Emerald Green {Book Two}

Shadows of the Ice

The forest of Eldarr, with its towering silver-barked trees and whispers of ancient magic, had long been a sanctuary for Astraea and her son Eryk. Years had woven themselves into the fabric of their lives, each day a thread spun with the love of a mother and the innocence of a child. Eryk, now eight, was the spitting image of his father, Loki, with eyes like emerald fire and hair as dark as a raven's wing. His quick wit and mischievous grin were constant reminders of the god of mischief, though Astraea guarded the truth of his heritage like a sacred secret.

On this crisp morning, under a sky as clear as a diamond, Astraea and Kisma, the light elf, took Eryk into the deeper woods to teach him the ways of the hunt. The air was cool, hinting at the approach of winter, and the ground was soft with fallen leaves.

"Kisma, do you think Eryk is ready?" Astraea whispered, her voice tinged with both pride and worry.

Kisma, her golden hair shimmering like sunlit water, nodded. "He has the heart of a warrior, Astraea. Today, we'll see if he has the skill."

Eryk, with a small bow crafted by Kisma, followed them eagerly, his eyes scanning the woods with the keen interest of a young predator learning his trade.

As they moved silently through the underbrush, Eryk's mind, ever curious, turned to the question that had been brewing for years. "Mother," he started, his voice soft but insistent, "who was my father? You've never told me."

Astraea's heart skipped a beat. She exchanged a quick glance with Kisma, who subtly shook her head, a signal to deflect.

"Your father," Astraea began carefully, "was a great man, a prince among his people. But he had duties far away, Eryk. He couldn't stay with us."

Eryk's frown deepened. "But why can't I know his name? Or where he is now?"

Kisma intervened, her voice light and melodic. "Let's focus on the hunt, Eryk. The forest has its own stories to tell, and today, you'll learn to listen to them."

The woods of Eldarr whispered of prophecy and power. They continued, the lesson resuming, but the air felt heavier now, charged with Eryk's unspoken questions.

"The White Elk," Kisma began, her voice solemn, "is not merely a test of your skill, Eryk. It's a symbol of respect for the balance of life and death in the forest. Only when you understand this balance can you truly claim the title of a hunter."

Eryk, armed with his small bow, felt a surge of both excitement and responsibility. He nodded, his green eyes reflecting the seriousness of the task.

They ventured deeper into Eldarr, where the trees grew taller and the air felt ancient, untouched by time. The forest seemed to hold its breath, aware of the significance of what was to transpire.

Astraea, though not a hunter by trade, accompanied them, her heart heavy with the knowledge of what this hunt meant for her son's growth. She walked beside him, her presence a silent support.

Hours passed in silence, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant call of birds. Eryk's senses, heightened by magic and instinct, led them. Then, as if summoned by fate, the White Elk appeared, its fur shimmering like fresh snow under the moon's glow, its eyes wise and knowing.

Kisma whispered, "Steady, Eryk. Feel the forest, become part of it."

Eryk's heart raced, but his hands were steady. He notched an arrow, his movements slow and deliberate. The White Elk watched, its gaze locking with Eryk's. In that moment, time seemed to pause, and Eryk felt a connection, an understanding that this was not just a hunt, but a sacred act.

He released the arrow. It flew true, striking the elk with a precision that spoke of more than just skill—it spoke of fate. The White Elk staggered, then fell with a grace that seemed to bless the earth.

Astraea and Kisma approached, their expressions a mixture of pride and solemnity. Eryk, kneeling beside the elk, felt tears prick his eyes. Not from sorrow, but from the weight of what he had done, the cycle of life he had now become a part of.

Kisma laid a hand on his shoulder. "You have done well, Eryk. You've shown respect and taken nothing for granted."

Astraea, her voice thick with emotion, added, "You are growing into who you are meant to be, my son."

They worked together to prepare the elk, using every part with reverence, understanding that this act was as much about giving thanks as it was about taking life. They built a fire, and as the flames licked the twilight sky, Eryk felt a profound connection to the forest, to his lineage, and to the magic that flowed in his veins.

As they rested by the fire, Eryk looked at his mother and Kisma. "I understand now," he said, his voice carrying the weight of new wisdom. "It's not just about the hunt or the magic. It's about balance, about life giving to life."

Astraea smiled, her eyes reflecting the fire's glow. "You did well today, my son."

Suddenly, the ground trembled. A roar, cold and sharp as an icicle, shattered the evening's peace. An ice troll, massive and covered in frost, burst from behind a cluster of pines, its eyes glowing with malevolent intent.

"Run!" Astraea shouted, pulling Eryk by the hand, but the troll was too swift, its long strides crunching the frozen earth.

In the chaos, Eryk's instinct took over. His eyes flashed with a fierce green light, unlike anything Astraea had seen in him before. Power, raw and ancient, surged from him, forming a barrier of shimmering, green energy between them and the troll.

The troll, meeting this unexpected force, roared in confusion and pain, its icy skin steaming where the magic touched it.

Astraea, her heart pounding with fear and awe, watched as Eryk, her son, stood firm, his small frame housing a power that dwarfed even the mightiest of warriors. Kisma, too, was stunned, her eyes wide with realization.

"By the stars, Eryk," Kisma whispered, "what are you?"

Eryk, his face a mask of concentration, didn't waver. "I'm protecting us," he said, his voice steady despite the effort.

The troll, enraged, swung its massive fist, but Eryk's magic held. The barrier pulsed, pushing the creature back, inch by painful inch.

Astraea, recovering from her shock, knelt beside Eryk, her hand on his shoulder. "You can do this, my love. We're with you."

Together, with Kisma whispering ancient elvish chants to strengthen the spell, they pushed back. The troll, outmatched by the combined magic, let out a final, frustrated roar before retreating, its form dissolving into the shadows of the forest.

Silence fell, heavy and profound. Eryk's magic subsided, leaving him pale but standing tall. Astraea enveloped him in a tight embrace, tears of relief and pride in her eyes.

"You're incredible, Eryk," she breathed, her voice choked with emotion.

Eryk looked up at her, his green eyes piercing. "Mother, I need to know. Who am I really?"

Astraea knelt before him, her hands gently resting on his shoulders. The weight of her secret felt heavier with each passing year, but the time was not yet right. "My dear Eryk," she began, her voice a soft melody of resolve and love, "the truth of your heritage is a tapestry woven with threads of both peril and power. One day, when you are older, wiser, and your magic is as much a part of you as your heartbeat, I promise to unveil every thread. For now, trust in the journey that lies ahead, for it will shape you into the man who can bear the weight of his lineage."

Kisma, standing silently beside them, nodded solemnly, her eyes reflecting the gravity of Astraea's words. Eryk's gaze did not waver; it held the promise of future understanding and the patience of youth tempered by destiny.