The carriage rolled to a slow stop as they neared the towering white castle.
"Look to your right," Aelar said, gesturing out the window. "That's the training ground of our soldiers—my warriors. I train them myself, and they live there."
Icariel turned his gaze and saw a vast, open structure made of white stone and carved crystal. The building stood wide like an arena, with smooth terraces and elevated walkways spiraling upward like woven branches. Elven runes shimmered on its outer walls, and open-roof sections revealed warriors mid-practice, blades flashing and mana pulsing in synchronized drills.
"Amazing…" Icariel muttered.
Soon, the carriage came to a complete halt before the castle's front gates.
"We've arrived, Warleader," one of the armored guards announced, opening the carriage door with a respectful bow.
"Thank you," Aelar said, stepping out first. He walked forward along a polished stone path inlaid with glowing white stars.
"Come," he called to Elena, Elif, and Icariel, who followed in a silent line.
At the gigantic castle doors stood two more guards, clad in ornate silver armor. As they opened the towering doors, they lowered their heads respectfully.
"Welcome, Warleader. They are waiting for you."
Aelar gave a nod, and together they stepped into the castle.
Icariel's breath caught.
The entrance hall was vast, majestic—a blend of white and green marble that shimmered like fresh snow under sunlight. The walls curved like the trunks of great trees, carved with ancient runes and lifelike reliefs of elven history. The floor was painted with swirling leaf patterns in silver and gold. Floating high above them, a grand crystal chandelier glowed with a warm, golden light—powered not by fire, but by fluttering fairies dancing within it.
"Amazing…" Icariel whispered.
Elena and Elif smiled, catching the awe in his expression. It was the first time the mountain boy—who had lived his whole life locked away in silence—was seeing something so breathtaking. His heart beat faster, caught between wonder and disbelief.
"Voice," he thought. "Are you seeing this through me? Awesome, right?"
"Yes… truly a piece of art. The elves do what they do best."
"Right?" Icariel thought. "And… the mana here. It's so much denser than normal. It's thick, like mist."
"Of course. The castle is really close to the Tree of Life. That's part of why..."
Before Icariel could respond, footsteps approached from deeper within the hall.
A group emerged—led by Princess Virethiel herself.
She looked nothing like the fierce figure he'd seen before in her black combat suit. Today, she was draped in a flowing white dress woven from what looked like silk and starlight, etched with pale gold leaves and symbols of the Tree. It hugged her figure gracefully and trailed slightly behind her like a ripple of moonlight.
Behind her came several others—an entourage of noble-looking elves.
"Welcome, Warleader," Virethiel said formally, her voice smooth and commanding.
She greeted Elena and Elif, who respectfully lowered their heads.
Icariel, however, remained upright.
He had asked Aelar the night before, "Should I lower my head to her?"
Aelar had replied, "If you don't recognize her as your ruler, and since you're human, not an elf, it's not necessary."
"Then I won't," Icariel said. "I didn't like the way she approached me that day. I'll lower it if you ask, but now that I know—no."
Aelar glanced at him with a soft smirk. "Look at you… how considerate. But it's okay—no offense taken."
Virethiel, of course, noticed. Her lips curled into a familiar teasing smile as her eyes met his.
Four others stepped forward beside her, each radiating presence.
"Since we're all here," Aelar said, "allow me to introduce you to my precious student, Icariel."
He stepped closer, lifting his hand toward the first.
"This is ValandorThorne. He is our adviser—strategic mind and scholar. He crafts our battle plans, interprets ancient lore, and guides the princess in matters of diplomacy and war alike. Probably the smartest elf in the tribe."
Valandor stepped forward—a middle-aged elf with short brown hair, small rectangular glasses, and calm brown eyes. His features were unmarred, typical of elves, but he carried himself with the quiet dignity of someone who'd lived far longer than he looked. His robe was deep green and trimmed in gold, with scrolls tucked under one arm.
"The second—Tessara Shadow."
Aelar gestured to a tall figure cloaked in black. She wore skin-tight garments built for movement, with a long hooded cloak draped over her shoulders and a silver mask obscuring the lower half of her face. Her long green hair fell like silk, and her silver eyes gleamed with silent sharpness.
"She's our eyes and ears," Aelar explained. "A master of stealth, intelligence, and subterfuge. She deals with spies, secrets, and shadows—protecting the princess from threats that never announce themselves."
Tessara inclined her head slightly, her gaze unreadable.
"Third," Aelar continued, "is Eldrin Ironshield—Shield of the Princess."
The elf beside him stepped forward, tall and imposing. He wore golden armor that shimmered like the morning sun. His long dark hair was tied back, and a massive spear rested across his back.
"He's captain of the Royal Guard and Virethiel's personal protector. Fierce, loyal, and unbreakable."
"Also, the Royal Guards are strong elves who protect Her Highness and the castle."
Eldrin offered a small nod—more of a soldier's gesture than a diplomat's.
"And last," Aelar said with a warm smile, "Lonor The Beast."
Icariel raised an eyebrow as a muscular figure stepped forward.
"He's not an elf. Not a human either. He's a shapeshifter. And he's my friend—and Virethiel's right hand."
The man—Lonor—wore simple dark pants and a fitted black shirt bearing the same symbol Icariel had seen on the others: the edgeless, handleless sword. His skin was slightly tanned, his jawline strong, and his deep green eyes burned with quiet intensity. He had short dark hair, a small scar on his forehead in the shape of an X, and dark eyes. Though he looked the most human among them, he was merely taller than the others.
"Meet those who move the strings behind our realm."
Icariel nodded slowly. Each of them looked powerful. Dangerous. Important.
Aelar raised his hand, motioning to the boy beside him.
"And this one here is Icariel," he said. "My student."
Icariel stepped forward, facing the elite elves of the castle. Their gazes were sharp, observant, yet none intimidated him.
"Nice to meet you all," he said simply, offering a short nod.
His White Sense silently examined their mana. He saw their mana signatures—curious about what each of them was capable of. Through his eyes, their power unraveled like streams of color and pressure.
Valandor's mana was dense and refined, tightly coiled within a strong core—clearly a scholar, not a warrior. Eldrin, the golden-armored captain, possessed several swirling magic circles—stable and wide, like a fortress.
Tessara, however… the moment his gaze swept over her, her silver eyes snapped toward him with cold precision. She had noticed. Not just that he was observing—but how deeply.
Icariel quickly turned his eyes away, hiding the tension behind his calm expression.
"You took too long with the introductions, Aelar. I would have introduced myself to him anyway," Valandor said with a smile, adjusting his glasses.
Aelar grinned faintly. "I thought I'd glaze over you all a bit."
A few soft laughs followed. Tessara remained silent, watching Icariel without blinking.
Then Eldrin stepped forward and addressed Icariel with a firm voice. "Nice to meet you. I expect you truly have the spirit of a warrior to have been chosen by our Warleader."
Aelar, hearing that, offered a faint smile—but thought to himself, "I'm not too sure about that yet."
Princess Virethiel's emerald eyes slid toward Icariel with the ghost of a smirk.
"Spirit of a warrior? The bastard called for help from his teacher the second he realized he couldn't take me. Hmph."
Then the last of the four, Lonor, approached. The shapeshifter was the only one who didn't seem to judge, threaten, or analyze. He extended a strong hand to Icariel and greeted him with ease.
"Nice to meet you, Icariel. I'm Lonor," he said with quiet warmth. "Aelar told me about you. I feel at ease now that I'm not the only non-elf here."
Icariel took his hand and shook it firmly. "Me too," he said. "It's good to meet you."
With that, the introductions concluded.
Aelar turned toward Elena, Elif, and Icariel.
"You three can explore the castle for a while. We need to speak in private."
They nodded without question.
As Virethiel, Aelar, and the others walked deeper into the halls, Elena turned to Icariel with a smile.
"Let's show you around. You'll love it here."
"Yeah," Icariel said, following her. But his thoughts were drifting elsewhere.
"Lonor."
That name stayed in his mind.
"Voice," he thought, "I understood the others—Valandor's mana, Eldrin's layers, Tessara's stealth—but Lonor… he's different. What exactly is a shapeshifter?"
"A rare race. One that's believed to be extinct," the voice answered. "They aren't mages, swordmasters, or superhumans. They're something else. Born from harsh environments. Humans whose blood merged with beasts over generations. They rarely possess strong mana—only enough to fuel their transformations—but physically… they're monsters."
"So that's why I barely sensed mana from him… just a small core, no circles…"
"Exactly. But don't be fooled. That small core is enough to let them shift—and once they do, even a swordmaster could be overwhelmed if caught unprepared. The only ones who truly counter them well are mages."
"Got it," Icariel replied. "No wonder I couldn't read him like the others. But they're strong—really strong. All of them. Except maybe Valandor. He had mana but no magic circles..."
"He's a scholar. A planner. Strength lies in his mind, not in his fists."
Then suddenly, Elif's voice brought him back to reality.
"Look!" she said, pointing to a corridor lined with ancient relics and crystal-glass displays. "This way—these are the artifacts of the Founders!"
Snapping out of his thoughts, Icariel followed.
"Still…" he thought, "with all this strength around, no wonder the elven tribe has stood for so long. As long as people like them protect it… this place is safe."
He looked to Elif and smiled slightly.
"Alright."