TSDM

Hidden from mortal sight, nestled deep within the ancient woodland of Sacred Roots, stood the most renowned institution in the realm of Serenith—The School of Defence and Magic (TSDM).

Though only seventeen years had passed since its founding, its name carried the weight of centuries, whispered with reverence across kingdoms.

TSDM was not merely a school, it was a sanctuary of knowledge, a place where the finest warriors, scholars, and magic-wielders honed their craft. Built upon ancient architecture, its towering spires shimmered with enchantments, and its grand halls echoed with the footsteps of those who sought mastery over both magic and combat.

At the heart of this prestigious institution was its founder, Donovan, the elder elf and ruler of Sacred Roots. A man of wisdom and wit, he had long envisioned a place where magic and warfare could be studied with equal discipline, where creatures of all races—elves, werewolves, merfolk, vampires and rare humans could learn under one roof.

TSDM was his legacy, an epitome of knowledge standing against the forces that sought to unravel the balance of Serenith.

Despite its youth, the university had already surpassed even the oldest magical academies in reputation. From its spell-woven libraries to its battle arenas, every stone in its foundation bore witness to the relentless pursuit of excellence.

Students who entered its gates as mere aspirants left as warriors, scholars, and defenders of the realm.

Sacred Roots was one of the kingdoms that belonged to the magical realm, Serenith.

Serenith, named after one of the divine stars Serenity.

Serenith a realm hidden from the mortal eyes.

Once upon a time humans and supernatural creatures used to live together but a great war required a separation thus Serenith was hidden from the human eyes using a powerful magical veil.

The realm included powerful kingdoms like the Valerian and Lunar Kingdom, also known as the vampire and werewolf Kingdom merged and ruled by Nicola and Blaze.

The kingdom of Mare Fortis, the land of witches and the merfolk, boasting with beautiful sights of waterfalls and greenery. The land was ruled by a powerful white witch Astrid and the waterbodies were ruled by her husband, a merman, Avon Fortis.

The kingdom of Sacred Roots was ruled by the very founder of TSDM, Elder Donovan, the oldest elf in the realm of Serenith and also the ruler of Sacred Roots.

Despite his age, Donovan was far from the solemn, dignified elder many expected him to be. If anything, he was witty, overly sassy, and entirely too aware of his own importance.

His long silver beard, which had long since reached the ground, trailed behind him like an overgrown creeper, gathering leaves and twigs as he made his way up the treacherous Sacred Peaks.

With each step, his cane thudded against the rocky path, sending small bursts of energy crackling into the air. He could have used magic to levitate himself up the mountain, but where was the fun in that? No, he preferred to suffer like a true ancient scholar.

"Bah," he muttered under his breath, pausing to brush a stubborn owl off his shoulder. "Why is it that the older I get, the harder these mountains seem to be? Either I'm shrinking, or these stones are growing."

The owl, unimpressed, gave a low hoot before fluttering away.

He sighed dramatically. "Ungrateful little thing. I could have turned you into a phoenix, you know."

But alas, he had no time to lecture birds today. He was on a mission.

At the peak of the mountain, hidden within the moonlit trees, lived the very elf he sought, one who had been avoiding him for far too long.

Donovan narrowed his eyes. It was time to bring him back.

He exhaled loudly, dramatic as ever, as he set his gaze upon the silver-haired elf seated in quiet meditation beneath the gnarled branches of an ancient tree.

It was strange. In his memories, the elf before him had golden hair—bright as sunlight, unruly as the wind. But time had changed him. The once-warm gold had faded into a cool silver, as though the years had drained all colour from him, leaving only the hollow remnants of who he once was.

With a deliberate tap of his cane—once, twice—Donovan made his presence known. The sound echoed softly in the still air, a ripple in the silence of the mountains.

The elf's long lashes fluttered before he finally, slowly, opened his eyes.

His emerald green eyes still remained the same.

"Elder." he greeted, his voice smooth yet distant, like a man caught between the past and present.

Donovan scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. "Ha! You say that as if you weren't expecting me. I would've thought seventeen years was long enough for you to grow tired of sulking on mountaintops, but apparently, you enjoy being a hermit."

The elf gave a small, knowing look but said nothing.

Donovan's gaze swept over him again, sharp with scrutiny, before he sighed dramatically. "Silver hair now, is it? A bold choice. You're starting to look as ancient as I am."

This time, the elf smiled, though it was fleeting.

"You haven't changed," he murmured.

"And yet, you have," Donovan countered. He planted his cane into the earth and leaned forward, eyes glinting with something unreadable. "Come now, Eren. It's time to stop hiding."