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The Elysian camp

He appeared in a whirl of shadow, a wraith in the heart of the Elysian camp, dark power crackling in the air, every fiber of his being pulsing with urgency.

Tents, standing like vigilant sentinels, formed precise rows, their fabric adorned with the deep and regal hues of their realm. Above, the flag of the Moon Court unfurled, a profound midnight blue backdrop for the striking emblem: a silver crescent moon cleaved by a downward-pointing silver sword. The sword’s hilt and crossguard, meticulously crafted in the shape of wings, danced and fluttered in the brisk wind, like a strong sentinel against the storm.

Rohan wasted no time, tearing through the rows of tents as though every second was a precious gem slipping away.  The soldiers  cleared a path for him, their expressions grim and furious in light of the news they had received. The betrayal, bloodshed, and loss of life that had unfolded within the palace had left a bitter taste in the air. They watched their prince with a mixture of respect and hope, their loyalty evident in the unwavering gazes that followed him.

He reached his tent, the largest and most opulent in the camp. Luxury didn’t matter to him; he desired solitude and a space to gather his thoughts in critical moments. He threw open the flap, revealing the space that served as his sanctuary within the chaos of war. The tent was decorated with the colors of his court, silver and blue creating a soothing contrast. A battlefield map, sprawled across a table, depicted the positions of their forces and their adversaries.  Rohan’s eyes darted urgently around the room,a trace of worry evident as he scoured the area for the one person he cared about more than anything.

Where is she? His thoughts pulsed with desperation. Please, let her be alive.  Please let her be okay.




His gaze was initially ensnared by the cascade of her ebony tresses, splayed across the pillow. Yet, beneath that dark cascade, her face was pale and twisted in agony.  A cold dread gripped his heart, squeezing it until he could barely breathe. What had they done to her? He sprinted to her side, his feet barely touching the ground, his breath ragged in his throat. The full extent of her injuries became painfully clear with every step. She lay there, drenched in blood, wrapped in bandages that did little to hide the severity of her wounds. He dropped to his knees beside her frail body and reached out a trembling hand. His fingers caressed her cheek, gently brushing away a strand of hair.

“Rohan,” she whispered, her voice fragile yet filled with relief.

He managed a gentle smile, though tears welled in his eyes. “I’m here, little sister,” he said, a term of affection he’d used since childhood, despite the fact that she was older than him. “I’m here.”

Beside her bed, two of Rohan’s dearest friends, Rhyonia and Ororfin, the spy master of Rohan’s father, both clad in their Elysian armor, stood in solemn watch. Rhyonia knelt beside Thalassia, holding her hand in a tight grip. Her eyes were sorrowful as they met Rohan’s for a brief moment. She didn’t need to say anything; he knew how grave Thalassia’s condition was.

As the candlelight flickered in the room, Rhyonia’s voice was a hushed murmur, filled with concern. “We found her nearly lifeless, lying by the banks of the Saphirean River.”

He felt his heart sink further as he took in the sight of his sister.  She was covered in deep gashes and bruises. Her skin was pale and clammy, contrasting with the crimson stains on her bandages. She had endured unspeakable pain. Yet she still breathed, faintly but steadily. She was a fighter; she always had been.

Ororfin spoke up, his voice filled with a somber tone. “I tried to warn your father, but his heart was too kind. It was his downfall.”

Galebor burst into the tent, his wings still fading behind him. He had flown as fast as he could, unable to match Rohan’s ability to teleport across distances.

“By the Lady!” Galebor gasped in shock.




Thalassia’s frail voice quivered as she made an effort to speak, despite Rohan’s plea for her not to strain herself. Her words were a struggle, but she managed to convey the dire news, her pain evident. “Nordros… betrayed us all… murdered everyone…”

Rohan’s eyes welled with a mixture of grief and rage. He knew of Nordros’s treachery from the messages that had reached him, but hearing it from his sister’s feeble voice intensified his anger. He vowed, “They will pay for what they’ve done, Thalassia. But right now, you need to rest and recover. I’ll heal you, and if I can’t, I’ll summon the finest healer.”

Thalassia weakly shook her head, her breaths growing shallower. “Too late,” she whispered, her voice a mere breath of wind, barely audible.

Desperation clawed at Rohan’s heart as he saw his beloved sister visibly slipping away. She was weakening right before his eyes. He clutched her, tears streaming down his face, as he murmured, “No, it’s not too late. You’re going to be fine, Thalassia.”

In a faint, teasing tone that belied her fragile state, Thalassia whispered, “Liar.”

Rohan’s face contorted with a mixture of sorrow and anger. “You’ll pull through this,” he insisted, his voice filled with a desperate hope he couldn’t wholly grasp.

Rhyonia, still at Thalassia’s side, cried silently, her tears falling like fragile pearls onto the blood-stained sheets. Ororfin stood, his usually composed face betraying his grief, and Galebor watched in shock and sorrow.

As Thalassia’s life slowly ebbed away, Rohan held her close, tears mingling with the sweat on his face. Her body grew colder in his arms, her breaths fainter and fainter. He kissed her cold forehead, whispering, “I love you, little sister.”

Then, anger and a burning desire for vengeance began to consume him, like a raging fire that blazed in his eyes. Without uttering a single word, he vanished into a furious whirlwind of shadows. Ororfin followed suit, disappearing into the darkness.

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