The Kingdom of Elvendor: Curse of the Forgotten

In the Heart of Elvendor

The streets of Elvendor shimmered in the moonlight, glowing with that annoyingly magical sparkle, which made sneaking around feel like a lost cause. Everything was glowing—trees, flowers, even the stones of the paved path—and I couldn't shake the feeling the entire city was conspiring against us. Every step felt louder than it had any right to be.

"Bjorn, could you not stomp like a drunk troll?" Freya hissed, her glare sharp enough to cut through steel.

"A true Viking walks with strength, sister," Bjorn replied, puffing up his chest like he'd just declared himself the King of Stomping.

"Well, a true Viking-."

"Both of you, shut it," Eirik growled, shooting them both a glare that could rival Freya's. "You're louder than a feast hall after a mead-chugging contest. They're elves. They hear everything. Probably this argument too."

Bjorn and Freya exchanged sheepish looks before falling silent. Well, as silent as Bjorn could stay, which usually wasn't very promising.

I motioned for them to follow, my own steps light as a whisper. "Stay close and tread softly," I murmured, barely above a breath. "The guards patrol these paths often."

Freya tried her best to mimic my movements, but it took about three seconds for her to trip over a root and nearly face-plant into the glowing cobblestones. Bjorn caught her arm and smirked.

"Strong Viking steps, huh?" he teased.

"Shut it," Freya hissed, shoving him away.

I sighed and pressed on, guiding them through the winding streets. The soft hum of magic filled the air, and the glowing buildings lit up every shadow we tried to hide in. Great. Because being inconspicuous in Elvendor was clearly not an option.

"Do the flowers always glow here?" Bjorn asked, his voice far too loud for someone trying not to get caught.

"They do," I replied, not even glancing back at him. "But the guards won't stop and smell them to delay skewering us, so maybe try focusing?"

We rounded a corner and nearly walked straight into a patrol. My heart jumped into my throat as I yanked Bjorn and Freya into the shadows. Two elven guards strolled by. Their silver armor glowed faintly in the moonlight. They paused, scanning the street with sharp, calculating eyes.

Bjorn, naturally, chose this moment to shift his weight, producing the faintest creak from his leather boots.

The guards turned.

I held my breath, silently pleading with any higher power that was listening that they would move on. Finally, one muttered something I couldn't decipher, and they continued on their way.

Eirik exhaled softly. "If they catch us, I'm blaming Bjorn."

"I didn't trip over a root," Bjorn shot back, glaring at Freya.

"You're the one stomping like the ground insulted your mother!" Freya hissed.

"Both of you," I snapped, trying my best to sound annoyed while staying silent. "Enough. We're not even at the hard part yet, and I already want to sink into the ground."

We continued weaving through the streets until the glowing buildings gave way to the edge of a quiet grove. Aeron and Ravion's cottage stood just beyond, nestled among ancient trees that seemed to hum with their own kind of magic. The house itself was small and vine-covered, its faintly glowing wards shimmering like a protective bubble around it.

"That's it," I said, pointing toward the cottage.

Bjorn squinted. "They live there? What are they, forest hermits?"