Azael wandered the muddy roads, one hand clutching his aching belly, the other resting on his forehead. He observed the village's simple ways. Nothing extravagant, nothing wasted. The people lived close to nature, their homes and habits humble, revealing a society untouched by the excesses of modern advancement.
A moment later, an old man who looked to be in his seventies, except for his white, youthful hair caught Azael's gaze. Without hesitation, he ran up and grabbed Azael's shoulder firmly, surprising him. The encounter broke Azael's wandering, drawing the attention of a few curious villagers nearby.
"What are you doing hanging outside? You sinner!" the old man barked, glaring at Azael's hand resting on his stomach. Without a pause, he pressed on, "Are you on a rampage to kill and eat our people?" His words rushed out in a stream, accusing and panicked. "You need to be punished immediately!"
Anger radiated from the old man, his entire posture taut and trembling with hostility. The outburst drew the attention of everyone nearby, freezing the air with tension.
Meanwhile, Azael stood there, uncertain and bewildered, unable to grasp what was happening or why he was suddenly the focus of such wrath. He stared back with wide eyes, his curiosity as intense as the old man's fury, waiting for some explanation.
Azael shot the old man a cold, unblinking stare. Under his breath, he muttered, "What the ****?"
He normally had patience for decent people even if they were wary of strangers, but had little tolerance for those who spewed insults and baseless accusations. In his mind, the old man triggered his internal "good-bad sensor" in an instant, landing firmly on the wrong side.
He felt no urge to play along or defend himself to someone so determined to see him as a villain. Instead, Azael's glare sharpened, making it clear he wouldn't be pushed around. Despite the chaos unfolding around him, he resolved to stand his ground, unwilling to let foolish hostility set the tone for his stay in the unfamiliar village.
Azael shook the old man's grip from his shoulder, refusing to let the accusations linger. He dismissed the outburst with a silent scoff, choosing not to respond to the barrage of words.
"Wher…" he began, attempting to redirect the conversation, but his voice faded.
The pleasant warmth of the sun on his face was suddenly smothered by a large shadow. Azael's mood shifted instantly as darkness crept over him. He found himself staring up at a figure that hadn't been there a moment before. A striking woman with a formidable presence.
She towered above him at above six feet tall, her white hair cascading around a chiseled face. Muscles flexed beneath her rugged attire, projecting strength and authority. Most intimidating of all was the massive scar that ran from above her right eyebrow, tracing a diagonal line down her face until it reached the left side of her jaw-a silent testament to the battles she had fought and survived.
Her piercing gaze met Azael's without flinching, and for a brief moment, the entire village seemed to fall silent. The confrontation with the old man evaporated into insignificance beside the imposing aura of this woman, and Azael knew instinctively that she was someone not to be underestimated.
The tall woman's voice was like iron as she ordered, "Let's head to the meeting hall right now."
Neither Azael nor the old man hesitated. They both fell silent and obeyed without protest. It was clear from her commanding presence that challenging her would only lead to greater trouble. Azael and the old man exchanged a quick glance, understanding that compliance was their safest choice in the moment, and quietly followed her through the village.
As Azael walked alongside them, he noticed something unsettling. The villagers moved in complete silence, their footsteps barely making a sound against the earth. It was as if their very presence faded away when he closed his eyes, a ghostly stillness enveloping the group. Though they walked right before him, every step felt as light and fleeting as a passing shadow.
This eerie quiet heightened his awareness, filling him with a strange mixture of curiosity and unease. The absence of noise made the journey feel longer, the path heavy with unspoken tension. Eventually, the group arrived at their destination, a place marked by quiet authority, where the weight of what was to come pressed down on Azael with every breath he took.
Azael and the old man entered the meeting hall, joining the other prominent villagers.
The lady with the scar wasted no time. Her commanding voice echoed through the room, "All of you take your seats and let us all begin the meeting."
Everyone moved quickly, sensing the authority she held and the importance of what was about to be discussed.
Azael settled himself on the woven mat, joining the circle of villagers in the spacious hall. The old man sat directly opposite him, stealing glances now and then.
This gathering place was built to accommodate grand meetings, large enough for a hundred voices to echo off its wooden walls. But today, only twenty people occupied the somber space. There were no tables, no chairs. Just firm mats and the scent of fresh earth beneath their feet. Every participant simply sat cross-legged, some whispering among themselves while others gazed anxiously at the raised platform.
On that simple platform sat the woman with the white hair and formidable scar, the focal point of the room. Her posture was elegant yet commanding, every movement measured and precise. The villagers deferred instinctively to her, listening for her words and glancing for any sign of displeasure. The respect and just a hint of reverence spoke volumes about her position.
Azael observed her closely, recalling her authoritative commands outside and the intimidating aura she radiated. Her presence flooded the hall with anticipation. As the meeting's silent energy grew, Azael wondered if she was truly the lord, a leader of power and wisdom in a village shaped by tradition and strength. The answer, it seemed, would soon reveal itself.
Suddenly, the hall rang out with a unified cry, "All hail Elvania! All hail the queen!" The sheer force of the declaration left Azael speechless.
Had they truly said Elvania? Memories of ancient tales rushed through his mind.
Elvania, the fabled kingdom of elves, believed to be lost after the fall of the Demon cycle. Yet, clearly, it was not only alive but thriving in secrecy. Of all the places fate could have cast him, he had landed in the hidden domain of the unwoken beast-a kingdom rebuilding its power, shrouded in legends and mysteries that the world believed long vanished.
Azael smirked ruefully, realization washing over him. "So that's why their ears were pointy-they're elves after all," he murmured under his breath. The weight of his situation settled in, he understood now that any wrong move could mean his death in this hall of elves. His nerves tightened.
Then the woman with the scar, regal and commanding on her raised platform, spoke with clear authority. "I am the Queen of Elvania, Maaria Fern. I have gathered everyone to hear your reason for intruding on our territory." Her piercing gaze met his, making it clear that his very survival depended on his answer.
Azael stammered nervously, "I... I was not trying to trespass your territory! I just happened to be here without my consent." His voice trembled as he tried to explain the bizarre circumstances that led him to Elvania, laying out everything to Queen Maaria Fern, fully aware of the danger he was in.
But before he could finish, the old man from earlier erupted with fury. "You dare come to our territory and declare yourself a vile human?" he growled. "We have all suffered because of you filthy humans!" His eyes flashed with anger, and Azael watched in alarm as the old man's aura began to surge through his veins, igniting a palpable tension in the hall, threatening violence at any moment.
The tension in the hall thickened as the old man's aura flared. Sensing danger, the Queen rose from her elevated seat, her voice sharp and resolute. "Were you truly seeking revenge on a mere teenager? An innocent one, at that?" Her words pierced the old man's anger, forcing him to shrink back, his defiant posture collapsing into nervous compliance.
With the authority of royalty, she turned to the group, casting her verdict. "I, the Queen of Elvania, henceforth declare that Azael Argus must be given proper treatment and allowed to remain here in our care." The queen's gaze lingered on Azael, softened by unexpected compassion.
She had little interest in meddling in the affairs of a human outsider, especially a teenager, yet something about Azael's humility and the troubled fate that had led him there moved her. Against the odds, she felt sorrow for him-a rare emotion for someone of her station.
The villagers lowered their heads in acceptance, the queen's word final. The hostility that had threatened to erupt in violence faded into wary silence, and Azael, still shaken, realized the severity of his circumstances had shifted. For now, empathy had triumphed over suspicion, and Azael would live to see another day in Elvania.
But before Azael could even begin to relax, the Queen's voice rang out with renewed firmness. "But… you must prove your worth. I cannot keep you here without any benefit to Elvania, can I?" Her words cut through any hope of comfort, leaving Azael tense and guarded once more.
He smirked inwardly, a trace of bitterness in his thoughts. "Why would I even dream about being happy?" he mused, resignation flickering in his eyes.
Queen Maaria continued, "There is a tournament for the young elves next week, to select new members for a special unit tasked with surveying the region. If you wish to stay, you must qualify. Show us your value. Do not disappoint me." Her decree carried the weight of command, and the room's attention shifted to Azael. Pressure mounted on his shoulders, and he realized his future in Elvania now depended on his courage and skill in an unfamiliar contest.