The Shattered Crowns

"I was not born with wings," Akash said plainly.

Eld didn't reply. The silence stretched long enough that Akash furrowed his brow. "Hey. Are you even listening?" He reached out to tap Eld's shoulder, but Lyra intercepted him with a gentle touch.

"Eld is deaf," she said quietly.

Eld smiled, a calm, almost otherworldly expression softening his sharp features. "Forgive me," he said, his tone measured and composed. "I try to catch these fleeting moments of joy when I can. I didn't mean to ignore you—my head was simply turned." His words carried a distinct grace, his gestures smooth as he explained, "I read lips reasonably well, but when my thoughts wander, I sometimes miss the cues."

He motioned to the previous scene—the woman Zadeen reprimanding another soldier. "That's why Zadeen handles most of the military commands," Eld added with a faint smile.

Akash tilted his head. "Were you born deaf? That must've been... difficult."

Eld shook his head, his expression becoming distant. "No. I lost my hearing ten years ago in a fire. That fire revealed to me the truth of this world."

Vyn, who had been quietly observing, leaned in with curiosity. "That's where the name of your battalion came from, isn't it?"

Eld nodded slowly. "It is. I know you don't care much for my musings, Vyn, but even now, when I think back on that day, I remember it with… strange fondness." His voice softened further, carrying a tinge of melancholy. "Though the burns have stayed with me."

"They're reminders, then," Vyn said matter-of-factly. "But you're in Reem now, leading your battalion."

Eld's expression flickered, his eyes becoming distant and wild, as if he was watching something unfold in his mind's eye. "In that fire, I saw a figure. Its face… its face was unlike anything mortal. Something I had only ever heard of in hymns and ancient myths. And then, in a blink, the fire vanished, and I was the only one left alive in the ruins of that temple."

Vyn leaned back, unimpressed. "Sounds like you were just hallucinating from the heat."

"Vyn!" Lyra snapped, her eyes narrowing in reprimand.

Eld raised a hand to stop her. "Faith, Vyn, is not so easily dismissed. Whatever you believe, the good it inspires will always shine through those who would seek to corrupt it."

Vyn met his gaze with his usual irreverence. "You do as you will with your battalion, Eld, and I'll handle mine as I see fit. But faith has little place in the chaos of battle."

Eld tilted his head, smiling faintly. "Then I shall pray for you as well."

Akash, who had been listening in silence, raised a skeptical eyebrow. Religion had never been a major part of his life. The only gods he knew were the Great Shifters and the God Kings of Reem, though he'd seen neither slithering serpents nor celestial kings in these sands.

"What exactly do you believe in?" Akash asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.

Eld leaned back in his seat, his green cloak pooling around him like a shroud. "I was a child of the Trie Empire, serving a minor elven house."

"Ah, the Trie Empire," Vyn cut in with a scoff. "A whole nation of pompous bastards, if you ask me."

Eld ignored him, his voice steady. "The elves of the Trie Empire organize their society through Prides. To belong to a Pride is to be granted a last name—a legacy. The Pureblood elves, in particular, carry their honor with them like polished armor, and their ways are deeply entrenched in tradition. One day, I hope to return, perhaps once we've breached the Bridge."

He paused, measuring his words before continuing. "For those born outside the Prides, the world of the Trie is unforgiving. There are only two ways to rise above your station: become a warrior or a priest of the Pantheon. Only one Pride has ever fallen from grace—Pride Orotho—but you wouldn't know the name. It is ancient history now."

Akash's brows furrowed. "A harsh way to live."

"You misunderstand," Eld corrected gently. "That is simply the way of the Purebloods. Their towers have stood since long before the first Age ended. Each spire coils upward, twisting toward the heavens themselves, and their cities are cleaner and grander than any I have ever seen."

A wistful sigh escaped him. "In my youth, I dreamed of climbing those spiraling cathedrals, of touching the clouds."

He went on, his voice taking on a reverent tone. "The Trie Empire, according to the old faith, was built by seven gods. Each of them, in their time, was said to wield the power to shatter the world. They broke free of their creators, ascending to godhood and rending themselves from mortality. They breathed emotion into their kin—into the elves—while the Neph, their creators, had only sculpted lifeless bodies."

A soft smile touched Eld's lips, though his eyes carried sorrow. "My mother used to sing hymns of the gods' deeds, their ways. But I was a child then, too busy running through the streets, dreaming of the clouds."

Akash leaned forward, his voice quiet. "It was the fire that changed you."

Eld's smile turned sad, faint as a whisper. "Yes. The fire opened my eyes. I was serving a Pureblood elf—kind, for one of his station. My mother had passed, and I needed the work to eat. One day, he sent me to the Temple of Mentis to fetch water."

"Mentis?" Vyn asked, his interest piqued.

Eld nodded. "Mentis' Citadel. The waters there are believed to reveal glimpses of the future. Each morning, Prideborn elves submerge their heads, hoping to divine what lies ahead."

Akash raised an eyebrow. "Convenient. Do you have any of this miracle water with you?"

Eld chuckled softly. "Mentis does not offer his gift so freely."

He rolled up his sleeve, revealing skin marred with angry burns. The scars, twisted and raw, seemed like relics of some ancient war. He stared at them as if they were both burden and blessing. "Mentis gave me his vision once, but only once."

Lyra, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, finally spoke. "What did you see?"

Eld's expression grew solemn. "I saw a figure in the flames. A presence. Divine, yet ambiguous. Its voice… like a melody carried by the wind, soft but eternal."

Akash shifted uneasily, a faint heat prickling his skin. He didn't need reminding of the strange pull he'd felt in the Hall of Kings.

Eld continued, his voice steady despite the weight of the memory. "The fire in the citadel spread quickly, consuming the wooden frames and blocking the exit. My heart pounded as the heat closed in, and smoke began to choke the air. The other elves gave up, murmuring their final prayers as the flames surrounded us."

His hand tightened on the table, his eyes distant. "A falling beam struck my neck." He tilted his head, revealing a jagged scar along his nape. "I was sure my life would end there. My body felt heavy, my vision blurred. But just as the darkness began to take me, I heard it—a voice. Soft, light, and divine. Neither man nor woman, but something beyond mortal comprehension."

Eld's voice trembled slightly, as if he was still lost in that moment. "Through the smoke, I caught a glimpse of it—a figure, radiating divinity. Then, as suddenly as it appeared, the fire was gone, and I was the only one who walked out of the ruins."