Dance of Crows - Book 1
Copyright© 2025 by Es_Orik
Chapter 3
Fantasy Sex Story: Chapter 3 - In the era of men, elves, dwarves, dragons, and gods—a war that threatens to shake the foundation of the world brews!
Caution: This Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Mult Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction High Fantasy Military War
LEVERIA II
LOST in reverie, Leveria sat upon the riverbank, watching water clear as crystal glide over a bed of polished colored stones, the silent treasures of her longing. To most, they were no more than rocks; to her, they held fragments of cherished memories. They lay in serene formation, some no larger than a finger, others larger and uncanny, like the eggs of dragons from the old tales her mother once told in this very place.
Warm thoughts of her drifted through Leveria’s mind, like sunlight piercing a veil of shadows. She missed her mother so terribly. Dreams and memories did not soothe the ache that dwelled in her heart. And the long lives they bore only deepened the pain.
As her thoughts grew heavier, a gentle shift in the air drew her back, and the soft creak of footsteps warned her of a presence. She knew who without turning.
“What do you want, Valarion?” she asked sharply.
His steps were too loud even when he tried to conceal them.
“You collect more rocks,” he said, not giving response to the question.
“I do.” She leaned toward the river’s edge. The gentle current held a mirror to her face, the aged trees above, and the shimmering light of morn. She lowered her hand into the water, and the ripples spread softly, blurring the reflections into broken shapes.
“I know of their importance to you,” he said. “I miss her as well.”
Leveria bit back the retort burning upon her tongue.
His words did not match his actions. How could he claim to miss her presence when he was quick to preach forgiveness and peace with the savages that took her away.
Unless he did not love her as she did.
She forced the thought from her mind, lest anger consume her. She would not let their every discussion be a battle. Whatever else he may be, he was her brother.
Leveria pulled back her hand from the shallow depths, clutching a stone smooth to the touch and of a size that fitted into her palm. “What do you want, Brother?”
“You said you were going hunting. I wanted to accompany you.”
She turned to face him, her gaze upon his lithe form. Like her, he was clad for the hunt, his high sandals spattered with the morning’s dew, a bow resting light in his hand, a quiver of arrows slung at his back, and an empty leather satchel hanging at his waist.
“Why?” Leveria inquired.
“You are my sister. Is that not reason enough?”
Her eyes did not falter from his face, as though seeking the thoughts he would not speak. A moment passed between them, her gaze sharp and knowing, then she loosed a breath. “Fine. You may join me. But I do not wish to hear any of your prattle.”
He nodded. “Shall we go?”
Leveria stood and stored the stone in her satchel. “Yes. I am done here.”
It was a silent trek as they ventured amidst the forest, and for the measure of half the morning they walked, the stillness of their passage was broken only by the crunch of leaves beneath their sandals and the call of unseen birds high in the trees above. The day was fair, Leveria could not ask for more. Yet at her side, she saw her brother struggle.
“Are you certain we should continue this way? I do not see a trail,” he said.
She shook her head. “You do not look closely enough.”
As the words left from her mouth, Leveria’s sharp gaze swept across the familiar landscape. The ground sloped gently downward before them, and beyond it stretched a muddied bank of green at the hill’s base, where a narrow body of water wound sluggishly through its channel, a favored spot for thirsty creatures.
“Come see,” she said, dismissing his doubt as her eyes caught the faint signs of passage. She pointed first to the rough scrapes scored into a near trunk, then to the uneven grass pressed low as though under heavy tread. “There—the trail. They are recent.”
“Apologies, Sister. I should not have doubted you,” Valarion said with respect.
Leveria gave a rare smile. “You are forgiven. Now, let us continue.”
She descended down the slope, her brother close behind.
The shallow brook caused no trouble as she waded across, her ankles damp from the sloppy passage, a faint chill lingering where the water clung to her skin.
“You read these signs with such ease, Sister. How can you be so sure?” Valarion asked, as their path climbed steeply and great boulders, mantled in the soft greenness of moss, blocked the way and forced them to weave through.
“I have experience,” she responded simply.
Once they pushed past the obstructing rocks and the steep rise, the hill eased into level ground, opening into a vast expanse of towering forest. The trees loomed high and stretched endlessly into the distance, their shadows weaving canopies of green.
With growing certainty of what awaited within, Leveria pressed forward without hesitation. Soft rustles stirred as rodents darted under thick ferns and tangled shrubs, yet her focus never wavered. Her mind fixed upon the magnificent beast she sought.
“You’re a great huntress, Sister,” Valarion spoke after they had walked in silence for a time. “But you make for terrible companion.”
“That is widely known, yet you chose to accompany me.”
“True, but I wished to speak with you about some thoughts I’ve had of late.”
“You could not speak with me in the village?” she asked with a glance.
“No, I wanted us to be far from father’s ear.”
Leveria let a sigh escape. She had hoped to avoid such a discussion with him, but she should’ve known it would come. Her brother was nothing if not predictable.
“I warned you, Brother,” she said, her tone sharpening with irritation. “I did not wish to hear your ramblings during this hunt. Must our every conversation be bitter?”
“I beg you to listen, Sister. It is about father ... about our people.”
She stopped to regard him. “Fine, I shall hear you. Speak.”
For a moment, he hesitated to give voice to his thoughts. Then he turned from her burning stare, collecting himself with a breath before meeting her gaze once more.
“I ask this not in jest, Sister,” he said. “What do you imagine father’s response would be if a chance for peace with the humans presented itself?”
Her brother’s words elicited a groan from her lips and a deep frown swept across her features. How foolish could he be? No, perhaps she was the fool. She bore blame for giving him consideration, for accepting his offer of company. She was the fool.
“I see now. Perhaps I had hoped too much.” She turned, walking away.
“Leveria, I know you do not care for them. But it is something that needed to be asked.” He followed behind her. “Does father even want peace? Do you want peace?”
“I do not know father’s mind,” she replied curtly, as though speaking to a stranger rather than kin. “Your question would be best directed at him.”
“We both know I would not get an answer. Father does not hide the scorn he feels for me,” Valarion said, a trace of sadness stitched into his soft voice.
Leveria felt a flicker of sympathy at his sorrow.
His endless talk of peace always infuriated her, and even more so their father, but he was still her blood. Nothing could change that. She would always remember how he once clung to her, how she protected him from every cruel word and blow. No matter how much he tried her patience, her heart would not allow her to simply cast him aside.
“Father does not feel that way, he just wishes—”
“I was more like you,” Valarion finished for her.
“No, not like me, just less naive,” Leveria corrected, her voice softening with care as she reached a halt. “Neither I nor father wish for you to act as I do, little brother. We only want you to remember who our enemies are ... all they have done. We want you to end your noble but childish dreams of peace. It will get you killed. And despite how I might seem, I do not wish to see my brother dead ... I do not wish to lose another family.”
“I hear you, Sister, but we have done terrible things to their kind as well.”
“Only in retaliation,” she said in defense.
“It does not matter, you refuse to see past the violence because you hate them as much as father,” he said behind her. “I remember a time when it was not always so, when we wished to make things different. But instead you became different.”
Leveria scowled. “Do not bring up the—”
“Hatred changed you.”
“Yes, I am full of hate!” Leveria snarled, whirling toward her brother so suddenly he stumbled back. “After all they have done ... all they still do, how could I not be? How could you not be?” She thumped him in the chest, knocking him to the ground. “Shall I remind you of what happened to Mother? How they defiled her? How they took life from her?” Her features twisted with fury, every word striking like a honed blade.
“Those men were—”
“Shall I remind you?” she snarled again.
Valarion hesitated. “No, I remember,” he muttered, unable to hold her gaze.
She stared down at him, her chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. “Do not forget who we fight against,” she whispered, turning away from him and leaving.
“Sister—”
Leveria did not let him finish his words and spun to face him with a look of pure, unadulterated rage. “No, I have heard enough. We are done speaking. Focus on the hunt,” she spat the words and walked ahead, leaving him to trail behind her.
Walking briskly, she barely registered the sharp snap of twigs or the faint crunch of leaves beneath her sandals; both swallowed by the storm of anger in her mind. There was truth in her brother’s words, she was full of disdain for the humans. And though it was deserved, it had reshaped her in ways she could no longer recognize.
Long gone were the days she’d been fair-minded and blithe in spirit, events of the past had seen it to an early end. Now, she was the embodiment of unbridled hate.
A change brought upon by that which she abhorred—humans.
It angered her always that her brother felt differently. He knew of the atrocities committed against their family, against their kind, he knew of everything. Yet he was so quick to speak of peace ... so quick to forgive the unforgivable.
“I see a track,” Valarion called for her attention.
Still seething, Leveria halted in her steps but did not turn around.
“Save your anger, Sister. Come see this.”
She drew in a breath to steady herself and turned toward her brother. He knelt on a knee, and she lowered into a crouch by his side, her cooling eyes fixed upon the patch of disturbed soil where a single hoofprint marked the earth.
“It is fresh. The edges are still sharp,” she murmured. Her gaze swept ahead, but the ground was covered in grass and fallen leaves, veiling every trace of a trail.
“We are near?” her brother asked.
Leveria dipped her head in agreement, then rose to her feet. “We must be silent now.” She freed her bow from her back and moved slowly in the direction the hoofprint pointed. Her footsteps became soundless, even the faint crackle of leaves could no longer be heard. It was as though her entire weight had suddenly vanished.
As she slipped forward, her brother’s footsteps rustled behind her. His stealth was lacking, far less refined than hers. Among the elven-born, silence was not merely a skill but a tradition, a discipline woven into their very way of life. Yet he was unable to gain mastery over it, and his handling of the bow also inspired little confidence.
He should cease his clamor for peace, Leveria thought sagely. His time would be better spent improving himself than endlessly prattling about forgiveness and unity.
Of a sudden, Leveria’s thoughts stilled and her movement reached an abrupt end when she spotted a creature in the distance. Her face lightened with joy before she dashed quietly behind the cover of a felled tree, signaling for her brother to follow.
At last, the quarry revealed itself; a handsome stag, standing alone as it grazed in the open glade, utterly unaware of the hunters in its midst.
Leveria and her brother watched the creature in reverent awe.
The forest was sacred to all fae, and the creatures that dwelled within were treated with care and respect, for in death they gave life. Abusing them was a sin.
With a quiet breath, Leveria notched an arrow and straightened her bow. She let free another breath. “Dŕakaśh iśh meif,” she whispered gratitude in old elven tongue.
She let the arrow loose.
VAETAL III
“YOU have been quiet, Vaetal.”
At his mother’s call, Vaetal turned from the open window, almost startled. Morning light spilled into the solar, warm against his skin and gilding the edges of the table where he sat in quiet contemplation. His mother had insisted upon his presence though he felt no hunger, and the untouched food before him stood as witness to his indifference.
Vaetal fixed his gaze on where his mother sat across from him, watching, her black hair gleaming in the soft morning light. At her side, the other chairs sat occupied, one by his little brother, Harlan, and the other by the boy’s bondmate, Mallory.
His father’s seat stood empty, but the man’s absence carried no weight.
“What worries you?” she asked, bearing a look of concern upon her face. The food before her was forgotten. “I do not like to see you so defeated.”
“It is nothing, Mother. Please do not worry.”
“Surely, you cannot expect me to believe that, Vaetal. You have been brooding since you returned home. I had hoped it would simply pass, but I can no longer wait.”
“I am fine, Mother.” He saw no purpose in disclosing his troubles to his mother. As much as he loved her, she could not help in this matter.
“Father says we are to fight the fae. Is it true?” his brother asked, wide-eyed with innocent curiosity, a strip of meat still dangling from his lips.
Vaetal cast him a glance. “Do you want us to fight the fae?”
The boy hesitated, the question seeming to weigh on him. At last he lifted his gaze, his expression settling into quiet resolve, and shook his head. “No,” he answered.
“And you, Mallory?”
“No, I do not want us to fight anyone. People will get hurt.”
Vaetal caught the pleased smile upon his mother’s lips. He smiled as well, reminded of a time he and Dorean had sat so little and innocent, unburdened by duty and not overly eager to grow as men. Now, it was different. Hardened by years of battles and carrying out sworn oaths, he longed to feel like a child again. Life had been simpler then.
“I do not want us to either,” he said to them.
“But father wants to fight, doesn’t he? He says they are our enemy?”
“That is enough talk of fighting,” his mother cut off the conversation in a final tone, then called for the handmaid waiting in a corner. “Lyra, get them ready for their lesson.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” she said.