His name was King Verdin. History knows him as Verdin the Vanquisher. Originally, he ruled over a small coastal kingdom called Dornak in the north, but Verdin wanted more. Hungry for expansion, he set his sights on neighboring Evermore and determined the best way to reach his goal was by seeding division.
Humans have long mistrusted magic, which is intertwined with Elven culture and religion. Verdin leveraged that fear, propagating the lie that Evermoreans secretly aspired to use magic to gain dominion over humankind. He proclaimed that runic spellcraft was evil, and that those born with magical abilities should be hunted to ensure peace throughout the land. The Midlands have long been plagued by magical daemons from the realm of the dead, so Verdin blamed the Elves for their existence, falsely casting these daemons as Evermorean servants.
He spread his hatred far and wide, rallying an army intent on destroying the Elven kingdom. A century of senseless bloodshed ensued. Verdin ordered Evermore’s capital razed by dragonfyre, an act of cruelty that brought the Elves to their knees. He died smiling.
His son and grandson continued his violent legacy, forcing our people into further and further retreat. The Elven leader, King Amos, last of the great Aldain dynasty, died of a broken heart after seeing what was left of his subjects. His wife, Queen Soleste, surrendered their home to Verdin’s kin.
Evermore became part of the new empire, renamed Verdinae in honor of the Vanquisher—a new kingdom in which all magic was outlawed and the land claimed by humans.
Under the new world order, speaking the old Elven language and worshipping our Gods are punishable by death, making it almost impossible for Elves to exist peacefully in Verdinae without giving up our core beliefs. After the collapse, my mother and the few surviving Evermoreans faced dismal choices: flee, die, or learn to live in the shadows. The smart ones got out early and found refuge in friendlier kingdoms like Sontaag or Ursandor. The lucky ones died quickly. But Elves like Mother, who couldn’t bear to abandon her homeland, learned how to hide.
Despite years of begging, she has refused to clip my ears like hers. I always argue rationally that I’d be safer without them. She always counters with a rousing speech about my beautiful Elven heritage and the indomitable spirit of Evermore. Sometimes I’m tempted to hack them off myself. But that’s just one of plenty of ways we don’t see eye to eye. For example, she still believes that Evermore will one day be restored to its former glory. I’ve never told her just how far-fetched I find that idea. In the centuries since the Long War, Verdin’s descendants have only continued his legacy of hatred. The Verdish Church and their anti-magic philosophies are stronger than ever. Almost no Elves remain in our homeland. And if anyone knew thatIwas born with magic, I’d be executed on sight.
A fact Mother has never let me forget.
After lapping three times,Mother seems satisfied with her spellwork. I put a halter on Tucker and lead him to the cart, and she fastens his harness while I scratch his head.
This is my moment. I won’t get another chance. With Mother’s back to me, and with the big horse for assurance, I find the courage to finally say, “Mother, I have a proposition. Before you say no, please hear me out.”
Her hands freeze over the buckles. When she turns, her sunken expression is an answer in itself. “Lyria, not now.”
Pain lances my chest, and I look away so she doesn’t see my chin wobble. This is the answer I’m used to—the same one I’d get as a little girl, when I’d beg and sob for her to not leave me alone again. I got so used to her refusal that I stopped asking.
But I’m not a little girl anymore.
And I’m no longer scared.
I’m angry.
“I’ve given it a lot of thought,” I say carefully, tempering my rising frustration. “I figured out a delayed irrigation system so the garden is taken care of while we’re gone. And I’m gettingloadsbetter at handling my Talent. I could help with the plague—”
She cuts me off. “We’re not having this conversation.”
NO!I bite down a scream. “Why not?”
“Because.”
In her eyes, this answer has always been enough. But it’s never been enough for me.
“I-I’ve already packed a bag.” My voice finally breaks, and now my carefully worded speech comes barreling out too quickly. “I won’t make any trouble. I’ll do everything exactly as you say. I can even use a concealment charm to hide my ears. See?”
I pull off my kerchief to show her, but Mother looks far from impressed. Confused, I flinch a hand up to feel the tips and realize they’re still pointed.No, no, no! I practiced this!
Mother just shakes her head. “Not today, Lyria.”
“Then when?”
“When it’s safe,” she says.
“It’s never going to be safe!”
I can’t count how many times we’ve cycled through this. She claims to be worried about safety, but I know what she’sreallyafraid of.
As if proving her point, heat starts to simmer under my skin. I look away and force a long, deep breath, clamping down on my inner cheek until the pain centers me.
Calm down, Lyria.
I stare out toward the distant tree line and quivering aspens. This forest raised and sheltered me. But it has imprisoned me, too. “I can’t stay locked up forever,” I finally mumble, and I hate how childish it sounds.
