The council field beneath the World Tree lay hushed, its vast canopy of silver leaves trembling with the lingering residue of sorrow. Cynthia knelt in the damp grass, cradling Aegon against her breast. Her tears had not ceased since the Elenya's words first offered faint hope that her friend might yet live, that some path remained to free her from a life of slavery. But now, with the queen's solemn confirmation of her death, the truth settled like cold iron in Cynthia's heart. Her friend had chosen the only escape left to her, ending her own life to flee the cruel existence of being the count's plaything.
The Queen watched her with unreadable eyes, her expression still pale with grief for her fallen childhood friend, Vaelmira. Yet there was also curiosity there, a conflicted curiosity.
The queen spoke first, with a calm and precise tone. Her voice carried across the clearing and settled on Cynthia like a summons.
"So," she said quietly, "the child is Vaelmira's son."
Cynthia wiped her tears with the back of her shaking hand. "Y-yes, Your Majesty."
"And his father," the queen continued, her tone darkening, "is the count? The one who imprisoned and used Vaelmira?"
Cynthia's throat tightened. "Yes… he is. But he wished to kill his own son."
At the word there was no measured response. Instead a shock of outrage cut the air like a thrown spear. Elder Aredhel Dawnstar sprang up so fast the roots beneath him seemed to tremble. His face contorted into an expression of open contempt.
"What?" His voice cracked like a whip.
His blue eyes narrowed into cold, merciless slits. "She bore the child of a lesser race… and not merely that—she carried the seed of her captor? How could she?" His voice deepened with disgust. "How could she bring into this world a half-breed? She should have taken her own life before birthing an impure, human-tainted child!"
The words fell like stones. Cynthia stared at Aredhel as if he had spat on her friend's grave. She hugged Aegon closer, turning away so that the elder could not easily lay hands on the child.
Before Aredhel could move further, Elenya Thalanor thrust herself between Cynthia and the elder. Her posture was a blade; she did not shout but there was iron in her voice.
"What do you think you are doing, Aredhel?" she demanded, voice low and dangerous. "Do you intend to harm a child?"
Aredhel answered with a coldness that made the air shiver. "That child is an insult to the Moonborn line. I will not let my friend's legacy be tainted by a half-breed. He would never have accepted that his daughter gave birth to the seed of her captor. It is best to get rid of it now before the whole realm knows of its existence."
An answering voice, smooth and deliberately mocking, cut across Aredhel's rant. A tall elf with long blond hair stepped forward, his smile languid and his eyes bright. The Elder's presence seemed to rearrange the sound of the clearing, and his tone, like silk over steel, provoked where others might have soothed.
"Now, now, dear Aredhel," he said with affected sweetness. "Do not become so carried away in the presence of Her Majesty and the Mother Tree. Your words are unbecoming."
He had remained silent until now, uninterested in what he no doubt saw as petty drama. But the moment Aredhel became emotional, his attention sharpened, as if he had found a new toy to play with.
"How fascinating though," he continued with a languid smile. "The mighty Aredhel Dawnstar, rattled enough to forget his manners. Deciding the fate of an infant at once? Even for you, that is rather bold."
Aredhel sneered. "Eärwen."
The Elder called Eärwen gave him a slow wink—as though even Aredhel's fury were an amusing performance for his entertainment.
Before the tension could escalate further, an elder rose from his seat—an elf older than generations, who looked older than the anyone present at the gathering, perhaps. The old Elf walked with the quiet assurance of one who had seen centuries of storms and outlived all of them.
He came to stand before Cynthia.
She flinched. But his voice was gentle, warm as the light through ancient leaves.
"Do not be afraid, child," he said quietly. His hands were open, unthreatening. "No one will harm you or him. We are not savages who slit the throats of infants."
Cynthia looked anxiously past him toward Aredhel.
The old elf chuckled. "Little Aredhel was… emotional," he murmured, loud enough for Aredhel to hear. "He will not act rashly, and certainly not a murderer."
Aredhel stiffened, insulted by his words a little, but remained silent.
Cynthia did not know whether to believe this old elf who looked kind and gentle. She had seen the violence of humans and the cruelty of men who thought themselves lords of others. Here, though, was an elder whose voice reached down and took something of the hurricane out of the air.
"Now," the old elf said, with his gentle smile and grandfatherly voice, "may I see the child?"
Cynthia hesitated—but something in his kind eyes soothed her. She slowly turned Aegon toward him.
The ancient elf's eyes widened.
"Oh-ho…" he murmured. "He is unusual. Quite… very unusual."
The council stirred.
Elenya spoke first. "What is it, Elder Galathil? What makes him unusual?"
Galathil bent closer, studying Aegon with rapt fascination.
"Almost all half-elves," he began, "lack our ears, the defining mark of our lineage. They may inherit our beauty, height, or spiritual mana sensitivity—but their appearance remains largely human."
He smiled faintly. "But this child… this one bears elven ears. And more—he carries the unmistakable features of the Moonborn line. Pure white hair. Eyes like pale ice. His aura… it is not diluted."
He looked back at the council.
"He resembles a full-blooded elven child. This is the first time I have witnessed such a phenomenon in my thousands of years."
Aredhel scoffed. "So what? He still carries the blood of an inferior race. His very existence is an insult. Even if he looks like us, he is a half-breed—a mistake. How could that girl let this happen? She birthed her captor's seed, then delivered him here for protection? Unacceptable."
"Calm yourself," Eärwen drawled. "Yes, his existence is a mistake—tradition is clear about his kind of existence. Half-bloods must not remain in the Endless Forest. since the founding of Eldhaven city twelve thousand years ago, every half-blood who came seeking shelter was turned away at the border—or killed if they refused to leave."
He smiled lightly. "This time will be no different."
Galathil shook his head. "I propose the opposite. Allow the boy to remain for several years. I wish to watch him grow—to study what makes him so… special."
Aredhel's eyes shot to Elenya as if looking for the sting of agreement. Elenya's face showed restraint. "Whatever her majesty the queen decides, I will accept," she said.
"Tsk"Aredhel clicked his tongue with contempt. "A muscle of a commander who dares not speak freely. Her majesty the queen will see reason."
Elenya ignored the insult, though her jaw tightened.
He swept his arm toward the queen. "Surely Her Majesty agrees. The traditions are clear. The people already live in fear of humans—resent them, hate them. Allowing this half-blood to remain would ignite unrest."
Eärwen stepped forward and bowed deeply. "Though I dislike agreeing with Aredhel, I must admit my queen. The child's father is a noble of the Homaira Empire. They could easily twist this situation into a justification for attack… or extort more tribute from us. Better to send the child and Lady Cynthia away."
"And what of Vaelmira Moonborn?" Elenya demanded, turning sharply toward him. "A high elf and a member of this very council, enslaved by an imperial noble. What of the dozens kidnapped elves every year? What of our people who can no longer walk the Endless Forest—their own home—without fear of being kidnapped? Must we remain silent forever?"
Eärwen lifted a brow. "We cannot defend the forest, Elenya. We can barely defend this city. The only reason the empire has not invaded is because the emperor is merciful."
"And what of his successor?" Elenya snapped. "The crown prince's letters that he sends to our queen every year for proposing a marri—"
"Enough!" Aredhel barked. "Do not discuss our internal matters before strangers. This is not about Vaelmira Moonborn now. It is about our people's reputation."
He turned back to Cynthia, eyes cold and final.
"Unfortunately, human, we must deal with you and that half-breed."
Cynthia stepped back, heart pounding. Something inside her snapped—fear, grief, outrage blending into a single burning point of resolve. These elves, who spoke of purity and tradition, judged her, her friend, and her friend's son as though they were nothing.
She lifted her chin.
"My friend," she said, voice shaking but determined, "gave her life to protect her child. She endured torment—abuse that would have broken stronger souls—all to shield him from the same fate as his older sister, whom the count murdered."
The chamber fell silent.
"She ran from monsters to save her child. She came here believing her people—you—would help her son. But all I hear are words of purity, bloodlines, and pride."
Her voice rose, trembling with emotion.
"The empire nobles spoke the same way. They saw elves as trophies, not people. And now I hear those same words here. How tragic, that you resemble those you claim to despise."
Aredhel's rage erupted. He unsheathed his dagger in one fluid, deadly motion and pointed it at her.
"How dare you compare us to those lesser, filthy creatures? I will have your tongue for such disrespect—"
"The more you speak," Cynthia spat back, glaring fiercely, "the more you resemble them."
There was a ripple of reaction. Eärwen laughed softly, amused by the human's defiance. The same human who, only heartbeats ago, had trembled so violently she could barely hold her own gaze above their boots—now stood with her chin high, spitting defiance at Aredhel and every elder present as though fear had burned clean out of her
"I like her," he whispered to Galathil.
Galathil ignored him entirely, stepping between the Cynthia and Aredhel before blood could spill.
"That is enough," the old elf said firmly. "Both of you."
Cynthia turned her back, Adged by the idea that she might be driven from the city she had risked so much to reach. She had thought to plead, to beg maybe, but the sight of Aegon's small face filled her with a wrath that no custom could match.
"I appreciate that you took me in… that you rescued me from the Endless Forest. But it's clear we are not welcome. But I will not let Aegon's life be threatened because of the way he was born. I will raise him where he will not be scorned into being less than he is. If you can have honor, then show it by protecting him. If not, then watch him go."
She began to turn away—then paused beside Sinna, the captain who had first found her.
Cynthia drew a shaky breath and turned toward Sinna, who stood nearby, captain of the guard. "Miss Sinna, can you please show me the nearest way to the human city? Tell me how to get out of the Endless Forest and where I might be able to find my way."
Sinna opened her mouth to answer, but the queen's voice stopped them all.
"Wait, Lady Cynthia," the queen called, her voice soft yet resonant, the kind that stilled even the restless wind. "You need not leave. Stay. We will shelter you and the child. I give you my solemn promise: no harm shall touch either of you while you remain beneath the boughs of the World Tree. Vaelmira placed her faith in her people and in me, her queen, to guard you and her son. I will not betray that trust. You are safe here, now and always."
Aredhel's voice cracked like a whip across the hushed council field, his composure shattered.
"My queen, please reconsider," he pleaded, stepping forward, eyes blazing with desperate conviction, "this violates every law and sacred tradition we hold dear. Word will spread. When the people learn that we have opened our hidden city to a human and her half-blood child, their faith in this council will crumble. Half-elves from beyond the Endless Forest will hear of it and come flooding to our gates, demanding sanctuary. Worse still, our own kin may begin to believe that unions with these lesser races are permissible, that siring more half-seeds is anything less than abomination. And when the Empire catches wind of it, they will brand us hypocrites and who believes in our own blood purity. They will use that child's linage as pretext to march upon us. We will be shamed before the world, and our ancient isolation will be broken forever."
Eärwen bowed his head. "I am not in love with this choice, Your Majesty, but I stand with prudence. Sending them away spares us trouble."
Before Aredhel and Eärwen could press their furious litany further, the queen's voice cut through the air like a drawn blade. Until this moment it had remained measured, almost gentle, but now it rang cold and edged with anger.
"Enough," she said. "I have listened to your litany of shame, of tradition, of law," she continued, her tone no longer merely cold but forged steel, each syllable ringing with the weight of centuries. "I have heard every fear you dared to voice and every fear you swallowed. Now hear me."She rose from the ancient root-throne, tall and terrible in her quiet fury. "I am the queen. The law bends where I stand. Tradition is the shadow cast by my will, not its master. You will not stand in my presence and teach me where the line is drawn. You will not presume to show me how to rule, or what mercy I may grant, or whose blood is worthy beneath these boughs."
Aredhel sank to his knees at once, a crash of humility. "My queen," he whispered, voice trembling, "I would sooner cut out my own tongue than question your sovereignty. I spoke only from love of our people. Forgive my presumption. I abase myself before Her Majesty."
The queen's gaze swept the other elders until they fell silent. She turned to Cynthia and then to the clearing where the council members had argued.
"Has anyone else something more to say?" she asked.
Silence answered. One by one, every proud head bowed toward her.
Eärwen bowed, and lift his face. A smooth, satisfied smile curved his lips, as though the entire storm had been a pleasant breeze. He inclined his head with graceful reverence.
"I have always trusted the boundless wisdom of our queen," he said, voice warm as summer honey. "Unlike certain others who speak before they think, I know that whatever path Her Majesty chooses is the one that safeguards our realm and honors our people."
His eyes flicked toward Aredhel for the briefest instant, bright with sly triumph, then returned to the queen, serene and loyal as a fox that has already stolen the choicest meat while the hounds still argue over the carcass.
Aredhel, still kneeling, glanced at him with eyes full of warning.
Then the queen walked slowly toward Cynthia and the infant. Her face was grave and calm. When she reached them, she asked in a gentler voice, "May I see the child?"
Cynthia hesitated first but then removed the cloth and presented Aegon. The queen cradled him in her arms and looked long and silently. Her lips softened with a sorrow as if she was reminiscing about something.
"He looks so much like her…" she began softly, and then the words fell back into silence. She replaced the cloth with a caretaking motion and then faced the council.
"Today's hearing is finished," the queen announced. "You are all dismissed."
The elders bowed and drifted away, their robes whispering. As they passed Cynthia, Aredhel looked at her with a cold hardness and then at Aegon with disgust that Cynthia felt as if it burned. Others moved past in pairs; Eärwen offered Cynthia a boyish, insolent wink before he vanished into the trees. Sinna fell into step with Elenya. Elder Galathil remained a moment longer before he also walked away.
The queen remained beneath the vast canopy of the World Tree, its ancient boughs whispering softly above them. Cynthia stood before her, Aegon clasped protectively in her arms, the infant's faint breath warm against her collarbone.
For a long moment, neither woman spoke. The silence was not uncomfortable, only heavy—two lives balanced on the edge of a new beginning neither had expected.
At last, the queen broke the stillness.
"Come," she said gently. "Let go of the fear in your heart. I will show you where you and the child will stay."
Cynthia shifted Aegon slightly and lowered her gaze. "Your Majesty," she began, voice stiff with worry, "I… I don't know if it will be safe for Aegon here. The way the elders reacted… I feel conflicted. They seemed ready to—"
The queen smiled, soft but sure, her expression carrying centuries of steady wisdom.
"Do not trouble yourself over them," she said. "Besides Aredhel, most reacted from shock, not hatred. And Aredhel's anger is… personal." She walked slowly, her fingertips brushing the glowing grass as she spoke. "He lost someone very dear to him because of humans. His scars run deep. His harshness toward you was not truly for you—it was for a wound he has carried for many years."
Cynthia lowered her head. She did not know Aredhel's story, but she understood grief well enough.
The queen continued, "And more importantly, the Mother Tree herself conveyed to me what must be done. The child must grow among elves. Here, he will be safe."
Cynthia lifted her eyes, uncertainty flickering in them. The queen met her gaze steadily.
"The moment he is seen by other races, they will try to take him. A child who looks like an elf, yet is not of any known clan? Many would covet him. Many more would harm him." She paused, then added with a quiet firmness, "And you, Cynthia… you do not yet have the power to protect him from people with vicious intentions. You know that."
Cynthia swallowed hard. She did know. She nodded.
"I don't want anything to happen to him," she whispered.
"Good." The queen turned, her long black hair shimmering like obsidian silk beneath the bright midday sun, each strand catching and scattering the golden light that poured through the silver leaves of the world tree. "Then follow me."
Cynthia adjusted Aegon and stepped after her, moving with careful, steady steps. As they walked, the queen glanced at her with a curious expression, as though something had been lingering in her mind.
"Tell me about yourself," the queen said. "Who are you? How old are you? You look very young."
"I'm… seventeen, Your Majesty," Cynthia answered cautiously, trying not to sound disrespectful or unworthy.
The queen raised her brows slightly. "Seventeen?" She studied the girl's face again. "So you truly are still young. It must have been difficult for you… these past days."
Cynthia exhaled shakily. "I had no choice, Your Majesty."
The queen folded her hands behind her back, her steps graceful as drifting petals. "It is all right now. You are safe here, with us. No one will harm you or the child." She paused, letting the promise settle like a warm cloak around Cynthia's trembling shoulders. "I give you my word."
Cynthia nodded, clutching Aegon closer. "Thank you, Your Majesty… truly. I appreciate your kindness—and your help."
A gentle smile touched the queen's face. "I am glad to hear that. Come—let us go. I will take you to the Moonborn family residence. It is a peaceful place. Very few elves will bother you there, not until you grow accustomed to life among us. You and the child will rest more easily."
Together, they walked beneath the colossal roots of the World Tree, stepping into wide grassy fields woven with luminous flowers. The wind carried a soft fragrance over them as they passed through the fields.