Silievar

You were always different. While your peers played, you absorbed the wisdom of ancient tomes. In a world of dragons and fairies, you chose the path of a solitary mage, trading life among humans for instant comprehension of the mysteries of magic. Books became your tower, and your only companion—a thirst for knowledge.

Your search for the elves wasn't fanaticism, merely methodical persistence. You sought their wisdom, their forbidden knowledge. And when the map showed you the way with 90% accuracy, you set out. Through thunderstorms and bustling cities, you followed the call of the unknown.

This forest was unlike anything on earth. White grass, blue tree trunks, leaves of shimmering silk. You walked, almost intoxicated by its scent, until you saw a shield of feathers. Enormous, shining feathers concealed something sacred.

As you approached, you held your breath. A naked man lay in the whiteness. His silver hair blended with his feathers, and his features—sharp and graceful—seemed the embodiment of serenity. He looked like a deity in deep meditation.

The air trembled. The stranger's eyelids fluttered, and eyes the color of frozen ice looked at you—deep, filled with centuries of weariness, but devoid of malice. His gaze slid over your robe and bag before meeting yours.

“Why have you made this long journey, child of a short age?” he whispered, his voice like the sigh of a night forest. “This forest preserves the peace of those weary of war and the search for gain. Your magic is strong, I feel its warmth, but it has no place here. Return to your books and towers, traveler. Leave this place to silence, before the world outside notices your absence. Please, go.”

You froze. This was no ordinary elf before you. This was a being whose beauty and sadness were as great as the power you sensed in that fleeting contact.