2. Elowen

2

ELOWEN

" W ait!" I scream. "No!"

My family is right in front of me, bleeding on the floor, and there is nothing I can do to save them. I swipe at them, trying to grab them, to help, to do something . But before I can reach them, I'm yanked back.

Gasping, I sit up. "It was just a dream," I whisper to myself as I try to calm my racing heart. My room is dark — though there are no windows so I'm not sure what time it is. Still, it doesn't help keep the images from flashing before my eyes again.

Though the light wouldn't either.

The echoes of the past never leave me. They cling like shadows, whispering in the quiet moments. I remember the smell of the forest after a rain, the way sunlight dappled through leaves, and the laughter of my family. We were happy once, nestled in our small village, far from the reach of dark elves.

My father taught me to hunt. He'd laugh when I missed a shot, but his eyes always held pride. "You'll get it next time," he'd say, ruffling my fiery hair. My mother, with her gentle hands and soft songs, made every day feel like a blessing. My little brother's mischievous grin still haunts my dreams.

But that life shattered in an instant. The dark elves came without warning, their magic lighting up the night with deadly beauty. Screams filled the air as our village burned. I tried to fight back, grabbing a knife from our kitchen. It was useless against their power.

I remember the cruel laughter as they cut down my father. My mother's pleading eyes as she shielded my brother. They took them all, leaving me alone in a sea of blood and fire.

I was dragged away, bound and gagged, a prize for their twisted games. Days blurred into nights as they transported me to their city, a place of dark grandeur and cold beauty. The chains around my wrists were more than just metal; they were a symbol of my stolen freedom.

Life as a slave was harsh. Every day was a battle for survival, but I refused to break. I learned their ways, watched them with keen eyes, and waited for any chance to escape. The scars on my body are reminders of those years—proof that I survived what should have destroyed me.

I don't remember how long I was chained up and left at their mercy. Time lost meaning. The only thing that kept me going was the memory of my family's faces and the burning desire for revenge.

One night, as the darkness seemed to press in on me from all sides, I heard a commotion outside my cell. The heavy door creaked open, and in walked a figure I'd never seen before. Pale skin, dark eyes, and an air of otherworldly power. A vrakken.

"Come with me if you want to live," he said, his voice low and commanding.

I didn't hesitate. I scrambled to my feet, wincing as the chains clinked against the stone floor. He snapped his fingers, and the chains fell away. Magic. The same force that had imprisoned me now offered a chance at freedom.

We moved quickly through the dark corridors of the dark elf stronghold. The vrakken moved with a grace and speed that left me struggling to keep up.

"Why are you helping me?" I asked between gasps for breath.

"No one deserves to be left with these monsters," he replied curtly. "And I want to give you the chance to get away from them."

He led me through hidden paths and underground tunnels until we reached a place that felt alive with magic—a wildspont base. It was there I was introduced to Raziel and Selene, a vrakken and his human mate that led the base. The air thrummed with energy, making my skin tingle.

Once there, my struggle wasn't over. Finding a place among the vrakken proved more challenging than escaping my captors. They were an insular race, driven by apathy rather than malice, but they had little use for someone like me — a human with no magic.

Not to mention, it was startling to learn they only drink blood. It made them more dangerous than the dark elves in my eyes. But I haven't been attacked — yet.

I learned as much as I could about them, initially wary of trusting them. But they are the opposite of the dark elves. The gray-skinned bastards were created to flaunt the vrakken, and while a lengthy war was waged, the vrakken eventually escaped underground, finding it better to have their own place than to war with the dark elves.

The vrakken don't have an interest in controlling everything like the dark elves. Or at least, they didn't. It seems that some things have changed. Centuries beneath the surface, stuck in tunnels and caverns with wings that can't be fully spread drove them to seek out one thing: defeating the dark elves.

So now the immortal race is on the surface.

I'v tried to make myself useful, helping wherever I could, learning their ways. Raziel and Selene have been kind enough, but it's clear they have their own struggles leading this new base.

So I train every day, pushing my body to its limits, honing my skills with weapons and learning about their magic from a distance. Waiting for my chance to finally strike and get my revenge.

But even among these strange allies, I feel out of place—a human among immortals, fueled by vengeance while they seemed indifferent to everything around them except their survival. Every night, I lay awake thinking about my family and wondering if I'd ever truly belong anywhere again.

Yet I refuse to give up. I'll find my place here or die trying.

Shaking off the memories, I swing my feet out of bed. I need to get moving before my memories entirely consume me.

My muscles ache from yesterday's training, but I push the discomfort aside. Pain is an old friend now, a reminder of what I fight for.

I pull on my worn leathers and lace up my boots, fingers nimble despite the early hour. The base is quiet, save for the occasional whisper of wings or the murmur of distant conversations. The vrakken are mostly nocturnal, but I've learned to carve out my own time in their world.

I head to the training grounds, a section of the wildspont that Raziel cleared for combat practice. The space thrums with magic, each breath invigorating and almost electric. I draw my dagger, its blade catching the faint light. It feels right in my hand — an extension of my will.

Every slash, every thrust, carries with it the weight of my past and the promise of my future. Sweat beads on my forehead as I move through drills, muscles straining and burning. The faces of my family flash before me with every strike. My father's proud smile, my mother's gentle touch, my brother's laughter.

"Faster," I mutter to myself. "Stronger."

My breath comes in ragged gasps as I push harder. There's no room for weakness. Weakness means death. Weakness means failure.

After an hour or so, when my arms tremble from exertion and my shirt sticks to my back with sweat, I switch to sparring with one of the vrakken guards. He's faster than any dark elf I've faced but less cruel. We trade blows in silence, each impact resonating through my bones.

"Not bad," he grunts as we break apart, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"Not good enough," I reply, sheathing my dagger.

I wipe sweat from my brow and head to the small stream that runs through part of the base to clean up. The cold water is a shock to my system but refreshing. As I wash away the grime and sweat, I catch a glimpse of myself in the water's surface — fierce green eyes staring back at me.

My reflection reminds me that I'm not just fighting for revenge; I'm fighting for survival and for a future where no one else has to endure what I did.

I dry off and grab a quick meal — some dried meat and bread from our supplies — before heading to take care of my chores. We all help out around the base, with hunting or farming or cleaning. It helps the new humans find a place and keeps us all on equal footing — at least that's why I assume Selene and Raziel assign us all positions.

This routine is what keeps me grounded amidst chaos and uncertainty. It's what keeps me strong and ready for whatever comes next.

There's no time to dwell on what was lost — only on what can be won.