The place, known to the elves as the Red Dome or simply the Rift, had become a field of death. In the past, the elves—using a power they no longer possessed—had raised an immense wall of red quartz that encircled the area like an "O" several kilometers in circumference and five hundred meters high. Now the structure resembled a gigantic "C," with its sides cracked and partially destroyed, and a vast opening created by the passage of a great creature.
"This… should not have happened."
The young Ishara stood atop a huge chunk of shattered quartz. She had arrived only a short while ago.
"It is the result of our fall," said the old Iaraelesh, coughing. A wound on her chest caused the flesh to rot in that region. Her gray hair was disheveled as Khadiyel supported her. "There is no way for us to win… Our power has faded with time, and despite all our efforts to protect the world, we have failed." The elder wept, not because she was dying, but because of the bitter feeling of failure.
All elves knew they would one day die. They emerged from their Goddess's womb already carrying the certainty that they would one day return to her. Their only purpose was to wage war and protect.
"You did everything you could, Mother," said one of the elves—a tall, dark-skinned male whose armor was cracked and bore superficial wounds. "Now go. Return to the bosom of our Creator."
The old elf touched her son's face with a trembling hand and, with a serene smile, died.
The death of an elf was not like that of a human. Once consciousness faded, the body vanished along with it, dissolving like desert sand.
Ishara watched in silence. She knew the feeling well—she had seen her own mother die years before. Even as an elf, death still filled her with deep anguish.
The air emanating from the area was cold, even under the intense desert heat. The corruption had spread slowly, like an infection. A gray, lifeless sand covered the ground, from which structures resembling trees rose—yet formed of red minerals. From them emerged the creatures.
"How are the other sides, Guiderleesh?" Faezarnah shouted to the warrior who had just watched his mother die.
He rose promptly, picking up his spear. His expression was determined, as it had always been.
"We are facing the only significant opening. The dragon could have flown upward, but for some reason it chose to thrash against the structure and destroy a large area directly." He answered, approaching her. Ishara and Kadihely also drew near Faezarnah and the other elves.
"Did it want to free its brothers?" Khadiyel asked, already guessing the answer.
"Yes," Faezarnah replied, breathing heavily. She raised her hands, her fingers moving as if tracing grooves in the air, manipulating the harphesh itself. From the distant structures came a scream that sounded like a bird mixed with the howl of a desert hyena—deformed and terrifying.
The harphesh condensed in the air into a green blade that cut through the spirit, generating a strong, cold gust of wind.
The opening was immense, spanning kilometers, and there were few elves like Iaraelesh and Faezarnah capable of manipulating harphesh at a distance. Even so, it offered little safety. Ishara noticed this quickly and said:
"I will head to the area farther east from here… I will—"
"No." Her aunt interrupted, turning toward her. "You are going back. There is no place for you here."
"What? But you brought me here! You said I was needed. Now you want me to leave?" Ishara protested and continued, "You were right. My place is here, with my people, fighting, doing what we were born to do, as we have always done."
"We will not succeed here," said Faezarnah, her face serious and hopeless.
"The only way to stop all of this is by killing the dragon," added Guiderleesh. He watched other spirits being born in the distance and was already preparing to advance. "My mother and the others must be right. The dragon has become some kind of source. Only that explains the power required to destroy the barrier and why these creatures are stronger, larger, and more frequent. We sent a messenger through Transponence to warn your father that they cannot fail. They are our only hope."
After speaking, the elf charged forward. Several others followed him, fully aware of their fate.
"I will go with them. I have work to do," said Khadiyel, looking at Ishara with a smile. They had been childhood friends, and Ishara needed no words to understand that look. "See you later." The elf winked, and then her face took on the determined expression all the elves wore in that moment.
"Wait—"
"This is what we must do, Ishara," Faezarnah interrupted. "We will hold the line here until Thswoner resolves everything."
Ishara looked at her aunt. The words sounded strange, as if the elf herself did not believe what she was saying.
"Why do you want to take this from me? You yourself told me: I am an elf, it is my duty to do this. I have fought many times before. Why not now?" Ishara's eyes filled with tears.
Faezarnah smiled and embraced her niece.
"You have always been the best of us, Ishara. While we drifted from our duty, proudly seeking to reclaim our lost glory, you were one of the few who kept the old alliance alive in your heart." Faezarnah held her niece's face and looked into her eyes. "That is why I want you to go back. Go to the humans' home. A broken divine betrayal is also a wound in the world. Even if the dragon dies, our relationship with the humans must be restored, or the evil will continue. That is your duty now, my dear. Restore the lost alliance."
Tears streamed down Ishara's face. After a few moments of silence, she nodded and wiped her cheeks. When she looked at her aunt again, her expression had become the determined face of an elf.
"I will do it," she said firmly.
As she looked back, the cloudless sky rose above them—strong, infinite blue. In Ishara's mind appeared the image of Prince Setarek.