Fairy tales for young and old ~ English version

The Ember Elves

In the heart of the ancient forest of Pyrewood, where the trees whispered secrets of old and the ground thrummed with a warm, pulsing heat, there lived a unique tribe of elves known as the Ember Elves. These elves were born of fire and ash, their spirits intertwined with the flickering flames that danced at the core of their home—a majestic, slumbering volcano. The Ember Elves were not mere inhabitants of the forest; they were its guardians, its soul, and its fiercest protectors.

The kingdom of Pyrewood was a marvel to behold, with its fiery blossoms and ember-lit pathways. The elves thrived under the benevolent rule of their royal couple, Rhys and Vaeri, whose love was as radiant as the molten heart of their volcanic realm. Rhys, with his hair like smoldering coals, and Vaeri, whose eyes glowed like the sunset, were the keepers of the Flame—a sacred fire that was both the source of their power and the heart of their community. Together, they had forged a kingdom where every spark was cherished, and every flame nurtured.

But as a shadow crept across the land, a chilling silence fell upon Pyrewood. The once vibrant leaves frosted over, and the warm springs turned to ice. From the frigid north, a vengeful ice witch, her heart as cold as the eternal winter she wielded, cast her envious gaze upon Pyrewood. She sought to extinguish the Flame and plunge the world into a frostbitten darkness. With a wave of her icy scepter, she summoned a blizzard that swept across the land, threatening to encase the forest in ice and silence the volcano's fiery song forever.

The Ember Elves felt the lifeblood of their home wane as the cold encroached. Yet, in the face of despair, their resolve did not falter. With Rhys and Vaeri at the helm, they summoned the ancient rites of fire, calling upon the spirits of the volcano to aid them in their direst hour. The ground itself heaved in response, and from the depths of the earth, a primal force answered their plea.

As the witch's blizzard bore down upon them, the Ember Elves stood shoulder to shoulder, their eyes ablaze with a fierce determination. They chanted incantations of old, their voices rising above the howling wind. The air crackled with energy as the very essence of fire coalesced around them, forming a barrier of heat that held the frost at bay.

The night was a tapestry of chaos and beauty, with streaks of orange and blue weaving through the darkness. The elves' mastery over fire was unmatched, as they summoned great beasts of flame to their aid—fire drakes that soared through the sky, their scales aglow, and phoenixes whose tears could heal even the deepest of chills.

Rhys and Vaeri, standing atop the highest peak, raised their arms to the heavens. With a love that burned brighter than any star, they invoked the sacred Flame, and a pillar of pure fire erupted from the volcano's mouth. It pierced the heart of the storm, scattering the witch's minions and melting her icy constructs.

The ice witch, her fury turning to fear, unleashed her most potent spells, but they were no match for the combined might of the Ember Elves. As the first light of dawn touched the horizon, the witch's power crumbled, and she was consumed by her own blizzard, her screams echoing through the thawing forest.

With the witch vanquished, the sun's golden rays embraced Pyrewood once more. The ice retreated, and life bloomed anew. The Flame of Pyrewood, now a roaring inferno, stood as a beacon of the elves' triumph. Rhys and Vaeri, their hearts full of pride for their people, declared a festival of flames to celebrate their victory and the enduring spirit of the Ember Elves.

And so, the tale of the Ember Elves became a legend etched in fire and ice, a story passed down through generations. It spoke of the night when the forest was nearly lost to eternal winter, and of the heroes who, with their indomitable will and fiery hearts, saved their world from darkness.