A crackle of energy surged through the air. Blackthorn’s ears twitched. His eyes flicked upward just in time to catch a streak of white-red light flashing through the canopy, faster than any bird or beast. The light zipped past, leaving a sparkling trail behind it like a comet dragging stars in its wake. The distant trees trembled at its passing, their leaves shuddering as though caught in a sudden gust.

He stiffened. Lightning? No storm today… His paw-like hand gripped his spear a little tighter. The glow of the hovering moonstones above the capital gates intensified.

“Anomaly detected... high magical energy source... scanning,” came faint, from tiny moonstones scattered around. No one else heard it — only him. Atheria’s eyes see everything, he thought. His gaze tracked the light as it vanished beyond the treetops.

"Trouble," Blackthorn muttered.

The grand gates of the Atherian capital where ahead. They were of two enormous trees twisted together, their roots interlocking to form a natural archway. Gems the size of fists shimmered along the bark, each one nestled into the living wood. Above, several moonstones hovered. These stones served as the capital's sentinels, ever scanning.

Blackthorn stood in front of the gates, tall and still as stone. His armor of black and blue metal plates fit snugly over his broad panther-like frame. The glow of the nearby moonstones reflected off his polished shield, casting faint glints of light along its surface. He adjusted the grip on his spear and glanced to his right.

Kaelen, the elf, was already scowling. Her silver eyes narrowed at the old elf sitting atop a small rock-drawn carriage. The elf's clothes hung loose on her thin frame, her face weathered like cracked bark. The rock-beast pulling the carriage snorted, its glowing eyes watching Kaelen as if it knew something she didn’t.

“Papers,” Kaelen said, her hand raised in a sharp, commanding gesture. Her voice was sharp as a snap twig. “Now.”

The old elf sighed deeply, bowing his head. “Bandits took them,” he muttered. “All I have left is this carriage and my companion.”

Blackthorn’s sharp eyes shifted to the rock golem, its stocky frame made of layered stone plates, as it stood on all fours like a horse. The creature wasn’t large, but it had the weight of something that could knock a wall down if it charged. His eyes narrowed.

“Without papers, you’ll be held in the refugee room until we can verify your identity,” Blackthorn said. He stepped forward, resting a paw on the hilt of his sword. "The rock creature will also be confiscated. It stays in the holding pens.”

“What?! No!” The old elf’s voice cracked like brittle bark. He stumbled off the carriage, hands outstretched. “Please, she’s all I have left!”

The rock golem’s eyes flashed a bright yellow. It reared back on its hind legs with a rumbling roar. Dirt flew in all directions as it thrashed.

“Control it, now,” Kaelen barked, her spear raised. She approached with quick, her eyes fixed on the beast’s legs. Her muscles were ready to dodge.

"Hold still, old man!" Blackthorn shouted, raising his shield. Blue runes etched into the shield's surface flickered to life. He dug his shield into the ground, locking himself in place. The weight of it pressed into him.

The ground trembled again. Not from the beast.

Blackthorn’s ears twitched.

“Wait!” Blackthorn barked, turning his head to the east. “Something’s coming!”

The bolt of light from before was back. This time, it wasn’t just fast — it was blinding. It hurtled through the trees, leaves, and branches. Birds shot from the treetops, wings flapping in wild, panicked rhythms.

"Shields up!" Blackthorn roared, slamming his shield into the ground.

The light above him pulsed. The moonstones hanging above the gates brightened. Beams of light shot down into his shield. The smooth metal groaned as it shifted, reshaping itself, piece by piece, into a massive wall of stone and runes. The sheer weight of it pressed into the ground with a loud thoom.

“Atheria, bless this shield to hold strong,” Blackthorn whispered.

Kaelen took a step back, her spear lowered in awe. “What in the—”

CRACK.

The bolt of light didn’t collide. It stopped. Just before impact.

The blinding glow faded.

And in the center of it all, standing with one hand on her hip and the other raised like she’d just tapped on a door... was her grinning.

“Boo,” Freya said.

Blackthorn froze. His eyes went wide stumbling back, landing hard on his rear.

“C-Captain Freya?!” His voice cracked. He scrambled to his feet. “It’s you?!”

Freya’s grin widened.

Blackthorn’s hands snapped into a salute. "Captain Freya of the 3rd Division, Top Mage of the Elite Legion!" he barked. "An honor, Captain. I heard you were supposed to be training that fox kid with two others.” His eyes darted to Kaelen, silently pleading for her to say nothing stupid.

Unfortunately, Kaelen had already stepped forward, her eyes locked on Freya.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Kaelen growled, pointing an accusing finger. "This big-horned sheep nearly killed us!"

The grin dropped from Freya’s face.

Her eyes lowered shifting to the elf guard and a sharp aura of magic faired. Blackthorn could feel it; it was a heavy feeling like he needed to shut Kealen up. Even Kaelen, sharp as she was, took a small step back.

“Excuse you?” Freya said in a calm but menacing tone.

Blackthorn shoved himself between them, bowing low. "Apologies, Captain! Kaelen is new — transferred from Nytherion, you know how that elf kingdom is! They’ll be disciplined!"

Kaelen’s eyes darted to him.

"Yes," Blackthorn said firmly, still bowing. "Disciplined.”

The tension around the capital gates clung. Blackthorn’s heart thudded in his chest from the pressure Freya was put on. He stood at attention, claws twitching against the hilt of his sword and shield as he eyed the captain.

Freya’s gaze shifted past Blackthorn and Kaelen releasing her pressure, locking onto the old elf sitting on the edge of his rock-drawn carriage.

"Swiftfoot?" Freya said. She took a step forward, her sharp eyes softening. “Mentor? Is that really you?”

The old elf blinked and chuckled, his gaze shifting to the rock beast beside him. His companion let out a rumbling snort as if it recognized her too.

“Ah, Freya, quite a show you put on just now.” he said, lifting his hands. “It’s been years since anyone called me that. These days, they should call me Slowfoot.” He tapped his knees with both hands.

Freya shook her head, stepping closer. “Slowfoot? Never. You’re probably still faster than most of these guards put together.”

Her words earned a snobby snort from Kaelen, but the elf’s gaze stayed sharp. She wasn’t ready to drop her guard just yet.

Freya’s smile vanished. She turned to face Blackthorn and Kaelen, eyes narrowed.

Her voice was cold now. “You were giving him trouble?”

Kaelen’s mouth opened, but Blackthorn didn’t give her the chance to speak. He moved quickly, dropping into a low bow.

“No trouble, Captain,” Blackthorn said, his voice steady “We’ll see him through immediately.” He glanced up briefly. “What brings you here, Captain?”

Freya’s eyes lingered on him for a moment then her gaze flicked to the floating moonstones and the glowing runes etched into the trees.

“The runes,” she muttered, tilting her head toward them. “They’ve been whispering again. Something’s off.” Her eyes darted to the old elf. “And when runes call, I listen.”

Blackthorn’s ears twitched at that. Runes whispering? This was something he didn’t get paid enough to question. He glanced at Kaelen, whose lips pressed. Her eyes were locked on Freya, gaze sharp with quiet skepticism.

Blackthorn didn’t say a word. He just bowed again.

“Understood, Captain.”

Out from the shadowed corner of the wall, a figure stepped into the open. His wool-like coat was jet-black, his horns longer and thicker than Freya’s. The faint glow of his eyes flickered like purple then green. He walked around with an elite legion cloak, no shirt, and some pants. That blended into his wooly legs. 

“Heard it from the runes?” he said, his deep voice. “Sure, Freya. We got a birdy with a note instead.” He tilted his head, arms folded across his chest. “Long time no see, sis.”

Freya’s smile returned as she walked forward.

“Ah, Jorma,” she said. “Too long indeed. What’s it been — twenty years since those nasty Gracken?” Her eyes flicked to him. “But you really, brother. The runes have been talking.” She glanced over her shoulder toward the floating moonstones. Now whispering, “And when they call, it’s never for something good.”

Jorma’s eyes narrowed. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “What kind of contracts have you been making, Freya?”

His eyes flicked down to her arms, he caught sight of her exposed forearms. Runes. Dozens of them. Inked into her skin in intricate, curling designs. Some glowed faintly. Others were still.

Her eyes slid to him. Her grin didn’t fade. “We can’t talk here,” she muttered. She tilted her head toward the sky, eyes flicking to the floating moonstones. “The moons are watching.”

She clapped Jorma on the back, harder than necessary. “Come on,” she said, nodding toward the gates. “Swiftfoot, you too. We’re heading to Atheria’s tree.”

Jorma sighed, rubbing the back of his head. His gaze lingered on her arms, his frown deepening.

The capital gates swung open with a rumbling groan. Beyond the threshold, the vibrant world of Atheria’s heart came to life.

The walkway ahead was smooth gray stone, but on either side, the market thrived in color. Stalls and shops grown straight from the ground displayed enchanted garments, charms made from crystal insects, and fruits too large to be natural. Beasts with fur of silver and scales walked beside their elven owners. Antlered figures with bright fur wandered past cat-like humanoids with tails as bushy as clouds.

Children darted through the crowd, laughing as they chased each other, weaving between the adults. A cat-eared child tripped, only to be scooped up by an elk-horned woman.

Freyas eye darted to the people around them. She shifted her weight slightly, as if uncomfortable. Too many eyes. Her hand brushed over the runes on her arm, fingers tracing them without thinking.

“Dang eyes.” she thought.

Jorma scanned her and being siblings he said, “Tense as always I see. always found your crowd aniexty interesting despite how high up we are.”

A small elf boy darted out from the crowd, stopping directly in front of Freya. His eyes, wide with awe. Before she could say a word, he shoved a small flower into her hands, grinning up at her.

“Thank you,” he said quickly before dashing off.

Freya stared down at the flower. “What was that about?” she asked, twirling the flower between her fingers.

“Ah,” Jorma snickered, hands in his coat pockets. “You really haven’t been back here for a while, huh? You, me, and the rest of the party we made are legends to some of these elves, sis.” He waved a hand toward the crowd. “Ever since you stopped that Gracken invasion, they’ve been telling stories about us.”

“...Great,” Freya muttered, stuffing the flower into her pocket.

Swiftfoot glanced at her with curiosity. “How’d you get so fast, Freya?” he asked. “Even in my prime, I don't think I could keep up with you.”

Freya pulled back her coat, revealing her arms and neck. The rune contracts gleamed in the light. “I’ve been making deals,” she said, voice low but firm. “Contracts with wild aspects and magical creatures.”

Jorma’s eyes widened, his mouth opening, but she didn’t stop.

“Tracked down the aspect of lightning. It took months, but I found him. Huge yellow tiger, ten times the size of any elf here.” Her grin returned, sharp and dangerous. “The fight was long and he didn’t kill me. That was enough.”

“You’re insane, its times like this i really wish we didn’t share blood,” Jorma hissed. “Atheria won’t like this, Freya.”

Freya leaned forward, grinning in that slow, dangerous way she always did.

“Wild thing to say about you own sis Jorma. Let her find out,” she said, eyes flicking to the great tree in the distance. "Until then, we keep it quiet."

Jorma sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

“You’re gonna learn the hard way, sis,” he muttered.

Freya only grinned wider. "Maybe. But its the path I walk.