It was a few hours before dinner, and therefore a few hours before Decian resurfaced. He stepped out of his house in a clean uniform that had yet to be torn, still too bitter to wear anything else. It had long sleeves and a turtleneck. The right sleeve was covered in leather scales, as with every elite soldier’s uniform. By then, everyone in his neighbourhood had heard of the duel, so when they saw Decian walking down the street, scowl planted firmly on his face, and eyes pointed straight ahead, no one dared talk to him. Like so, he walked to the king’s house in silence, undisturbed.

People cared even less to disturb him an hour later when he re-emerged, storming out of the king’s house and down the path. Firaine, who had been waiting just outside, saw him and followed.

“Decian!” He called after his friend. He nearly had to run to catch up, and he put a hand on his shoulder. “Decian, what—”

He was interrupted when Decian smacked his hand away and spun on his heels to face Firaine. Anger was rolling around in his chest, Decian was barely able to keep it down. He narrowed his red eyes at his best friend. The king’s words echoed in his mind. His “winnings.”

“The king and I are going to Stelloise. Thank you for waking me.” He growled.

“Stel— The elves? Why?” Firaine frowned, staring at him with wide eyes.

“The satyrs have called for a meeting of the races. Some ridiculous notion that some foolish prophecy is coming true.” Decian huffed.

“I’m sorry, Decian…” Firaine frowned, shrinking back.

“Yes, well, it’s fine.” Decian heaved a heavy sigh and ran a hand through his long hair. “We’ll go, we’ll talk, I will be just as polite to the elves as they are to me, and then we will return home.” He turned and kept walking toward the forest. “Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to be left alone.”

Firaine didn’t dare follow this time; he just watched his friend quickly disappear into the trees with a frown.

The nocten’s contempt for the elves had begun lifetimes prior, no matter the races’ shared ancestry. Centuries ago, when the gods still walked the earth, Brightness and his wife, Livenia, crafted the angelic race. They were tall, and fair, with colourful wings to visit their mother who loved them so. They were meant to watch over the younger mortal races. Half did their duty and were happy to. The others, however, were arrogant. They believed themselves too great to be bothered with those with so little magic, and such short lives. After decades of diligently doing the task their brethren shirked, half the angelics had grown bitter toward their conceited kin. A revolution was called for, but violence was far from the minds of the ever-attentive protectors. Instead, they left the plains and wide forests behind, for the deepest, darkest part of the forest. There, the trees grew so close they nearly touched, and no sunlight broke through the canopy. Travel was difficult, and food was scarce, but they grew accustomed. They evolved. The nocten race was born. Years later, the angelics in the plains and wide forests remained pompous and indifferent to the plights of those they deemed below them.

When the burning demigod, Bellorn, rose, they didn’t even stand against him. As he slaughtered the mortal races, they sat idle in their bright cities and watched the dragon fire rise. Brightness, absolutely infuriated, took their wings as punishment. If they were to be idle, they were no longer welcome with the gods. Then, he went to the Deep Wood, and found the nocten had already lost their own wings to the dense forest. Still, he demanded a punishment, and so he split their ears, rendering them sensitive and painful, and turned their skin grey to mar their beauty. Ever since, the elves and nocten have hated each other. The bond between kin was never repaired.

“Conceited, pompous, boastful, self-important, pretentious, selfish, egotistical narcissistic…” Decian muttered all the words he had heard used to describe elves to himself, still bitter, but beginning to calm down. He sat at the very top of a tree, above the leaves, and looked at the bright blue sky. It had been a while since the competition, and the gash in his side was healing quickly thanks to the spells he had bombarded it with. He looked north, toward the mountain range of Marhest, where it was said that Bellorn had been imprisoned long ago. When he turned his eyes south, he recognised the dark shapes below the sky as the Tolndir mountain range, legendary home of the gods. Many people of different races had attempted to climb to Tolndis, to the ruins of the gods, but none had ever made it. Their missions always failed due to rockslides, avalanches, or any other number of things that had persistently prevented their ascent. The mountain itself did not want to be climbed.

Decian’s mind returned to his travels… To the elves of Stelloise. He laid down on the interwoven branches, and wondered if their palace was truly as tall as Brabil claimed it was… He wondered why they would need that many floors in their tower... He wondered if all those words truly described the race. Surely such a grand generalisation couldn’t be true of every elf? Perhaps some would be nice. He hoped so. It would make the meeting far less dreadful, if they were agreeable. “I’ll give them all a chance…” Decian decided. “I’ll let each elf prove the stories wrong or right. I’ll treat them fairly…” He sighed as he sat up and ran a hand over his face. I’ll go. I’ll do my duty to my king, and then come back home… It’ll be fine. He kept those thoughts to himself. He didn’t speak another word aloud that evening. Not as he walked through the city, or when he saw one of the little boys from a family in his district running toward him, smiling. He looked away when he saw his mother pull him aside. She’d clearly heard of the duel.

The path home felt far too long. He couldn’t imagine what it would feel like all the way from Stelloise. The streets of Decian’s city, the capital of the Deep Wood, were narrow, but wide by nocten standards. They were lit by white magical orbs that hovered just above the peoples’ heads. As Decian walked, the lights grew dimmer and dimmer, signalling the end of the day. When he finally arrived home, he had only enough energy to prepare his pack for the journey, and go to bed.

His sleep was dark and dreamless for the first time in weeks.