The Broken Crown

Hymnal

There was once a common truth held among the elves in the First Age. A common truth which soon lost color and faded into the dusty books Keva surrounded herself by within her library. What had come to replace this truth was a belief many elves would come to accept as common truth – that elves are the purest of creatures. Elves were gifted Chaos and trained it – yes – but that did not give the belief any truth. Keva had known the crowd she had to please for ages, for she pushed the belief that elves were the purest form of the supernatural, yet Keva had done a disservice to those she led. In preaching the purity of elves, she had come to believe in those words herself.

The silver-haired elf looked out upon the ocean stretched out before her, the waves crashing against the stones of the palace grounds. The dark blue waves violently crashed up against the walls, ocean water spraying the face of the elf. As the waves pulled back, rigid boulders were evident below the stone walls, waves sweeping against the boulders as they also swept away the remains of Keva's latest victim.

She watched the work of her kin, hearing the blades scrape against one another, the cries of both werewolf and elf, yet the scent Keva picked up was not that of metallic blood, but the flowers which surrounded her. The aroma surrounding the elf allowed her body to relax, to focus on the moment and not stress over the lives being ended just past the hedges.

No one protected the elf within a close proximity. It was as she liked it. The isolation allowed for her to process the events and focus on what needed to be done next. Yet in the silence surrounding her, it did nothing to aid in ignoring the sight before her – the palace she had helped build up only burning and crumbling before her eyes. The glass windows which had exploded out shimmered like diamonds as they caught light in the fire. The white stones which fell from such high distances buried themselves in the ground below.

A new home would soon be built – that is what Keva believed when this battle was to be over with. Another new home built after another massacre of her race. The woods behind the last palace was a place Keva had wished was still home...yet it was unacceptable to return back to those woods. The woods scattered with the bones of her kin which could never be forgotten. This palace had become the perfect location in her eyes, for the seclusion it offered to become strong was something the elves had needed – yet once more it was now scattered with the remains of her kin.

River was a hopeful prop Keva had relied on to take her far. Far before she would banish him or watch his life become stripped from him. Yet River turned out to strip much of Keva's life from him. The lavender-eyed elf had not expected mages to appear within her palace walls and pull the rug out from under her feet. Yet River was not the one to have made that move, for it was Leala.

Just like her human mother, Keva thought, recalling both the naivety and chaotic mindset of Lily Maxwell. Nixon Maxwell may have been ruthless and calculated, but Lily was haywire. In her brokenness, she sought after the palace of Zion with a rage fueled by revenge for her deceased husband. Leala combined both of her parents demons, using them to arrive here and pull the rug out from under Keva.

It caused the elf to wonder if she had picked the wrong child to raise and pull the strings of. River was a rightful king in some twisted sense, but he would never have gained the support Leala managed. It was because she stood for a symbol – a symbol of a new kingdom. If others had learned of River's past, he would be nothing more than a signal of dark magic and an old kingdom.

Yet Keva had to play her cards right. Keva knew she never could have done to Leala what she had done to River – the opportunity would never have presented itself.

She wondered who would come for her first – warriors bloodhungry, her own elves all beaten and blooded, or perhaps Leala or River. A smile tugged at her lips as she wondered what it would be like to watch River walk through the garden to her. Asger had been given the task of finishing what remained of River. To have two old friends battle to the death seemed poetic. It would be a battle fueled with rage. It would have been a battle with no truly good outcome, for Keva knew Asger would perish somehow. Keva understood River would either finish Asger or that the two would not make it out alive. The mental games it would play with River to have murdered his lifelong friend until the end.