And so the first-born child of the House of Tynara shall be of woman. And she shall have the fairies' blessing. They will grant her the gifts of magic, and she will have the heart of a warrior, but the wisdom to not concede to her desires. And she shall wed the First Son of the House of Reyewa and rule over the elven people.

Book of Earoni 78:90

In her hand, the Silver Steel blade caught the few rays of early morning leaking through the forest's canopy. It was lighter than any sword she had held of its size. Compared to the practice swords she used in her matches against Gregory, this one was as light as a feather. She could not help but marvel at the craftsmanship, the runes along its length shimmering like water in a stream.

With a swipe at an imaginary foe, Sheala's ears once more caught the low whistling sound as the edge of the blade sliced through the air. She'd purposefully gotten up early. Even despite the late night from the prior evening's dinner where she'd eaten too much. Her stomach still felt full so she had foregone any breakfast.

This morning she had broken with her nauseating routine of the previous few weeks. That routine had consisted of putting on one of the fine dresses her uncle had sent with her and then pretending to be some proper lady that she could never hope to become. The words Tranas Tynara had spoke last evening had stuck with her and swam around in her mind.

"The Child of the Storm is not as she appears to you," he had told Ittan, First Son of the House of Reyewa. And she couldn't have agreed more.

Thankful someone else had noticed the unease roiling inside her, just before dawn she chose to slip into her more accustomed and well-worn clothes. Disappearing into the woods, Sheala wanted some time to herself and for a little sword practice. Besides, she would be back before anyone missed her.

During dinner, she had overheard the elf she knew only as Esse whisper to the Ava El'brim about Imperial patrols in the vicinity of the Elven Kingdom's southern borders. Part of Sheala wanted to go head south right then and there and and find some live targets.

As Sheala played with her sword, trying to imagine the movements of her nonexistent adversary, there was something that seemed to niggle at the back of her mind. Almost as if by just holding this weapon she knew what to do with it. She found it curious and had asked about it several times. But none appeared willing or able to answer her questions beyond the most basic. Not even Hewre, the elven woman who forged the weapon and whom Sayra had introduced her to at dinner, had any information beyond some vague concept of, "the sword was made for her". Sheala chalked it up to a mystery, but one she vowed to solve. Seemed that there was always a conundrum to clarify regarding her life, so why should this be any different?

The blade drawn up in front of her face and bisecting her vision, she paused, each of her green eyes staring down whatever was on each side of the edge. She visited her frustrations on a thin, low-hanging branch. There was not even the slightest hint of resistance as the sword cut right through the wood with ease and the leafy appendage of her non-threatening foe fell to the ground.

"Has that tree hurt you?" Sayra's voice startled the former thief. "Is that why you attack it?"

Sheala swung around, glancing around and then up to see the elven woman perched on a high branch. Her blue cape fluttered with the slightest movement. Upon being recognized, Sayra leapt from her perch and vanished, just as she had done when Sheala had first met her. Once more, she reappeared inches off the ground and touched down with the lightest of steps.

The First Daughter retrieved the severed branch. With the care of a mother, the silver-haired elf held it back from where it had come, her hand covering the gash. Sayra uttered a prayer in elven. "Allae fae sha." Then, removing her grip, revealed the wood was whole once again. The elf turned to Sheala still with questioning eyes.

"It's just a tree," the ex-thief explained, using the sword as a crutch to lean on with its tip down in the dirt.

"To you perhaps. But in all living things in nature live the fairies," she countered. "When you hurt the tree, they too hurt and weep. As the First Daughter of the House of Tynara, it is I who they call out to in pain." Several small balls of blue light appeared from the bark and Sayra touched one as it moved about. "All is well," she spoke to the lights, "you have nothing to fear. The Child of the Storm is our friend."

They glimmered and faded back into the bark.

"Great," Sheala huffed. "I guess there goes practice." Resheathing her weapon the catch popped over the crossbar with a click

"I can not believe that you would harm a harmless thing for your benefit," Sayra spoke with a tinge of disgust. "At least not without praying for its forgiveness first. The fairies hide us from the outside world and keep Lord Hedric's forces at bay. We must treat them with respect."

Lord Hedric. The name bit into Sheala's soul. He had caused her father's and mother's death, and she knew that now. She wanted revenge. "Yeah, well I've got a little present for Lord Hedric and I plan on delivering it personally." She clamped her hand on the hilt of her sword.

"That weapon is not meant to be an extension of your hate." The fairies sensed Sheala's anger, and so did Sayra. "You mustn't let passions and rages guide your moves, Child of the Storm."

"I have a name you know," Sheala reminded and sniped at the elf with a sarcastic bite. The name 'Child of the Storm' had really, really, really begun to grind on her nerves.

"Utao nii es Stoam. That is your name to me and my people."

"Well, I won't answer to it any more."

Sayra smiled. "Very well then. Ambassador Stormband. As was requested last night. I am sorry to have offended you."

Sheala nodded with satisfaction. "So, I know why I get to carry a sword, not being elven and all. Same rule as with the food. Right? But how is it you are armed?" She motioned to the weapon hanging once again at the First Daughter's side. The same one she had been seen wearing when they had first met, but conspicuously absent last night. "Anthony said that elven women don't carry weapons. The whole protectors of life thing."

"My beloved insists that I protect myself. It is not something that the Ava El'brim approves of, however." She drew the razor thin blade out. It was also made of the same silvery metal as Sheala's sword. "But, because Ittan is to be my husband? And it is his council that I will keep? Then my mother must abide by his wishes. Even if she finds it distasteful. Other than Hewre, I am the only elven woman you will see bearing a weapon."

"You shouldn't need a man's permission."

"It is not like your world here. As you have noted, elven women nurture and preserve life. We are not meant to take it away."

Just the way Sayra pondered the edge before her told Sheala something. "But you have? Haven't you?"

"Even within our borders, even with the fairies to protect us, these woods are not completely safe." Her eyes closed in a lamentation of that truth, The First Daughter returned her weapon to its home. The metal of the hilt fit snuggly into the wooden sheath. A cry came into her mind and her eyes flew open wide. Through the fairies she had witnessed black forms attacking the man she loved. "Ittan!"

"What is it!" Sheala brought her sword to the ready.

Sayra ignored her. Whipping her cloak about her form, the elf vanished out of sight.

In the distance, Sheala heard the sounds of steel on steel.

Sayra could not wait. Especially not for a human who did not understand how to use the powers the medallion she wore would allow her to access. Time was of the essence. The hazy blue of the fairy realm surrounded the First Daughter and Sayra knew the fairies were about her, but she had her focus on getting to Ittan. And only that.

Her feet moved quicker than in the mortal world as small beings of light flittered past. The jaunt through the alternate reality was brief, time and space compressing minutes into seconds. Relinquishing her control, the haze opened before her, presenting before her a portal back to her home on the other side.

Sayra emerged, dropping into a crouch on the large root of the great tree where she had given Sheala her sword the night before. The area was scattered with the unmoving bodies of dead elves. So many dead elves.

Now, a dozen forms, distinctly elven but their skin pale and ghoulish, collapsed on the position held by five members of the House of Reyewa who remained standing. Ittan was among them, and from their defensive circle they prepared for an assault by their armed foes.

One elf standing with the First Son blared a horn in alarm. Meanwhile, Ittan and the others blocked blow after blow from swords with their own weapons.

"Ittan!" Sayra called, leaping to the ground, sword drawn. She ran down one of the attackers.

Her blue cape trailing behind her, her weapon bit deep into the belly of her target, catching him off guard and spilling dark red blood over the ground. The fairies wept, and the First Daughter begged for their forgiveness.

"Sayra, get out of here!" Ittan's warning in elvish came too late. Three more of the pale elves materialized out of the air to surround his beloved. The ones attacking Ittan and the others pressed their assault even harder. Again the signal horn blared.

Sayra braced herself against a powerful blow, holding her ground, knowing how to fight and no doubt shocking the marauders. Separating herself from the attackers, her eyes absorbed the information available to her, considering her situation. Silver hair danced about her face with every turn of her head. Her sword up in front of her she recited the words of a spell. "I call on the will and force of the skies!" A glow consumed her blade.

When one of the pale elves lunged for her, she slashed the weapon through the air, discharging a bolt of energy to sear the body and hurl it back twenty feet.

Another came at her. Cloak in hand and once more around her, she vanished as the enemy's blade was about to break the fabric. Once more surrounded in blue haze, with one small shuffle Sayra emerged from the fairy realm and behind her enemy. A thrust from her sword pierced her assailant's chest.

The third took a knife from his belt. Sayra lost sight of him just long enough that he could hurl the weapon without fear of a counterattack. It sunk into the back of her shoulder and sent a burning pain flashing through her body. Something unnatural coursed into her viens and weakness crept into her.

"Sayra!" Ittan called as he watched her collapse to one knee, the poison common to their enemy's weapons working swiftly. He rolled to avoid a strike, then slashed another of his attackers across the neck, ending his life. He cut the back of another's knees and then finished him with a clean, crisp downward stroke when the elf could no longer stand. Yet again the warning horn sounded.

Sensing her weakness, Sayra's final opponent ran at her with a blind rage coursing in his eyes. "Salam ek tal a Deratu e Earoni!" was his battle cry in elven... "Death to the First Daughter!"

Sayra crumpled to her knees, watching as he bore down on her. With a force of sheer will, she composed her muddled thoughts and the words to another spell jumped into her mind. "Blessed forest, rise forth!" She held out her fingers, shaking with the effects of toxin seeping into her. Roots from the very trees themselves erupted from the soil and climbed upwards to encase her enemy in a prison of wooden bars. "Now return to the earth." She turned her hand to a fist, and the cage collapsed inward, crushing the elf with a sickening crunch of bone.

Ittan's legs carried him with swiftness to Sayra's side, his comrades vanquishing the remaining dark elves only played as background noise in his ears. As was the soothing relief of the sound of fifty more elven warriors arriving at their position. They'd used the fairy realm to traverse the distance to assist them, just as Sayra had done, after hearing the horn calling for aid.

Fingers clawing for the dagger in her shoulder, Sayra could not reach it. Ittan seized it for her and, without word nor warning, wrenched it free. Fire burned in the wound and the medallion she wore turn hot as the Greater Goddess fought to protect her from its effects.

Sayra collapsed into his arms, shivering and feeling began to leave her limbs. Her eyesight dimmed.

"Sayra," Ittan whispered. "Hang on." He grabbed the necklace. "Earoni, here my prayers. I give Sayra a portion of my life so she may live-"

Sayra ripped the charm from his hand with her remaining strength with a vacant stare. "No," she mumbled in a quiet voice. The heat from the sacred object continued to grow and Sayra clenched her eyes shut, feeling a presence surround her. She cried out as her body tensed and pain returned to her extremities. The misery of the poison purging itself from her was nearly worse than death itself.

A crashing from the woods drew Ittan's alert attention, but he relaxed realizing it was only Sheala fumbling out of the brush and hacking at the plants in her path. She stopped and took in the scene of bodies including those of pale-skinned elves laying about and Ittan picking up Sayra in his arms.

His beloved was no longer so cold, but her lips were a purplish blue. She tried to stand on her own. "Sayra," Ittan whispered. "I told you not to. Why?"

"They could have slaughtered you Ittan, my Most Cherished. I could not let them hurt you." She reached up and touched the side of his face.

"You could have been killed," Ittan reminded. "You are too important to be lost for something so foolish. Reinforcements were on their way."

"The Greater Goddess has given me her blessing. As long as I have that, I am without fear."

"No, you must be more careful. Even the powers of Earoni have their limits. As my mother learned well."

Sheala picked her way across the battlefield, stopping for a second next to the unnatural clump of roots and the pool of bloody grass surrounding it. "What happened?"

Ittan pulled Sayra close, and she accepted his embrace. He stared at Sheala and the blade of Silver Steel in her hand. "Ven al," he responded coldly, then switched from elvish to common. "Dark elves. Minions of Lord Hedric. They are the House of Iilas, and turned against the Council of Houses, entering into a vile pact with the last of the Blood Lords in return for power. His demon queen, Noranda gave them that power, or so they thought. In the end? All they became were pawns; pawns used to destroy our people."

"How did they get here?" Sayra asked. "They should not have been able to arrive this deep into the forest without us knowing. There are patrols everywhere."

"The Fairyways."

"What? No, that's not possible. They do not have access to the Fairy Realm. We shut them off."

"You saw it yourself. Obviously," Ittan countered her assumption, "they found a way."

"First Son!" Esse ran up to him, bearing something in his hands.

"What is it, Esse?"

"Look at this." He held up a black pebble on an iron necklace. It glowed red like an ember from a fire and the surrounding air rippled with heat. "It appears to be a Shade Stone."

Ittan narrowed his vision on the thing, as though doing so would allow him to see the cursed object better. "How is that possible? Sayra? Have you sensed any fairies missing?"

His beloved shook her head. "No, I haven't."

"Excuse me." Sheala interrupted, drawing the eyes of all three elves to her. "What's a Shade Stone?"

"A Shade Stone is what remains of a fairy after it is captured by demons and taken down into The Dark. They can't survive there. The evilness of that place consumes them and strips away their being, leaving behind a corrupted remnant of what was once a glorious being of light."

"In theory," Ittan continued, "they are still linked to the fairy realm, however. So anyone that possesses one could access their domain and use it as we do to travel great distances quickly and unimpeded."

"If the House of Rimore has Shade Stones-" Sayra musing trailed off.

"Then we must speak with the Alva El'brim immediately."