Village

  The cart rolled to a slow stop at the edge of the ruined village. Snow blanketed everything in soft, pale silence — dark windows, doors left ajar, the sadness of abandonment. Aya stepped down first, tugging her cloak tighter. The guard and Agvi followed, helping the children out and unloading their bundles — blankets, food, water. The last to leave the cart was Ixi, who flew out and landed atop the supplies piled by the roadside. The guard then turned the cart around and rode off.

  "Let's find a house for tonight. Stay together," Aya said.

  They walked through the empty village. It was almost intact — just a few broken doors and windows, some leaning fences. The children grew quiet. Then it struck Aya: this was their home village. They remembered the assault. Was it wise to bring them here?

  "Let's try this house," Aya said, pointing to a small building with an intact window and a closed door. "Do you know who lived here?"

  "Yes!" "Uncle Emi!" "Aunt Ema!" the children cried.

  Aya unlatched the door and pushed it open, stepping over a snowdrift.

  "Were they kind people?"

  "Aunt Ema was kind!" "Uncle Emi was grumpy!" "But he could summon colored lights!"

  Inside, it was freezing — the kind of cold that settles in abandoned houses and deepens with each passing month. The house consisted of a small entryway, a narrow room used for storage and keeping the cold air out, and a large living room with a bed, a stove, and a table. The massive masonry stove, which took up a third of the room, was used not just for cooking, but also for heating the house.

  "Let's light the stove. Agvi, bring our things. I'll look for firewood."

  They split up — two boys and a girl went with Agvi, the rest stayed with Aya. They found firewood behind the house and hay in the barn. Aya lit the stove, which filled the room with clouds of smoke.

  "It takes time when it's cold," the children explained. "Soon the smoke will go away."

  They waited outside while the stove warmed. The children began throwing snowballs and running around. Half an hour later, the smoke stopped. They vented the house and moved in. There was only one bed, too small for all of them, so they brought hay from the barn and made a large nest on the floor. The stove radiated heat, and the steaming hay filled the room with a grassy scent. They sat in a circle on the hay, while the two ravens perched on wooden shelves along the walls.

  "Why don't the ravens come down?" a girl asked.

  "They're afraid of children," Agvi said.

  He explained how birds dislike quick movements and being touched. Even large ones like ravens are still small compared to elves. He told them what birds tolerate and what frightens them.

  "Why aren't they afraid of Ixi?" a boy asked.

  "I don't know," Agvi shrugged. "Ixi, why do ravens like you?"

  "I shpeak them," she replied from Aya's lap, her voice strange and lispy. She spoke more clearly now, but still struggled with words. Aya had noticed Ixi avoided speaking when she could, and it vaguely worried her.

  "Can you tell Ketirik something?"

  Ixi looked up, silent for a few moments. Then Ketirik flew down and landed in front of her, drawing gasps from the children. Ixi touched his beak and stroked him gently. Ketirik stood still for a moment, then nipped lightly at her finger when she pulled away. Ixi flinched, and the children laughed.

  "Shhh," Aya said. "You're frightening him."

  For a while they talked about ravens and how they listen to Ixi and what they would and wouldn't do if she asks. A few children were allowed to touch Ketirik's beak. Then Agvi's raven flew down too, and they all ate together — sharing their food with the birds. Outside, night fell completely, and the wind picked up into a blizzard. Aya grew tired of sustaining her magic light, so they lit a candle found on a shelf. The change from the bluish light of her magic to the warm yellow glow made the room feel warmer.

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  "Why is candle flame orange?" a girl asked.

  "Must be... its elements. All mages have different colors too," Aya said.

  "Mine's green," Agvi said.

  He summoned his light, casting a pale green glow through the room.

  "But Uncle Emi could summon all colors! He showed us!" a boy said.

  Aya tried to create something between her usual blue and the yellow she used to light fires. After several attempts, she managed a few flickers of green and even a brief purple spark, though she couldn't sustain them. The children were amazed anyway. Agvi tried too, but it was hard to tell whether his green light shifted at all.

  "Hers is better," the smallest girl noted.

  "Oh, I'd love to see yours," Agvi said, feigning offense.

  "I can't do magic," she replied with a sad honesty.

  "You're too young," Aya smiled. "Your core just hasn't woken up yet."

  "I can do light!" said a boy.

  "Oh? Let's see."

  He summoned a tiny, flickering pink flame. The other children seemed unimpressed — they'd clearly seen it before.

  "So small," said a girl. "Strange color," added another.

  "I like the color," Aya said. "And it'll grow stronger."

  They began talking about how elves differ in magic strength. The boy, still a bit hurt, claimed he was the strongest among them, and the others might not have magic at all.

  "All elves have magic," Aya said. "Some cores are brighter, some dimmer, but the difference isn't that great."

  The children had heard about cores from Negli's lessons, but Aya sensed disbelief in their silence.

  "How can you tell?" a boy asked.

  "I can feel them," she said. "When I touch someone, I can tell what their core is like."

  "Tell mine! Tell mine!" came the eager voices.

  One by one, Aya touched their chests lightly.

  "Yours is warm orange... yours is white-green... yours is violet," she said, inventing the colors as she went. She could feel the differences, but there was no expressing it in words.

  "Who's strongest?" someone asked.

  "About the same. Yours is a bit brighter than the others," she said to one of the girls.

  The smallest girl hid when Aya reached toward her.

  "Don't you want me to check yours?"

  "No... what if it's weak?" she mumbled, hiding behind another.

  At first Aya wanted to press on, to convince her to try but then said something different:

  "I'm sure it's fine. I can check later, if you want."

  The girl didn't answer.

  "What about me?" Agvi asked.

  She reached over and touched his chest. He flinched slightly. She lingered, listening to his heartbeat and watching the pulse of his core.

  "It's rather strong," she said, leaning back.

  "How does it compare to yours?" he asked.

  "I don't know," Aya said. "I can't feel my own core. It's like touch — you don't know how your own skin feels to the touch. It's you who should be telling me. Did you feel my core?"

  "I... I felt your hand."

  "I felt the core!" "And I!" the children chimed in.

  They started touching Aya, Agvi, and each other, trading made-up colors and brightnesses of their cores. Everyone agreed Aya's was the brightest, though they couldn't settle on a color. Then they started imagining smells too.

  "Yours smells like rot!"

  "Yours smells like piss!"

  A scuffle started, but Aya quickly calmed it. The candle finally burned out, and the room plunged into darkness, lit only by a faint red glow from the cracks in the stove lid.

  "It's time to sleep," Aya said.

  They settled down — the children in the middle, flanked by Agvi and Aya. The ravens returned to their perches above. Outside, the blizzard howled. Aya had just begun to drift off when a small voice asked:

  "Will you tell us a story?"

  Aya tried to remember any story suitable for children and couldn't. Luckily, Agvi stepped in.

  "I can tell a story," Agvi said. "About the Pale Empress.

  Once, a very long time ago, the world was whole, and all elven tribes lived in peace. But then, a prideful king rose among them. He claimed that only he and his kin deserved the finest lands, the safest forests, the most fertile valleys. All who disagreed, he banished to places where life was unimaginably harsh — the icy glaciers, the burning deserts, the poisoned swamps, and the cursed wastelands.

  Those he wronged endured for a time. But eventually, they could bear it no longer. They joined together and rose in rebellion. The war that followed was long and brutal, but in the end, the king and his army emerged victorious. His enemies were scattered, hunted down like animals by his soldiers. All hope seemed lost.

  But then, among the oppressed, a single woman rose. Her skin was whiter than snow, and her face shone like the moon. She gathered her kin and, with the power of her magic, led them to victory after victory. More and more tribes joined her cause, and soon she became known as the Pale Empress.

  The tide of war began to turn. The king grew desperate. He summoned the seven evil wizards who served him, and together they devised a terrible plan. They cast a great spell — an unnatural spell — that fed on the magic of the land itself. They laid it along the frontlines, trying to stop the advance of the Empress's army, and as it drained the earth of its magic, the world cracked in two.

  Realizing what had happened, the Empress tried to hold the world together. But even her power had limits. So great was the strain that her core shattered — splintered into a thousand pieces — and she died. Yet her magic did not vanish. It flowed into the moon and the snow, into all things white and pristine. It's said that during a blizzard, when moonlight loses its way among the snow and becomes trapped, one can see the ghost of the Pale Empress walking the land.

  The king was forever marked by his treachery. He became known as the Betrayer King, and his people, the Betrayer Tribe. We are the descendants of those who fought the Betrayer — the true Elves."

  By the end, most of the children were asleep. Silence settled in the warm room. The blizzard had quieted. Snow silently blew outside the window, sparkling in the moonlight. Aya had heard the story of the Pale Empress before — but from whom? Her mother, perhaps? Or someone else? She drifted off, chasing the memory into sleep.