𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖑𝖉𝖗𝖊𝖓 𝖉𝖎𝖉 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜 𝖜𝖍𝖔 𝖑𝖎𝖛𝖊𝖉 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖜𝖍𝖔 𝖉𝖎𝖊𝖉.
Eira's heart is consumed by the flames of revenge after her home, the magical academy of Elindar, was destroyed by a dark mage and his warriors. With the help o...
From the teachings of The Radiant Path, the Book of Comrades, written in the Pure Tongue
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Êl síla erin lû e-govaned vîr, ûbent i 'lhad, mellon nîn, am manen i 'gwaned ar i 'tanen
Shadows may cloak loyalty, for within the twists, friends may find both allies and betrayals
It had taken Freya Sylfrost all but halfway through the morning to come to the conclusion that Eira Jodefyren was nowhere within the confines of the Caladrielle castle.
Freya had arrived at their usual meeting spot, a cozy corner in the castle gardens, expecting to find Eira there, as they had planned to train together. However, after waiting for a while, Freya's patience wore thin, and she grew increasingly concerned about her friend's absence.
Frustrated, Freya decided to investigate. She made her way through the corridors, glancing into rooms and calling out Eira's name, but there was no response. As she approached Eira's chambers, she noticed the door slightly ajar, and her heart sank.
Her boots made a soft thud on the floor as she entered, a sense of foreboding settling around her like a shroud. The room felt colder, sterile even, compared to the vibrant mess that Eira normally embraced. Books, usually strewn across the desk like fallen leaves, stood in perfect alignment. Clothes that once draped over chairs were nowhere to be seen, and the weapons that often lay scattered about were neatly arranged as if placed there with purpose.
Freya crossed her arms over her chest, her expression growing more serious. She whispered an incantation under her breath, a subtle glow enveloping her for a moment. The room seemed to come alive with whispered secrets, the air carrying faint echoes of Eira's presence. It was a ritual she had practiced since childhood, a way to enhance her already sharp senses.
This room, which held so many memories, now echoed with an eerie silence that gnawed at her nerves. She called out Eira's name, the echo of her own voice amplifying the emptiness.
As her eyes scanned the room again, the enchantment intensified her perceptions. The subtle nuances, the lingering traces of magic, everything was laid bare before her heightened senses. The unsettling feeling in her gut intensified. Freya's eyes narrowed, the glow in her irises reflecting the growing unease within her. It wasn't just the physical arrangement of the room; it was an imbalance in the very essence of the space.
With a determined exhale Freya left the room. Her steps echoed through the corridors until she noticed Fëandil and Arin, who were engaged in a conversation.
Fëandil was mid-sentence as she approached them. "So, there I was, trying to convince the innkeeper that the roasted roots were an acquired taste, and—" Fëadil's words trailed off as Freya hooked her arm through his, her grip firm and unyielding.
Arin, catching the abrupt shift in the atmosphere, watched with mild surprise as Freya pulled Fëandil away. "Uh, everything alright?"
Freya shot Arin a brief, apologetic look over her shoulder, her eyes imploring him to understand. "We'll be right back. Just a moment," she assured, her tone brooking no argument.
