Everything happened in a flash. Darken didn't even have a moment to explain himself. The elves present were burning with rage—utterly unwilling to hear any justification. Even if they had listened, their reaction would've been disbelief. In this situation, Darken was already condemned—as the perpetrator and the only one to blame.
A thick cloth was tied tightly over his eyes, blinding him completely. From the brief glimpse he caught before darkness swallowed his sight, the fabric was dark—like the bark of ancient trees. Its texture was unpleasant, as if filled with tiny thorns that pressed into his skin—not enough to pierce it, but enough to leave behind a lingering, prickling discomfort.
His hands were bound behind his back with thick ropes. He couldn't tell what material they were made of, but he assumed they were of the same type always used when he was dragged to the torture chamber—for Jabelin's twisted amusement. His arms had been pulled back harshly before being tied, placing him in a position that painfully reminded him of darker days... days that remained a black stain on his past.
Despite everything, Darken didn't resist. He didn't try to run or defend himself. He knew full well that everything was against him. In the few seconds before they seized him, he had already concluded that the odds of anyone believing his words were nearly nonexistent. The poor elf girl had been found lying unconscious in the forest—and he was standing next to her, wearing nothing but the tattered trousers that were all that remained of his life as a slave under Jabelin's control.
' I can't do anything right now... One wrong move, and the accusation of assaulting that elf will stick to me forever.'
' Now that I can think clearly and without panic, I need to make the most of it. I don't have much to act on... but there's a chance.'
' A chance to get out of this without looking like the culprit. If I manage that...'
His thoughts drifted like a leaf floating calmly along the surface of a river—until a sudden shove from behind pulled him back into the moment. Of course, Darken was being taken somewhere, but no one had told him where. Still, he wasn't foolish enough to remain clueless.
' They're probably taking me to their homeland... their hidden domain.'
' That must be why they covered my eyes—to stop me from memorizing the path. Maybe they think I'm a spy sent from the human world to find their location...'
These thoughts remained locked inside his mind. He wasn't allowed to speak during the journey, and the only thing his eyes could see was the darkness imposed by the blindfold, tied with firm tension.
But his ears... they worked just fine. He could hear the elves speaking. Their voices were smooth and elegant. Even when they held a touch of roughness, it wasn't the kind that inspired fear—just enough to identify their gender.
From their voices, Darken could count them—six Elf's in total. Two walked at his sides, their steps nearly soundless, as if they floated above the ground. One followed behind, and the rest walked ahead. He listened closely to their limited conversation.
— "Commander, it looks like Lady Eryl has suffered greatly. There are many bruises on her body..." one of them said, his voice filled with tension and concern.
The reply came in a firm and composed tone—restrained, yet laced with seething anger:
— "That damn human... it's as if he was raised like a beast. If Lord Azriv hadn't ordered us to bring him back alive, I would've killed him the moment I saw him."
Another voice chimed in, softer but no less serious:
— "Still... I must admit. Despite everything, Lady Eryl clings to life with such strength. She truly is her father's daughter."
' So, her name is Eryl... the poor thing. I want to dig up Carl's grave and desecrate that bastard's corpse but—ugh. No, I need to stay calm.'
He scolded himself mentally, brushing aside his boiling frustration, only for another elf to speak, his voice different from the first two—more cautious, almost analytical.
— "Commander... there's something strange about this man. I can feel magic resonating from his body. It's pure... very much like our elven magic."
Then, the one called "Commander" raised his voice—a harsher, angrier tone erupting from deep within:
— "THAT MEANS NOTHING! Evil doesn't vanish under a robe of purity. Hiding behind masks and cloaks is the easiest trick in existence."
He let out a frustrated sigh before continuing:
— "Humans... they've always been the same. Once their animalistic lust takes hold, they'll do anything to satisfy it—even if it means hurting others. They are, simply put... a vile race. Selfish creatures, driven by hunger."
Darken pondered his words. There was truth in them. Selfishness... lust... the insatiable need to satisfy oneself regardless of consequences. He knew all about that.
He had lived it.
He had survived under the mercy of a man who embodied those ideas: Jabelin. The masked merchant who almost destroyed him... but fate had something else in mind.
' Jabelin... even when I read carl's diary, his name haunted me. Even now...'
' The vilest man I've ever known. I don't know how many times I'll say it... but I will have my revenge. I just need to get through this first. Then I'll walk the path. And when the time comes... my vengeance won't be mindless—it will be perfect.'
Darken continued walking. Time passed—maybe quickly, maybe slowly. He wasn't sure. His mind was occupied with the voices of the elves... and memories he didn't want but couldn't escape.
Then something shifted.
The air became lighter... fresher... as though the weight of existence lifted slightly from his shoulders. His body eased. He felt something he hadn't felt in a long time.
Peace.
Even the grass beneath his bare feet had changed—softer... kinder.
It startled him so much, he muttered without thinking:
— "Where... exactly am I?"
The answer came in the form of a sudden strike to the neck. He didn't need to guess who it was—the elf behind him delivered the blow and shouted with fury:
— "DID I NOT TELL YOU TO STAY SILENT, YOU CURSED ?!"
Darken scowled at the insult, grinding his teeth as his thoughts surged.
' The cursed ? Is there no moment I'm free of thinking about that bastard Jabelin?! Damn it! '
His rage was obvious—even the elves could feel it, tensing up instinctively. But Darken calmed himself with effort, took a deep breath, and continued walking.
Minutes passed.
And then... new sounds began to seep into his awareness—songs, sung in an unknown language, but beautiful beyond words. For a moment, Darken felt like he had entered a sanctuary for broken souls.
' Maybe... I feel that way because I'm one of them. A broken soul.'
Soon, the ground under his feet turned rough. No longer grass, but twigs and branches. Then, it changed again—smooth stone replaced the roughness.
' Fresh air, soft grass, gentle singing, and now... clean stone beneath my feet.'
' My instincts were right. I've entered the elven lands.'
At that moment, he felt hands move behind his head. They began to loosen the blindfold. And suddenly—light rushed into his eyes.
He squinted, adjusting slowly. Then... he saw it.
' This is... truly stunning...'
What lay before him was a forest paradise. Homes intertwined with trees, others carved gently into the stone of the land. Flowers bloomed across vines. Birds chirped in harmony with the distant singing. It was like a vision out of a legend.
Darken turned his head to see who surrounded him. On either side stood two elves with near-identical features—young, handsome, with white-blonde hair. But two figures stood out.
One was leading the procession toward a stone structure, simple but elegant in design.
The other... was Lady Eryl, lying unconscious on a floating mat, suspended mid-air by magic alone.
' That's her...'
' The light here... it's purer. It makes her beauty shine, even in this state.'
' And I... I feel ashamed that I ever doubted her, even for a second.'
His expression held regret, but regret would not change his fate. He was being led toward judgment. That much was clear. The arranged space, the crimson carpet beneath his feet, the crowd separated by wooden barricades... it was not just a trial.
It was the royal court.
'I doubt they'll not give me a chance... Not with all these eyes staring, eyes that wish to see my head on a pike.:
' Still... I have to find a way. There's no other choice.'
He stopped walking. Now, he stood before four individuals, seated on thrones crafted from what looked like interwoven tree branches—four out of five seats were occupied.
On the left side, a woman wore a silk gown adorned with golden threads. Atop her head sat a crown of soft branches intertwined with wildflowers. Beside her, a younger elf woman with short hair and sharp eyes sat gracefully in a short silk dress that revealed her slender legs—hers too was decorated with golden accents, matching the elder woman beside her.
On the opposite side of the hall, two more thrones stood. One of them was occupied by a young male elf with long hair tied neatly back. His features were handsome, but cold—there was a quiet cruelty in his gaze, as if his eyes alone could devour. To his right sat an empty chair. To his left sat the king.
The King of the Elves.
An elderly man wearing a crown made from white branches, at the center of which shimmered a luminous green gem. Though not of massive build, he exuded strength—not the kind measured in muscle, but in presence. One could not look at him and think "weak."
Darken understood immediately: this was not a trial room.
This was the royal court. And the man seated before him was none other than the King of this pure land.
All gazes alternated between Earl's unconscious body floating on a levitating mat... and Darken's still figure.
Then the king's voice echoed through the chamber—deep, steady, and rich with the weight of many years.
"Commander Toril," he said. "In my name, as the King of this sacred land, I thank you for your service. You have completed your duty with loyalty, and your efforts are worthy of praise."
Toril, the commander standing before Darken, immediately knelt on one knee, lowering his head in respect. His voice carried both humility and sorrow:
"I do not deserve your thanks, Your Majesty... I could not return Princess Eryl to you in the radiant state she once was."
But his voice sharpened as he continued:
"However, I have brought you the one responsible for her current condition. I place him before you now... so that you may pass your judgment and deliver absolute justice."
The king hummed lowly, his eyes fixed on Eryl's frail body. His gaze burned with sorrow, pain... and wrath. She was his daughter—his daughter who had been subjected to something vile, something unforgivable.
The queen, the young elf beside her, and the male elf next to the king all descended from their thrones. They approached Eryl, who had been floated slightly forward, now resting five steps from where the king sat.
"Eryl... my sweet Eryl... open your eyes, darling..." The queen's voice trembled as she caressed her daughter's cheek, barely holding herself together.
"Sister... sister..." whispered the young elf girl, clutching Eryl's limp hand, her tears barely held at bay.
"I warned you about the outside world... Those filthy humans... They almost took my daughter from me forever!" cried the queen, unable to contain her sorrow anymore. She collapsed over her daughter, sobbing, clinging to her as if afraid she'd vanish.
The audience looked on with heavy hearts. Their faces were weighed with sorrow and burning with the desire for revenge.
Darken remained silent. His eyes half-closed, thoughts swirling violently as he watched a mother cradle her child in a way he had never known.
'Iwonder... could I have ever had something like that? If only... my life had— '
But his thoughts were cut short.
The young elf man stood before him now, fury blazing in his eyes.
"You! Human!" he shouted. "How dare you do this to her?! Didn't she beg you? Didn't she plead for mercy?!"
He drew the dagger from his belt and pressed it against Darken's throat, sharp and unflinching.
"Answer me! Why did you do this to my sister Eryl?!"
His voice erupted with rage, the blade inching closer to piercing Darken's neck.
Darken examined his words, weighing his reply carefully. Then, he remembered something from Carl's diary—something worth saying.
In a low, calm voice, he spoke:
"Yes…"
"Huh?!" the elf boy flinched, startled by Darken's sudden response.
"She begged… asked for mercy… cried, screamed… swore by everything she held sacred… Just so she could escape the hell she was trapped in. But there was no answer. No one heard. She had to endure it all... until she collapsed in that forest."
His tone was quiet, but everyone in the hall heard him. His voice didn't sound human—there was something deeper, purer, as if something ancient had spoken through him.
"You… you dare say that aloud?!" roared the elf, lunging with the blade.
"Stand down, Azreth!" the king's voice thundered through the court like a windstorm, halting the young elf in his tracks.
The king stepped forward, composed but stern, and asked, "What is your name, human?"
Darken looked straight into his eyes. He knew he was being given a chance.
With a simple motion, he pulled his hands forward. The ropes that bound him fell to the ground like withered vines.
He rubbed his wrist and calmly replied, "Call me Darken. My name ... is Darken."
"And I... am not the one you're looking for, King of the Elves Lands."
Silence.
Those who had brought him here stood in disbelief. They had tied him securely—how had he freed himself?
But what shocked them more... were his words.
Murmurs of outrage rippled through the crowd. Fury lit the faces of many.
Yet the king did not speak. He remained still, his eyes locked on Darken—as if trying to peer into the truth behind his declaration.