"Who or what was that accursed thing?!" Thaerion Faelorn wailed, enraged, as they fled through the somber greenwood. The faithful hounds, Thurandir and Haladron, kept close, their spirits lifting as the oppressive shadow of the Haunted Cloak faded from memory.

  The elf and their beasts pressed on with ease along the thick undergrowth, ascending a tree-covered hillock and weaving across the cluster of moss-covered boulders that led to the designated meeting point with their kin.

  "The knight seemed just as startled by its appearance," they ruminated. "But I can't believe it was mere chance that it appeared when it did. I was close... So close..."

  By a trickling stream, three elven rangers awaited, washing their weapons. Their mud-green garments and mindful poise rendered them near-invisible against the wild.

  "You have failed," their leader declared in the sylvan tongue, noting Thaerion's arrival with empty hands. "Our vow is fulfilled; do not seek our blades a second time. Slaughtering helpless humans is beneath our steel."

  "Your elders—" Thaerion began, but was swiftly cut off.

  "Our elders honored the old accords. You had the assistance of the Moon Wings as promised."

  "The mission is not complete!" they insisted, exasperated.

  "And how would we know? You kept your true purpose and goals hidden. Had you returned with the child, my answer would be the same." The ranger’s tone was unyielding. Without another word, the group gathered their belongings and turned to leave.

  "Wait! Grant me one last courtesy! I need knowledge from your Book of Lore!" Thaerion pleaded, realizing they would have to carry out a second ambush alone —and this time, best the specter.

  The weary elf hesitated. Then, with a curt nod, relented. "Be brief."

  Thaerion described the meddling Haunted Cloak, and for the first time, the surly rangers betrayed astonishment. "If the elders know of such a creature," their leader said at last, "we shall send word."

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  ***

  Elves are at once very similar and completely different from humankind. By daylight, an elf might easily be mistaken for a particularly tall, svelte, and androgynous person. Only a glimpse of their pointed ears could reveal their identity.

  But to face an elf under cover of night is to know terror. Their sharp, metallic, iridescent eyes cut through the darkness as their lithe frames moved in bursts of impossible strength and agility. Even though they lack endurance for prolonged exertion, they seldom need more than mere seconds to end an adversary.

  Also on the matter of subtle arts, elves wielded Magic that only beings of near-immortality could master. Their songs did not command nature so much as resonate with it; notes so ancient, so deeply embedded in the land, that they were imprinted within the fabric of reality itself.

  Hence, Thaerion had no need for toilsome and fallible methods of tracking. Instead, they were wise of an ancient Song of Finding, which guided their heart toward the general direction of anything or anyone they had once seen. From there, Thurandir and Haladron’s keen snouts handled the finer details.

  For a week, the elf camped in the forest, by the fringes of the wheat fields that surrounded the human castle. For reasons obvious to themself, they could not use the Song of Finding directly on Drustan, but the knight who never left the boy’s side still could be attuned to.

  It seemed the pair would take refuge behind the stone walls for a while, and Thaerion, so assured in the power of their song, allowed themself a brief distraction.

  For a couple of days, the elf sang to locate a different quarry: the human mercenary they had hired to search those same woods for ruins that might hold significance to their mission.

  The Song of Finding rang in all directions and found nothing. Either the man had left the known world or was dead. A suspicious outcome, but not enough to pull Thaerion away from the heels of Drustan and Lady Valiendre.

  When they sang once more for Ophelienne, however, the spell also failed. But in that case, it was more likely she had found a way to mask her presence —after all, the knight had just learned an elf chased them.

  It was an unexpected hurdle caused by their own carelessness; the warrior should never have turned their focus away. Frowning, Thaerion shifted their inner eye to the Haunted Cloak.

  At once, a dire feeling sank deep in their chest as their heart reached for the dark creature. The elf felt it moving north.

  A glint of relief chimed in their mind: if the Cloak remained with the others, Thaerion could still pick up their trail. The elf lifted camp immediately to resume the hunt.

  CODEX

  Oooh… ! So it seems Thaerion is a lone wolf carrying out a mission that is secret even to elvish society —but at the same time, they can benefit from pacts of assistance to their cause. Curious! The hunt continues in Chapter 2!

  And by the way, why are elves a "they/them" people in general? Well, this is to reflect their own sylvan language, which is genderless, and ultimately influences their perception of self. So what is Thaerion, you might ask? Well, an elf! What else?

  CLOAK'S INVENTORY

  FORTUNE: ☆☆☆☆☆

  Come to think of it, seven copper pieces really is almost nothing…

  FAME: ★☆☆☆☆

  The guards and farmers of Gildsheaf hush about the ghost from Wraithfen forest that now lives inside the castle walls. Yikes!

  Elven ranger companies have been passing word along regarding an ancient evil returned to haunt the world.