Elden’s sword shone in the golden gemlight, casting strange shadows onto the gilded walls. Every step into the black hallway caused my heart to leap at each wide alcove, every pillar, every figurine made of marble. Stone columns stretched up to a curved ceiling inlaid with bronze runes.
We walked through the darkening hall, ignoring the arched hallways on either side, heading instead to the heart of the palace where the throne room and center of Winterthorn lay.
The snow on my coat melted as we continued on, leaving tracks of water where we tread.
It wasn’t long before we removed our enchanted wolf-lined coats and left them tucked away behind a pillar.
I wrapped my arms about myself, though I was not truly cold, and followed closely behind Elden. The blue stone of the exterior gave way to a white stone inlaid with bejeweled mosaics and painted murals.
The light of the citrine gemstone bounced off the art, causing images to pop out in the darkness. Some kind of magic worked in this mural, causing the images to change as we walked, as if it were telling a story. The images shifted from one scene to another, then back again.
Elves in flowing gowns enjoyed a picnic by a large lake. The water was a deep green, the grounds a strange pink and amethyst. The sky shone with oranges and pinks as well. Blues and gold. An ethereal star glowed in the heavens above. This land did not seem real to my eyes. But here, the elves lived among giant jungles with strange animals. Nothing I’d ever seen, even in my storybooks.
As we walked, the star fell from the heavens, crashing onto the ground with pillars of flaming fire.
I stared in both horror and awe. Though the murals were well over six hundred years old, they shone with a bright newness that could only mean one thing—some kind of enchantment had preserved this art for centuries. Awe enveloped me as I peered into the past, into the art of one thousand years ago.
“Have you ever seen anything like this?” I breathed.
Elden shook his head, his mouth slightly open. He reached out toward the mural as if to touch it. “I have never seen a truedepiction of my people’s home world. There are so many plants that I do not recognize. I will have to study this later. It is breathtaking.”
Whoever had created these murals was a true master. Every detail was intricately and lovingly rendered. I noticed a strange signature on the bottom. The artist had signed their work with an ‘E’, a sword running through the capitalized letter.
We hurried to the next panel, and a spike of fear ran through me. Elves ran from an enormous fire that erupted all around them from the falling star.
“The star of Elandir,” Elden whispered reverently.
The ground tore in large patches, the sky bled a deep red, ashes falling and obscuring their two suns. Their world was dying.
My breath caught in my throat as the image morphed. The elves stood in numerous circles, all grasping hands, weaving together some great and ancient magic in song.
Elven runes and magics suffused the paintings in a golden glow.
In the next panel, the elves stood at the foot of a large frozen lake surrounded by snow-covered trees. A purple mountain loomed in the distance. Winterthorn. Somehow, through their magic, the elves traveled here to my world. Here to Winterthorn.
“This is the history of my people,” Elden whispered and held his hand up to the tall elf male with white hair who stood regally in the circle of the elves. “That is my grandfather, King Theronvere, The first King of the Elves, at least here in this realm.”
“Your world must have been destroyed by that falling star,” I said through a constricted throat.
“Yes. It is as my father said. We are not from this world.”
We hurried to the next panel where a group of humans dressed in thick fur coats met with the elves. They stood in fearand awe, holding nocked bows and swords at the ready. Elf King Theronvere waved his hand and runes swirled about them all.
In the next panel, the land thawed, and a beautiful spring burst forth with green grasses and trees, flowers blossoming in all variety under foot. Many of the humans smiled, seeming very happy with this magic, while others looked on with wary expressions.
We rushed to the next panel, where fire and smoke lit up the sky. Human and elf fought in the mud and dirt with gritted teeth, malice and hate gnarling their faces. They fought with sword, arrows, and magic, all peace forgotten. The once-beautiful lands lay scorched with a bleak desolation.
The next panel showed a death-strewn battlefield with both human and elf lying dead in bloody piles. In the center of the battle were two figures. A beautiful young woman with anger in her eyes, and the Elf King. The young woman’s hair was swept up into a messy braid, a fierce look of death on her face as she held her sword to the heart of the king. The king’s white hair was coated in filth. He held his sword, now Elden’s sword, out to the side as if he’d been disarmed. They stared at one another over the carnage of the battlefield. Both looked willing and ready to kill the other.
Then a golden light emanated from their hearts, much to their own surprise. Their eyes widened with shock, then they looked at each other with softened, though guarded expressions.
The woman dropped her sword, and the Elf King stepped back in shock.
We hurried to the next moving panel. Some time must have passed between this mural and the last because here, an older woman who looked to be a leader among the humans and the Elf King sat across a large table from one another as they signed a large document.
“The treaty.” I pointed.
There it was, the treaty that granted lands to the elves. And they, in return, granted magic to humans. Maybe if we could find this document, we could discover how to reestablish this peace, and restore magic back to the human lands as well.
