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The elf woke up and
rubbed his eyes, wondering where he was. His surroundings were bright, unlike
the darkness within the belly of the ship, and he heard the sounds of birds,
tigers, and rustling leaves, unlike the creaking of the wooden ship. For a
moment, he was not aware of where he was, but when he saw an elf walking down
the path in a red robe, he remembered. Eversong Woods. He had bypassed
Silvermoon early in the morning, avoiding contact with anyone, and headed
straight to the forest, where he found a comfortable bed among the green grass
and at the foot of a tall, ancient tree.
Once he realized where
he was, he rose off the ground and ran his hands through his dark, short hair.
It was messy. He knew it. He didn’t care. He removed his worn out brown boots
and rubbed his moist feet against the grass. A bath sounded like a good idea,
but he wasn’t sure if that’s what he wanted to do first. He really wanted to
see his brother before he went out and did his own thing.
“It’s early,” he said
to himself. “That means that he’s probably out doing physical training, unless
Father has taken him out for breakfast.” The elf looked around the tree and
noticed that the Farstrider building was in his view. No one was out, so
perhaps it wasn’t that early. “Where are you?” The idea of going home was not
settling with his stomach, but he realized that it might be the surest place he
could go to if he was searching for his brother. He slipped his boots back on
and shook the grass off his pants. He secured his daggers on his belt and took
a deep breath. He was about to head to Silvermoon.
As he walked, he
recalled his Father’s final words, “You are dead to us!” The only hope lied in
his brother, who looked terrified as he walked away from his family.
“Don’t go!” his
brother screamed, but their Father held him back with one arm and forced him to
turn back. The elf remembered that moment very clearly and his blood boiled
with rage every time that thought crossed his mind.
That was a year ago.
Ever since he left Silvermoon, the Farstriders, his family, he tried hard to
gather money, primarily by stealing, to find a way to rescue his brother from
their Father.
Their Father was a
Farstrider. In fact, he was a fairly known dedicated member who was proud to
serve his city. His dream was to serve with his sons by his side, which meant
constant training and hard physical demands for the young boys. Kylandril, the
eldest, began training, just as his father expected him to. He woke up every
morning before the sun rose and worked out physically, followed by weapon
training, and ending his day with a detailed history lesson of Silvermoon City.
For several years, Kylandril endured the pain that he was put through, but when
his brother Syndril began his training, Kylandril noticed the cruelty that his
Father had put him through when he first began. Hits fell upon his head, chest,
and back if a move wasn’t done right. Every low, degrading name that was
available was called out. No dinner. No sleep. Nothing, because they were failures.
Kylandril couldn’t
take it anymore. “We have to get out of here,” he whispered to his brother one
late night after training for hours. He moved his long dark hair away and
turned to the side, hoping to find his brother in the darkness in front of him.
“Where would we go to?
Father would find us in an instant,” Syndril whispered. He lay in bed, staring
up at the darkness.
“We can go anywhere!
Come on! Let’s do it!” The enthusiasm in Kylandril’s voice carried over to his
brother, who smiled silently.
“We can’t, Kyl.” The
younger brother sighed and pulled the sheet over his shoulders. “We’re stuck
here. We’re going to be Farstriders, and we will be like Father.
Kylandril sat up, his
long hair slipping down his back. “No, I won’t let him treat you the way he’s
treated me. We’re going to go away, Syn. I promise.” The younger brother no
longer replied and Kylandril slipped back under the covers, smiling at nothing
in particular except his own ideas. “We’re going to escape this life, brother.”
A few hours later,
right before daybreak, a hand shook Syndril’s shoulder. Syndril immediately sat
up and said, “I apologize, Sir! I’m up now!”
“Syn, it’s me.”
“Kyl? Is Father here?”
“No. I packed our
things. We’re leaving. Come on!”
“But, Father?”
“He’s not here. Let’s
go before he decides he wants to do early training.” Kylandril and Syndril
snuck out of their rooms and ran toward the doorway. Barefoot, they both began
to run across the courtyard. Kylandril could taste freedom as he approached the
courtyard gate. It was then that he stopped running and his eyes widened.
“Kyl! Stop!” Syndril
shouted as soon as he saw the tall elf with long dark hair.
“Where are you two
going?”
Kyl looked up at his
father and furrowed his brows, “Away from you and all the shit you put us through!
We hate being Farstriders! Hate it!” His mother ran out of the home in a golden
robe and grabbed Syndril’s shoulders. Kyl turned to look at his mother and
didn’t notice when his Father’s hand flying toward his cheek. The slap made
everyone, except Father, gasp. “Mother! You see what I mean?
His mother said
nothing and simply looked away, holding her son back. Syndril was tired of
fighting back tears. However, neither did anything.
“You ungrateful
thing!” shouted Father and proceeded to kick Kyl ‘s abdomen.
“Mother, help!”
Kylandril whimpered as he continued to get kicked, but their mother only looked
away and cried.
“I gave you everything
and this is how you repay me? Get out. You are no longer my son.”
Kylandril rose off the
floor and spit at his father’s feet. He turned to Syndril. “Don’t worry
brother. I’ll get you away from this madness.” He limped away, crouched over
and holding his abdomen.
As he left, Syndril
tried to run after his brother. “Wait! Kyl! Wait!” But his father grabbed him
and blocked him from leaving
“Let him go. He is
dead to us.” He turned around and watched his son walk away. “You are dead to
us!”
The elf hid behind a
large planter, watching the movement in the Bazaar. He had found the one he was
looking for. Quietly, he covered his head with a large hat and walked down the
road, zigzagging through elves until he got close enough to the one he was
following.
The elf saw him,
standing in a gold and green outfit and a large cloak resting upon his
shoulders. His hair was longer, almost down to his waist, and it was starting
to resemble his father, except, there was a frown on his face, which seemed
displaced in comparison to the way his attire presented him. The elf shuffled
his way over to the well-dressed elf and when the latter turned to see who was
behind him, his eyes lit up, yet he spoke no words.
“Syn, it’s me. Kyl.”
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