He turned, Mana Sight catching glimpses of ritual circles inscribed into the floor. With his arm outstretched, he touched an invisible barrier that instantly raised his hackles. That was before a bloom of Mana caught his attention from someone stepping out from behind a pillar.
“A human mortal?” someone gasped, wearing a confused, almost accusatory expression that did little to improve Ori’s mood.
“An elven Sovereign?” Ori said. His brows furrowed as his awareness shifted back to normal sight, and the details of the speaker became clearer. To his side stood a young woman with hair so dark its highlights shone blue. Despite her pensive expression, partly shielded by the pillar, she carried herself with a presence on par with Eltitus or any Sovereign-ranked Awakened Ori had met. Her proportions were slightly off, as if naturally too thin or narrow without seeming anorexic. Every bone and limb was long without seeming lanky, graceful without seeming delicate. She had an otherworldly beauty that was distinctly inhuman without being alien, made more so by her preternaturally bright blue eyes and long, sharply tapered ears.
“We are High Elven. Lunaesidhe, or Moon Elves, to be precise,” she corrected. “And you speak Síogalúna?” Her expression turned more curious; her voice shifted pitch as her language changed. “And what of Mánasidh?”
“Seems like it.” Ori shrugged, his mouth twisting as he replied in the same tongue. Experimentally, he reached out, his palm grazing the invisible barrier that seemed to align with one of the circles drawn below. His mind raced in the silence that followed. As he left the previous trial, he had held in his mind the desire for somewhere safe and as far from the fields of slaughter as possible. Deep down, Ori knew he was at his limits, and that he needed time to clear his head and straighten himself out. “Is that why you summoned me? You need someone to translate?” he added, unwilling to give more away.
Catching a sideways glance from his host, Ori turned a full one-eighty and saw another elven woman. Similar in apparent age and slightly taller, but while the first wore a navy dress laced with elegant swirls of gold, the second was dressed far more plainly, like a servant or maid. She was just as preternaturally beautiful, though less severe, with more human-like dark brown hair and warm brown eyes. Yet behind an affinity that seemed to cloak her in the room’s shadows, Ori could feel a power almost as vast as the woman in front of him.
“Perhaps.” Ori’s gaze returned to the first speaker. Curiosity grew in her eyes as she drifted closer, as if forgetting her earlier caution. “Just what is a Mortal High Du?list? And the title, Astral Adept, how does one acquire such?”
Ori’s frown deepened at the one-sided exchange. It wasn’t just that he was long past feeling aggrieved at being surrounded by people who could casually swat him with a thought. Between the lingering grief of Sera’s sacrifice, his growing urgency to leave the trial and find Freya, the metaphysical pain of a wounded soul, and the less-than cordial welcome, Ori strongly considered noping out of this final trial. As the strange standoff dragged on, he did just that.
A sizzle and snap, accompanied by a flash of light, came at the moment Ori should have returned to the Crucible. Acrid smoke filled the air, and fear and more than a measure of vexation flooded Ori’s thoughts. His mind raced, recalling tactics from the previous trials, as he braced himself to call upon his domain.
“Wait.” The woman held out a hand, and Ori flinched, half expecting an attack at the sudden pleading gesture. “We mean you no harm. You tripped a spell fuse, a safeguard, part of the rituals… it was not supposed to keep you here against your will…”
“Alright, so I’ll be going then…”
“Before you go, we…” Her face tightened with anxiety, her words halting as she watched to see if he would stay. When he did, she exhaled in relief. “...Apologise for our poor reception.”
“Who are you and why did you summon me?”
“I am…” She hesitated, her expression wrestling with a decision before settling into resignation. “Anoriel Thalionwen Luinilthar, or Harriet the First, Queen of Lunaesidhe. And I seek power, power to save our line and the sovereignty of Lunaesidhe.”
“Okay,” Ori said, suddenly weary and overburdened. He didn’t trust her, and her introduction made it clear how large a mess he was likely to step into if he stayed.
You’d be a newborn chick with golden feathers, and unlike the chick, you would not survive the plucking.
An intrusive memory from Crucible reminded him how carefully he would have to leverage his talents and knowledge if he wanted to get out of this trial in one piece.
“I am Ori Suba. My title, Mortal Du?list, or Duelist,” Ori repeated, translating into the local language, “probably came from killing demons. Astral Adept was earned from a trial realm. If you know this, you’re… a diviner?”
“Not just Mortal Du?list, but Mortal High Du?list. It seems your accolades have grown. As for how I can read your titles, my Ruler class allows me to know the titles of those I address. A useful trait, but one limited to titles only. I see you also hold the titles Summoned Hero and Saviour of Astoria. Impressive feats for a mortal, so much so that I wonder how you remain mortal after all the accolades you’ve acquired?” She spoke as if inviting him to elaborate. Instead, Ori felt the need to manage expectations.
“Yeah, those titles were a lot of luck and freak situations. So if you were looking for a hero to face some big bad monster… honestly, I’m not sure I could do anything against something or someone who could give you trouble.”
“Which is just as well. Our problems, due to matters of protocol and the expectations of our position, are not ones we can delegate to a foreign champion.” Harriet explained.
“So it’s just politics?” Ori said, suddenly unsure.
“Oh, it is indeed just politics.” Her expression hardened. “But the politics of entire realms often have lethal consequences.”
“Right. So you were seeking what? Someone or something to enhance your personal power? How?” Ori pressed.
“Of that, we are uncertain.” She broke eye contact and began to pace around the summoning circle. “And you, as the summoned party, what is it that you seek?” Harriet continued pacing, as if weighing things he could only guess at. Ori faced his own dilemma: what to reveal, and how much to trust. As a Queen, she was likely socially and politically adept, capable of presenting a front and revealing no more than she intended. Even now, if not for warnings from Crucible and others, her feigned disinterest might have lulled Ori into giving away more than he should have. And yet, there was something he desperately needed.
Harriet paused, as if realising just how long her question had gone unanswered. Ori’s gaze sharpened, as if trying to peer into the depths of her soul.
After his battle with the Lich and the hollowness of loss, Ori was no longer a proponent of blind heroism. Here, every action, good or bad, had consequences, opportunity costs, and unknowable uncertainties.
“An oath of non-disclosure, for everyone involved.” Ori looked around, his gaze finding the only other occupant of the room.
“Upon what conditions?” she countered.
“Isn’t it always a soul oath?” Another drawn-out silence followed, then a brief frown of confusion on Harriet’s otherwise unreadable face.
“I can see why it might be so with summons. Very well. Let us make this a mutual soul oath to keep our confidences and not reveal our interactions.” Harriet turned and addressed the woman behind him. “Poppy, fetch the oath scrolls and clothes. The rest of you, leave us.”
Ori sighed inwardly in relief. He could feel, if not quite see, movement in the shadowed reaches of the library, but then they vanished. As a Queen, it made sense for her to have unseen guards or servants. As for the oath, while Harriet or Poppy could still act against him, limiting leaks felt like a victory.
A few awkward minutes passed as both parties stood in silence, unable or unwilling to make casual conversation. In Ori’s case, fear of sounding stupid or revealing something he shouldn’t, kept him from filling the gap. Small talk was never something he was good at, anyway. Meanwhile, unlike his gaze, which roamed the space to avoid staring, Harriet’s graceful stillness stayed focused on him. When he caught her eye, he realised she was studying him. Less checking him out, more cataloguing his peculiarities for later reference.
A minute later, he was dressed in a robe, and only then did he realise part of his anxiety and defensiveness likely came from standing in nothing but a loincloth. After reviewing the contracts, he was relieved he could read. Ori, Queen Harriet, and Poppy, whom he now understood to be her handmaiden, signed the soul-binding contract. In essence, it enforced that the secrets and knowledge of their involvement with one another stayed confined to those on the contract until otherwise specified. Satisfied, Ori signed and let out an audible exhale.
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“So, what need of yours might be worth the souls of a High Elven realm Queen and her handmaiden, and send a mortal human across fate?” Harriet asked.
Now feeling foolish for raising expectations so high, Ori decided showing would be better than explaining. He lifted his right hand, palm up, and summoned the fragments of Seraphine, his soul-bound artefact. Broken crystal shards sat there like immaculate, uncut jewels.
“I need help, or knowledge, on fixing a soul-bound artefact,” Ori said, his heart galloping as he watched their expressions. He hoped it would be trivial for a High Elven Queen. He feared it was irredeemably broken and worth less than junk, or worse, that it would hinder him from here on out.
“Where did you find this wand?” Harriet’s expression shifted from bland curiosity to an intense frown fixed on the pieces of crystal in his palm.
“I soul-bound it. It was in a realm called Astoria on the Elemental Demiplane. Why?” Ori asked, his concern rising with her sudden intensity.
“Our grandmother created that wand. It should have been invariant under higher demiplanes, with Taurna’dieh only possible only by celestials. We believe our mother sold this particular item sometime before I was born. We can still sense our grandmother’s aura in similar artefacts from her study.” Harriet’s expression held more than a hint of incredulity.
Ori suppressed a chuckle at the irony of being sent back to the manufacturer long after the warranty period. “I don’t know what any of that means, but if one of your relatives made this, I must be in the best place to get it fixed. Right?”
“Perhaps. Unfortunately, we have no knowledge of my grandmother’s craft, and both my grandmother’s and mother’s souls have long since departed this realm.”
“Oh.”
Seeing Ori’s expression fall, Harriet offered a sliver of hope. “We have left her study and workshop untouched, in the hope that future generations of our line would take up her craft. Though it is a rare honour, we would be willing to offer you access to these rooms during your stay.”
Ori nodded, relieved. “And what do you need from me in return?”
“Consider this part of the hospitality of your stay, with no obligations in return.” Harriet shifted, her manner turning more formal. “By the rights of guests and the strictures of High Elven hospitality, we, Queen Harriet the First, have the pleasure of formally inviting Ori Suba, Mortal High Duelist and Astral Adept, to spend a few days at my residence, where you may be assured every measure will be taken to ensure your stay is comfortable and conducive to fruitful discussions. I believe that, in no time at all, personal meetings between us will provide excellent opportunities to explore our shared interests and possible collaborations.” Harriet bowed, then levelled an expectant gaze.
Ori tried to parse her words and work out how to respond. “Er, thank you, Your Majesty. I accept your invitation.” He stumbled, brow furrowed, until he realised he needed to return her bow. Seeing her smile, he sighed. Everything about this trial seems like it’s going to be long, he thought. He gestured towards the ritual circle and pushed his hand through the barrier, which was no longer there. “Can I…”
“Of course.” She turned to her handmaiden. “Poppy, please provide our guest with one of the suites near Helena’s workshop.” She looked back at Ori. “Once again, we apologise. This ritual was an archaic, all-purpose extraplanar summoning circle, one I scarcely understood. Are there any immediate needs that require tending to? Any special dietary or paracausal energy requirements?”
“Er, no. Just food. Normal human food would be fine.” Ori stepped out of the summoning circle and, this time, truly took in the size of the room as he turned, gaze lifting to the night sky visible through the skylights above.
Ori sat alone at the head of a dining table long enough to seat a hundred guests. Though he was joined by no one, the muted presence of handmaidens somewhere behind him ensured a panopticonic sense of scrutiny never left him. As he wondered what Sera would have thought of the situation, a wave of loneliness washed over him, rendering the flavourful, leafy, fresh food tasteless, like cardboard in his mouth.
He turned, unsure what to do next, as his gaze found the brown-haired woman.
“May I help you, sir?” she asked, her form seeming to separate from the shadowed corner behind him.
“I… would it be weird if you joined me? You don’t need to eat or anything. It would just make me feel more comfortable. If not, maybe I could eat alone in my suite next time.”
“Either would be fine, sir. Perhaps I shall join you for the end of your meal, and next time bring future meals to your suite?”
“Yeah, that works.”
She moved to sit four seats away, close enough not to feel distant given the table’s length. Ori watched her sit, still adjusting to the fact she was a real, living elf. She smiled, perhaps sensing his mood.
“I take it humans aren’t a common sight here?” he asked.
“Yes. You’re the first I’ve met. Your kind are normally barred from Elven lands, and our realm, Lunaesidhe, is no exception.”
“Why?” Ori frowned. In that moment, his need to know outweighed any pretence of being well-informed. Poppy leaned back, arms folded, a quizzical expression colouring her features.
“Are you telling me you’ve not heard of Hlēo’torbēon?”
“Er, no? What’s… ah.” Ori began, before a familiar torrent of knowledge flooded his mind.
Hlēo’torbēon, derived from the Lanoroth (Archaic High Elven) term that embodies one of the most significant and enigmatic aspects of High Elven culture and law. Literally translated as "Song Law" or "Law of Songs," it is a complex and deeply rooted tradition that governs the interaction between High Elves and other races, particularly within Elven lands. Hlēo’torbēon serves a dual purpose: maintaining the sanctity of High Elven traditions and protecting unevolved races from the unintended consequences of their spiritual songs. The songs are not only a core aspect of High Elven spirituality but also carry immense power. When heard by the 'unevolved', these songs can cause significant harm. The effects range from physical ailments to profound psychological and spiritual disturbances. For example, certain songs have been known to create long-lasting bewitching or charm-like effects from songs heard at the edges of human hearing.
The enforcement of Hlēo’torbēon is most stringent within realm capitals but can vary across High Elven realms. Its existence has shaped High Elven interactions with other races, creating fundamental divides leading to misunderstandings, especially with humans who often view it as a form of exclusion or elitism…
Ori blinked away the details and returned his attention to Poppy.
“Hlēo’torbēon. The unevolved are forbidden from hearing elven songs of the spirit, and as no High Elf ruler would outlaw elven songs, most unevolved are forbidden from elven lands.”
Ori fought to keep incredulity from his voice. “Wow. That… okay. So what would happen to me if I heard one of these songs right now?”
“My, that is mighty forward of you, sir. We barely know each other.” Poppy’s smile returned.
“So I’m confused. Is this a sex thing?”
“Sex is sex, and songs are songs. Though in a setting such as this, usually intimate, a song from one to another might have different meanings depending on the song. And to answer your question, depending on the song, as a mortal, you may be harmed in a variety of ways without guest rights, but…”
“What is it?”
“I’m not sure. Neither of us is,” Poppy said, sounding less certain. “It is something we’re trying to understand. About you, that is. Why fate summoned you instead of the countless other summons who might have been, if not more suited to our needs, then at least closer to our expectations.”
“I can understand that. Anyway, it’s not like you can’t control yourselves from breaking into song, is it?” Ori asked, only half joking.
“No, though we have been known to break out into spontaneous dance.”
“What?”
“Oh yes. Surely you’ve heard of the Andúthallon?”
Andúthallon: The Dance of Blade and Shadow. In the annals of Fate, few figures command as much awe and respect as the Caladmaethor Lunae’Sereg. Translated literally as 'Blade Dancers of the Blood Moon', these warriors embody the Grace of Andúthallon, transforming the art of high elven dance into a deadly ballet. This chapter delves into the various forms of dance they employ and the havoc they wreak upon the battlefield. Caladmaethor training is said to begin within the tranquil groves of Lunaesidhe, where they learn to move through shadow and moonbeams and strike with the swiftness of the wind. The core of their art lies in understanding that every motion in battle is part of a greater dance, a flow whose rhythm they control to manipulate to their advantage.
The Dances of the Caladmaethor: Echor Aiwenor (Echo of the Eternal Forest): This dance mimics the whispering winds and rustling leaves of ancient woods. The Caladmaethor use swift, fluid movements to confuse and disorient their foes, striking from….
“Ori blinked away the details and returned his attention to Poppy.”
“Caladmaethor Lunae’sereg?” Ori asked uncertainly. Poppy’s smile faded.
“Yes. I suppose our blade dancers would be many a human’s introduction to Andúthallon, which is a shame. War dances are such a small part of it.”
Ori smiled. “Yeah, I can imagine. I could probably sit here for hours asking you questions, but I’m sure you’ve got better things to do. Just before we go, what must I know? Etiquette, rules, what to do in case of a fire?”
Poppy shook her head. “You’ll be fine. You’ll be protected under guest rights as long as you don’t try to harm anyone. I would avoid wandering anywhere on your own, given Song Law and the politics your appearance could stir, but you are not a prisoner here.”
Dinner continued for several minutes, with conversation more muted than before. While Ori had plenty of questions, he knew each one carried pages of knowledge from Freya’s archive waiting to be absorbed. Deciding that time would be better spent doing that alone rather than mid-conversation, he left the questions for another time.
After dinner, Ori was given a tour of the part of the Queen’s residence reserved for him. While technically not a palace, the Moon Elf Queen’s spring residence was certainly palatial: gold and silver-leaf trim, red terracotta stonework, and decorative vines. Ori saw baths that were more like Roman pools, a night garden of strange, living plants that seemed to react to Poppy’s presence, and luxurious balconies draped in flowering vines that overlooked a landscape far from civilisation.
They ended with a series of workshops. Poppy opened a door and gestured for him to enter. Inside, the room seemed frozen in time, even the dust hanging motionless in the air. It was ten to twenty paces across, though it felt smaller from the clutter. Dusk light streamed through small frosted windows, the beams revealing how thick the dust was. A small library covered one wall; chunky, well-worn workbenches, a sofa, and a dusty single bed filled the others.
Scrolls and parchments covered in diagrams like alien flowcharts lay across the surfaces, while glass jars of paracausally active liquids were stacked on shelves above.
“This was Queen Varma’s drafting room,” Poppy said, her tone returning to the demure professionalism of earlier. Ori nodded, taking in the space. In the middle of the room were drawers containing an arcane pressure he could feel through the goosebumps on his skin. He opened one drawer and found odd materials: bones of various sizes, woods of different colours and grains. Rocks and crystal chunks filled the lower drawers. Through Mana Sight, Ori saw ambient Mana swirling and twisting around the items in different ways, and a wild curiosity rose in his chest.
“Just what was Queen Varma’s craft?” Ori asked, in wonder.
“She was a Wandsmith.”
home ruler. Harriet is a baby girl name of German origin. Derived from the Old German name Henriette and the baby boy name Harry, Harriet means “home ruler.” This baby name has flourished across the United States thanks to former American abolitionist Harriet Tubman.