The darkness of Sylvandor Forest was pierced by the muffled pounding of three pairs of elven hooves against the damp moss. The steeds raced between the ancient trunks, their dark cloaks rippling like raven wings in the moonless night. Only their labored breathing and the muffled clinking of their mithril armor disturbed the ancestral silence.
Thalion clutched the leather bag containing their precious burden against his chest. For three moons now, the egg had passed from cache to cache, from the secret forges of the Dwarves to the golden halls of the Elves, then to human refuges. Each transfer was a deadly gamble, each journey a dance with death. But they had no choice. Somewhere in this vast world of Aethermoor, the Chosen One waited. Somewhere, a heart beat in unison with the eternal flames of the phoenix.
- "Vel'noth shan," murmured Silvain to his right, his eyes scanning the shifting shadows. "Something is wrong."
Thalion imperceptibly slowed his destrier, all his senses on alert. Three centuries of existence had taught him to trust his brother-in-arms' intuitions. The trees seemed to hold their breath, as if the forest itself sensed danger.
- "The birds have gone silent," whispered Arandil, closing their formation. "How long has it been since we heard..."
An arrow whistled through the night air. It struck with a dull thud into the trunk of an oak, inches from Silvain's head. Then silence fell again, heavier than a tombstone.
- "Ambush!" cried Thalion, pulling the reins.
The three elves sprang from their mounts in one fluid movement, their elven swords gleaming with silver light in the darkness. Around them, the forest suddenly came alive with malevolent presence. Red eyes glowed among the ferns, harsh growls echoed from all sides.
- "Vrath... These disgusting creatures," Arandil whispered again.
The Vrath emerged from their hiding places like demons risen from the abyss. Their green and deformed bodies, humanoid and now bearing the stigmata of their alliance with the Emperor. Their arms were long, their teeth razor-sharp, and their claws longer than razors. A dozen of them deployed in a circle, blocking every exit.
- "Ignar vel'thek!" roared Silvain.
The words of Aethrim resonated in the clearing like thunder. A shower of flames burst from his outstretched palm, engulfing three Vrath who screamed as they burned. But already, others were taking their place.
A chilling laugh rose above the din of battle. A figure slowly emerged from the shadow of a millennial tree. Taller than a man, clothed in black robes that seemed to absorb light itself, the creature advanced with measured steps. Its eyes were but two wells of darkness, and when it spoke, its voice was that of wind through ossuaries.
- "Meshrak'hai, pathetic elves," hissed the Shadow. "You carry something that belongs to my master."
Thalion instinctively tightened his grip on the bag. The egg seemed to pulse against his chest, as if sensing the proximity of evil.
- "Never," he spat. "Veleth astar shan!"
A shield of pure light rose around the three elves, repelling the first wave of assailants. But Thalion could already feel his strength waning. The magic of Aethrim demanded a price few were willing to pay.
The Shadow raised a skeletal hand.
- "Mor'than velk neth," it murmured.
Tendrils of darkness burst from the ground, coiling around Arandil's legs. The young elf cried out in agony as the black bonds drained his life force. His skin paled, his golden hair dulled, and he collapsed like a withered flower.
- "No!" screamed Silvain.
His rage exploded in a torrent of blue flames that swept half the clearing.
- "Ignar'thek mor'hai!"
The words of power cracked like a whip, and even the Shadow stepped back. But the effort was too great. Silvain fell to his knees, blood flowing from his eyes.
Thalion understood they were lost. The Vrath were closing in, the Shadow was preparing a new spell, and Arandil lay motionless in the sullied grass. There remained only one solution, one chance to save the egg.
- "Forgive me, my brothers," he murmured, closing his eyes.
He drew from the depths of his being, from that source of life that elves guarded jealously. His voice rose, clear and pure despite the chaos:
- "Shan'vel noth aethra, mor'kai ithil shan. Vel'thar neth."
- "By winds and stars, let light carry me. Let space bend."
The world exploded in a kaleidoscope of colors. Thalion felt his essence scatter into the very weave of reality. He was nothing but pure energy, desperate intention. The egg in his arms glowed with golden light, as if it understood the sacrifice being made for it.
When the light faded, the clearing was empty. Only the bodies of Silvain and Arandil remained, and the echo of Thalion's last words still resonating among the trees:
- "Find him... find the Chosen One..."
Leagues away, in a small forest on the outskirts of an isolated village, the air tore open. Thalion collapsed against the trunk of an old oak, the phoenix egg still clutched against his heart that no longer beat. His amber eyes slowly clouded, and a peaceful smile touched his lips. He had succeeded. Hope would survive.
The night wind gently caressed the leaves, like a funeral song for the fallen hero.