Wings from the north, lucent of frosting snow

Bravery untired, pureness undevoured

Greater than her Acolytes, beloved of the Fae and Elementals

“Stark of the light sky was that dark battle. Wounds were bore of corruption and the end of all power,” the scholar started.

“What are acolytes, Mistress? And what are the Fae?” Alve asked, she had no knowledge of these things nor understood the lyric of its vague contents.

“I am surprised that you do not.” Alve only shook her head.

“Let us add that to the story then… your father was there-”

“-My father?” Alve jerked in full attention. “My papa was there?”

The Mistress smiled before continuing, “young King Arleous and his men were surrounded. Your father is an Acolyte princess.” Alve’s eyes glistened more in excitement, but the mistress immediately raised the book to her face, making the next phrases slightly echoed. It did not bother Alve however.

“Though the dwarves had ridden with their heavy carriages, the elves who tore through flexile forces of eth, halflings with their courageous smite, and all the other Fae Folk whom hearts battled for home, were losing their mind.”

“Bellowing frosty winds and fist sized hail rain crossed through the battlefield. Lord Tron and Lady Sewi, the kin terras and their elemental forces were not enough to wither this entity.”

“And Chustern’s Blesseds, our men and women of eth, whereas powerful in their pillar-states, were falling one by one. King Arleous stood with the last of his strength, Thravadin in his head, having no answers of their demise.”

Alve’s heart sank. She was trying to imagine with how guards hold their swords, instead never did she seen them do. And what were those carriages, elves? What were halflings? She had seen her brother heal her small wounds, he was afterall Blessed. But the elementals, though Urda had told her of Torion and Oria as celestials, she did not know that the mountain Tron was an elemental, or that even had a sister. And her father who was hurting, whom she knew was alive now, but because of what?

“But humans were born uncharted. Enthah made sure of that. Suddenly, out of nowhere came a bright light in the sky, flying steadily into the battlefield. A white owl, encompassing a luminescent glow like Oria’s, bringing eyes to the warriors for them to finally see their enemy. Subsequently, from the darken forest of Hanawilia bellowed the cry of a horn. And there, riding on a tall white stallion, a blazing hooded figure like the bird he controls, with a sword held high, the White Owl himself. When the horn ceased, a cacophony of shouts echoed throughout the forest, bringing about new warriors, to that saved your father and Chustern.”

“But here should this story end for there is a princess who must learn to read,” the Mistress said before closing the book.

Alve conceptualized the battle, hardly realistic to others but enough for a child. But when the Mistress stopped, so did the flow of fancied eth and creatures. “But how did it go? Who was the enemy? You said they were fighting something and was it dark? And who was this white owl? Did my father talk to-?”

“As I said, if one must need to learn, it must be of great interest.”

“But I do not know what you are reading,” Alve pointed at the book, not a single title but of lines of unknown alphabets.

“I will give it to you when you are ready and if you do not speak of it to others.”

“But how will I-“

“So that no one reads it to you about it.” The Mistress hid the book back to her cloak, and was marching away to the door.

“But how will I learn to read straight lines?” Alve called out lastly.

“Don’t worry, I will give you a Thravbon version,” the scholar said before opening the door and closing it out.

Gradually, while enveloping the blueish walls of charon and finally realizing the silence of the room, Alve did not give stalk of it. The princess was used to people leaving her behind out of protection but her head was now vivid of imagination.

Of things of the unknown

Of eth, and of Entherah

And of the White Owl

The prince was always nervous whenever the High Adjunct confounded to him, his soft hands, now rigid and red from the recent belt lashes. But to find the letter of invitation on his sister’s bed and a white long dress beside it was now making the young prince’s tears drop.

“That’s it, they are sending her to the den of snakes Urda,” he said to thew maid. A boy of eight springs, nearly every day pressured to rise above his father, and shielding a little sister from venomous politics. Urda held her arms aloft to the boy before he dashed immediately to her in a strong hug.

“You’re being dramatic Arlou.” Urda held him tightly. His blond hair deliberately contrasting to his sister’s black, and his height, taller than those of his age -he was growing too fast. The maid was aware of the High Adjunct’s intrigue yet confident of the possible differences of the children’s future treatments. “Your uncle will protect her, not hurt her. Trust me on that.”

Carefully releasing the boy from her hands, she wiped away his tears and snot before standing to the letter. Opening it, fingers shaking as well. It read:

To her Royal Highness Alvedaima Novredin Chonerin,

It is with great pride that I invite you to tonight’s dinner. I have initial approval from the High Adjunct, Lord Alcvin Yomnd Chonerin, in behest of celebrating the success of his recent contract, to join this small banquet.

-Your uncle and I would love to see you in this dress my dear and your cousins will be there to attend.-

Sincerely,

Your aunt