I want to ask Aurelio if he knows anyone cut out for the job, but I worry that speaking about plans to infiltrate a country, even for information’s sake, will set Daelia off on a tangent of morality. I’ll be reprimanded by one of the leaders of the Holy Church for instigating conflict, no matter my intentions. The church strongly believes in delegations, discussions, and conferences when it comes to international problem-solving.
In this case, though, that’s not an option. The Krastan royalty is far too wrapped up in their own cause to care about a conference. In fact, it would probably be dangerous for them to leave to go to such a conference; it would expose them and their movements to rival factions. Daelia would tell me to leave it be and continue providing aid until the outskirts of the country can stabilize, but what happens when the civil war factions decide they can help themselves to the food, shelter, supplies, and people of their farming villages? I wouldn’t put it past starving young people to take advantage of the situation, especially if they believe they’re fighting for a just cause. The psychology of mobs can cause horrific atrocities if left unchecked.
I’ll have to talk about it with Mina first. She always knows what to do, even when I’m completely lost.
The sun rises in the distance, breaking through the gray haze of dawn. I watch the fiery colors mingle together in the sky, then slowly give way to bright hazy yellow as the sun rises above the trees. The golden halo of the forest returns just in time for us to stop for our daytime rest.
“I’m falling asleep on poor Luca,” Daelia groans, her eyes half-closed.
“When are you not tired?” I tease, punching her shoulder.
“Never. It’s the curse of being a hero. Everyone thinks you’re superhuman, and that includes the supposed power of never needing sleep,” she yawns.
“Well, even if I never needed sleep, I’d want to, anyway,” Aurelio says.
“I’m on board with that,” I sigh.
Just as I’m gathering my stuff off Aticus’s back, there’s a sharp whistle that zips right past my ear. Jolting away from it, I search for the missile-like bug that dared startle me, only to hear a sudden cry to my right.
“Daelia!” Aurelio shouts.
I hear the note of panic in his voice and whirl around. I clap a hand to my mouth, seeing Daelia shielding Aurelio with her entire body. Even through her armor, an arrow has pierced her upper back, right beneath her shoulder blade. She grunts in pain and falls into Aurelio, who barely catches her in time to hold her up.
“What happened?” I demand.
To my horror, Daelia yanks the arrow out of her back, a sharp hiss accompanying the movement.
“What the hells, Daelia?” Aurelio says.
“I need to look at it,” she pants. Her eyes scan the arrow, then her face turns white. “Oh, shit. We’ve got elves on our tail.”
“What? I thought elves were nocturnal?” I question.
“Nope. More crepuscular than anything.” Daelia glances over her shoulder, only for her eyes to fly wide. “GET DOWN!”
I hit the ground just in time for a series of arrows to sail over my head. If I’d waited half a second longer, I’d look like a porcupine. The arrows find their marks in nearby trees in quick succession.
“Alessia, set the trees on fire!” Dealia orders.
“Are you freaking insane?” I shout back.
“Just do it! They’re weak to fire!”
I should have thought of that. Leave it to my sister to be the know-it-all in battle.
Summoning all my energy, I unleash a volley of fire at the nearby trees and shrubs surrounding us in a ring of fire. The flames are so hot, they instantly eat up the drier trees. I hear a few cries of alarm, then the unnaturally light footsteps of running elves. There’s one call that’s much louder than all the others, and then there’s an elf stumbling into view, its whole shirt on fire.
I stare in shock. I’ve never seen an elf before, just heard of what they look like from adventurers and monster hunting manuals. I know their hair is made of real silver, but it’s a shock to see it sparkling in real life, shinier than the certified silver jewelry in my collection back at the palace. The elf is about my same height, with my same build and face shape, shockingly enough. Their skin is even a similar shade to mine, just a little darker. But their eyes—oh, gods, I can’t look at those eyes. They’re bright orange, and in Celestia, orange eyes are taboo, just like the number three. They’re both signs of demons and demonic activity.
The elves may as well be demons themselves. With as many adventurers as they’ve murdered, I wouldn’t mind them going extinct right alongside the demons.
I don’t hesitate to draw my sword. I step right through my magic fire, the flames rescinding before my presence. The elf rolls around on the ground, shrieking in agony, their skin bubbling bright red where the flames are. I’m surprisingly empty of all feelings as I approach. This thing is worse than those wendigos. Elves are dangerous, crafty, and murderous for no good reason. One less elf in the world will make it that much safer.
I raise my sword high, intending to strike.
CLANG!
The shock of my sword clashing with another vibrates in my hands, even after my sword goes flying. I stand there in shock, unable to breathe as I stare at the creature before me.
