A Break from Chaos

~Omniscient POV

The moment the spears were raised, Caelum stepped forward slowly, palms lifted into the air. His eyes scanned the masked warriors, reading their body language like old script.

"We mean you no harm," he said, voice clear but calm. "We're just werewolves seeking shelter."

There was a moment of breathless silence, thick with uncertainty. Then, one by one, the masked figures began to lower their weapons. The tension in the air thinned like morning fog, and with a few exchanged glances, they reached for their faces.

Masks fell.

Beneath them were elves—but not like those told in fairytale stories. These ones stood no taller than a toddler, small and compact like monkeys, with skin that shimmered faintly green in the light. Their ears were long and sharply pointed, twitching slightly as they took in scents and sounds. Despite their small size, their faces bore ageless wisdom and uncanny beauty. Their large golden eyes gleamed with ancient magic and quiet suspicion.

One among them stepped forward. His robe was embroidered with glowing thread, and the others instinctively made room for him to speak. His age showed in the white that streaked his emerald hair, but his posture was straight, his bearing noble.

"So sorry about that," the elder elf said, voice deep despite his size. "We're a bit edgy about visitors. The last ones stole from our food stores and left us without healing tonics for the winter."

"No harm done," Caelum replied, lowering his hands. "But how do you even survive out here? The hills of Trepidation aren't exactly known for their hospitality."

The elf gave a wry smile. "Magic."

"You practice magic?" Eira asked, surprise threading through her voice.

"It's been a while since I met anyone who does," she added. "I know we're asking a lot, but… could you help us? Just for a while. Somewhere to rest. Maybe restock our supplies. We won't overstay our welcome."

"Of course," the elder said without hesitation. "You're welcome here as long as you need. Come, come. We have rooms prepared—simple, but warm."

The elves guided them deeper into the village, their feet barely making a sound on the packed earth. Winding paths split off from the main square, leading to clusters of huts shaped like mushrooms and carved tree stumps. At the very center stood the largest structure—round, tall, and crowned with silverleaf ivy that shimmered in the sunlight. Its door was open, and a gentle aroma of herbs and hearthfire drifted out.

"This is our longhouse," the elder said. "Reserved for guests of importance. It is the only hut with multiple chambers."

Eira and Caelum exchanged glances. "Royalty lived here?" Caelum asked.

The elf smiled, not answering directly. "Make yourselves at home. Your horses will be cared for, and we'll bring food and water shortly."

Within the hour, they sat cross-legged on soft woven mats. A low table stood between them, piled with strange fruits, roasted root vegetables, flatbreads, and cups of pale gold liquid that smelled faintly of mint and wild honey.

Across from them, the elder elf—now comfortably seated in a moss-cushioned chair—sipped from a carved goblet.

"So what brings werewolves this far into the hills of Trepidation?" he asked, watching them with curious eyes. "And so far from your kind?"

"Exile," Eira said simply.

Her fingers paused halfway to her mouth as she noticed the crescent mark on her neck, now glowing again—softly, like it pulsed with its own breath. She quickly tugged her hood forward, concealing it once more.

"Exile?" the elf king asked, setting his goblet down. "What did you do?"

"Nothing, actually," she replied, her tone even.

"Disrespecting royalty, apparently," Caelum added quickly, shooting her a look before she could respond further.

"But I didn't disrespec—" she began, but Caelum nudged her gently with his elbow.

She exhaled sharply. "Yes. I guess that was it."

"Ah." The elf took another slow sip. "I'm sorry to hear that."

He leaned forward slightly, folding his fingers. "So where will you go now?"

"Wherever the path takes us," Eira said.

The king smiled faintly. "That's oddly optimistic."

Eira's laugh was bitter and dry. "Believe me, you have no idea."

"Well," the elf said, standing, "I have matters to attend to. You're free to wander the village when you're ready."

With a gesture, he and the other elves silently left the room, leaving Caelum and Eira alone in the golden hush.

After their meal, Caelum stood and extended a hand to Eira. "Let's walk. Stretch a bit. See what secrets this village is hiding."

She hesitated, then took his hand.

They wandered through the paths between the huts. Elven children darted between the roots of massive trees, giggling and chasing one another. Some of them had tiny wings or glittering markings along their skin. Eira paused to watch them.

"They remind me of us," she murmured.

"When the world didn't demand anything more from us than to laugh and run," Caelum replied.

One of the children, curious, ran up to Eira and offered her a piece of crystallized fruit. She crouched to take it, smiling gently. He giggled and ran off, tripping into a puddle.

The splash was quick—but Caelum was quicker. He stepped between the child and Eira, shielding her just as the muddy water splattered upward.

His cloak was soaked. Eira was spotless.

She blinked in surprise.

Caelum just smiled. "Can't have you walking around puddle-drenched."

She laughed—a genuine laugh, clear and real. Caelum froze at the sound. She hadn't laughed like that since before the Moon Calling.

He didn't say anything. He just looked at her and smiled. Her laughter was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

He just watched her with a smile on his face as she went around touching everything, behaving like a kid again.

Far across the village, in a hidden chamber of roots and stone, the elf king stood with his council.

"What are we going to do about them?" a voice asked, low and tight.

"Who? The werewolves?" the king responded, folding his hands behind his back. "They don't pose a threat."

"For now." Another council member stepped forward. "You know they're stronger than all of us. If they ambush us, we're dead."

"We can't give them the chance to," a third voice added, sharp and quick.

The king turned to face them fully. "What do you expect me to do? Call an attack on guests? We'd lose. They're werewolves."

"You don't attack stronger prey head-on," said a taller elf, stepping from the shadows. His voice was smooth. His smile, colder. "You don't face them. You bleed them. You strike from behind."

He stepped into the firelight. "That's why I put silver powder in the food they just ate."

Gasps filled the chamber.

"They won't feel it yet," he continued. "But by morning, their strength will be halved. All that's left…"

He let the sentence hang, savoring it.

"…is the final blow. And then, the location of our village remains forgotten. As it should be."

The king stared at the fire, silent.

Then he sighed. "What do you have in mind?"