The room they stepped into was vast and quiet, filled with the weight of memory. Both sides of the chamber were lined with elegant glass cases, ten in total—five on the left and five on the right—each containing something old, yet powerful.
At the far end, resting against a pristine white wall, was a large portrait. Icariel's gaze was immediately drawn to it.
The man in the painting had long, straight dark hair, silver eyes that gleamed with intelligence, and strikingly sharp features. His expression carried a calm, knowing smile, and atop his head sat a golden crown—simple, regal, and perfectly fitted.
"That's one of the founders," Elena said gently. "There were three in total, but he's the one who built this part of the elven tribe—our home."
Icariel's eyes widened. "So that's what a founder looks like..."
But what caught his full attention wasn't the painting—it was the boxes. More specifically, what was inside them.
He could see it—pure, concentrated mana, lingering in each object like a spirit that refused to fade. His WhiteSense responding instinctively to the hidden power before him.
"I see… but what are those?" he asked, pointing at the nearest cases.
"They're sacred relics," Elena replied. "Precious equipment left behind by legends of our tribe."
She led him to the first case on the left.
"This dagger belonged to a great warrior," she said, her voice calm and reverent. "He died protecting his people from a horde of monsters… alone. But not a single other life was lost that day."
The dagger inside was small, straight-bladed, worn along the edge. Its handle was wrapped in faded green leather, the whole weapon weathered—but still undeniably powerful.
Icariel could feel its lingering mana. Even after all this time, it pulsed faintly with life.
In the next four cases were pieces of armor—each different in design but all scorched and cracked, like remnants of a great battle.
"These belonged to warriors who died defending the Tree of Life," Elena continued. "There was once an invasion—a force tried to steal the sacred core of the tree. These warriors gave everything to stop them. This is what remains of them."
"The Tree of Life is really that important to the elves, huh…" Icariel murmured.
"Yes," Elena said, her voice suddenly hardening. "It is our life. If it's taken… it's better to die than live after failing to protect it."
Her tone made Icariel pause. He tilted his head.
"Sorry if I sound cold," he said. "But I don't understand that kind of connection. A tree… even one full of power… it's just a thing. If someone gives their all and still fails, saying they should die… it doesn't make sense to me."
Elif opened her mouth to speak, but Elena held up a hand—and laughed, gently.
"You're a human," she said, softly now. "You won't understand. And I don't blame you. It's good that you value your life. It means you'll fight to keep it."
Icariel didn't respond. He just looked away.
His eyes now turned to the five boxes on the right side of the room.
The first contained a small green crystal orb, swirling faintly with energy.
"What's this?" he asked.
"That's a Nature Orb," Elena answered. "It increases one's affinity with nature and helps those learning nature magic to connect more deeply. It was left behind by one of our greatest mages. A genius, really. But it's never been used. It rests here as a symbol."
The next case held a black pouch with a dark blue seam.
"This…" Elena said, her voice changing, pride slipping in, "this was created by my grandfather."
"Your grandfather?" Icariel raised an eyebrow.
"Yes," she said. "He's gone now… but he was a master of creating magical equipment. This pouch can hold things far larger than its size suggests. Near-infinite space. A masterpiece."
Icariel's eyes widened. He remembered something similar— Pouch the Galien had that once claimed to have found in the mountains but after hearing from Elektra it was given to him.
"I've seen something like it," he muttered.
"Really?" Elena tilted her head. "They're rare. If someone had one, they must've had great status… or recognition."
"They're not alive anymore," Icariel replied plainly as he also thought "Elena's words confirmed it—Pouch wasn't dropped. It was given."
"I'm sorry," Elena said softly.
"It's fine," he shrugged.
With a graceful turn, she moved to the next two boxes. Inside were deep green battle garments—lightweight and beautifully tailored.
"These were worn by the founder's wife," Elena said. "She crafted them herself. Designed for battle, enchanted to resist physical impact and elemental attacks. They've lasted centuries."
But it was the last box that truly stirred Icariel's interest.
Inside was a single piece of wood.
Straight. Smooth. Small. No bigger than a forearm. But it radiated mana in a way none of the others had.
"What about this one?" he asked.
Elena smiled, her gaze flicking to Elif.
"That," she said with a teasing tone, "is Elif's dream."
"Huh?"
Elif, suddenly shy, looked away. "Mom…"
"It's called Elonora," Elena explained. "It belonged to the previous elf queen. When infused with mana, it can change shape—into anything. A blade, a staff, a carriage, armor… you name it. The more mana you give it, the more complex and powerful the shape becomes."
Icariel's eyes lit up.
"To form anything without worrying about mana cost… with my ability to absorb mana just by breathing, this would be perfect."
"How does one get this?" he asked, his voice quiet but filled with intent.
"Every ten years, a tournament is held between the three elven tribes," Elena said. "The winner of the new generation may request one item from these sacred relic halls."
"I see…" Icariel said.
"Never mind then. Too much work," he thought to himself.
"Want to see more of the castle?" Elena asked, her voice light and inviting. "The balcony upstairs has the best view."
"Sure, why not?" Icariel replied casually, following her up the curved stone steps.
Meanwhile…
In a private chamber within the castle, a large round table dominated the space. Its surface was polished grey stone, carved with the intricate image of the Tree of Life. Around it sat key figures of the elven kingdom—each seat filled with tension.
At the head of the table sat Princess Virethiel, her green eyes sharp and composed. To her right was Lonor, calm and collected, and to her left, the Warleader Aelar, radiating quiet authority. Beside Lonor sat Valandor, the kingdom's chief adviser, and near him, the elegant and serious Tessara. On Aelar's side was Eldrin the Royal Capitan a few other elven officers and strategists filled the remaining seats.
Princess Virethiel leaned forward, her expression troubled.
"Adviser Valandor," she said, "tell us the situation."
Valandor adjusted his glasses, his brown eyes dark with worry. "Another two of our guards stationed at the tribal entrance vanished today," he said gravely.
The room fell into heavy silence.
"I believe, based on the patterns we've observed and their current movements... we're three or four days away from a full-scale invasion." His voice was calm but laced with tension. "And I'm certain their goal is to steal the Tree of Life."
Eldrin's voice cut through the silence. "What are the chances they succeed?"
Valandor didn't hesitate. "We're dealing with an organization known as The Godless Abyss," he said. "They've already caused havoc in the human world. Mages, superhumans, swordmasters… they have all kinds of races in their ranks. A highly dangerous collective."
"Assuming everything in our plan works perfectly, our success rate is 70%. But that leaves a terrifying 30% chance they succeed. If even one step fails… the balance will be shattered."
Eldrin fell silent. In his mind, he translated the words.
"A thirty percent chance for the enemy to succeed… even when we're prepared."
"He's telling us 70/30... and that's best-case. Which means a single misstep, one mistake—and we're finished. That's how dangerous they are. Thirty percent is not low—not when it's against people like this."
Princess Virethiel turned to Aelar. "Warleader?"
Aelar answered firmly, "We'll proceed with the strategy outlined by Valandor—and I'll prepare my own tactical plan as well. This threat is too severe to take any chances."
"Dependable as always," Virethiel said, her voice warm despite the tension. "Adviser, share the full strategy the others here. Lonor and I are already briefed."
Valandor nodded. "As you command, Highness."
He began detailing the defense plan—positions, patrol shifts, hidden enchantments, evacuation routes. It was thorough. Ruthlessly precise.
When he finished, PrincessVirethiel stood. "That concludes our meeting," she said. "Let's pray nothing unexpected occurs... and that we overcome this without catastrophe."
One by one, the elves stood and filed out.
Outside the Meeting Room
Aelar walked alongside Valandor.
"That human boy you brought in," Valandor said, eyes narrowing slightly, "I noticed something strange about him."
"Oh?" Aelar raised an eyebrow.
"He has no magic circle, no developed core—but his body is full of pure mana. It's unnatural. How is that possible?"
"I don't know," Aelar said with a faint smile. "That's why I took him in. He's… different. And I'm training him to understand how."
"Is he strong?"
"Not yet," Aelar said without hesitation. "He's learning. Nowhere near the word 'strong'."
"But that's what I'm telling you," he thought silently. "If they knew he mastered Vital Surge in a single month, they'd start offering him titles, gifts, alliances. It would be a mess for the boy."
"I'll let Icariel choose for himself when he's ready."
"I see…" Valandor said. "Then I'll leave him in your hands. May fortune favor us."
"See you later, Valandor."
Back at the Castle's Second Floor…
Icariel stood on the balcony with Elena and Elif. The breeze tousled his hair as he stared out, eyes wide with wonder.
"Do you like the view?" Elena asked.
Icariel's eyes gleamed. "It's… awesome."
Behind them, the towering Tree of Life glowed gently under the sun. Before him, the grand houses of noble elves stood proud, and far beyond, he could see the sprawling homes of the elven tribes nestled beneath colossal trees, leaves swaying with ancient grace.
"What an amazing view," he whispered.
A familiar voice called from behind.
"Oh! So this is where you were hiding," Aelar said as he approached. "I've been searching all over."
Icariel turned with a grin. "Didn't mean to vanish on you."
"Did you enjoy the castle?"
"It's a masterpiece," Icariel said truthfully.
"I'm glad you like it," Aelar said. Elena stepped forward.
"How did the meeting go?"
"We'll prepare in the next four days," Aelar said, more serious now. "I need to find somewhere safe for you two."
Icariel his gaze to the horizon.
That's when it happened.
His breath caught.
Far in the distance—at the outer edge of the elven village—he saw it.
Flames.
A faint glow rising from the far houses.
His instincts flared. He raised his eyes—Above the castle.Figures in black cloaks—hovering silently in the sky.His heart skipped.
Then—
A small red orb of condensed mana began to descend toward them.
The voice—loud and primal—screamed in his mind. "DROP ON THE GROUND—NOW!"
Without thinking, Icariel grabbed Elif and dove, pushing her down to the balcony floor and dropping himself beside her.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!
The explosion ripped through the balcony railing—stone shards blasted into the air, smoke flooding the space around them.
Rubble rained down.
Elif coughed and lifted her head, dazed. "What… what happened?"
Her eyes widened. "Mom? Dad?!"
Icariel looked up—jaw clenched.
His hands were still trembling.
But his eyes—his eyes were burning.