The High World.

  No one remembered who had given it that name. Perhaps one of the first explorers had. Almost everyone who arrived here initially believed it to be a land of wonder, magic, and adventure.

  That impression was dangerously misleading.

  In truth, nearly everyone who survived long enough would say the same thing: this world was a hell.

  Cruelty was everywhere. Everyone fought for an extra handful of energy – to grow stronger, to survive, and, when possible, to kill anyone they could. It was a brutal place where survival belonged to those willing to take from others.

  Many races inhabited the lands of the High World.

  Take the elves.

  There were many kinds. The light elves lived in vast enchanted forests, still protected by the magic of ents – living trees – and by ancient rituals that bound them to nature. But it would be a mistake to assume those forests were safe or their inhabitants kind. Elves were often the first to kill a stranger, and they did so without hesitation. The forest belonged to them, and outsiders were not welcome.

  Living elves were rarely seen beyond their forests – except as captives in cities, sold in markets. Children knew them mostly from grim tales where the heroes always died after long suffering.

  Then there were the white-haired elves, proud masters of rune magic. They usually lived alone in magical towers scattered across forests and steppes. Rumor claimed they possessed near-immortality and sometimes granted travelers’ wishes. The traveler would die soon after.

  There were also half-elves, living in many human cities across the empires. At first glance, they seemed like simple mixed-bloods, but they considered themselves a distinct race and took pride in their blended magic. Alongside elemental affinity, they often inherited talents tied to nature, shadow, or the astral – powers traditionally associated with elves.

  And in the cities one could also encounter house elves.

  To be honest, they might as well have been an entirely separate race. Why they were called elves at all was unclear. Perhaps humans had simply grown used to labeling every non-orc race as some variety of elf.

  There were also the low dark elves. Strangely, they were called dark even though their skin was usually pale from living underground. Their beauty did not suffer because of it. The underground castles of the dark elves were magnificent, and in one of them, loud, steady muttering echoed through the corridors.

  “The Steel Oak technique is a defensive technique,” the old teacher said in a dry, instructive tone. He looked as though he might crumble into wooden pieces at any moment. “To use it, your ring must carry a weaving like this.” He began drawing a glowing magical structure in the air, lines forming a pattern surrounded by symbols. “Anel!” he snapped when he noticed the princess was not listening at all.

  Another private lesson. And once again – boredom. Hundreds of techniques to memorize. Why did she need something she would never use?

  Could these lectures compare to the feeling of defeating an enemy? When thousands of units of mana rushed through your energy channels, widening and strengthening them? When, in a single moment, you rose an entire step higher? That was the feeling Anel remembered from childhood.

  Once, vampires had slipped into their underground fortress – vicious creatures that fed on the energy of the living and devoured flesh, killing their victims in their sleep. They were not especially dangerous. Most of them were at the lowest stages of magical development and lacked proper techniques because of their limited intelligence. But that time, driven by hunger, they broke through the defenses.

  Most were killed by the inhabitants of the underground city, but –

  Anel had been very young. No one knew how one of the monsters reached her bedroom. She woke in pain as it bit into her shoulder. Even now, two rows of bite marks remained on her skin. They had not been healed in time.

  Sometimes, in moments of terror and danger, hidden power awakens. That was what happened then. When the guard burst in at her scream, he found only the monster’s body, pierced by hundreds of thorns from a curling plant, and a small princess pressed into the corner, trembling.

  Most elves earned their first white ring after years of training and meditation. The princess gained hers through killing. Energy burst outward, forming a core and storming through her small body. Some called that method violent and preferred a peaceful bond with nature instead.

  Anel still woke at night from those memories, but she also remembered something else – the feeling of strength and safety that had come with that first kill.

  “Your Highness, are you listening to me?”

  “Y-yes…” the princess drawled, lifting her gaze with forced innocence.

  The teacher sighed and sat on the edge of the desk, stirring up a cloud of dust. Anel traced a line through it with her finger.

  “Listen, Anel. I cannot force you to pay attention, and I understand why you are bored. Believe it or not, in my youth I was just as restless. I longed for adventure.” He smiled faintly at an ancient scroll hanging on the wall. “Sometimes I even slipped out of the city in search of something new. It was dangerous even then, and now…”

  It was hard to imagine Ravin-al-Eruvim as a young adventurer. But as the old elf drifted into thought –

  Opportunity.

  Carefully, without making a sound, Anel summoned her blue ring beneath the desk. It was already at the third level. At her age, that marked her as a genius. The brightness of its color made that clear: a level equivalent to an Adept, something almost unheard of so young. At the third level, the ring had already begun forming its own weavings and patterns, which would evolve alongside the growth of her magical core.

  Anel had only three patterns.

  The first was the combat technique Thorn Vines, gained in childhood. It allowed her to control poisonous vines with deadly precision and formed the core of her fighting style.

  The second was Silent Leaves, a technique she had secretly copied from a manual to slip unnoticed out of the underground castles. With practice, it made her nearly silent and difficult to detect, especially in forests.

  The third was a common elven defensive pattern – a combined shield that could function as a passive barrier with slow energy feed or as a powerful shield in battle.

  There were plant-based defensive techniques suited to her element, but the ones she had seen were clumsy and restrictive. Some turned the caster into a tangled mass of plants. Others covered the skin in bark. In either case, movement became difficult, and escape nearly impossible. Anel preferred mobility. Transparent energy barriers, even if slightly weaker, suited her far better. Sometimes the best defense was retreat at the right moment.

  Magical energy could be directed in many ways: through techniques, weavings, auras, and sometimes even improvised patterns drawn mid-battle when the ring had no space left. Mages and artificers used runes carved onto objects and artifacts. All of these were simply different forms of patterns used to control magic.

  Techniques offered full control over the type of magic embedded within them and grew stronger with their owner. Thorn Vines had been with Anel since childhood. By now, she instinctively knew how much energy to send into each vine and where to direct it. The vines remained active as long as the technique was maintained – or until the energy ran out.

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  Weavings, unlike techniques, were fast and simple to use. All one had to do was channel energy into the pattern and define a direction or area, and it would activate instantly. They did not evolve, since their structure was fixed, though they could be erased and replaced with new ones.

  Auras, on the other hand, were tied directly to the energy core and functioned constantly, without the option of being turned off.

  Anel activated Silent Leaves.

  The pattern on her ring flared, and a heartbeat later she slipped soundlessly across the classroom and into the corridor, never noticing the faint, knowing smile on her teacher’s face.

  When Princess Anel raced down the stairs, anyone nearby would be wise to step aside. Why hide strength when it was part of who you were?

  Old Yed, the royal healer, let out a startled grunt as he stepped out of his chamber and felt the floor tremble faintly beneath his feet as she passed. The purity and power of her core were enough to stir envy. Formed in childhood, it was exceptionally strong, and her Adept-level magic – barely restrained – flowed along the stone floor like something alive.

  “Oops,” the princess grinned, winking at the healer and flashing him an indecent gesture before vanishing down the corridor.

  Yed cracked his knuckles – at least, he imagined he did – and shook a fist at the heavens that had gifted the castle this storm in the shape of a girl before shuffling off toward the council hall.

  Dark elves were usually calm and contemplative. They valued meditation and the quiet comfort of underground halls. So why did this child run around like a force of nature? And how was she ever supposed to find a suitable match? The king had long planned an alliance with the neighboring subterranean kingdom beneath Mount Taibat. A tunnel had even been carved between the two mountains to allow trade without venturing onto the dangerous surface.

  But the healer’s gloomy thoughts interested no one.

  Anel was already searching for her father, the king. He was not in his chambers. Sometimes, late in the evening, when the castle lamps were dimmed, he would sneak into the dining hall under the cover of a shadow artifact and steal pastries from Cook Onaleyla. But it was daytime now.

  Perhaps he was in the marble council chamber – the one that always gathered a thin layer of dust she liked to draw in.

  Oh no. What if someone saw her latest sketch?

  The princess shot toward the council hall of the dark elves. As she approached the slightly open doors, she stopped abruptly. Voices drifted from within.

  Varun was speaking – the king’s advisor and old friend. Anel recognized his sharp, cutting tone immediately.

  She might seem carefree, but that was only a mask. At forty-two winters, she already knew how to listen.

  She held her breath.

  “Our king,” Varun was saying, “while the flame of Satrap burns upon the Mountain of the Gods, the wardens stand watch along the mountain passes. The blood of our ancestors awakens.”

  Anel strained to catch every word.

  “We always knew we could not hide forever,” Varun continued. “News has arrived from our neighbors. Recently, the armies of our common sworn enemies – the dead warriors of House Gao – marched across the dragon lands and advanced toward Fortress Bur. The neighboring kingdom that dwells upon floating islands has long been our ally, guarding the northern approaches to our domain for thousands of years. But it seems the time of peace may be ending.”

  A shadow passed over his face, and the fire in his eyes dimmed.

  “Our seers believe the Dead Gao has found a way to overcome the element of air. Whatever powers the living command, the dead eventually learn how to kill them. Sooner or later, in one way or another, they will reach even our underground cities. They will dig through the mountains if they must. The dead have time – more time than we do. We have received their call. We must help.”

  “We must verify this,” the king replied thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair, then coughing as he noticed a peculiar drawing etched in the dust on the marble table. “Ahem. I am certain our neighbors can defend their borders as they have for thousands of years.” He caught the advisor’s displeased look and added, “But we will send a scouting party to confirm.”

  Everyone knew that the territory of the air lords had not suffered invasion – neither from the undead nor from great hordes – for two thousand years, ever since the heroes had opened the Vault of Air and the magic of that element had lifted their cities into the sky.

  “You see the signs yourself,” Varun pressed. “Gao has been accumulating power for a long time. If the flying fortresses fall, we may be next. What is to stop them from finding us underground if the northern shield of air mages disappears? A passage into our valley will open, and we will not have the strength to withstand them – even with the aid of our ancestors. And there is no one else to ask for help…”

  “We could appeal to Emperor George,” the king suggested, already anticipating the advisor’s response.

  “Humph!” Varun’s eyes flared with anger. “Humans. Those vengeful beasts. We all know the price of their ‘help.’ Shall I remind you, my king?”

  Anel froze as she heard footsteps approaching.

  Familiar footsteps. The healer’s uneven gait.

  He was one of the king’s advisors as well, and he was heading this way. Anel slipped behind a tapestry – and cursed silently. From here, she couldn’t hear a word.

  She waited, heart pounding, as the healer shuffled slowly across the silk carpet. When he dropped a scroll and bent down with a creak to retrieve it, the princess nearly sent a small magical shove his way, then stopped herself in irritation.

  After what felt like an eternity – two very long minutes – he finally limped into the hall. He paused, glancing around as if he sensed someone watching.

  Anel did not breathe.

  Then the advisor disappeared through the doors, closing them with a heavy thud.

  In an instant, she was at the entrance.

  A magical barrier shimmered across it.

  How had he guessed?

  Anel wrinkled her nose and flicked her long ears in anNoahance.

  An army of the dead, you say?

  She tried to remember the last time she had escaped the castle.

  Three whole months ago.

  Three months underground.

  Unacceptable.

  That had to change.

  Deep down, she clearly was not meant to be a dark elf.

  First, though, she had to find Noah – her closest friend from the Rooted Forest clan, a family long allied with the royal house.

  After that… they would run.

  Night on the surface was nothing like night beneath the earth.

  For the first hour, Anel always felt dizzy, especially when she looked up at the stars.

  “You could at least watch where you’re stepping,” Noah muttered.

  For some reason, this elf was slightly darker than the others. If anyone deserved to be called a dark elf, it was him – though probably only other elves would notice the difference.

  Anel stared upward, mesmerized.

  The stars were beautiful.

  More than beautiful – enchanted.

  Comets streaked across the sky, and the luminous Charon Nebula shimmered overhead like a living tapestry. It felt like something from a legend.

  She could not look away.

  She walked by instinct, half-listening to Noah’s endless muttering, which had long ago turned into background noise. She felt the ground through her feet. The stars… the stars were something else entirely.

  “This time I’m doomed,” Noah went on. “The king will kill me, then quarter my father, then kill Pax – he’s my house spirit – then my grandmother and grandfather. Aunt Gama can go too; I never liked her. Then my cousin Shumila – ”

  “Noah!”

  “Then he’ll carve up all the family friends.”

  “Noah!”

  “Anel, don’t you understand? He said last time was the last time he’d forgive our antics. And somehow I’m always the one who pays for it!”

  “Noah, do you know how many monsters I still need to kill to reach the fourth level of my blue ring and gain a new pattern?” she shot back. “I’ve already chosen one. I’ll inscribe it the moment my ring grows. You’re the one who doesn’t understand. Maybe when I’m stronger, Father will finally see that I’m worth something. It’s always ‘little Anel, little Anel.’ Grow up and marry Prince Ornil. He already has two rings at his age – green and blue.” She snorted. “He’s a wretch. Inside and out. When my ring turns green, they’ll have to take me seriously.”

  “The risk isn’t worth it. If something happens – ”

  “Noah, look how beautiful it is,” she said, pointing at the sky.

  He followed her gaze.

  Stars. A comet.

  So what?

  If it had been trees, that would have been something. He glanced wistfully back toward the forest they had left an hour ago.

  Trees. Familiar trees.

  Out here on the steppe, there was only grass.

  “Look!” Anel cried again, spotting yet another comet, and Noah nearly jumped out of his skin.

  The fifth one tonight.

  He vaguely remembered something from the academy – something about comets and prophecy. But as the gardener’s son, Noah had never cared much for lofty matters. Politics, omens, prophecies – they belonged to people far above him.

  what do you think Rings truly are?