3. Aldric

3

ALDRIC

T he tunnels stretch endlessly before me, their cool, damp air a welcome relief from the scorching chaos above. Each step echoes softly against the stone, a somber reminder of our hidden existence. The cavern beneath the mountain range yawns open to my right, its vastness dotted with the ghostly figures of vrakken flying in rhythmic patterns. Wings beat silently, like shadows in a dream.

I pause for a moment, watching them. They soar effortlessly, a dance of strength and grace. Not all have returned to the surface, I muse. Maybe not all ever will. The Council keeps sending us—scouts, warriors—yet they remain underground, rooted in their stone thrones.

My lips twist into a bitter smile. We're meant to train and prepare for a war that feels more distant with each passing day. The Council speaks of strategy and readiness, but their actions...they don't match their words. My hair's short now—a constant reminder of the battle lost above.

I push these thoughts aside as I approach the Council room. The entrance looms ahead, flanked by two guards who nod respectfully as I pass. Inside, the space opens up into a grand hall, every inch carved from the living rock. At the center sits Brinda, her fiery hair a stark contrast against the cold stone.

She sits at the center of a long table raised on a platform, her presence commanding and fierce. The other council members flank her, but it's Brinda's gaze that captures me.

Her green eyes narrow as she takes in my disheveled state. "Aldric," she begins, voice steady but laced with concern. "What has happened?"

"The dark elves launched a sudden attack on the surface base."

A murmur ripples through the Council. Brinda raises a hand, silencing them. "Tell us what happened."

"They came in overwhelming numbers," I say, recalling the chaos. "Hundreds, maybe more. Their ferocity was unmatched. They tore through our defenses like they were nothing."

A Council member leans forward, eyes narrowed. "How did they breach our barriers?"

"They used their magic," I reply. "We weren't prepared for that level of assault. We weren't even aware that they were in the wildsponts — that they knew of them. We would have needed to strengthen our borders if we had."

I try not to sound accusatory. I don't know if the Council was aware of the attack or the dark elves' movements. But I must assume they were. Otherwise, our war effort is hopelessly underprepared.

Another voice chimes in, this one sharper, accusatory. "And our warriors? What happened to them?"

I take a deep breath, the memories of fallen comrades flashing before me. "They fought valiantly. But we were outnumbered and outmatched. Many fell in battle — reduced to something that can't be saved. Those who survived...they're either captured or scattered."

Brinda's gaze narrows just a fraction. "And you? How did you escape?"

"Pure luck," I admit, swallowing hard. "I was cornered by one of their fighters—he managed to shear my hair." I gesture to my short locks, a raw wound still fresh in my mind.

"Bastard." Brinda's voice is full of shock and anger.

"Yes," I say, my voice hardening with resolve. "It almost seemed as if he knew what it would mean to us."

"It's not unlike a dark elf to find one angers another and use it in battle," one Council member weighs in.

Another Council member speaks up, their tone laced with urgency. "What about their strategy? Did you notice any patterns or weaknesses?"

I nod, recalling the chaotic dance of battle. "They rely heavily on their magic for both offense and defense. But it is clear that they don't fight in ranks. They are focused on individual pursuit, driving apart our ranks."

Brinda taps her fingers against the stone table, deep in thought. "And their leader? Did you see who was commanding them?"

"No clear leader," I reply. "But they all poured out of the forest. And as cowardly as they are, I could believe they had a leader waiting in the woods — too afraid to fight himself."

Silence falls over the room as they digest my words.

Brinda's eyes meet mine once more, searching for any sign of weakness. Despite my exhaustion, I stand tall. My wings are tucked in tightly at my back, never letting them sink even as they ache. I've fought hard, and I refuse to give them a reason to doubt me.

Especially since my wings signal something more. We once all had wings, back when the First — the woman who our god Akeldama Made into a vrakken to start our race — still walked among us. But the more generations of vrakken that have been Made have muddied our blood. Now the vrakken are too apathetic, wingless with weaker magic. Not everyone can even sun glamour anymore.

Which is another reason we should fight. To find what happened to the First, who is a goddess in her own right and disappeared during the war.

The Council begins to deliberate, their voices a murmur of concern and strategy. They seem to forget I'm even here, lost in their own discussions.

"This attack changes everything," one member says, her voice trembling with the weight of realization. "It signals the start of a war we might not be ready for."

"We've been preparing for years," another counters, though there's a hint of doubt in his tone. "But there's still so much we don't know about the surface. The dark elves have had the upper hand for centuries."

Brinda remains silent, her eyes fixed on some distant point as she processes the gravity of our situation. The others continue to talk, their words blending into a tapestry of fear and uncertainty.

"If this war mirrors the last," someone whispers, "we could face the same end."

"But it's worse now," another chimes in, voice tight with anxiety. "The dark elves know we're still here, under the mountain. Their Thirteen Maws are not waiting for them like they thought before."

Their words sink in, each one a lead weight on my already heavy heart. All we ever wanted was to hunt freely and soar through open skies. The tunnels offer neither game nor space, only cold stone and cramped quarters. The only thing that drove us out was necessity—the lack of animals and the suffocating confines.

"Are we prepared to face this again?" Brinda's voice cuts through the chatter, drawing everyone's attention.

One of the elder Council members speaks up, his tone grave. "We must learn more about the surface, about our enemy. We cannot fight blind."

They continue to discuss strategies and reconnaissance missions, but my mind drifts. I think of my comrades—those who fought bravely and fell, those who are now captured or worse.

I want to hunt freely again, to feel the wind against my wings without fear or constraint. I want my people to thrive, not merely survive in these dark tunnels.

The Council's deliberations grow heated, voices clashing like swords in the air. I stand at attention, fists clenched at my sides, my jaw set in a rigid line.

Brinda slams her hand on the table. "We cannot afford to delay! The dark elves have already breached our defenses."

One of the elder members scoffs. "Rushing into action will only lead to more losses."

"We need more information," another interjects. "We cannot send our people into a battle blindly."

"And how do you propose we gather that information?" Brinda retorts, eyes flashing. "Wait until they attack again? Let them dictate our every move?"

I can't help but agree with her. My blood burns with the need to act, to strike back at those who dared to defile our sanctum.

"The scouts," one Council member suggests, voice strained with desperation. "Send more scouts to the surface. Gather intel before we commit to any large-scale actions."

"We've been sending scouts for years," Brinda snaps. "And what have we learned?"

I want to speak up, to tell them that waiting will only give the dark elves more time to prepare, to strengthen their forces. But I hold my tongue, knowing my place in this room.

Another elder raises his voice, cutting through the noise. "We must consider our resources. Our numbers are not what they once were."

My muscles tense, every fiber of my being ready for battle. I think of the comrades I've lost, the base that now lies in ruins. We cannot afford hesitation.

Brinda's gaze sweeps over the room, landing on me for a moment before moving on. "We've built as many numbers as we can. It's time for us to get ready to retaliate. We nearly defeated them before," she finally says, her voice steadying the room's tumultuous energy. "It's time we finish what we have been planning for all these years. "

The room falls silent as her words hang in the air.

One of the elders sighs heavily. "And if we fail?"

"We won't," she responds without hesitation, her eyes moving to look at me.

The Council exchanges glances, their frustration palpable but mingled with a grudging respect.

I nod slowly, seeing her decision made. "Very well," she declares. "We prepare for war."