The clearing lay in an unnatural stillness beneath the night sky, untouched by the quiet, living pulse that defined the rest of Elvenland.

Fior stood at the center of this small clearing, alone.

The grass shifted softly against his boots as a cold wind passed through the clearing, stirring his black hair. The wounds from days ago had begun to close, though not without resistance. A dull ache still lingered along his ribs, and the cut across his cheek remained visible, a thin line that had yet to fade. He had made no effort to conceal any of it.

He had returned.

Three nights had passed since that encounter, just as the man had instructed. The memory of those words had not left him since, lingering in his thoughts with an unsettling persistence.

Fior exhaled slowly, his gaze fixed ahead, though there was nothing in particular to look at. The stillness of the clearing pressed in on him, amplifying the unease that had followed him here.

The thought that this might be a mistake had crossed his mind more than once.

It had followed him from the moment he left the council, from the moment Xeveris had forced him into stillness as though he were nothing more than a reckless child who did not understand the weight of his own words. It had settled deeper when he realized that no one among his own kind would stand with him, no matter how justified his anger might be.

His jaw tightened slightly.

No. Not a mistake.

A risk.

And risks were inevitable when survival itself had become uncertain.

His gaze shifted, drawn toward the patch of ground where the bodies had once lain. The earth there still bore faint signs of disturbance, the grass slightly discolored, slow to recover from what had transpired. The memory remained vivid enough without the marks.

Four of them had come for him.

Not to warn him.

Not to threaten.

To kill.

If not for that man, the outcome would have been very different.

Fior’s expression darkened as the thought resurfaced. That man- if he could even be called that- did not sit right with him in any sense he could define. Every living being carried something, a presence that could be felt even before it was seen. It was instinct, something ingrained into those who wielded mana.

That figure had felt like nothing at all.

Fior flexed his fingers slowly, feeling the faint stir of dead mana respond to him, familiar and grounding in contrast to that absence. He had spent his entire life understanding the flow of it beneath the roots, the way it moved, the way it lingered and responded.

The man had not fit into any of that.

And that alone made him dangerous.

"Someone who has an army."

The words echoed in his mind with an unsettling clarity.

It had been too convenient. Too precise. As though the encounter had not been chance at all, but something arranged.

Fior’s gaze shifted toward the treeline, his expression tightening.

"Or maybe I’m the one walking into it," he murmured under his breath, more to himself than anything else.

The clearing offered no answer.

The wind moved again, colder this time, slipping through the trees and brushing against his skin, but beyond that, there was nothing. No movement. No sound. No shift in the air to suggest another presence.

Fior remained still for a while longer, but the silence began to wear thin against his patience.

He had waited long enough.

A faint irritation surfaced, cutting through the tension that had been steadily building within him. He straightened, his expression hardening as the last traces of doubt began to settle into something more decisive.

"So this was it," he said quietly. "Empty promises."

He turned, already deciding that he would not waste another moment standing in a place that offered nothing in return. If the man had intended to meet him, he would have been here already.

Fior took a step forward, then another, his thoughts already beginning to close around that conclusion. Perhaps it had all been nothing more than a coincidence shaped by convenient timing, or worse, a deliberate distraction meant to pull his focus away from what truly mattered.

His grip tightened slightly.

He had already wasted enough time.

He had just begun to move beyond the edge of the clearing when a voice reached him from behind, smooth and unhurried, yet close enough to send a sharp awareness through his senses.

"Leaving already?"

Fior stopped mid-step.

The stillness returned in an instant, sharper now, more alert. Slowly, he turned back.

The figure stood where there had been nothing a moment ago, as though the darkness itself had taken form and settled into shape. Cloaked in black, tall and motionless, the hood obscured most of his face, leaving only the lower half visible. The faint curve of his mouth remained unchanged, as if he had been there all along, simply waiting to be noticed.

Fior’s eyes narrowed slightly as his senses sharpened, searching instinctively for something- anything- that might confirm the man’s presence beyond sight.

There was nothing.

Still no presence. No shift. No trace.

The emptiness around him remained intact, as though the figure did not belong to the world he stood in.

"I was beginning to think you weren’t coming," Fior said, his voice steady despite the tension that had returned to his body.

The man tilted his head ever so slightly, a subtle motion that carried an almost amused undertone.

"I was here," he replied calmly. "You simply did not notice."

Fior’s gaze sharpened further at that, though he gave no outward reaction beyond it. The wrongness of it settled deeper, but he did not step back.

For a brief moment, neither of them spoke, the silence between them stretching, deliberate and unbroken.

Then the man took a single step forward, the faint rustle of his cloak the only sound that disturbed the stillness of the clearing.

"So," he said, his tone even, almost conversational, as though what followed was of little consequence.

"Have you made your decision?"

"Yes." Fior spoke, but he kept a firm face as he couldn’t just agree to have help without knowing who he was pledging alliance to.

"But, before anything else. I need to know who you are and what do you want from this war." Fior spoke.

The man remained silent for a moment before he hummed.

"What we want." He repeated and Fior’s eyebrows twitched.

"Well... if compared to your kind, we have been living even deeper in darkness... forced because of the choice we made." The man spoke.

"What choice?"

"A choice to not be submissive to the Pure Mana Elves."

"In what sense? I didn’t even know you and your kind existed before three days ago. And you say you’ve been here for a long time then how come that’s possible?" Fior asked.

The man tilted his head slightly and Fior watched as he reached out and pushed the hood off of his head.

Fior gasped as he saw the man’s face, the same ashy gray face as the dark elves along with the long black hair that were matted in locks. But his eyes were different.

Fior couldn’t help but feel strange as he stated unto the deep gray lifeless looking eyes that stared back at him.

"Y-You are..." Fior had no words, this man was a Dark Elf himself but how come his presence was so different and what kind of a hybrid was he?

"My kind has lived on this island for over a thousand years." The man said.

Fior frowned, "What? For one thousand years? But then you would be here for the war that happened here."

The man nodded and then his face pinched into a remorseful expression.

"We weren’t on the right side at that time, but after that we were shunned and hunted till we went into hiding... If you dig, you might find traces of our existence in the old records." The man’s voice carried the melancholy that Fior couldn’t help but strike deep in his heart.

"Why... was your kind hunted?" Fior asked.

The man lowered his eyes and then looked at Fior with a sad smile.

"If you know, you might find us as an abomination too." The man said and Fior flinched.

He had never come to imagine the day where there would be someone he would meet that would be in a place lower than his kind.

"I won’t." Fior spoke firmly.

The man was his savior and Fior wasn’t the kind of a man who never repaid his debts. This man clearly was also fighting for the liberation of his people, so that made them automatically comrades.

"Are you sure?" The man asked.

Fior placed his hand over his heart, "I, Fior swear on my name and blood that I shall be your comrade."

The man concealed his smirk before he pulled out a small dagger from his waistband and Fior watched the blade warily.

"I’m touched, Fior." The man said as he brought his hand up, pulling the sleeve from his wrist.

"Wha-What are you doing?"

"Me only saying won’t really prove anything, so, I must show you. If you still are willing to keep your word, I shall be happy to fight alongside you but, if naught then..." The man paused making Fior frown.

"What?"

"I shall be executed for revealing our existence without the permission of our leader." The man said and Fior gritted his teeth.

"I just made an oath on my name here." Fior claimed and the man chuckled.

"After being hated just for existing, we are not that eager to put our trust, Fior." The man said and Fior opened his mouth to argue about his side when the man looked at him.

"But I’m willing to trust you." The man said.

Fior closed his mouth and nodded, "Yes."

The man then pressed the blade over his wrist and sliced his skin. Fior watched silently hoping to see the red blood ooze out but in the moonlight, what he saw stunned him.

It wasn’t red blood. It was the black fluid that oozed out from the cut and the man held a piece of fabric to keep the fluid from dripping down on the ground.

Fior’s heart hammered in his chest. He was merely fifty years old Dark Elf, an equivalent to a teenager if compared to humans which was why he had only heard in stories about the beings who carried black blood.

And he was given warnings about such beings. The ones who had given up on their kind and had accept slavery of the dark side.

Now he realised why this man said he was a hybrid. He probably belonged to the Dark Elves who gave up on Yggdrasil and accepted the demon blood in exchange for power.

Fior had no idea on what he would do if anyone from his tribe would even get the word of these beings beings in existence on Edrisyl. If they did, Pure Mana Elves aside, his tribe would be hunting for these hybrids instead.

Fior gritted his teeth, he had thought everything would be clear now, but now he was tangled in an even bigger mess than he had thought.

"I won’t force you to make your decision now that you see what I am." The man said.

Fior flinched and watched as the man wrapped the piece of cloth around his bleeding wrist to cover it up and then proceeded to pull the hood over his head.

"I’ll see you tomorrow night," the man said, "even if your answer is no, I’d request you to not let anyone know of our existence. It’s hard enough for us... We don’t want them to come for our blood again."

Fior couldn’t say anything as the man turned to leave but then he stopped and turned slightly, looking Fior in the eyes as he smiled.

"My name is Zevran. I hope to see you tomorrow, Fior."

With that said, the man disappeared into the darkness again and Fior sank to his knees feeling the whole meeting come crushing down on his shoulders.