An elf hung from a rope-snare, dangling from a tree branch. A cottage stood nearby, perched on the edge of a dense forest. His arms were bound tightly to his sides by a coarse rope as he dangled upside down, golden hair swaying like a pendulum. His face twisted with fury as he hissed at his captors.

  Four knights approached, their armor clanking with each step, led by a grizzled woodsman. The woodsman smirked and gestured toward the elf. “You see, ensnared the sneaky devil, just as I said. Do I get some kind of reward for catching him?”

  The first knight stepped forward, his tone curt and commanding. “A good deed is its own reward citizen. We’ll take care of this.” The woodsman grumbled something inaudible, shaking his head as he trudged back toward his cottage, leaving the knights to encircle their prisoner.

  Their leader, Sir Kastan, approached the elf, his expression cold and disdainful. “You should never have set foot on our lands elf. You know full well it’s a crime punishable by death, so why tempt our wrath?”

  The elf, Silvarien, snarled, his voice laced with defiance. “These lands were ours before your apelike ancestors ever set foot here. It is you who are the intruder, not me.”

  The knights laughed, their voices harsh and mocking. One of them stepped closer, sneering. “We may be newcomers, but it is not precedence that gives you the right to rule, but strength, and your people are too feeble to hold on to power.”

  “You think your stronger than us but that’s a lie,” Silvarien spat. “It is only the fact that you mortals breed like swarming maggots that gives you the advantage, on a one to one basis my people far surpass yours.”

  A knight struck him across the face with a gauntleted hand. “Dog, you’ll pay for your mockery. Your people are vermin who hide in that dark forest like cowards, so don’t go casting insults, or you’ll pay dearly.” The knight smiled darkly as he drew his sword. “Come to think of it, your going to pay no matter what you do, so your damned either way.”

  He raised his blade, ready to skewer the helpless elf, when an arrow suddenly struck his wrist. The sword fell from his grasp, clattering to the ground as he recoiled, clutching his injured arm.

  The knights turned, searching for the source of the attack. A female elf stepped out from the shadows of the woods, her long, silky white hair catching the dappled sunlight. Her golden skin glowed faintly, and her sharp, golden eyes burned with intensity. She stood poised, another arrow nocked in her bow and aimed at the injured knight.

  “Be thankful I didn’t put the arrow between your eyes, human. Now take your meager life and depart before I make you sorry.”

  The knight snarled, “Kill that bitch.” His men drew their swords and rushed toward her. She loosed another arrow, striking one knight through the gap in his visor and killing him instantly. Before the others could reach her, she dropped her bow and drew a slender sword, the blade glimmering faintly in the light. She met their charge with swift, precise movements, her strikes fluid and deadly.

  Despite her skill, the knights’ heavy armor gave them the upper hand. One of them locked her blade with his, trapping it, while the other prepared to deliver a fatal strike. A deep growl rumbled from the underbrush. The second knight turned just as a massive dire wolf leapt from the shadows, its powerful jaws clamping around his throat. He fell with a strangled cry, blood pooling beneath him.

  The female elf seized the opening, driving her blade into the gap in her opponent’s armor. He groaned as he collapsed, and the wolf tore out the throat of the final knight, silencing the forest once more.

  The knight with the arrow through his hand mounted his horse, his face twisted in a snarl. “Demoness! We’ll make you pay for that, your time is coming.” He turned sharply, his horse galloping away, hooves pounding against the ground.

  Snowdara hurried to the tree and cut the rope, freeing Silvarien from the snare. He landed gracefully, rubbing his wrists where the rope had chafed. “Thank you, Snowdara,” he said, his tone filled with gratitude. “It does my heart proud to see you put the fear of the gods into those devils. They hide behind their armour like a crab in its shell because they’re too clumsy to rely on skill to defend them like us.”

  Snowdara smirked, her expression tinged with mockery. “Why do you insist on infuriating humans, brother? You should know by now your sense of towering superiority only drives them wild.”

  Silvarien crossed his arms, his golden hair falling over his shoulder as he replied firmly, “We have to confront them. We can’t keep running away like slinking dogs. Chief Solareus has what it takes to defeat them. He can lead us to victory; he won’t let them persecute and dominate us. He’s willing to take a stand.”

  Snowdara’s golden eyes narrowed as she countered, “Our greatest advantage lies in stealth, brother. Hit-and-run tactics. We simply don’t have the numbers to stand toe-to-toe with the humans. We have to be smart. Recklessness will get us all killed.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Silvarien argued, his voice firm. “You proved today that one elf is worth four humans. I say we do have the strength to prevail—we just need to believe in ourselves.”

  Snowdara chuckled softly, kneeling to hug her wolf, Moonsong, around his thick neck. The massive dire wolf leaned into her embrace, his tail wagging vigorously as his tongue lolled out in pleasure. She patted his head affectionately, and he responded by licking her face, drawing a laugh from her lips.

  “Well, I didn’t stand alone,” she admitted, scratching behind Moonsong’s ears. “I had support from a furry friend.”

  Silvarien grinned, his sharp features softening with amusement. “He’s a good friend, all right—the kind you can rely on to get you out of a tough spot.”

  Snowdara flashed him a mischievous smile. “Just don’t come between him and his dinner, or you’re liable to see his unfriendly side.”

  The two siblings laughed, the sound a rare moment of levity amid the tension that clung to the air like a storm waiting to break.

  They returned to their village, hidden high in the giant Illianor trees. The settlement was a marvel of elven craftsmanship, built on wooden platforms that wove through the ancient branches, connected by sturdy bridges and ladders. The structures blended seamlessly with nature, as though the trees themselves had grown to cradle the homes of the elves.

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  The siblings attended a meeting of the chiefs from various villages, held in a grand circular platform surrounded by glowing lanterns. Chief Solareus, a tall elf with piercing eyes and an air of authority, stood at the center. His voice carried the weight of command as he addressed the gathering.

  “These humans are growing more brazen by the day,” Solareus declared, his voice filled with righteous anger. “Encroaching deeper into our woods, hunting and murdering our people. If we don’t stop them, how long before they find one of our villages and wipe out the inhabitants?”

  Shouts of agreement rippled through the crowd, their voices echoing through the canopy.

  Snowdara stepped forward, her golden eyes calm but resolute. “We should be cautious. While spying on the humans, I’ve learned their lords are divided. We only have to remain safe in the shadows until they resume fighting each other. If we attack one of the lords en masse, he might rally the other lords and their armies against us.”

  Silvarien shook his head, his expression defiant. “I disagree with my sister. I say we need to strike, teach those humans a stern lesson. It’s what they deserve for their arrogant pride.”

  A wave of approval spread through the gathering as elves shouted their agreement. Solareus raised a hand, silencing the noise as he nodded toward Silvarien.

  “Silvarien is wise,” Solareus said, his tone grim. “The humans are monsters. They consume every resource like rabid locusts to feed their gluttony. How long before they cut down all the trees and rob us of our home, the only sanctuary remaining to us? We need to strike.”

  Snowdara’s brow furrowed as she spoke again, her voice steady but tinged with frustration. “But you overlook the fact that we have the weaker hand. Caution isn’t a policy of mere kindness or pacifism—it’s a matter of survival.”

  Before Solareus could respond, the meeting was interrupted by the hurried arrival of an elf. He rushed onto the platform, his face pale and drawn with fear.

  “Chieftains, I bring dire news,” he announced, his breath coming in short gasps.

  Solareus turned to him, his commanding presence unwavering. “What is it?”

  The elf’s voice trembled as he spoke. “The village of Eldorien has been burned to the ground.”

  Gasps of horror rippled through the assembly, but Solareus’s face darkened with rage. “You see, it’s just as I said. They attack us like rabid dogs, slaughtering innocent people. We cannot turn a blind eye to their evil anymore. We must fight these rapacious monsters, and avenge this mortal insult, or forsake all pride and self-respect.”

  The crowd erupted into cheers of approval, their voices filled with fury and resolve. Snowdara, however, remained silent, her face clouded with dismay. She glanced at Silvarien, who stood tall and unyielding, emboldened by the fervor of the gathering. Her unease deepened as the call for war grew louder, a storm of passion that threatened to consume them all.

  The elven company of wolfriders moved through the shadowy forest like whispers of the wind, their dire wolves padding silently alongside them. They had tracked the attackers back to their source—Lord Dagomir's imposing stone keep, perched atop a hill that overlooked the sprawling countryside. The keep’s towering battlements loomed like jagged teeth against the pale sky, and the banners of Lord Dagomir fluttered ominously in the breeze.

  Solareus, seated atop his massive wolf, narrowed his piercing eyes at the sight of the fortress. “It’s that devil, Lord Dagomir,” he growled, his voice thick with contempt. “It’s time we brought him to heel.”

  Snowdara, riding beside him, glanced at the keep with a troubled expression. “How do you propose we draw him out of his keep? We have no siege weaponry.”

  “We must attack his settlements the same way he attacked ours,” Solareus replied, his tone resolute.

  Snowdara’s golden eyes widened in horror. “We cannot sink to his level, or we’re no better. The gods command us not to harm the innocent. We can’t transgress their law.”

  Silvarien, his face hard with anger, turned to her. “Are you suggesting we condone his devilry?”

  “No,” Snowdara said firmly, her voice steady despite the tension crackling in the air. “There must be some other way.”

  Solareus sighed heavily, his gaze fixed on the keep as though weighing his options. “All right then,” he said at last. “We will burn down the villages…” Snowdara opened her mouth to object, but he raised a hand to stop her. “Without killing the civilians. That’s more decency than he showed us.”

  Snowdara hesitated, her expression pained, but finally nodded. “As long as no one is harmed, then we’ll go ahead with your plan.”

  Solareus’s jaw tightened, his face grim. “We will make that arrogant devil pay.”

  Under the cover of darkness, the elves launched their attack on the villages. Flames roared to life, consuming homes and barns, their fiery glow painting the night in shades of orange and gold. The terrified cries of villagers echoed through the air as they fled into the fields and forests, their belongings hastily gathered in trembling hands. Dire wolves prowled the edges of the chaos, their glowing eyes striking fear into anyone who dared to linger.

  The elves remained true to their word; no innocent lives were taken. But the fear and devastation left in their wake sent a clear message to Lord Dagomir.

  It wasn’t long before Dagomir’s knights rode out to meet them, their polished armor gleaming beneath the moonlight as they thundered across the plains. The clash between the two forces was swift and brutal. Elves darted through the battlefield with their characteristic agility, their blades flashing as they struck with precision. Dire wolves tore through the enemy lines, their powerful jaws and claws sowing havoc.

  The knights, however, were too numerous. Their superior numbers pressed hard against the elves, forcing them to fall back. The air rang with the clash of steel and the cries of the wounded as the elven company retreated into the safety of the forest, their wolves blending effortlessly into the shadows.

  Though the battle had been lost, the elves had sent a message: the forest was not theirs for the taking. And this was far from over.

  Dagomir convened a meeting of the lords in the grand hall of his keep. The chamber was dimly lit by flickering torches mounted on stone walls, their light casting long shadows across the room. The air was heavy with tension as the assembled lords took their seats at the long oaken table. Among them was Lord Loradon, who sat flanked by his son, Lorathon, and his daughter, Loranel, their noble features stern and unyielding.

  Dagomir stood at the head of the table, his dark eyes blazing with anger. “These elven freaks have attacked my villages and murdered the farmers,” he declared, his voice echoing off the stone walls. “They pose a threat to us all. We need to rally together and crush them.”

  Lord Vanethon, an older man with sharp, calculating eyes, leaned back in his chair. “My agents tell me the elves spared your people, Dagomir,” he said calmly, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. “They also tell me it was you yourself who provoked the elves, when you attacked one of their villages in the forest. I believe it was all an attempt to rally the lords to your banner. You’re using the elves to scare us into appointing you king.”

  Dagomir’s face twisted with indignation. “We need a king. All this contention only serves our enemies.”

  Vanethon’s lips curled into a faint smirk. “You mean it spoils your hopes of attaining supremacy, something for which I’m profoundly grateful.”

  “You’re such a self-righteous fool, Vanethon,” Dagomir snapped. “Would you rather the elves pick us apart one at a time?”

  Loranel, her voice clear and resolute, interjected. “I agree with Lord Vanethon. Dagomir is a scheming opportunist. If we submit to his rule, he will punish the lords that have defied him in the past, including my father. He does not forget, and he certainly does not forgive.”

  Her brother, Lorathon, nodded in agreement. “I agree with my sister. Anyone who would massacre innocent people is unfit to rule.”

  Dagomir’s expression darkened, his hands curling into fists on the table. “They’re not people,” he snarled. “They’re subhuman vermin. Killing them is like exterminating rats—there’s no crime in that.”

  Vanethon’s voice remained steady, though his eyes gleamed with disapproval. “We have no love for the elves, but still, we do not agree with your bigotry, Dagomir. And none of us will agree to serve you.”

  Dagomir rose abruptly, his chair scraping against the stone floor as he stood. His voice was a venomous hiss. “You fools. The elves will make you pay for your insipid forbearance, just wait and see.”

  Without another word, he turned on his heel and stormed out, his heavy boots echoing through the hall as the lords exchanged uneasy glances.