Chapter 1: Aelwyn: The Invasion

The wards scream before they break.

It’s not a sound meant for mortal ears. It vibrates through bone and blood, a high, keening pressure that makes the air itself shudder. I freeze, standing high on the palace watchtower, overlooking Thaliryn’s western border. The morning mist still clings to the treetops, soft and silver, but the magic beneath it convulses like a wounded animal.

A second pulse hits ... harder, deeper ... and the sky flickers. The shimmering dome that once protected all of Thaliryn is now a thin, trembling shell over Morellin, the elven capital. I watch it fracture like ice under a hammer. Then it shatters.

Light bursts outward in a silent explosion, dissolving into the air like dying fireflies. The forest beyond the city walls darkens as if a shadow passes over it. My heart slams against my ribs. This is the moment we feared. The moment we pretended would never come.

Boots sound behind me.

“Aelwyn!” Elenora’s voice, breathless. She clambers into the watchtower, hair loose, eyes wide with a fear she rarely shows. “Did you feel...”

“Yes.” My voice is steady. It has to be in these circumstances. “The barrier is gone.”

She swallows hard. Her magic flickers around her like a nervous heartbeat ... too bright, too sharp. Uncontrolled. It’s not something I can deal with now. At Elenora’s urging we return to the main hall of the palace.

Mother joins us in the main hall, regal even in haste. Ysolde’s gown is simple, her crown absent, but she carries herself like a queen carved from starlight. Her youngest daughter clings to her hand, small and pale, trying to hide the tremor in her fingers. Lyralyn is twenty years old, an adult by standard laws, but a youngster in the eyes of the long-lived elves of our land.

“What did you see?” Mother asks.

I force myself to recall what I saw. “The western forest moves. Not with the wind. With men.”

Human soldiers pour between the trees in disciplined ranks, armour glinting, banners snapping. Behind them march sorcerers in dark robes, their staffs glowing with the same sickly light that tore down our wards. And further back ... gods! ... siege engines. They prepared for this. They expected this. They waited for the moment that our magic failed.