Fortress of Secrets, Trials, and Enemy Rivals. - KOTLC

Chapter Two

---

Request from: @jisungs_jaist : "tip and idea 1: put the word count up the top i wanna know." I've updated both Prologue and Chapter One. Will be continued throughout the rest of the fic.
Word count: 1347 words.

---

The walk back towards the fortress is quicker than the journey out had been, though it is probably because we run, trying to make it back to the building before the sun sets completely. Dust swirls in plumes at our feet every time they hit the dusty ground, and once we make it to the door, we slow our paces, breaths coming quicker than usual.

     Mr. Forkle would have our feet burned off if we brought dirt into the fortress, so we quickly take our boots off and carry them back to our rooms.

     The halls of the fortress are nothing like the outside. The outside looks like something from the middle-ages, broken and cracking, covered in moss and thriving vines that find their plantings in the grits between each brick, one of those old British castles that are more human than elf. But the inside looks like a palace, with crystal chandeliers and golden trims to the walls. Pearly decorations line each walkway in dances of reflective and shimmery sensations to the eye, and I can't help but think how much Biana would love it.

     Once I make it to the door that opens to my room – a large, silver door with the words "Feather" on the top – I wave my goodbyes to Lark as he continues down to the hall to his own, then I fish the key out of my pocket and slide it through the lock. Turning it, the door pops open with a click, and I walk inside.

     My room if probably one of my favourite things about the fortress. It has large windows that are hidden to the outside by thick layers of vines, with black drapes that cover the glass from the inside. In one corner, a large desk that is now piled with papers and plans, pens scattered on top. In the other corner lies my bed, a large mattress on an intricately designed frame. The covers – a soft, silky grey – are dotted with fluffy pillows. It looks very formal compared to what I had at Havenfield, but it works, and that's all that matters.

     This morning I'd left in a rush, and so the covers are messy and crinkled, pillows scattered from the head to the foot, but I don't have enough time to sort them out.

     Instead, I walk into the wardrobe that Biana would have died for, grab out a deep red tunic with silver trims and some dark pants that ruffle near the ankles, and change into them. Tossing my dirty fighting clothes onto a small pile on the floor, I spray myself with the Elvin equivalent of deodorant, find some cleaner shoes that I slip onto my feet. Then I slide gloves onto my hands to hide my enhancing.

     I debate brushing my hair, but settle for simply tying my hair back into a tight ponytail. Then I quickly finish tying my boots and then pushing through the door, leaving my sword and sheath on the messy heap of blankets that is my bed.

–

     It takes me a while to find the room where the meeting is being held, especially without the help of Flash to guide me, but I eventually find a wooden double-door that leads to a room that is obviously made for meetings.

     Inside, Flash and Lark sit in two chairs on the right-hand side of the table, while the five collective members talk quietly among each other on the left. A few gnomes run around the room, and as my eyes track on of them, I catch a glimpse of the shining interior.

     The roof is high – I assume it's probably the front-left turret – and the walls are entirely glass from the floor up to eye-level. I can see the fields where other members of the Black Swan train, where animals graze and fly, and I can see the tops of towers in the distance.