Homecoming
17th of Ash, Year 122 of the Age of Steel
Valron shrugged, not even sparing a glance back as he walked in front of her. He was more than used to her nervous ramblings. The younger elf kept his entire attention on their surroundings, bow drawn. “Then say nothing. They already know exactly why you’re coming and what you’re bringing with you.”
It would be hard to begin describing what happened to her deep in the underground, but she had to. Iselya could vividly remember the tingling as the sword judged her - and then accepted her. There was also the dark mark that eerily reminded her of the gift Shaeoth granted to his followers. A million questions had run through her mind these few days.
Someone in their ranks must know what it meant.
Once the guard spotted them, the gates opened enough for them to slip through. As soon as she entered the walls, she felt the tension releasing from her muscles. At least here, they could worry less about someone trying to steal away the artifact.
Iselya lowered her hood and uncovered the sword strapped to her waist that had been concealed by her cloak during their journey here. At a glance, the blade didn’t seem exceptional. No one would imagine that it could be a legendary weapon thought lost to the times. But the longer she looked at it, there was an odd sensation building in the pit of her stomach, a warmth that slowly spread from deep inside her soul.
Everywhere she turned, the siltori noticed people stopping whatever they had been doing to stare. Their eyes followed the sword and she turned her own gaze to the ground to avoid meeting them. Oddly enough, that day the sword felt heavier than it had ever been. She quickened her steps, heading toward the meeting hall where the leaders of their order would most likely be waiting.
The world changed when they found the sword, now she just had to be brave enough to face it.