The question wasn't pointed at anyone—it was a whisper to himself. Before his eyes stood something so huge, so full of mana, Icariel couldn't comprehend it. He had never seen anything like it. It was the same overwhelming feeling he had when he first awakened his White Sense—but even stronger now, so powerful that it crushed his lungs.
The tree... it was crying mana, endless streams pouring from it into the air.
Icariel staggered. He pressed a hand against his mouth, trying to stop himself from vomiting.
Aelar stepped forward. "That," he said, his voice heavy, "is one part of the Tree of Life."
"What... what is the Tree of Life?" Icariel managed to gasp.
Aelar's gaze grew distant, almost reverent. "Life, Life itself."
Icariel stared at him, completely stunned.
Aelar continued, "The Tree of Life is a source of almost endless magic—pure nature magic. And we elves are its protectors... and its children."
"Children?" Icariel echoed, confused.
"Yes, children," Aelar said gently. "Many races, many greedy beings, have tried to steal the Tree of Life. That is why it was separated into three parts—to protect it... and to protect you."
"Me?" Icariel blinked.
"When I say 'you,' I mean your kind—humans. If the Tree were to fall into the wrong hands, disasters beyond imagination could happen." Aelar's voice grew more serious. "The Tree of Life has existed since the very beginning—far before any of us were born."
Icariel listened carefully. Deep down, he understood. It was something ancient... something sacred. And the massive, endless magic he had felt and seen—now he knew why it was so different.
"Don't activate your spirit zone here," Aelar warned suddenly. "Your mind might get overwhelmed. Only people with very strong minds can handle its pressure."
"Yes..." Icariel nodded quickly.
He still wanted to ask something more, but then—two figures appeared.
Two guards clad in shining silver armor approached. The symbol on their breastplates was simple but strange: a sword without an edge or handle. Both had long, low ponytails, brown hair, and brown eyes—their skin carrying the warm tone of the forest.
They lowered their heads respectfully. "We are glad you returned safe and well, Warleader," one said.
"And glad you brought your daughter back safely," the other added, bowing toward Elif as well.
Aelar nodded back. "I must go home now. My wife will be worried. I will report to His Highness later."
The guards nodded firmly and stepped aside.
"Warleader?" Icariel thought, startled.
The voice in his mind chuckled. "I told you. His posture, his way of speaking—it all showed it. He's not just important. 'Warleader' is the title for the highest level of an army force."
"Incredible..." Icariel muttered in awe.
Aelar turned to him and smiled, "Icariel, are you ready to learn about our race and this world?"
"Why not, Aelar?" Icariel grinned, rubbing the back of his head.
The two guards, who had been standing silently, widened their eyes slightly—the Warleader had personally called this human boy by name and was also addressed by the boy in a casual way!
But Aelar only laughed.
"Then let's go," Aelar said. He glanced at Faelar and Valandil. "Return to your homes for now. I will meet you later. Thank you for everything."
They nodded respectfully to Aelar, Elif, and even to Icariel before leaving down a side path.
"Come," Aelar said warmly.
And so, Aelar, Elif, and Icariel started walking deeper into the heart of the Elven domain...
The roads of the elven tribe were beautiful—paved with polished stone, steady and straight, connecting every corner of the settlement. Icariel stared in awe. "Nothing like this existed back in Mjull..." he thought, remembering the rough mountain paths of his lost village.
As they walked, many elves greeted Aelar, the Warleader, and his daughter Elif with warm smiles and respectful nods. Their curious gazes soon fell on Icariel—the boy walking behind them. Some looked at him with curiosity, others with uncertainty.
After a while, they took a left turn, passing under one of the gigant ancient trees.
Nestled among the towering giants, the house before them stood proudly. It was a simple yet noble structure, woven seamlessly into the forest itself. The walls were crafted from silver-barked wood, etched with faded runes of forgotten battles. The sloped roof shimmered faintly, layered with dark emerald leaves that caught the dappled light.
A stone path led to an arched doorway, framed by night-blooming vines that whispered softly in the breeze.
"This is our home," Aelar said, pausing before the door. He turned to Icariel and added with a smile, "And it will be your home for a while, too."
"My house too?? What are you—" Icariel started to ask—but before he could finish, the door swung open.
"Elif!" a voice cried out.
A woman rushed out—silver-haired, silver-eyed—and in an instant, Elif was running into her arms.
They hugged each other tightly, their emotions overflowing. Elif's mother began to cry, holding her daughter as if afraid to let go.
Aelar watched the sight and smiled softly. "You made this possible," he said to Icariel.
"Nah, I didn't do much," Icariel muttered, feeling awkward. "She would have done fine without me, too…"
"You're wrong," Aelar said firmly. "She told me everything."
Icariel only looked at him, not knowing what to say.
Soon, Elif's mother pulled back and stood up. She was almost as tall as Icariel—and stunning. Her silver hair flowed in coiling waves, her silver eyes gleamed warmly, and her skin almost seemed to glow with a soft, natural radiance. Like all elves, she had an unearthly beauty—but there was something different about her, something even more striking.
She walked toward Aelar and wrapped her arms around him. "Thank you for keeping your promise and bringing our daughter home."
Aelar smiled and hugged her back. "What are you saying? I would destroy everything for my daughter."
Elif giggled at her father's words and teased him: "Don't exaggerate so much, Father."
But Aelar's voice was serious when he replied, "I mean it."
Both Elif and her mother laughed, saying at the same time: "We know, we know."
Standing a little aside, Icariel muttered to the voice in his head: "I'm feeling like a bit of an extra here."
The voice simply said"They're extra to us, not we to them."
Icariel smiled slightly at the words but said nothing back.
Then, Elif's mother turned her gaze toward him—her silver eyes soft but curious.
"Who is this naked boy?" she asked, staring at Icariel, who wore nothing but his black, worn pants—no shoes, no shirt, nothing.
"Don't tease him, my love," Aelar chuckled. He glanced at Icariel fondly and said, "This odd fellow here is Icariel—a boy raised in the mountains... and the savior of our daughter, Elif. Without him, we might have lost her."
Elena's beautiful silver eyes widened in shock. "What?" she gasped, then without hesitation rushed forward and hugged Icariel tightly.
Icariel stood frozen, utterly shocked as she repeated over and over, "Thank you, thank you, thank you! You don't know how much this means to me... thank you!"
He didn't know how to react, barely managing to mutter, "Don't worry... she did something for me too. Something I'm grateful for."
Elena finally let go, still holding his arms warmly. "You..." she said, looking straight into his eyes.
"Aelar called you Icariel, right? I am Elena—Elif's mother and Aelar's wife. I will do anything to repay you for protecting my daughter."
"Another new name I learned today," Icariel thought quietly.
The voice in his head whispered, "She truly means it... for an elf to give her name so quickly to a human is no small thing. But after what you did, it's justified."
Icariel met her eyes and said with an easy smile, "Nice to meet you, Elena."
Elena's silver eyes widened in surprise. Aelar smiled quietly, and even Elif looked slightly startled.
Elena didn't know that Icariel, raised in the isolated village of Mjull, spoke simply and honestly—not knowing the subtle traditions of elves or anything at all about them. He had learned from the voice what names meant to elves, but since Aelar hadn't explained it aloud, Icariel decided to act clueless—pretending he only knew what Elif had told him earlier about food and simple things.
To him, speaking straightforwardly was natural—just as he would with the people of Mjull.
Yet, somewhere deep inside, a quiet ache stirred. "This is what family looks like..." he thought. "It reminds me of Galien, Irene, and Finn."
"Let's get inside," Aelar said, breaking the moment. "We could stand here forever otherwise."
"True," Elena agreed, smiling warmly.
They entered the house together.
Inside, a soft blue glow from enchanted lanterns illuminated the arched hallway, where living willow branches curved gracefully to frame the ceiling. The air smelled of rain-soaked cedarwood and old parchment.
By the low sapphire hearth, embroidered cushions lay scattered—cozy spots for reading or quiet conversation. A long table made of polished moonwood stood nearby, its surface worn smooth over centuries, still faintly etched with the carvings of children's names.
In little alcoves, translucent vine-curtains swayed gently despite the still air, revealing plush sleeping nooks. At the far end of the house, a small shrine pulsed softly with pale orchids, their petals unfolding as if whispering silent prayers.
Time itself seemed slower here—gentle, patient—like the elves themselves.
"Amazing..." Icariel muttered, wide-eyed.
"You like it?" Elif asked with a shy smile.
"It's new... and beautiful," Icariel answered honestly.
Aelar turned to Elena and said, "Give him some clothes. Let him eat and rest for a while. I need to take care of something—but when I return, Icariel..."
"Yeah?" Icariel said, straightening slightly.
Aelar looked at him, the light from the blue lanterns casting his face into solemn shadows. "...We will begin your training immediately."
Icariel smiled faintly, fire and fear both rising in his chest. "I'll be ready," he said.