Chapter 17 : The Ashes of Vallombre

The port of the mainland, far larger than the one on their island, teemed with life. Ships of all sizes and origins were moored along the stone quays. Some bore torn sails, evidence of perilous journeys, while others proudly displayed colorful banners, signaling their allegiance to distant guilds or nations.

The noise was deafening: merchants shouted their prices, offering goods from all over Winet; dockworkers barked instructions; and wandering musicians played melodies to attract the attention of passersby.

Wooden stalls lined the alleys near the docks, overflowing with exotic wares: vibrant spices, unfamiliar fruits, finely forged weapons, and jewelry adorned with precious stones. The scent of sea salt mingled with the smell of freshly caught fish and quick-cooked meals, like spicy meat skewers or thick soups served in clay bowls.

The group moved slowly through the crowd, drawing furtive glances.

"We shouldn't stay too visible," murmured Eryndel. "Ports are places where rumors travel fast."

Ryndiel nodded.

"Let's find a quiet place to spend the night."

They moved away from the main bustle and discovered a small inn on the outskirts of the port. The sign, depicting an anchor and a crescent moon, bore its name: The Anchored Moon. The establishment was modest but seemed clean. An old elf with a weary face greeted them, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of their group.

"One room for each?" he asked, a bit nervous.

"Three will suffice," Eryndel replied calmly. "We prefer to stay together."

The innkeeper nodded and led them to their rooms on the first floor, all offering a stunning view of the torch-lit harbor.

Once settled, they gathered in one of the rooms to share a simple meal purchased from the street vendors.

"Tomorrow, we'll need to move quickly," Claude declared, breaking the silence.

Everyone nodded, the weight of his words sinking in. They weren't here to linger. Their destination was Elrin, where they had to settle a debt with the Order of the Black Swan, an organization that had helped them during difficult times. Serious and formidable, but not unjust, they had kept their word in aiding them, and it was unthinkable to leave without repaying the favor.

"We owe them that," added Faelar.

"Yes, and the longer we delay, the more trouble we risk on the way," Thaelion chimed in, his eyes half-closed, already tired.

Despite the exhaustion of the journey, none of them found sleep immediately. The night at the Anchored Moon was peaceful. Through the slightly open windows, the sound of waves and the distant murmurs of sleeping sailors filled the air.

At dawn, the port was unrecognizable. The noise of the previous day's bustle had given way to relative silence, broken only by the lapping of waves against the hulls of ships and the murmurs of a few early risers. A light mist hovered over the water, enveloping the place in an almost surreal atmosphere.

Claude and his companions left The Anchored Moon before the sun even breached the horizon. The alleys bordering the port were nearly deserted, and only a few dockworkers moved quietly, loading or unloading goods.

"Unusual calm," observed Ryndiel, her eyes scanning the surroundings.

"That's why I like mornings," Lysariel replied with a smile. "Everything feels suspended, as if the world is hesitating to start again."

The group moved at a steady pace, their footsteps faintly echoing on the damp cobblestones. Faelar and Thaelion, true to themselves, walked slightly behind, chatting in low voices.

Faelar, mid-conversation, blurted out as if it were obvious:

"A duel between an Ouranor and a Fossecrin. Who wins?"

Thaelion nearly stumbled.

"You ask that as if it's a simple question!"

Faelar shrugged.

"Well, you like playing the expert. Go ahead."

Thaelion sighed but couldn't hide a smirk.

"Fine. On one side, the Ouranor, serpent of the skies, as long as a river, covered in crystal scales that capture light and turn it into lightning. It moves like a gust of wind and can summon storms just by flicking its tail."

"And it's super beautiful," Faelar added dreamily.

"If you say so. Now, on the other side, the Fossecrin. That one's a monster straight out of a nightmare. Four massive legs, skin as hard as stone and covered in moss, breath that suffocates anything alive. Where it walks, the earth turns barren."

Ryndiel groaned.

"Why do you always imagine things that want to kill everything? Can't you pit an Ouranor against, I don't know, a giant peaceful bird?"

Thaelion looked at her as if she'd just suggested drinking boiling water.

"Do you want us to imagine a fight or a picnic?"

Faelar patted his brother's arm.

"Don't be mean, he's right. Fine, let's change it: an Ouranor versus... a giant squirrel?"

Thaelion rolled his eyes.

"Let's stick with the Ouranor and the Fossecrin, thanks."

Faelar laughed, then returned to the topic.

"Alright. If the Ouranor flies high enough, the Fossecrin can't do anything. But if it gets caught, it's over. The Fossecrin can crush a hundred-year-old tree like it's chewing a leaf."

Thaelion frowned, thoughtful.

"But the Fossecrin isn't very fast. The Ouranor could wear it down by striking from a distance with its lightning."

"That would work… if it didn't have that damn magic-absorbing skin," Faelar grumbled.

"Ah, crap, that's true."

A heavy silence fell over the group as everyone pondered the battle. Finally, Claude muttered:

"Honestly, the Fossecrin wins. All it takes is for the Ouranor to tire, to fly too low, and bam, it gets snatched. One bite, and no more Ouranor."

"Or," Faelar added with a smile, "the Ouranor is smarter and lures it into dangerous terrain. Like a swamp where the Fossecrin gets stuck and becomes vulnerable."

Thaelion smirked.

"Or it electrocutes it while it's drinking."

They burst into laughter.

***

They had already moved away from the port, entering a forest that bordered the main road leading inland, when the morning calm was suddenly shattered.

A roar, powerful and guttural, echoed through the air, seeming to come from afar but strong enough to make the ground tremble beneath their feet. Birds nesting in the trees took off in a panic, and an oppressive silence followed the echo of the cry.

The group froze. Claude instinctively reached for the hilt of his sword, his eyes fixed on the direction of the roar.

"What was that?" Lysariel whispered, her voice tense.

"Nothing good," Eryndel replied, his gaze already alert, scanning the shadows of the trees.

"We shouldn't linger here," Ryndiel advised, her bow already in hand.

A sense of urgency settled over them. Far from the relative safety of the port, they were now at the mercy of whatever lurked in the forest. And clearly, something had already noticed them.

The roar still echoed in their minds when a sudden movement caught their attention. Through the treetops, a massive silhouette was hurled into the air, spinning grotesquely.

"By the stars!" Faelar exclaimed, taking a step back.

Everyone looked up, stunned, watching the creature—a huge being covered in dark bony plates and menacing claws—tumble like a disjointed puppet. It arced chaotically through the sky before crashing down with a deafening thud about thirty meters away. The ground shook under the impact, and a cloud of dust rose, obscuring the view.

An oppressive silence followed. Even the forest, usually alive with the rustling of leaves and birdsong, seemed frozen.

Claude, muscles tense, stared at the spot where the creature had crashed. No one dared to move.

Then, suddenly, everything exploded.

The trees in front of them were ripped from their roots as if they were mere twigs. Propelled into the air, they spun before crashing heavily behind the group in a chaotic cacophony. A clearing, born of this sudden destruction, now opened before them, bathed in the harsh light of the sun.

In that opening stood an elf.

He was tall, but not in physical stature: it was his aura that commanded presence. Draped in a faded black cloak, his silhouette was partially concealed. His head was tilted slightly to the side, and an inscrutable smile lit his pale face.

"Well, what a pleasant surprise," he said in an almost friendly tone, raising a hand to beckon them closer.

His gestures contrasted strangely with the atmosphere of destruction around him, as if he were inviting friends to a casual gathering. Behind him, the massive creature lay motionless, its body twisted in a grotesque pose.

"What the…?" Lysariel began, her voice barely a whisper.

"Let's stay cautious," Eryndel interjected, his eyes fixed intently on the elf.

As the uprooted trees crashed around them, the stranger's smile widened slightly.

"Don't be shy. Come closer. I don't have all day."

His tone was almost mocking, but there was an odd warmth to it, as if he were playing a carefully rehearsed role. Claude exchanged a glance with the group, his hand still on the hilt of his sword.

"Who are you?" he called out, his voice strong, trying to mask his apprehension.

The elf tilted his head, his smile stretching further.

"Come. I'd rather talk in person."

Silence fell again, heavier than before, as everyone waited for Claude's decision.

Claude stared at the stranger for a long moment, his breath short. A strange sensation washed over him, like an oppressive heat in his chest. This individual radiated a power he didn't understand but felt deeply, almost viscerally. Every fiber of his being screamed that confronting this man would be suicidal and that fleeing would only hasten their doom.

He took a deep breath and released his grip on his sword, though he remained ready to react at any moment.

"I'll see what he wants," he finally said, turning to his companions. "Stay back, but be ready."

"Claude, wait!" Lysariel protested, reaching out to him.

"It's too risky," Eryndel added sharply.

"Exactly," Claude murmured, stepping forward decisively.

His boots crunched over the debris of trees as he slowly approached the enigmatic elf. The stranger didn't move, merely observing with a vaguely amused smile.

But as Claude stopped about ten meters away, the elf's expression darkened slightly.

"What's with the theatrics?" he said, his tone colder. "You're wary, and that's understandable, but talking from this distance? Come on, come on, that's not reasonable."

Claude felt a shiver run down his spine. The elf's voice, though calm, carried an unyielding authority.

"All of you, come closer," the elf added, making a broad gesture with his hand. "It's not like you have a choice, anyway."

Claude hesitated for a moment before turning to his companions.

"Come," he said firmly.

The group exchanged uneasy glances, but none of them protested. Slowly, almost reluctantly, they moved forward to join Claude. Eryndel kept a hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to draw at a moment's notice, while Ryndiel held her bow firmly, though she didn't nock an arrow.

The elf, visibly satisfied, tilted his head slightly as they approached.

"That's better," he said, his smile returning. "See? Nothing so terrible."

Once the group was within a few paces of him, he crossed his arms and observed them one by one, as if sizing them up.

"Now, we can talk properly."