The cries of a baby echoed with the wind, the rustle of grain fields swaying under a sudden downpour of sunlight.
Elvira was born on the last days of winter, in the quiet farming village of Thaleen, nestled between rolling valleys and the eldertree forest of Vaeloria — born in a modest wooden home.
A strange child she was. While other children played outside, she would be found in the library, reading and reading in search of an answer to a question unknown to her.
Worn-out tales about angels and demons who walked the land, forgotten wars between countries and the elves who once thrived.
By the time she was five, her mother had caught her levitating a bowl of soup. The spoon floated beside her like a faithful bird. "See, Mama? I didn't spill it this time." Her voice was soft and innocent.
