The March and learning from Naia

The army of Moonlight moved through the silver forests with practiced efficiency, their formations shifting like water flowing around stones. Three days into their march, Commander Lyra led the vanguard on horseback, her armor catching dappled sunlight that filtered through the ancient canopy. Princess Elysia rode beside her, the royal moonstone circlet upon her brow pulsing gently with arcane energy. Behind them, Sorrel and Lady Aria followed on their own mounts, completing the royal quartet that led the forces of Moonlight.

"Three hours to the southeastern border," Lyra remarked, her keen eyes scanning the path ahead. "Our scouts report no Thornvale presence yet."

Elysia nodded, her expression serene despite the weight of impending battle. "They believe we will fortify and wait. By the time their scouts report our advance, we will have already secured the Whispering Pass."

The column moved in silence, their footfalls muffled by decades of training. Water-wielders glided among the ranks, ensuring that each warrior's water skin remained filled, that the specially prepared fog-crystals remained charged with moisture for the coming conflict.

As the army passed through a narrow ravine, a water-scout approached, her steps swift and urgent.

"My Queen," she bowed briefly, "movement detected beneath the eastern ridge. Earth vibrations consistent with Thornvale tunneling techniques."

Elysia exchanged a glance with Lyra. "Sooner than expected. They've improved their response time."

"Or they had scouts waiting that our wind-dancers failed to detect," Lyra countered, hand moving to her sword hilt.

The ground beneath them trembled, a subtle vibration that grew stronger with each passing moment. Loose stones skittered down the ravine walls.

"Moonstone Formation," Elysia commanded, her voice calm but carrying.

The command rippled through the ranks. Within moments, the army had shifted, rearranging into the practiced pattern they had drilled countless times. Archers took positions on higher ground, water-wielders gathered in protective circles at strategic points, and heavy infantry formed defensive walls around them.

Each soldier activated the moonstone carried at their breast. The gems began to glow with inner light, creating a network of illumination that spread through the formation like stars appearing in twilight.

The trembling intensified. Cracks appeared along the ravine floor, spreading like frost across a lake's surface.

"They seek to divide us," Lyra observed coolly. "Predictable."

Elysia raised her hand, silver light spreading from her fingertips. "First wave, commence."

The water-wielders moved in perfect synchrony, drawing moisture from the air, from the water skins, from the very plants surrounding them. They directed this gathered power downward, into the cracking earth. The ground beneath the army's feet darkened as water saturated the soil, turning it from firm pathway to sodden mud.

The earth tremors faltered, rhythm disrupted as the tunneling efforts met unexpected resistance.

"Second wave, prepare," Lady Aria called, her voice carrying authority that brooked no hesitation.

Wind-dancers took to the air, suspended by currents they themselves commanded. They spread moonstone dust across the battlefield in carefully crafted patterns, creating a glittering net that hung suspended above the ravine.

The first illusion shimmered into existence at the ravine's far end—a massive force of Thornvale warriors charging toward them, war cries echoing through the narrow space.

The moonstones carried by Moonlight's forces flared brighter, pulsing in warning. Simultaneously, the moonstone dust suspended in the air ignited with silver light where it encountered the illusion, revealing the deception for what it was.

"Hold formation," Lyra commanded. "True attack imminent from below."

The ground erupted thirty paces ahead, earth and stone blasting upward as Thornvale warriors emerged from tunnels beneath. They were clad in armor of living wood, faces marked with earth sigils that pulsed with green energy.

"Archers, mark targets," Elysia called, her voice untroubled by the sudden appearance of their enemy. "Water-wielders, saturate their position."

The battle was joined, Moonlight's careful preparation meeting Thornvale's aggression in a clash of elements and steel.

In the royal nursery of the House of Moonlight, Eren sat cross-legged on a plush cushion while Naia arranged colored crystals in patterns before her younger sibling. The lesson—ostensibly about the properties of different gemstones—had failed to capture Eren's interest. His mind remained fixed on the army that had marched at dawn, on strategies and formations he could envision but could not influence from this position of forced safety.

"You're thinking about Mother and Sister Lyra, aren't you?" Naia asked gently, noticing his distant gaze.

"Yes," Eren admitted. "And about the fire I made that day."

Naia's eyes darkened with concern. "That was... troubling. I've never seen anyone in our family control fire before. That's why Aunt Lyra was so worried."

"Why was it strange?" Eren asked, feigning innocence while fishing for information.

"Well," Naia said, setting down a blue crystal, "everyone in our Tribe works with water or air elements. Mother commands water, and Sister Lyra controls the wind. Even Sorrel, who carries the ancient knowledge, can only wield water. No one here should be able to call fire."

"I did though," Eren said. "Does that make me special?"

Naia hesitated, then smiled. "Everyone is special, little one. You just might be... extra special."

Eren watched her carefully. "I heard Mother and sister Lyra talking," he continued. "About old stories. About a child born when the moons aligned."

A flicker of surprise crossed Naia's face. "You shouldn't listen to grown-up conversations, Eren."

"But they seemed worried," he pressed. "And Mother told sister Lyra that the Council must not know about this."

Naia sighed, putting the crystals aside. "Those are just old stories. Mother doesn't believe them anyway."

"What stories?"

"Just tales about someone who might be born when all seven moons appear in the sky together," she explained, her tone light but cautious. "Some people think this person could use all the elements, not just the ones from their homeland."

"Like I did with fire?" Eren's eyes widened.

Naia quickly shook her head. "No, no. What you did was probably just... well, we don't know yet. But it doesn't mean you're part of some prophecy."

"But I was born when the moons aligned, wasn't I?"

Naia looked uncomfortable. "Yes, but lots of children were. It doesn't mean anything."

"Then why does Mother guard me so much?" Eren asked. "Why can't I go outside the palace walls?"

"Because you're a princess," Naia said simply. "The youngest royal daughter must be protected. That's how it's always been."

Eren could tell she wasn't being entirely truthful. "What do the stories say about the special child?"

Naia hesitated. "They're just stories, Eren."

"Please?" He put on the most innocent expression possible. "I won't tell Mother you told me."

With obvious reluctance, Naia leaned closer. "The old scrolls say a child born under the seven moons might bring balance to all seven Tribes by mastering all the elements."

"All fourteen of them?"

Naia smiled despite herself. "You're good with numbers. Yes, fourteen elements spread across seven Tribes. Each Tribe has two main ones."

"And I could learn them all?"

"No, silly," Naia laughed, reaching out to ruffle his hair. "The stories aren't about you. They're just ancient legends. Even Mother says they were made up long ago."

"But I made fire," Eren pointed out. "And we only have water and air here. Mother even saw me do it."

Naia frowned slightly. "That was... unusual. But one strange thing doesn't mean you're the child from the stories. Besides, the stories talk about the child bringing great change, and change can be dangerous. That's why Mother probably doesn't want the Council knowing about what you did."

"What kind of change?"

Naia searched for the right words. "Finding a way for different elements to work together. Something no one has done before."

"That sounds exciting," Eren said.

Naia shook her head. "It sounds complicated. And that's exactly why Mother says they're just stories. No one has ever been able to do anything like that."

"Maybe I'll be the first," Eren said with a grin.

"You certainly are full of surprises," Naia said with affection. "But let's keep this conversation between us for now, alright? Mother has enough to worry about with the battle."

"I won't tell," Eren promised, his mind racing with the confirmation of element manipulation and the prophecies.

"Good," Naia said, standing up. "Now, would you like to continue with our lesson, or would you prefer a story instead?"

"A story," Eren decided. "About how the Tribes were made."

As Naia searched for a suitable book, Eren gazed out the window toward the distant forests. Somewhere beyond the horizon, armies clashed—and at the center of it all stood Eren, with powers he shouldn't possess and knowledge no one suspected.

Later that evening, Eren sat on the balcony ledge, legs swinging, sharp eyes tracking the courtyard below. His gaze locked onto a girl running past, her golden hair catching the light. He frowned.

"Oi, Naia." He tugged at her sleeve. "That girl—who is she?"

Naia glanced up from her book, following his gaze. "Elara." Her voice held mild recognition. "She was born just before you."

Eren's frown deepened. "Then why's she that big now? She was tiny before."

Naia shut her book with a soft thud and smirked. "I thought mom explained our growth to you."

Eren crossed his arms. "No."

She chuckled. "Then let me explain."

Leaning back, she met his gaze with an authoritative air. "Normal elves grow up to Lyra's height when they turn five—it happens overnight. Nobles, like the Council, reach that size at three. Our bloodline?" She tapped his forehead lightly. "We grow overnight at two."

Eren stared at her, the words triggering a sharp memory of Sorrel's voice: "Even in our bloodline, children aren't supposed to walk or speak until they're at least two years old." The pieces clicked into place with sudden clarity.

'So not only was I not supposed to walk or talk yet,' he thought, 'but in two months, I'll wake up taller? At least I won't be stuck like this for long.'

"Just like that?" he asked aloud, voice flat with disbelief.

Naia nodded. "One second, you're tiny. The next, you're looking down at everyone. But the night before, it feels like your whole body's on fire. Hurts like hell."

Eren tapped his knee, processing this new information. The implications were significant—he wouldn't be trapped in this infant body for years, just months. His plans would need adjustment.

After a pause, he looked up again. "How old are you?"

Naia tilted her head, amused. "One hundred and thirty-one years old."

Eren blinked. Then scowled. "And you're this pretty?"

Naia snorted, shoving him lightly. "Flatterer."

Eren smirked, then casually asked, "So… how do we give birth?"

Naia narrowed her eyes. "Why do you want to know?"

Eren shrugged. "I just... I want to learn."

She exhaled, rubbing her temple. "We lay eggs."

Silence.

Eren stared. "We—what?"

Naia looked completely unbothered. "Every hundred and thirty years we lay eggs."

Eren processed that in complete silence. Then muttered, "This family's insane."

Naia just smirked. "You're catching on quick."