The Aielind Chronicles: Journey

Chapter Six: Dias

The midday sun hung high over the High Clan’s castle, its light spilling over the stone walls and casting intricate shadows on the cobblestone paths below. The castle courtyard bustled with activity: Elves milled about, their voices blending with the rhythmic clatter of armor and the soft grunts of Fawcetts pulling carts laden with supplies. The creatures, long and slender with fur coats of brown and gray, moved methodically, their upturned snouts twitching as they rooted for scraps on the ground. Their handlers kept them in line with soft murmurs and occasional tugs on their reins.

Dias watched from the shadow of a stone archway, her hood pulled low over her face. Her heart pounded as she scanned the courtyard, searching for the best route to the stables. The plan was simple: sneak past the guards, saddle her Lycan, and leave before anyone noticed. But simplicity often gave way to chaos, and Dias was no stranger to improvisation.

Her father’s voice echoed from the great hall, deep and commanding, carrying through the open doors. Chief Harrow’s presence was as immovable as the mountains that framed their lands. Dias clenched her fists, the leather of her gloves creaking softly. She had to move quickly, or risk being caught.

She slipped into the courtyard, weaving through the throng of Elves. The scent of roasted meat and fresh bread from the kitchens mingled with the earthy musk of the Fawcetts. A handler struggled with one particularly stubborn creature, its tail lashing as it let out a series of sharp squeaks. Dias ducked past them, her eyes fixed on the stables ahead.

“Dias!”

Her father’s voice stopped her in her tracks. She turned slowly, her heart sinking as she saw Chief Harrow striding toward her. His dark hair was streaked with silver, and his piercing green eyes bore into her like arrows. He was dressed in his ceremonial armor, the insignia of the High Clan etched into the breastplate.

“What are you doing out here?” he demanded, his tone sharp but tinged with concern.

Dias hesitated, scrambling for an excuse. “I was... checking on the Fawcetts,” she said, nodding toward the carts. “One of the handlers mentioned they were acting restless.”

Harrow’s eyes narrowed. “The Fawcetts are not your concern. You should be preparing for the council meeting. Your place is with your people, not skulking around the courtyard.”

Dias bristled at his words but kept her expression neutral. “My place is wherever I’m needed, Father. And right now, I’m needed elsewhere.”

“Enough,” Harrow said, his voice firm. “You will not leave this castle. Not while your sister’s fate remains uncertain.”

Dias felt a surge of anger rise in her chest. “And what good am I doing here?” she shot back. “Sitting in meetings, listening to plans that go nowhere? Nia is out there, and I won’t stand by and do nothing.”

Harrow’s jaw tightened, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “You think I don’t want to find her? She is my daughter!” His voice cracked slightly, and for a moment, Dias saw the weight of his grief. “But running off on your own will not help her. It will only put you in danger.”

“I’m not a child,” Dias said, her voice steady. “I can take care of myself. And I won’t be alone. Pyk and Edrahil are already searching for her. I’m going to help them.”

Harrow stared at her, his expression a mix of frustration and sorrow. Finally, he sighed, his shoulders sagging. “You are as stubborn as your mother,” he said quietly. “But if you insist on going, at least take a guard with you.”

“No,” Dias said firmly. “I can’t risk drawing attention. The fewer people who know, the better.”

Harrow’s eyes hardened. “Then you leave me no choice.” He turned to a nearby guard. “Double the watch on the gates. No one leaves without my permission.”