The red-haired elf

Summer, with its languid heat and jasmine-scented evenings, is preparing to leave the stage when a man dressed in richly colored red and yellow garments crosses the threshold of the library. On his finger, a golden ring sparkles under the flickering candlelight, a ruby set in it seeming to pulse with life.

“Is anyone here?” his voice booms, authoritative and almost provocative. “Where are the Royal Librarians?”

From the back, an elegant figure glides forward—a half-elf dressed in black—who approaches with a light step and invites the man to calm down with a gentle gesture of her hand. “I am Lyria,” she says, a mix of shyness and determination in her tone, “an apprentice librarian. How may I assist you?”

“I am Dantes Yavùil, son of Enator,” declares the man, an ambitious smile curling his lips. “I need a certificate of nobility. I’m willing to pay for research on my family tree.”

In the following days, young Lyria finds herself standing before the majestic Yavùil Palace, located on the fourth level of the city, where nobles stroll like shadows among the mists of power. She wears a blue tunic, a symbol of the maidens from Swanport, clutching a folder to her chest, her heart pounding like war drums.

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A burly man in a dirty apron opens the door with a brusque motion. This man, looking more like a cook than a servant, roughly pushes her into a dining hall overflowing with guests. There, sitting at the head of the table, is Dantes, whose gaze seizes Lyria like a predator on its prey. With a nod of his head, he beckons her closer.

“Do you have the documents?” he asks, waiting for the young woman to present what she has prepared.

“It’s all ready, my lord,” replies Lyria, bowing her head with a smile that conceals her growing unease. With a trembling hand, she offers him the documents.

Dantes examines everything carefully, a flash of satisfaction crossing his face as the ruby on his ring seems to glow ever more brightly. “Very well. I no longer need you, girl.” His voice is a sharp statement, “Cook!”

Before Lyria can utter a word, the man approaches her menacingly. “Do with her as you please, just make sure she’s dead by today,” he orders, the laughter of the guests filling the hall like a sinister echo.

The laughter turns into a shocked scream when, suddenly, the cook grabs Lyria and throws her onto a table. But a cry, heavy with desperation and power, escapes the half-elf's lips, and against all odds, a gust of wind lifts her off the ground, hurling the cook against the wall.

Seizing that moment of confusion, Lyria bolts towards the exit and runs to the upper level, her heart pounding like a drum in flight. However, in her path, a red-haired elf stands between her and salvation, mounted on a moon-white horse.

“You’re shaken, young one. What have they done to you?” she asks, her voice a mix of concern and determination.

Trembling and stammering, Lyria briefly recounts what happened. “We can’t go to the guards: Dantes is one of them. Come with me!” says the elf, her tone leaving no room for dissent.

The young woman doesn't hesitate and leaps onto the horse, grasping tightly to her savior’s sides. Dantes and his armed entourage rush up from the lower level like vultures ready to strike. Lyria closes her eyes, silently pleading for help.

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At a nod from the elf, a tangle of roots bursts forth from the ground, ensnaring the attackers in a deadly embrace. Chaos erupts, and Dantes’s order, “Guards! Arrest them!” echoes, drawing the attention of several soldiers. But the horse, oblivious to human fears, maneuvers past the Yavùils and, with a powerful leap, clears the guards.

The escape transforms into a flight, the sound of a soldier's horn blending with the gallop of the steed as Lyria and her savior dash down the Main Road, weaving through stunned onlookers. The city gates begin to close, but the two seem to dance through time, already at the second level.

Overwhelmed by a mix of adrenaline and terror, Lyria opens her eyes just in time to see the main gate ajar. And in that instant, the white horse gallops through, escaping the clutches of King’s City.

“Who are you?!” she exclaims, terror creeping into her heart.

“We’ll have time for introductions later. Now, sleep,” replies the elf with a soft yet firm voice.

In the blink of an eye, Lyria loses consciousness, surrendering to the darkness...