Chapter 2 : The Elven Mage''s Invitation

Vela spent three more days in the northern border town.

Three days of small contracts: clearing a goblin nest, driving off a wolf pack, retrieving stolen goods. Piecemeal work, low pay, but enough to survive. She was used to this rhythm: take contract, kill monster, get paid, leave. No conversations, no connections, no traces.

Loneliness is protection, she told herself. Even when the emptiness in her stomach grew more noticeable in the quiet of night.

On the fourth morning, she prepared to leave. Backpack packed, silver sword polished, leather armor patched. She went downstairs to settle her bill. The tavern owner counted coins, eyes averted. That look again: fear, disgust, and a hint of gratitude. Monster hunter, necessary evil.

She was about to push the door open when a voice stopped her.

"Vela Silverhair?"

The voice was distinctive. Low, elegant, with an ancient cadence. Not a human voice.

She turned.

In the shadows of the tavern corner sat a figure. No, not a figure. An elf.

He wore deep blue robes, silver threads embroidering complex runes that glowed faintly in the dim light. Silver hair—not her mutated pale silver, but moonlight-soft silver, neatly tied back. Golden eyes, like melted amber, watching her calmly.

An elf. Three hundred years old? Four hundred? She couldn''t tell. Elven age was a mystery to humans.

"I am," she said, hand instinctively moving to her sword hilt.

"My name is Eredin," he stood up, movements fluid like water flowing. "Eredin Moonshadow. Elven mage, from the Silverwood Forest."

She''d heard of Silverwood. Elven territory, forbidden to humans. Legends said the trees sang there, springs healed all wounds, elves lived a thousand years without aging. But she never cared about legends. Legends didn''t pay.

"What do you want?" she asked, direct.

Eredin smiled. Not a human''s enthusiastic smile, but an elven elegant smile, corners of lips slightly upturned, eyes assessing. "I have a contract. High pay. Five hundred crowns."

Five hundred crowns. She''d need to kill fifty drowners to earn that much.

"What contract?"

"Golem," he said, voice still calm, but the word made the tavern air freeze.

Golem. Not a natural monster, but a magical construct. Stone or metal, no life, no fear, pure destructive power. Usually created by powerful mages to guard treasures or execute commands. Dangerous, very dangerous.

"Where?" she asked.

"Ancient ruins, deep in the Blackstone Mountains." He took a few steps closer. She could smell him now: pine needles, mint, and the ozone scent of magic. "The golem guards a magical artifact. I need that artifact."

"Why me?" She looked directly into his eyes. Something in those golden depths: wisdom, power, and... curiosity? An elf curious about a human witch?

"I''ve been observing you for three days," he said, not hiding it. "Your combat skills, your sign application, your... efficiency. You''re excellent. And you work alone, no attachments, don''t ask too many questions."

"Five hundred crowns," she repeated.

"One hundred in advance. Four hundred upon completion."

She thought. Five hundred crowns would keep her for half a year without contracts. But a golem... she''d never killed a golem. Witch school taught theory: golems have no life, signs have limited effect, need physical destruction of the core. But theory was theory, actual combat was different.

"I need more information," she said.

Eredin nodded, took a scroll of parchment from his robe, unrolled it. A detailed map, elven script annotations. "The ruins are here. The golem is stone, about three meters tall, core in the chest. It uses simple magical attacks: earth spikes, stone projectiles, gravity fields."

She studied the map, memorizing the terrain. Blackstone Mountains, three days'' travel. Hidden ruin entrance, needed to pass through a canyon.

"You''re coming with me?" she asked.

"Yes," he said. "I need to ensure the artifact remains intact. Also, my magic can assist you."

She looked at him. Elven mage, elegant, powerful, but didn''t look like a warrior. Robes unsuitable for combat, slender fingers like an artist''s hands. But elven magic... she''d heard of it. Elegant but deadly.

"Fine," she said. "One hundred crowns advance."

Eredin took a small coin pouch from his belt, placed it on the table. The sound of gold coins clinking was crisp. She opened it, counted. One hundred crowns, real gold.

"Sunrise tomorrow, town gate," she said, pocketing the pouch.

"Looking forward to our cooperation," he bowed slightly, elven etiquette.

She turned and left the tavern, but could feel his gaze following her.

***

That night, she dreamed.

Not a nightmare, a memory. Witch school sign training.

Ten years old, after the Grass Trial, she was sent to witch school. Not a real school, more like a military camp. Stone buildings, strict instructors, twelve hours of training daily.

Signs: witches'' special abilities, triggered through gestures and will. Five basic signs:

Igni: Fire. Simplest, most direct. Instructor said: "Fire burns everything, including your hesitation."

Quen: Shield. Golden energy barrier, blocks physical and magical attacks. Instructor said: "Shield protects you, but also isolates you."

Yrden: Trap. Magical runes, can slow or trap enemies. Instructor said: "Traps require patience, like waiting for prey to take the bait."

Axii: Mind control. Most dangerous, hardest to master. Instructor said: "Controlling others'' minds, be careful not to be consumed yourself."

Aard: Push. Pure force field, can repel enemies. Instructor said: "Sometimes, pushing away requires more courage than killing."

She learned fast. Faster than other apprentices. Instructor called her a genius, but there was worry in his eyes. Too fast growth often came with a price.

She remembered the training ground, sweat, pain, and that emptiness. Other apprentices had friends, laughter, secretly shared food. She didn''t. She trained alone, ate alone, slept alone.

"Witches are alone," the instructor said. "Connection is weakness. Love is death."

She believed it. For ten years, she''d believed it.

***

Sunrise the next day, town gate.

Eredin was already there, riding a white elven horse. The horse was tall, coat glossy, eyes intelligent blue. He''d changed attire: dark green traveling robes, silver shoulder armor, slender sword and staff at his waist. Elven elegance now mixed with warrior practicality.

She rode her own horse, an ordinary brown mare bought three years ago, silent but reliable.

"Good morning," Eredin said, golden eyes like amber in the morning light.

She nodded, didn''t respond. Mounted her horse.

They set off, leaving the town, entering the forest. Morning mist hadn''t dispersed yet, sunlight filtering through leaves forming pillars of light. Birdsong, insect chirps, the forest''s vitality. But she didn''t feel vitality, only the mission.

"You rarely speak," Eredin said as they rode side by side on the forest path.

"Nothing to say," she replied.

"Most humans enjoy conversation. It''s a way to pass time, build connections."

"I''m not most humans."

He glanced at her, golden eyes thoughtful. "No, you''re not. That''s why I chose you."

She didn''t respond. The forest path was narrow, trees dense. She kept alert, senses sharp. Ten years of hunting taught her: danger could come from anywhere, anytime.

"You''ve been a witch for how long?" he asked.

"Ten years."

"Since the Grass Trial?"

She stiffened. How did he know about the Grass Trial? It was a witch secret, not something outsiders should know.

He seemed to sense her tension. "Elves have long memories. We remember when witches first appeared, three hundred years ago. The Grass Trial... it''s a brutal process. Not many survive."

"Those who don''t deserve to live," she said, voice flat.

"Survival isn''t about deserving," he said softly. "Sometimes it''s just luck. Or stubbornness."

She didn''t answer. The memory of the Grass Trial surfaced: the green liquid burning down her throat, muscles twisting, bones cracking. She pushed it away. Memories were useless.

They rode in silence for a while. The sun rose higher, mist gradually dissipating. The forest grew brighter, but also quieter. Too quiet.

Eredin raised a hand, signaling to stop. "Something''s wrong."

She''d already sensed it. No birdsong, no insect sounds. The forest holding its breath.

"Bandits?" she asked softly, hand on sword hilt.

"Worse," he said, eyes scanning the surroundings. "Magic disturbance. Something''s been here recently."

She dismounted, crouched, examined the ground. Footprints, large, not human. Clawed, deep imprints. "Monster. Big one."

Eredin dismounted too, staff in hand. "Not a natural creature. Magical corruption. Can you feel it?"

She focused. Witch senses, sharpened by the Grass Trial. Yes, she could feel it: a faint magical residue, like rotten fruit, like spoiled milk. Unnatural, wrong.

"Which way?" she asked.

He pointed east. "The source is that direction. Not far."

They tied the horses to a tree, moved forward on foot. She drew her silver sword, Eredin held his staff ready. The forest grew darker, trees twisted, leaves blackened as if diseased.

Then they saw it.

A clearing, and in the center, a creature.

It was humanoid, but wrong. Skin gray like stone, covered in glowing purple veins. Eyes empty black holes, mouth a jagged slash. It stood about two meters tall, claws like daggers, hunched over something—a deer carcass, half-eaten.

"Corrupted creature," Eredin whispered. "Magical pollution twisted it. It shouldn''t exist."

The creature sensed them. Turned, empty eyes locking onto them. It let out a guttural roar, charged.

Vela didn''t hesitate. She met the charge, sword flashing. The creature was fast, unnaturally fast. It dodged her swing, claws raking toward her face. She ducked, rolled, came up swinging. The blade cut its arm, black blood spraying.

It screamed, not in pain but in rage. The wound began to heal, flesh knitting together before her eyes.

"Regeneration," Eredin said. "Need to destroy the core."

She didn''t need the reminder. She''d fought regenerating monsters before. The trick was to keep attacking, not give it time to heal.

She charged again, sword a silver blur. The creature met her, claws against steel. Sparks flew. It was strong, each blow shaking her arms. But she was faster, more precise.

A quick sign with her left hand—Igni. Fire burst from her palm, hitting the creature square in the chest. It screamed, flesh sizzling. She pressed the advantage, sword thrusting toward its heart.

But it wasn''t enough. The creature grabbed her sword arm, claws digging into her leather armor. Pain, sharp and sudden. She gritted her teeth, didn''t scream.

Then Eredin moved.

He didn''t shout incantations, didn''t make grand gestures. Just a subtle movement of his staff, a soft word in elven. Light erupted from the staff, pure white, hitting the creature. It screamed, this time in real pain. The light burned, not like fire but like purification, like sunlight on mold.

The creature released her, stumbling back. She didn''t waste the opportunity. Sword thrust, straight through the chest, where the heart should be. Black blood gushed. The creature convulsed, then went still.

She pulled her sword out, breathing heavily. The creature didn''t move again.

Eredin approached, staff still glowing faintly. "Well done."

She looked at her arm. The leather was torn, blood seeping through. Not deep, but it hurt. "It got me."

He knelt beside her, examining the wound. His fingers were cool, gentle. "The claws are poisoned. Magical corruption. It needs cleansing."

Before she could protest, he placed his hand over the wound. Golden light flowed from his palm, warm, soothing. The pain faded, the bleeding stopped. She felt the poison being drawn out, like pulling splinters.

She watched him. His face was focused, serene. Elven features perfect like a statue, but alive, warm. His touch was... different. Not like the rough hands of the men she paid for sex. Gentle, careful, like handling something precious.

The wound closed, leaving only a faint scar. He removed his hand. "It''s clean now. The corruption won''t spread."

She flexed her arm. No pain, full mobility. "Thank you."

He stood, offered her a hand. She took it, let him pull her up. His hand was warm, firm. She released it quickly.

"You''re not just a mage," she said, looking at the dead creature. "That was combat magic."

"I''ve lived three hundred twenty-seven years," he said, a faint smile. "I''ve had time to learn many things."

They returned to the horses. As they rode on, she found herself watching him. The way he moved, the way he spoke, the way his golden eyes saw everything. He was... different. Not like humans, not like the monsters she hunted. Something else entirely.

And for the first time in ten years, she felt something she couldn''t name. Not desire, not attraction, but... curiosity. She wanted to know more. About him, about elves, about the world beyond contracts and coins.

It was a dangerous feeling. Curiosity led to questions, questions led to connections, connections led to...

She pushed the thought away. Focus on the mission. Five hundred crowns. That''s all that mattered.

But as they rode through the forest, the emptiness in her stomach felt... different. Not gone, but changed. Like something had shifted, something small but significant.

And she didn''t know if that was good or bad.