Sallitia: Age of War

4

Months passed, and as winter thawed into spring, Sallitia’s fragile peace crumbled further. Distrust between humans and magical creatures deepened with each passing day, and the once-occasional skirmishes became commonplace. Roads were patrolled by wary eyes, and towns were fortified, a clear signal that war was inevitable.

In the heart of Hisidore, king Eburon and queen Laralythia watched the tension escalate. A weight lay heavy on Eburon’s heart as the elves prepared for their annual departure to the Undying Lands. This tradition, dating back to the days of king Thranduil, allowed elves who sought respite from Sallitia’s endless conflicts to find peace in the immortal lands. Here, they would be beyond the reach of mortal pain and suffering, their spirits untouched by age, in eternal harmony.

On the morning of the departure, Eburon stood on the cliff overlooking the shore as ship after ship set sail, their silver-white sails gleaming in the early sun. The mist rose around the departing vessels, wrapping them in a quiet farewell. Many elves had chosen to leave this year, their hearts troubled by the looming war. Laralythia joined Eburon, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Dear, lighten up.” she said softly, attempting to lift his spirits. “Tonight is Mereth Nuin Giliath, the feast of the stars.”

Eburon managed a small smile, his gaze shifting from the departing ships to his wife’s warm face. Mereth Nuin Giliath was one of the greatest celebrations for the elves of Sallitia, a night when they remembered their victory over Egeldor. Legend said that on the night of their triumph, the stars had shone brighter than ever, as if even they celebrated the defeat of darkness. Each year, the elves celebrated the festival with music, dancing, and laughter—a reminder of their resilience and unity.

As night descended and the stars began to appear, the courtyard of Hisidore Palace came alive with magic. Lights twinkled in the trees, imitating the stars above, while countless fireflies danced in the air, adding their golden glow to the celebration. Two large fires burned in the center, filled with forest flowers and lichens that released a sweet, intoxicating aroma, a scent that evoked ancient memories of victory and hope.

A long table was set, laden with an array of delicacies. Silver plates overflowed with nuts, apples, berries, and honey made by the wild Hisidore bees—honey so sweet it was said to contain the essence of the elven forest itself. Silver jugs held the elves’ famously strong, sweet wine, gleaming like liquid starlight under the night sky.

The elves, dressed in silver robes that shimmered like stardust, waited in anticipation for the arrival of the royal family. When Eburon, Laralythia, and their young son Alvanar stepped out onto the courtyard, a cheer rose from the crowd. They, too, wore silver attire, and the sight of their king and queen brought a sense of unity to all present. Holding hands, they walked to the center, where Eburon began the opening prayer of the Mereth Nuin Giliath.

“Elena -o teréva mithril, taka as cin foeg sema. Sui cin tanj- into i dú, tul- siniath estel na-. Elena lothron cín nar narv-. Thúl let cín stenella gal-. Ellu ammen erth- no cín esaru.”

As his voice echoed through the night, the elves fell silent, their heads bowed in reverence. The ancient words called upon the stars to take away all misfortune, to shine their light upon them, and unite them under their light once more. A soft breeze swept through the courtyard as if carrying the blessing of the stars themselves.

Musicians began to play, the silver notes of flutes and lyres weaving together in a melody that filled the air with joy. The elves paired off for the traditional dance, forming two lines that faced each other. At the head stood Eburon and Laralythia, the royal couple leading the procession. They began with a bow, then took three graceful steps forward before spinning to face each other again, holding hands as they moved in perfect harmony.

Around them, the other couples mirrored their movements, their steps as fluid as water. They turned, joined hands, and formed a circle, their robes swirling like moonlight on water. Then, the dancers placed one hand on their partner’s back, holding the other as they spun together. At the end, the male dancers lifted their partners, spinning them through the air before gently setting them down. Kneeling in respect, the elves exchanged warm smiles, their eyes filled with the joy of the evening.

Little Alvanar watched his parents, his eyes wide with excitement. Unable to resist, he ran over, grabbing his father’s leg. “Naneth, look! I’m just as good a dancer as ada!” he laughed, trying to mimic his father’s movements.

Laralythia laughed, bending down to kiss her son’s forehead. “One day, you’ll lead this dance, my sweet. But tonight, you’re our honored guest.” she said, smiling as she took his small hand in hers.

The feast continued long into the night, the air filled with laughter, music, and the clinking of silver goblets. But just as the festivities reached their peak, Laralythia suddenly clutched her belly, her face contorting in pain. Eburon was at her side in an instant, alarmed. “Laralythia?” he whispered, worry clear in his voice.

The elven healers, sensing her distress, quickly came to her aid. They gently but urgently escorted her from the courtyard back into the palace, preparing a chamber for her. Eburon and Alvanar followed close behind, but the healers stopped them at the door. “Your majesty, we must ask you to wait outside.” one of them said, her tone firm yet compassionate.

Eburon hesitated, but Alvanar tugged on his cloak, worry clouding the boy’s bright eyes. Eburon knelt down, wrapping an arm around his son. “Your naneth is very strong, Alvanar. Soon, you’ll have a little sister or brother to look after.”

Alvanar nodded, clinging to his father’s hand as they waited. Time seemed to stretch unbearably until, at last, one of the healers emerged, a warm smile lighting her face. “Your majesty, you got a beautiful little princess.” she announced.

Eburon and Alvanar entered the room to find Laralythia lying on the bed, a small bundle cradled in her arms. The baby had a tuft of red hair, just like her mother, and eyes as deep and warm as the earth. Eburon approached, a tender smile softening his features. “She’s perfect.” he murmured. “What shall we name her?”

Laralythia looked down at the baby, brushing a gentle hand over her tiny head. “How about Faelyn?” she suggested, her voice filled with love.

“Princess Faelyn of Hisidore.” Eburon repeated, testing the name with pride. “I love it.”

He lifted Alvanar so he could see his new sister. “She’s so small.” Alvanar said, his voice a mix of awe and wonder.

“That’s why I need you to be her protector.” Laralythia said softly, smiling at her son. “Promise me you’ll always watch over her.”

“We’ll all look after her.” Eburon added, placing a hand on Alvanar’s shoulder.

As dawn broke, a new life brought joy to Hisidore. But across the land, a somber shadow lingered. In the Rohan palace, queen Alexandra labored through the night to bring a child into the world. As morning light spilled into the chamber, a baby boy, named Sebastian, took his first breath—but Alexandra did not survive.

News of her passing cast a pall over Rohan, and the joy of a prince’s birth was clouded by the grief of a queen’s death. In that moment, two kingdoms—both on the brink of war—welcomed new lives into the world, unaware of the dark trials that lay ahead for both princess Faelyn of Hisidore and prince Sebastian of Rohan.