In the 27th year of the era Anno Magna, Eleron celebrated his 17th birthday on September 27th (yes, the Finiraest calendar shares many roots with the Gregorian calendar, seeing as it was its ancient predecessor), and he still was residing in the deteriorating orphanage due to the fact that no family had chosen to adopt him.

“Oh crap, not again!” groaned Eleron, as it slowly dawned on him that he had forgotten to do the history assignment, a 3-page paper on the intricacies of the Asthelen government (more like the drabness of the government).

“What happened!” cried Jolena, one of Eleron’s close friends and a trusted source of “help” for assignments. The orphanage they both lived in was what some called a pressure cooker. As the years progressed, fewer and fewer children got the opportunity to attend the school, and only the intellectual elite ever got the chance to seek an education beyond the “2+2” kind of education. Those who performed well under pressure transformed from the small rice kernel into the moist rice grain, but all of those in the dust, those who cracked under pressure, were cast aside like the grains of burned rice.

“I think my paper was eaten by my dog,” replied Eleron.

“Really, El, that won’t work on me. You don’t even have dog,” said Jolena with an all-knowing glance. A chuckle formed on her lips as Jolena realized that Eleron had once again failed to complete his assignment.

The mystical world in which these two young people lived was known as Finirael. Finirael was a sprawling expanse in which resided myriads of races. Among the most magical and secretive were the Elves of the North. The Elves only rarely ever visited the other races; they were present only in times of great danger and distress. Brawling and brutish, the primitive Orcs held dominion over the damp marshlands of the South. The humans were the most diverse walk of life; they were spread out upon the greatest area of land. There were many other races that had lesser population and lesser importance in the grand scheme of things. In the land of Finirael, the “greater” races named their lands as such: in the lands of the Western Humans: Asthelen; in the mountainous and woody lands of the North Elves: Lithurien; in the lands of the Eastern Humans and the Orcs of the South: Canaria.

While walking the long walk to school from his orphanage, Eleron scrambled to hastily scribble something down for his essay. Not surprisingly, his essay bared lots of resemblance to Jolena’s except for the fact that Jolena’s paper was longer and, well, better! By the time they reached school, Eleron had written a paper that could have probably earned him a respectable F+. Hey, at least it has a plus.

The school itself was situated upon a multi-acre lot, and most of its disciples were the children of the rich and powerful bureaucrats of whom Eleron’s paper was supposed to be about. His first class was The Magic of Mathematics, more commonly known to Eleron as naptime. His heavy books were in his hands and all was going well (except for his paper) that day. Suddenly, another child swooped down and knocked the books down and broke out in a taunting laugh, “Hey orphan boy, why don’t you just leave your books behind like your parents did to you?! Hahahahahahaha!!”
The bullies’ cronies weren’t far behind with cackling cries like, “Yeah, orphan boy, stay down and away from us! Sucks to be you!”
“Just get away from me!!!” exclaimed Eleron.
“Yeah, stay away from both of us!” Jolena chimed in while helping Eleron to pick up his books.
“God, I just hate those pompous brats. I wish the teachers could actually look right in front of themselves instead of being blinded by their parents’ money,” muttered Eleron to Jolena.

“I know. This just isn’t fair. First off, we don’t even have parents, and then those devils have to fly right in and make it even worse,” replied Jolena.

“At least we have each other.”

“That’s true,” confirmed Jolena.

Disgruntled and angry, the duo trudged on to their first class. The whole lesson whizzed past Eleron’s head while he was taking a restful nap, while on the other hand, Jolena learned much about the lesson. Soon enough, the bell rang, and the class was dismissed.

Walking out of the classroom, Eleron and Jolena saw the enemy group (the bullies) once again in that fateful hallway. The moment that their eyes landed upon the towering bully, the orphans quickly shirked away in the opposite direction. The bully, Curtis, noticed the pair’s quick feet and instantaneously set upon their trail for a new opportunity for embarrassment. This time, however, he chose another target.

BAM! One of Curtis’ cronies crashed into the metal locker so as to provide a distraction for the leader’s evil plan. While all of the students in the hallway snapped their heads towards the sound, Curtis slyly stole Jolena’s hard-worked-on assignment.

“Where did my work go?” shouted Jolena.

“You mean this little paper, Jo-Jo?” taunted Curtis.

“Y-Y-Yes,” stumbled Jolena, going red in the face.

“Then come and get it!”

“O-Okay!” retorted Jolena in as a menacing tone as she could muster. Dangling the paper right above her reach, Curtis laughed as she groped for her work.

“Let her go!” exclaimed Eleron, who was being held back at the arms. When the bully refused to halt his intolerable ways, Eleron knew that was the last straw.

“Aaahh!!” cried Eleron as he struggled to break free from the bullies’ constricting grasp. His inability to help his best friend coupled with his inability move threw him over the edge. While his screams resounded throughout the school halls, Eleron’s palms glowed with a burning blue and the hem of Curtis’ shirt began to singe.

As Eleron slowly blinked his eyes open, the landscape that he saw was an alien one. Beautiful and fertile grasses surrounded him, and a pristine blue creek cut through the seemingly endless rolling grasses. Rising up in the north were the towering Kauna Mountains and the wooded forests encircling the base of each of these majestic landmarks.

Born and raised in the crowded city of Angard, the freedom of the field in which he was situated was almost too much to bear for Eleron. After having grown up in what seemed to him like hell, this place was like heaven.

Suddenly, a wooden stick hit Eleron square in the back of his head.

“You should never let your guard down,” a voice behind him said.

“W-who are you?” Eleron stuttered while snapping his neck backwards. To his surprise his eyes alighted upon nothing but the grass and he felt yet another hit in the back of head.

“Your reflexes are too slow. I knew you were going to turn around. And by the way, it might be a good idea to pick up the stick I threw to you and actually try to fight me. As opposed to flailing about like a clueless child.”

“I’m not a child and I will fight you!” retorted Eleron.

“There’s a difference between actually hurting me and just “trying” to hurt me. And I suspect that you can only manage the latter. And by the way, it might be smart to actually turn around and look at me.”

“I will hurt you and you will regret it!” exclaimed Eleron.

“Then stop talking and come at me!” the mysterious voice demanded.

Running as hard as he could, Eleron sprinted to his attacker and swiped his wooden rod down as hard as he could. The stranger sidestepped the attack like it was nothing, and he even added a dramatic yawn to further infuriate Eleron.



On and on they pranced, a battle dance that was constantly led by the fury of Eleron. The unknown maestro seemed to be deft with every movement, predicting Eleron’s every strike with impeccable precision, but not once did he attack, despite Eleron’s laughable defense. At one point, when Eleron’s forehead was flooded with rivulets of sweat, the stranger knocked the wooden rod out of Eleron’s hand in one upward fluid motion. Anything that goes up must come down, and the down stroke of the stranger was swift and calculated as it pinned Eleron to the ground.

“You’re pathetic,” the stranger said with contempt. Eleron’s response was silent, but his cold glare at his opponent said enough.

“Get up. Let’s do it again,” the foreigner commanded.

“No!” exclaimed Eleron. “I don’t even know who you are!”

“They didn’t tell you?” probed the stranger.

“Who are they? And what would tell me?”

“Uhhh,” sighed the stranger, “Where do I start? Who are your parents?”

“I-I don’t know,” stammered Eleron.

“That’s what I thought. Who is your best friend?”

“Jolena,” said Eleron with the slightest hint of hesitation.

“Did anything happen to her or to you in the past few days?”

“Yes.”
“Well…?” asked the fighter.

“A stupid rich kid stole her paper and was taunting her.”

“Was his name Curtis?”

“Yes.”

“He is in the hospital. He has third degree burns and his 500 dollar shirt was turned into a pile of ashes.”

“The person who did that should be applauded,” said Eleron. Instantly, the unknown person started clapping.

“What are you doing?” asked Eleron.

“Doing what you asked me,” replied the stranger.

“But I didn’t burn him...right?”

“In the land before recorded time, there was one city. Governed by God and shielded from the First Sins (pride, envy, hate, and the sort), their lands remained pure and peaceful. Then, one person turned. After gathering a group of followers, he led a rebellion and only grew in his evil power. Sensing the impending war, God wanted no part of it and gave his wisdom and powers to a group of his most trusted advisors, and embarked on an eternal exodus. The group that he presented his powers to contained leaders from each of the races. He gave the power of water to the Elves, the power of fire to the Western Humans, the power of earth to the Orcs, and the power of air to the Eastern Humans. That was before the Orcs went mad and lost all of their powers. The descendants of these original four exhibited their powers. Now, if a human marries another race, they hav-”

“What does this have to do with me?” interrupted Eleron.

“Stop interrupting me!” exclaimed the stranger.

“Okay, okay. Sorry,” replied the eager and attentive listener.

“Anyways, where was I?”

“You were talking about two races marrying.”

“Ah. So when two races fuse their bloodlines, their child will be born with great powers. But for good or evil, nobody knows.”

“Sorry to interrupt, but again, what does that have to do with me?” asked Eleron.

“God, you really are dense. Magic only presents itself in trying times, and I would reckon that the time with Curtis was a trying one.”

“So you are saying that I have magic powers.”

“Yes.” That one word hit Eleron like a sledgehammer. He was flooded with a myriad of thoughts and emotions. Out of all his feelings, there was one that was the most pronounced. It was one of amazement. Eleron somehow felt different, more mysterious, and just…stronger.

“You still haven’t answered my first question,” spoke Eleron, but his voice was different. It lacked the uncertainty that it once embodied. He now spoke with a confidence that only belonged to someone that thought they are finally important.

“I was like you once,” replied the knowledgeable stranger.

“What do you mean?”

“I once had the power of magic flowing through my veins,” said the person with a voice laden with nostalgia.

“Well, what happened?” asked Eleron.

“It happened 17 years ago, in the Great War. Except there was nothing great about the treacherous crimes committed in that god-forsaken place. My ancestors are that of Western Humans and I was a direct descendent of Nurien, our leader in God’s Council. Because of my powerful lineage, fire abounded in my blood. I could expel it, summon it, and even transform it. The one race that rebelled against God’s original law was known as Ris’vor. Led by the evil ways of their leader, they studied the dark arts and ancient secrets of magic. Through their interminable search for destructive power, they found the source of magic in the body. When they found this source, they instantly embarked on the path to learn its many intricacies. Within a year, they had figured out how to shut magic down and how to create it. Only there was one catch. Only one person each generation could bear the power of magic.”

“So they shut your magic down?” asked Eleron.

“Yes,” replied the stranger.

“What is your name?”

“Aegon.”

“Are you here to teach me?” asked Eleron.

“Yes.”

“But why would you want to teach me? I mean, it’s not like I’m going to be important or anything…right?”

“In our government, there is a position that has been kept secret for many years. It is the position of Kaitheri. A Kaitheri is the Chief Magician.”

“So I’m going to be important to other people?” asked Eleron with a slightly growing smile.

“Yes, but first, we need to train.”

“Where do we start?”

“Stand up straight.” Aegon carefully walked around Eleron, occasionally poking him with his lengthy rod. He seemed to stare at his angled jaw, his sharp eyes, and wiry, but strong arms.

“Hmmm. Interesting,” muttered Aegon with a quizzical expression.

“What?” asked Eleron, utterly confused.

“Have you ever seen your parents before?” inquired Aegon.

“No. Why?” asked Eleron. Before he could get his answer, Aegon had him in a chokehold.

“Lift that drop of water!” commanded Aegon.

“What are you doing?!” panicked Eleron.

“Making you faint if you don’t lift that drop!”

“B-B-But I don’t know how!” choked Eleron.

“It’s in your blood! Summon it!” White spots bounded on the fringes of Eleron sight and he knew that Aegon’s threat was not an empty one. Focusing all of his fading energy on the one droplet that lay before his feet, he tensed his body and ever so slightly, droplet rose and splashed to the damp ground.

“Rise and shine, sleepy,” said Aegon, waking up Eleron.

“What’re you talking about?” asked Eleron as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

“You were out cold for a whole day.”

“Uhhh.” Eleron groaned as he slowly got up. He fell back to the ground merely seconds later.

“It’s okay, you can stay on the ground, but soon we have to start training.”

“How did I lift that water?” inquired Eleron.

“You are descended from Nurien of the Western Humans and Kelyn of the Northern Elves.” Aegon said with an air of finality.

“But how did you know that I am both Elf and Human?”

“An elf has very specific characteristics. Unlike humans, they have sharp features, like angled jaws, keen and acute eyes. Their strength isn’t found in bulging muscles, but rather in their sleek and long arms. And frankly, you are a definite mix of those traits.”

“I see.” They remained silent for many awhile, just taking in the weight of what Aegon had said. Eleron still harbored a hint of anger at Aegon for choking him without fair warning, but overall, they had reached a sort of acceptance of each other.
Their silence spoke more words than they could have themselves, and in the picturesque training ground, they formed a bond like no other. They formed a bond that could only be created with respect and care.

That was the day that they started their training. Eleron was taught in the history of Magic, the fitness that accompanies the mental aspect, and, of course, the summoning of Magic itself.

7 Months Have Passed


Panting heavily, Eleron flew (firguratively) up the hill that he had sprinted across hundreds of times and felt the cool breeze slam into his face like a 1000 pound sandbag. To his right, the pure and pristine stream sliced through the green landscape and to his left, the ascending mountains dominated the natural lands.

“It’s about time,” yawned Aegon with mocking tone.

“Uhh. Uhh. Shut up,” panted Eleron with a menacing glare that could have peeled paint. There they sat on razed stumps, two people, 17 and 39, paired together in the quest for Magic. Eleron’s magical prowess rapidly increased with time, and he soon jumped from barely being able to control a flame or a drop of water without passing out to being able to fabricate intricate dances of flame intertwined with beautiful and ornate rivers of water, all suspended in the air. But soon, the time had come for them to depart the beautiful and diverse lands of their training grounds, for the kingdom was in need of a Kaitheri.

“When are we going to leave?” Eleron asked.

“Soon. But before we go to your birthplace, we must go to Lithurien, the lands of the Elves.”

“Really? Sweet!!” yelled Eleron with an unextinguishable elation. Ever since he had learned of their existence, Eleron had always wanted the see the famed lands of his half-brothers (and sisters).

“But wait, why are we going there?” asked Eleron with noticeable curiosity.

“Each Kaitheri by tradition should have a weapon. But not just any weapon, you need a weapon of old, a weapon as magical as you are.” This only raised Eleron’s spirited even higher.

“Come, let’s get the horses.”

After travelling for many days, the ragtag pair finally reached the outskirts of Lithurien and they saw something like no other. Thousands of green-capped trees were annexed to the sloping facets of the massive mountains, and the marvelous sight was culminated with an aesthetically perfect white tip of each of the natural skyscrapers. As they walked into the Eleven abode, the houses extended for seemingly endless lines on either sides of themselves.

Call it intuition or happenstance, the Elven smith was waiting for both Aegon and Eleron and welcomed them into his house. The spine of the Elven house was made of a graceful tree, and the rest of the building was constructed of stone tooled into a florid design depicting the story of the smith’s family. The murals painted on the wall were of ancient design; they were painted with the magic of controlling the water nestled in his each droplet of paint. The raeths (a magical painting) emblazoned on the wall was painted with infallible accuracy, as the precision of magic was beyond imagination. Rayomelm, as the Elvish metal-worker was known, let them spend the night in his house as guests of honor.

As the rosy dawn was crawling across the sky, the once subdued land of the mystical forests of the Elves seemed to awaken and take on a lighter and brighter shade. The Elven land in the night seemed to be a polar opposite of the Elven land in the light, and Eleron without a doubt favored the lands in the light. As Eleron slowly awoke, he threw off his sheets and sauntered to the bathroom on his right, he woke up to a surprise. Beautifully painted on the wall to the left of the mirror was a poem that goes as follows:
As the rosy-fingered dawn flicks the bright sun across the wide expanse of the sky,
He thinks, he thinks of the time when he could climb the ever high mountain,
He thinks of the time when he could dive to the depths of the sea,
Now, all he sees, all he feels is but a faint and trembling whisper of what he once saw,
Life is but a faint whisper, a fading remnant of what once was, but will never be.


Right above it was a magnificent raeth depicting the soul of the sun, and its interminable path. And then as Eleron then looked to his left, he looked to his left and saw a solemn remembrance of the bloodshed in the Ancient Rebellion:
The times are a-changing with every slang spoken,
The times are a-changing with every rule broken,
The times are a-changing like flames on a log,
And as the paradigm shifts, he shall stay strong,
Ever changing, never the same, this shall be all, both man and dame.

This raeth was mindfully splattered with splotches of blood red colors atop an intricately designed battleground and the all-mighty God presenting his legendary powers in the top of the raeth. As Eleron then glanced at the floor, he saw the mythical tree in Elvish lore that held all life together through its branches and leaves.
Hanging on an ever limber limb,
Man obeys my every whim.
Crying tears of amber sap,
For 8 months I wear my fickle cap.
For my whole life I give but not take, for humans eat all that I make.
Through endless eternity, this shall be me, the ever changing tree.

After having lived in the stark and austere makeshift house for near 7 months while training, this wonderful Elven house seemed like a heaven on earth to Eleron. Not one detail in the Elven bathroom had been overlooked, and through the streakless mirror, Eleron looked at himself with a newfound sense of dignity derived from the fact that he was a part of this magical race. Before, he always felt that he didn’t really belong to a race, for he was not neither elf nor human, but now he realized that he didn’t belong to one group, but rather he belonged to both as a magical “bridge.”

So as Eleron briskly strode into the kitchen feeling fresher than he ever had at that time (seeing as he always woke up late), he walked right into an ongoing conversation between Aegon and Rayomelm.

“So has he learned the Orcs’ power?” muttered Aegon in a hushed tone. He was sitting opposite to Rayomelm on the breakfast table with only a couple plates between them.

“Our sources say that he is the brink of mastering it.”

“Then we don’t have much time,” said Aegon with sense of foreboding.

“Don’t have time for what?” intruded Eleron.

“Ahh. Eleron, sit down,” said Aegon with a calming and soothing tone while glancing up at Rayomelm with a look that was reminiscent of one pleading for help.

“What’s happening?” inquired Eleron with a naïve tone.

“I’ve tried my best to keep you shielded from this as long as possible, but it’s time for you to know this. When you ascend to your role as Kaitheri, your first task will be a momentous one. In the tumultuous east, there is a rogue magician. When the Ris’vor began to grow in power, they formed an alliance with the Eastern Humans and the Orcs. With their magician, they have revived the lost magic of the earth, and are planning for war with the Western Human race. When you step up to your role, this will be your war. You will be the one to fight the Ris’vorean leader.” Eleron responded with a grim silence and a rude awakening from his Elven paradise.

“But you will not be alone; you’ll have all of our races at your back. But let us not speak of such foul things in the morn, for we must save these things to speak of during our war-times. Let us instead talk of more pressing matters, such as your sword.” When Rayomelm said that last word, a spark was kindled inside Eleron.

When he was very little, he had read a book. But it wasn’t just any book, it was his favorite one. It was about a little kid who pulled a magnificent sword out of a mighty stone. The story’s words were laced with magic, intertwined with fantasy, and permeated with hope, which Eleron really needed at that time in his life. Ever since then, he had always wanted a sword, and a magical one would surpass even his wildest dreams.

“All I know about a sword is that I really want one,” said Eleron with a simper.

“Hahaha,” Rayomelm chuckled. “Okay, let me teach you a little about the sword. Although surpassed by strength by the hammer, by length by the bow, and by stealth by the dagger, the sword is a weapon like no other. Once an arrow is released, it is utterly dependent on the will of the wind, thus rendering it useless against the Ris’vorean Magician, who can control both wind and earth. A dagger is as useful as the wielder’s reach, and unless the enemy is a sitting duck, a dagger would about as useful as a spoon. And as for the hammer, well unless you want to go running around looking like a blundering fool, I suggest to keep your distance from the lunging moves associated with that crude excuse for a weapon. But a sword, a sword can truly be anything you want it to. It can flow with your arm as an extension; it can serve as a sturdy shield; and even as a trusty projectile that delivers none but a precise kill. Now that’s enough of my incessant blabbering, how do you want your sword, based on your training on weapons with Aegon?”

“Um, I guess it would be a little longer than the ones we practiced with.” Eleron said with a growing confidence. “The hilt should be enough for just a hand, and the blade should be double-edged, as to attack on both sides.”

“What was your first magic?”

“Umm. Well, uh, fire,” stumbled Eleron, caught off guard by the untimely question.

“Aah. I see.”

“Why did you ask?” asked Eleron.

“You’ll see,” said Rayomelm with an omniscient grin. And so they went on, around the breakfast table, discussing anything that happened to spring into their minds, a chatter that lasted for the entirety of the morning. Eleron and Aegon were usually on the talking side and Rayomelm, the listener, but occasionally, they would swap roles and Rayomelm would dominate the conversation with tidbits of news circulating around the world of the Elves.

The sun was reaching its zenith and the valley in which Rayomelm lived was permeated with a cool breeze and the ground was painted with a myriad of colors reminiscent of the likes of Eden. There they were, a trio of different races on a violent path to peace, but in the valley where they resided for the moment, it almost seemed as though their task was already complete.

Little did they know that at the same time, the Ris’vor were forging an alliance with both the Eastern Humans and the Orcs, creating an army larger than any before in history. The rumors radiating throughout the Elven kingdom was true; Enath, the Ris’vorean magician, had mastered the lost magic of earth.

Rayomelm was known as the magician’s smith, for only he knew the art of forging the magical metal imbedded in each Kaitherian Sword. It was known as starsteel, and it was only found in the sweeping valleys in the Elven kingdom. When God first imparted his legendary magic, the transfer of power released so much energy that a sonic boom resounded throughout the land. Near the fringes of the boom, the energy was so powerful that it created a fire so hot that it burned blue. When it alighted on stone, it imparted its fiery magic into the stone, thus instilling within it a brilliance and strength that none can rival. This stone was created by the element of fire, but in the other edges of the sonic boom, the other elements imparted their magic to create different stones with different traits.

“You never answered my question,” said Eleron to Rayomelm as they were walking to Rayomelm’s forge, out of the blue.

“And what question may that be?” asked Rayomelm with twinkle in his eye and a smile.

“Why you wanted to know what my first magic was,” replied Eleron. ”You just said that I would soon find out.”

Rayomelm answered his question with a description of starsteel and its creation. “The reason why I asked you about your first magic was because it will always be your strongest power. And since it was fire, starsteel is the best choice for your sword because it will only augment your knack for fire instead of hindering it.”

“Okay,” said Eleron with a contented feeling.

Rayomelm’s forge was truly a special one, for its strength wasn’t in size, but rather in heat. It was located over a volcano. Although it was dormant, the bowels of the volcano still created a scalding heat that was hotter than that could be attained by coals. Rayomelm pioneered a type of weapon making that coupled the use of the volcano and the use of coals to create a heat so hot that it could truly meld two types of metal together to form one blade. It was this way of sword making that Rayomelm used to forge Eleron’s sword.

They had finally reached Rayomelm’s forge and the sun was on its last stretch of its daily path.

“Starsteel is an especially strong and flexible metal, so you are going to need something hard and sharp on the outer edge.” said Rayomelm to Eleron with a confounded look. Then Eleron saw Rayomelm’s mouth slowly grow from a frown to a smile that reached from ear to ear. Before Eleron could ask why he was moving, Rayomelm leaped from his chair in his forge to a package covered by a beige cloth. It was hidden a small crevasse in the room and by the way that Rayomelm held it, it was apparent that it was very important to him.

“What is in that?” Eleron asked with a growing curiosity.

“Something that I have never tried before,” replied Rayomelm with excitement that could rival Eleron’s. “It is diamond.” The look on Eleron’s face at hearing Rayomelm say that was an indescribable one. It was a blend of surprise, amazement, and eagerness.

“When are we going to start making the sword?” asked Eleron.

“Now.” After saying that, Rayomelm quickly walked to his desk, which lay across from the forge itself, and picked up a large chunk of starsteel and brought it back to the footsteps of the forge. He then asked Eleron to get the fetch the diamond shard from the nearby table. In one fluid motion, Rayomelm flung both the diamond and the starsteel atop the scintillating coals.

“What are you doing!” exclaimed Eleron.

“Relax, I know what I’m doing,” assured Rayomelm with a soothing voice. “There is a thin layer of stone that won’t melt above the coals. The starsteel and diamond won’t fall into the fire. The reason why I threw both of them in is because they will meld to form one metal, both sharp and tough.” And so they waited for what seemed to Eleron to be hours, but actually where nothing more than minutes.

“Bring the tongs!” shouted Rayomelm over the sizziling sound of both diamond and starsteel combining.

“Okay!” yelled Eleron as he sprinted across the room for the metal tongs. “Here you go!” With incredible precision, Rayomelm lunged and grasped the incandescent blob that consisted of diamond and starsteel. Over a period of hours, Rayomelm continually folded the slowly forming sword. After a while, he dismissed Eleron to bed.

In the bright and dewy dawn, Eleron woke up at the sound of chiming birds.

“Good morning,” said Aegon and Rayomelm instantaneously at the sight of Eleron rising slowly.

“Good morning,” replied the drowsy but excited Eleron.

“I have something for you,” said Rayomelm.

“Is it the sword?” asked Eleron with his drowsiness all but gone.

“May I present to you Naren’dil, sword of the flames!” exclaimed Rayomelm with a flamboyant rising of the newborn sword. Tentatively, Eleron grasped it from the smith’s outstretched hand, almost lost his breath upon seeing its unveiled brilliance. Both red and brilliant blue veins ran about its breadth, a beautiful hilt adorned with the simple grandeur of diamond. Its grip was made from the white and soft woods at the base of the volcano and at the very end of the marvelous blade was a metallic dragon, but breathing not fire, but water.

“The dragon insignia represents the Kaerna Clan. The Kaerna Clan was formed by the Elves, but consisted of magicians who could control two elements. You should be proud to be part of that group.” explained Rayomelm.

“I-I can’t thank you enough, this- this is like a dream come true.”

“Think nothing of it and repay me by bringing peace to this soon-to-be war torn world.”

“I pledge to defend this world with my life.” proclaimed Eleron with conviction that only came with maturity. He had come from a schoolboy who never did his homework to a man upon whose shoulders laid the weight of the world.

That night was Eleron’s last in the North. After his final feast, Aegon and he departed with swiftness to home.

Although home to Eleron, the buzzing city felt like a foreign land, for he had not ventured in this territory for 3 years. Lined up on each street were vendors, each eager to swoop upon any distracted bystander. As Eleron slowly sauntered on his horse to the palace, whispers abounded on each street they passed, most of which were guessing at his identity. Upon reaching the castle, the king left his throne and came to meet Eleron and Aegon.

“Welcome, welcome, to my humble abode.” said King Lerkin. There was absolutely nothing humble about the king’s palace; it was adorned with the finest arches, latticed with glimmering gold, and crafted with exquisite architecture.

Before Eleron could say anything, Aegon said, “My king, we cannot speak here.” Eleron was dumbfounded, but the king knew exactly of what Aegon spoke. After guiding them to his personal quarters, Aegon spoke once more. “The position of Kaitheri must be shrouded with the utmost secrecy. If the Ris’vor hear but a hint of him, they will prepare and expect a strong enemy. Our advantage of surprise will be extinguished.”

“I understand, but there is a problem. We must ride out tomorrow at dawn,” said King Lerkin with a grim look on his face. Both Eleron and Aegon seemed to mirror Lerkin’s face, but they knew they had no other choice.

That night, Eleron was attacked by insomnia. Again and again he tried to drift away, but even in the most comfortable bed he couldn’t fall asleep. He knew that all his training would culminate at the battle the next day and that only added to his already immense pressure. Nearing the end of the night, Eleron managed to fall asleep, but it was short lived.

In the morning before the sun rose, Eleron was shaken awake by Aegon. Aegon held his finger to his lips and guided Eleron through the dark hallways leading to the king’s lair.

“Where are you taking me?” whispered Eleron.

“Shhh,” was his only reply. Upon reaching the king’s quarters, Larkin quickly outfitted Eleron with a common soldier’s uniform. This clever tactic was used to disguise Eleron as a normal soldier so as to surprise the Ris’vor.

It was a mountain range, with a large jutting stone separating the two massive passageways. At the cusp of the valley, both man and elf joined ranks against the Ris’vorean army. The ensuing battle truly was one of opposites. The Elves were predominantly long range fighters, and the orcs’ tactics were those of brute force and short range. The Ris’vorean magician could control the magics of earth and air, and Eleron could control fire and water.

As the common quote goes, opposites attract, and the convergence of the two armies was one of great annihilation. The chaos was almost too much for Eleron. People were shot dead all around him, trampled, stabbed, and even spit upon. All throughout this chaos there was one person, seated atop a majestic palanquin, who relished the sight of death and the acrid smell of burning bodies. He was the Ris’vorean magician. Both armies were nearly slaughtered, and at the front lines of each army were Eleron and Enath, the Ris’vorean magician.


Each army backed up, for they knew that the magician’s duel was the height of the battle. Whoever won the magician’s duel would win the war.

At first, they simply stared at one another, accepting their inevitable fate, whether it would be victory or death. They then walked around each other, the beginnings of a fatal waltz. Their tempo then sped up, with each of them unsheathing their swords with mere abandon. The fighting then partook in a crescendo, augmented by the clanging of their swords. Fire abounded in Eleron’s wake, air whooshed in Enath’s trail. Their primary powers battered into each other, propelled by each of their magics. Enath raised his hands and a growing mound formed behind him, with whirlwinds encircling him. Eleron raised his hands and a fiery dragon leaped and bounded atop his head, breathing not fire, but water. They simultaneously flung their hands at each other, creating the climax in their magical dance. At the force of the collision, the elements were absorbed into each other, and for a second there was an ominous silence. Then in that one concentrated spot of magic, a deafening blast resounded, and a sonic boom reverberated through the lands.

Both Enath and Eleron lay on the ground, deafened by the blast and blinded by the light. Eleron, with one final surge of energy, flung Naren’dil at Enath, encircling it in both flame and water, and then he fainted.

Eleron slowly blinked his eyes open, and to his great surprise he saw someone he thought gone. Jolena sat at the foot of his bed, talking to Aegon.

“What happened?” asked Eleron groggily.

“You did it!” said Jolena with a gentle and happy voice.

“You killed Enath and brought peace to the world,” said Aegon, happier than he had ever been since Eleron had seen him.

“But how?” asked Eleron with a confused look.

“When you threw Naren’dil at Enath, it struck him square in the heart, and he breathed his last,” said Aegon. When Eleron got up from his bed, with a broken leg, he truly felt a peace within himself that he had not thought existed. He walked over to the window and saw a bright new day.

After the Second Great War (Eleron against Enath) Eleron accepted his role as Kaitheri and settled down. He married Jolena and even had a son, Raeyan. Raeyan grew to inherit Eleron’s power and soon followed his father’s footsteps as Kaitheri. The ensuing period of time was one of peace and prosperity, and the land of Finirael blossomed and flourished. In his quest for peace, the orphan boy had finally found his family.