The world around Amanda shifted in a heartbeat. The guild's noise, the flicker of torches, the warm scent of oak and steel. Gone.
Silence greeted her instead. Whispering winds. The soft rustle of leaves.
She inhaled, and the forest welcomed her like a long-forgotten song.
Tall, ancient trees towered above, their silver leaves shimmering as they danced in the filtered light. Patches of sunlight dappled the forest floor, where moss grew thick and cool underfoot. The air was floral, touched with dew and the faint scent of something older, magic, maybe.
Elderglade.
Her home.
A memory wrapped in living color.
Amanda stood still for a moment, letting it all sink in. This place had once been her whole world. Its traditions, its weight, its wonder. She could almost hear the laughter.
Her own, Lilia's, Halodor's, echoing faintly between the trees. The three of them had burned so brightly back then. Stars in a sky they thought belonged to them.
But the girl she was back then didn't exist anymore.
A soft, broken sob cut through the hush. Amanda turned.
Lilia stood a few feet away, hunched and trembling, hands covering her face as silent tears streamed between her fingers. No audience. No performance. Just regret, raw and small.
Amanda moved without thinking. She knelt beside her and pulled her close.
"I'm here," she murmured. "It's okay. I'll talk to them. I'm not staying, but I'll make them understand."
Lilia clung to her like she might vanish again. "I didn't want to do this," she said, her voice cracking between breaths. "They said it was the only way to bring you home… I thought I was helping you." Her words faltered. "Helping everyone."
Amanda gently brushed a strand of silver hair away from her face. "I know you meant well," she said. "But this path, it has to be ours, not theirs. We've changed. And that's not something to apologize for."
Lilia let out a long, shaking breath, as if a weight had been peeled from her chest. They sat there together, beneath the ancient canopy, the breeze threading between their shoulders.
Just two girls again. For a little while.
Then—
"Wise words, young Amanda."
The voice rolled from the trees, deep and slow, like roots shifting in soil. Amanda rose to her feet instinctively, every muscle knowing the speaker before her mind caught up.
She turned.
From the shadows, an elf stepped into the light. Tall, robed in white that shimmered faintly with runes stitched by hand and spell. His long, snow-white hair reached past his waist. His face bore no expression but wore the lines of centuries. His eyes. Sharp, but weary, held something deeper than command. Understanding.
Amanda bowed instantly, one knee touching moss.
"Spirit Elder," she said. The name tasted like another lifetime.
He chuckled softly. The sound was warm, like old leaves underfoot. "No need for that, child. Rise. Speak to me as you once did."
She stood slowly, cautiously. Her eyes scanned the clearing, they were alone.
He caught the glance. "I asked for privacy. This talk is not for the ears of the council. It's just you and me now."
Amanda let her shoulders relax slightly. "Then I'll speak plainly," she said. "I'm not staying. I respect the clan. I respect you. But my place is out there now. I've made my choice."
"I know," the elder said, his gaze never leaving hers. "And we honor that choice. You were never forced. We only wished to understand."
His sincerity disarmed her. She nodded. "Thank you. That means more than you know."
"You've grown," he said softly. "Not just in power, but in presence. In clarity." He paused. "And yet, clarity doesn't always make decisions easier."
Amanda gave a dry smile. "No. It doesn't."
Then he glanced at Lilia. Her shoulders were tensing again, the flood of emotion rising fast. Before Amanda could say a word, the elder lifted a hand. A soft shimmer bloomed around Lilia like moonlight on still water.
Amanda watched as Lilia's eyelids fluttered. Her breath slowed. She slumped gently to the side, deep asleep.
"I mean no offense," the elder said quietly. "But I wanted this moment to be free from fear. Her heart is too loud right now."
Amanda didn't argue. She knelt beside her friend, adjusted her cloak around her, and whispered, "Rest. I've got this." Then stood again.
The elder studied her in silence. The next words came slower.
"We brought you here not to beg your return," he said at last, "but to offer something we've never offered before."
Amanda raised an eyebrow, already wary.
"We would like you to try, if you are willing, to take up the mantle of leadership—to become our clan's queen."
Her breath caught.
He didn't repeat himself. He didn't need to.
The words slammed into her harder than any spell could. Her first instinct was to laugh, or shout, or turn and walk away. But she didn't. She just stood there, blinking. Trying to find air.
Her eyes drifted past him. And then she saw it.
The throne.
Woven from Elderweave wood. Vines carved like veins. Flowers that pulsed faintly with life and light. A seat built by time and tradition. Waiting.
Amanda's hands curled into fists.
She remembered it. How many times she'd stared at it growing up. How many times it had stared back.