The rain whispered upon the dark elven village of Thalas'Zir like a lullaby from the stars. The air was heavy with mist, yet something deeper pulsed beneath it—truth buried under centuries of shadow. As the night embraced the forest canopy, Thayrion stood at the edge of the stone path, gauntlet pulsing faintly with a blood-hued glow. Something stirred.
The Dark Elf Seer, cloaked in a shawl of raven feathers, stepped from the shadows. Her eyes were clouded with visions not of this world.
> "Two among you are cursed. Not by folly... but by an unseen hand that walks still within these woods."
She turned toward the ancient oak that stood in the village’s heart, where Liraen and Faelar, two of the expedition elves, lay still and pale. Black veins slithered under their skin.
> "There is but one who can unbind such a curse—Aewen, the last Druid of the Swamp. Call his name aloud beyond the Deadroots, and he will find you. But beware... he remembers the blood of kings."
At dawn, Thayrion, Kaylen, and Kaylean gathered beside the old well of Thalas'Zir. The dwarf Baelor Stonereach, master of forgotten forgecraft, approached with a half-burned scroll in hand.
> "Beneath this village lies a hidden library," he grunted. "Sealed in the bones of the first dungeon. If ye want the truth of that cursed armor... that’s where it begins."
The three descended deep into the earth, where crypts and broken tomes slept in silence. There, Thayrion saw a sigil—his family’s crest scorched into the vault’s center.
The House of Velhyrran. Blood-royalty of the now-buried kingdom: Thalor’Vandor.
In that moment, silence became clarity. The armor was not just cursed—it was forged to bind a wrathful bloodline.
> "It cannot be completed," Baelor said grimly. "The Deer of Lake was slain by the Blood Ogre. The Phoenix devoured by the Serpent of Dread. But... there is another way. I can reforge it anew—with your blood... and the Rune of Lumenya held by the Elven Queen."
The journey to the Velthalas Highlands began the next night.
They passed through the Venomous Swamps, where the air was poison and the water whispered lies. Roots moved. Eyes watched.
There, beneath a weeping willow, a voice echoed.
> "You who wear the blood of Velhyrran... come no closer."
Aewen, the Druid, emerged—neither fully man nor tree. His body was entwined with vines, his beard moss-laced, and his limbs bark-carved.
He summoned rangers from the woods, twisted by grief, ready to slay Thayrion.
> "You carry the blood that broke the bond between land and sky!"
But Kaylen, ever the diplomat, stepped forward.
> "He is not the tyrant. He is the remedy."
Thayrion lowered his blade and bared his soul.
Aewen paused. For a breath, the swamp went still. Then... he nodded.
> "I will test you no more. But I am fading. Let me do this one last act."
He healed Liraen and Faelar with a sacred rune carved from living wood. Light shimmered over their cursed skin.
Then, as the sky thundered, he led them to the edge of the deepest mire.
There, he plucked a dying leaf and whispered:
> "Leth’mira sylharn en doraviel..."
The leaf twisted into a boat woven of vines and magic—gliding across poison untouched.
> "This was the spell of our first crossing. Take it. And remember us."
As they boarded, Aewen fell to his knees. Roots entwined his body.
> "I go to slumber... as Sylwen’tar, the Tree That Remembers. "
Days passed. The swamp gave way to crystal winds.
At the foot of the Velthalas Highlands, a squadron of High Elves awaited. Their banners shimmered like dawnfire.
> "The Queen foresaw your coming. She has prepared the chamber."
They were escorted through silver paths, moonlit gardens, and a throne carved from starlight.
The Elven Queen—Elmyrathiel of Elyndor—rose.
> "Child of Velhyrran. The Rune awaits. But so does your past. Rest now. For your next step shall awaken a kingdom long lost..."
And beneath the quiet cottage Thayrion once called home... the echoes of Thalor’Vandor stirred once more.
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