Heir to the Stars

Night had fallen, and the feast stretched across the heart of Nólemundë. Lanterns of crystal light hung from branches, their glow soft and steady, casting warm halos across balconies of silvered wood. Bright enough to warm the eyes, dim enough to leave no shadows—just enough to make the hidden realm shimmer with life.

At the center stood a raised pedestal, a long table upon it facing the gathered crowd. That was where the party sat, so that all could see them.

Gorran was more joyful than anyone had ever seen him, roaring with laughter, drinking deeply, his face alight with pride.

The twins flitted around Maeryn like butterflies, tending to her, refusing to leave her side.

Alvis turned his gaze from one arch to another, drinking in the sight of elven craft and the people themselves with quiet fascination.

Ardent sat at the far end, lost in thought, though the faint curve of a smile lingered at his lips.

And at the center of it all sat Caliondur, his son Rúmilion at his right, and Kazuki with Zephyr at his left—placed as honored guests of the realm.

It was Ardent who broke the silence at the table. "Tell me, lord Caliondur… how have you lived here so long without leaving? To stay in one place for thousands of years would drive most men to madness."

Caliondur's expression was calm, his voice unshaken. "Our kind lives close to immortality. We do not feel the passage of time as mortals do. Centuries drift by like seasons."

Kazuki and Zephyr exchanged a glance at that, then broke into soft giggles, the words stirring something familiar between them.

Alvis leaned forward, curiosity gleaming in his eyes. "And this place… this sanctuary in the midst of such cursed lands, reeking of darkness. How was it built?"

For a moment, Caliondur lowered his gaze, as though the weight of memory pressed upon him. Then he lifted his head.

"You came here searching for a tomb. If you would have answers… then why don't we have this conversation as I take you to it."

He rose to his feet. At once, the others stood with him.

As they left the feast, the gathered elves bowed low, parting before them in reverent silence. Step by step, the party followed Caliondur and his son, lantern-light fading behind them as they were led toward the tomb.

Caliondur's voice carried softly through the dungeon.

"I was but a child when it began. One night, all our crops withered and vanished. By the next, the trees themselves blackened and died. Our people stood in shock, unable to understand how such ruin could fall upon us so swiftly. Food dwindled. Hunger gnawed at every belly. We were on the brink of starvation…

Then, a figure appeared—cloaked in shadow. Its face we could not see, yet it carried food in its hands. It told us that humans had stolen our harvest, had poisoned our lands.

My father refused the offering, cautious of a stranger who came in our hour of despair, brearing aid so easily. 'Food vanishes, the land dies, and suddenly you appear with gifts?' he said. 'No one of good will hides beneath such a cloak.'

But the king silenced him. 'Do not judge a book by its cover,' he said, and before all he took a bite of the food. He smiled. 'See? It is safe. I am well.'

And so, the people gave in.

But soon, changes came. Slowly, our people's hair turned pale as snow. Their eyes bled red, glowing like the setting sun.

The figure, now close to the king, whispered, 'It is the humans. They cursed you; they seek to end you.'

The king believed. He gave the order for war. And thus, the war began.

Those of us who had refused the food, weakened and starving, fled to human lands. It was there we first saw him—the hero sent by the Gods. He shone with light unlike any before. We named him Elendir, Heir to the Stars—the first in history to bear the affinity of light.

The war was long and cruel, but through Elendir the humans prevailed. Yet when the cloaked figure stood before him, he did not strike it down. He spared it. 'The war is over,' he said, and ordered the humans to retreat. 'Any who refuse will face me instead.'

My father confronted him. 'Elendir, are you mad? Why not destroy this creature?' But the figure vanished into shadow, swift as it had come. And the curse upon our land remained.

Elendir, burdened with regret, cast this barrier, protecting what little was left, and gave us supplies to rebuild and survive, long enough to see the fruits of our labour. Years later, he returned once more, alone. It was then, with his light, that he shaped this dungeon into what you now see.

Lastly, he built the tomb. He allowed no one within, locking himself away with words of farewell. 'Forgive me,' he said to my father, 'for sparing the cloaked one.' Then he sealed the door, which would answer to no one. There he remained… until his end."

"And now, after an eternity, it seems fate has sent you to open what we could not."

Zephyr stepped forward, her voice edged with disbelief. "But… why would your people believe the figure's lie? Humans had no reason to destroy you."

Caliondur was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, it was with sorrow.

"I once asked my father the same. He told me of a tale from before my birth. The king's daughter loved by a human man who secretly lived in these lands. When her father discovered it, he ordered the man to be captured and burned alive. She begged for mercy… but none was given. Soon after, she vanished into the woods. The king grew mad in search for his daughter. Those who knew this tale other than my father, who consumed the cloaked one's food, became what we now call the Fallen. You know them as demons."

Alvis's brow furrowed. "And your father?"

Caliondur's gaze darkened. "He never returned from his search for the cloaked figure."

The party walked on in silence, the echo of his words weighing on them. Then, before them loomed a towering stone door, vast and unyielding.

Caliondur lifted a hand toward it.

"This… is the tomb of Elendir."

Kazuki stepped forward. He pressed his palm, imbued with light, against the cold stone, and at his touch, a faint glow spread on the door.

Light seeped into the carvings, racing through veins etched deep in the door. The entire surface shimmered.

With a grinding roar, the massive doors trembled. Dust poured down, filling the air.

Slowly, the tomb of Elendir opened before them.

Inside, the chamber stretched wide, its silence unbroken for countless ages.

Upon a raised stone seat sat the remains of a man. His bones, cloaked in the tattered rags of once-noble garments. In his withered grip rested a small box—sealed and ancient.

Behind him, stone statues loomed, carved with such precision they seemed almost alive—guardians watching still, frozen in eternal vigil.

And upon the wall, driven deep into the stone as though the very earth had been pierced, jutted the hilt of a sword. Its blade was hidden within the wall itself.

The walls were covered in writing—lines upon lines of inscriptions, runes, and prayers.

What lay before them was no resting place, but a mystery carved in bone and stone.