After the cloud of sand crossed its path across the endless desert, it settled within the great oasis, in the ravine carved by the boiling finger of God Himself—like an eternal furrow in the sands.
Thswoner opened his eyes and emerged from the Lake of Transposition, alongside the other four elves: Fiarah, Gnaer, Hortjar, and Mlnoar.
Their bodies were not wet, for the lake did not moisten the flesh but the soul. Yet it left them feeling light, as though floating in emptiness.
The general's face showed rage; his companions' expressions held defeat and exhaustion, for lying in the lake demanded much of their strength.
"Is Ishara returning?" A feminine voice came from above, from one of the boulders in the cavern. Thswoner recognized it as he rose from the lake; the water reached only to his calves.
"Of all people, you are the one who should best understand the meaning of exile, Faezarnah," he said, lifting his gaze to the elf as he stepped out of the lake. She wore her usual attire: a large white robe striped with a green that glowed in the dim cavern like a firefly. The place was filled with such insects.
The elf uncrossed her legs and leaped, descending slowly as the insects blinked and swirled around her. She smiled.
"Oh, but we also know the meaning of forgiveness, do we not?" She landed lightly on the ground just as she finished speaking. Like all elves, she was tall—taller than most. She matched her brother in height. "I worry for my niece. She was so brave…" she mused, playing idly with the blinking insects.
Thswoner sighed.
"The council is already waiting," she murmured before he could respond, noting his serious and faintly weary expression. "Everyone is eager to hear what you have to say, little brother."
The elven general dismissed his companions with a glance. After the four departed, the siblings made their way toward the meeting area.
//
The two entered from the southern entrance; the path was made of polished green sandstone, matching the canyon walls in that section. On either side of the road ran a narrow stream of water, encircling an elevated spherical platform and producing a soothing sound. Combined with the open sky above, it gave the place a sense of tranquility—despite the grave decisions always made here. After ascending seven steps, they reached the circular table of white limestone veined with green streaks. The six chairs were already occupied, and Thswoner took the seventh.
After the seven exchanged glances, they closed their eyes and began a silent prayer. Faezarnah remained standing at a distance, parallel to the other elves who had come to accompany the council members.
A long minute passed in silence—only the cool late-afternoon wind rustling through the trees and plants, and the gentle flow of water, touched the five senses of those present.
"The demonic beast has been transformed into human form," Thswoner said after opening his eyes. The honor of the first words belonged to the bearer of the primary news. The air filled with pure essence and sacred harphesh—the energy particles of the elven sources.
Reactions varied among them. The eldest, Jóarnaliel, closed his eyes again while stroking his gray beard, knowing Thswoner watched him.
"So you were right, and I was wrong," the old elf murmured, now meeting the general's gaze.
"Did you discover how it happened?" asked Iaraelesh. The elderly elf lady's face showed surprise; her once-subtle wrinkles had deepened. Like the others, she did not doubt the truth of the information—the harphesh prevented lies and illusions.
"Neftraya Maelis—she is involved," the general replied, placing the black khopesh on the table and sliding it to the center. "And the pharaoh believes it was his God who did this."
"And you killed her? A sin of this magnitude can only be answered with death," said Garhlieash. The burly elf took the sword. "Well now, it has been a long time since we last saw one of these. Is this the last?"
"My focus was to kill Kharvathar," the general answered, his voice rising as he revealed the creature's name. The six tensed at the sound of it.
"So he names himself," affirmed Viaeeshs. The thin elf's gray eyes lifted to the sky. "And he thinks…"
"I suppose you did not even come close to succeeding," Bielassh stated. The elf did not even look up; she seemed to meditate inwardly, eyes closed as she spoke.
"Then show us," Fiaeliosh requested. Thswoner met the ascetic elf's gaze and nodded. He placed his hand on the green vein of the table. The streak flowed toward the center, forming a circle that sent other veins toward each chair. All the elves placed their fingers there and, through the power of the harphesh, saw the general's memories.