except the Elf Queen. She's the one exception."
"My teacher really is awesome, huh?"
"Of course," Elif huffed, puffing her cheeks.
They turned onto a wide stone path. Morning light filtered down between the ancient trees. The scent of herbs and fresh bread lingered in the air. Around them, elves moved gracefully through a village carved into nature itself—homes nestled into trees, bridges woven from living roots.
"…How did you see through Princess Virethiel's stealth?" Elif asked, eyes narrowing. "She's the best at it. That's why she was so intrigued."
Icariel paused. His face was unreadable.
"…I just did."
"Ugh. Jerk," she muttered. "Always keeping secrets…"
Just then, two elves stepped into view ahead—moving quietly through the mist.