The evolution of modern technology drove many races into seclusion, while their populations shrank and shrank due an unworldly phenomena that sapped their magic. The Anesen was one of many races whose numbers now paled in comparison to the humans.
The Anesen were close relatives of old age high elves, who were now extinct as far as the world knew. The slender stature, pointed ears, and exceptional use of magic were all traits they’d inherited from their ancestors. They had also become known as the People of the Trees because the only time you could ever hope to run into an Anesen is if you were in one of the dense magical forests of the northern territory of Fafe Nalore. Though, on times when there were only two of the four moons present in the night sky, you may find a stray Anesen roaming the wilderness, exploring the evolution of the world that they often missed out on for centuries at a time. And one such Anesen woman was Nylaathria Yesfaren.
Nylaathria was tall, even by Anesen standards. She was one of the few beings who walked the earth without consuming natural food, so her tawny skin clung to her bones in many places, but it didn’t subtract from her substantial beauty. Her thick black hair had been braided around her head to form a sort of crown, and her cloak hid her entire body from view as she stepped from her rickety boat, onto the shores of a long forgotten island. On this particular night, there were only two of the four moons casting white and blue light upon the land. And Nylaathria’s sharp eyes burned with determination, illuminating her angular face in an amber cascade.
Her boots crunched on the dark sand, on seashells, on old rusted weapons, and on bones that had sat there for decades. That’s right, Nylaathria had stepped foot onto an ancient battleground. Swords and spears protruded from the black sand at all sorts of angles. Shields were scattered everywhere, some still had the bones of their owners wrapped around the handles, forever defending themselves from an ancient threat. Nylaathria shivered, drawing up her hood before reading a piece of parchment paper she’d brought with her. The browned page had been torn from a tome, and words and glyphs crossed over its rough surface. It had taken her five hundred years to translate that entire book; then she’d gone back and reread it, finding the single page that was the key to saving her people from extinction like the high elves, like the dwarves, like so many others that could no longer survive on the planet due to something the humans had done.
An hour of walking had led her to a part in the beach, where the ocean tore through the sand and up into a deep cave on the island. Nylaathria shoved the parchment back under her robe, a wave of anxiety washing over her as she breathed into the cold night air. “The sun is gone, but it is always with us, even when we cannot see it.” An incedi formed from the air, hovering just over her left shoulder, and casting bright white light into the cave. Glossy green stalactite hung from the mouth of the cave and could be seen further in as well.
“Suthite.” Nylaathria breathed in amazement, caressing a piece softly before continuing onward.
The cave twisted and turned, and the only way forward was to trek through the ocean water that made a river inside. Luminescent fungi spotted the sides of the cave in some places. How could such beauty be hidden behind so much bloodshed? Nylaathria smiled to herself. Perhaps that’s how it always had been, and always would be. Blood would have to be shed to find the world’s true beauty.
Running water could be heard from deeper in the cave. Nylaathria slowed, wading cautiously through the knee-deep water as it began to rush by her feet; then her incedi vanished like a giant breath of air had blown out its spark. She immediately stuck both her hands out, the darkness throwing off her balance, only to fall face first into the water, which had grown strong enough to tumble her forth with its force. She cursed, trying to go up for air as she continued rolling violently through the water, banging her body against the rocks. The tide had come in. Of course she hadn’t thought about it.
First her arms, then her legs, and then her torso slammed against the rockbed, all she could do was keep her mouth shut as the water dragged her deeper and deeper. She prayed and prayed silently, hoping to the gods that this current wouldn’t wash her back out into the ocean on the opposite side of the island. But her fate was even worse.
Nylaathria shot out from the barrelling current, a sudden nothingness below her, and then she began to fall. “No no no!” She cried, flailing her arms to catch on to anything. Anything! She couldn’t fall to her death, not after she’d come so far! The darkness gradually grew lighter and lighter and lighter until it was dark no more. It was as if the cave had its own sun. Nylaathria twisted around in the air, screaming as she collided with more water, but from that height and that speed, it felt as if she’d slammed into a sidewalk that hadn’t been dried yet.
The water was clear, it was pure as it filled her mouth and throat. The taste of salt was nowhere to be found, as if it wasn’t a runoff from the ocean at all. Nylaathria coughed, inhaling more water while forcing herself to remain conscious, forcing herself to move upwards, upwards, upwards until she broke through the surface coughing and sputtering; she moved hastily toward the rocky bank, hoisting herself out before vomiting up water.
She looked back to the underground lake she’d fallen in, but it was weird. There was no waterfall. She was sure she’d gone over the edge! Where was it? Her amber eyes glowed brightly as she beheld the sight far above her head. The river was still rushing, and not a drop of water spilled as the current flew over the gap she’d fallen through and continued onward into the cavern above. “W-What the…” she murmured, turning to face the scene around the lake. Directly opposite the shimmering water was a boundless sapphire rug, splitting two rows of flaming braziers in half. The braziers followed the rug for as far as she could see, much deeper into the cave. They were each surrounded by a bushel of pink and red and yellow flora, and hanging above the braziers like roasting meat were bodies. Human bodies. Nylaathria gagged at the sight of them. They hung by their ankles, all of their limbs bound by rope. A few of the bodies, men’s bodies, she noticed, had been scalped, and their genitals had been removed. She gagged again, noticing the deep scars that criss-crossed every mangled body, as if carved by a blade or a claw. The throats had all been cut, which explained the paleness of them. They’d been drained of blood.
“No,” Nylaathria whimpered. “No, what is this?” She backed toward the lake, as if to go back in and swim for a way out, swim away from the grotesque scene before her, but the lake had vanished. Rocky ground had replaced the entire lake, and on the wall of the side she’d fallen from, was an abyss, a portal. Panic ensued. She began to shake, drawing her birchwood wand from beneath her cloak.
She knew immediately she’d been misled. Her eyes settled on the magical circle at the foot of the demonic portal. It glowed a cool purple, its runes and glyphs rotating calmly. The portal was black, tangible, alive, and speckled with what appeared to be stars; it was as if the portal was a pudding-like reflection of the night sky. Its surface dipped and bobbed as if something were pushing against it like a child under a blanket; as if something were trying to get out.
The vibrant sapphire rug had reconstructed itself, slithering beneath her feet and up to the portal, as if welcoming her. “I have to get away from here.” Nylaathria muttered to herself.
“Oh, it appears I have a guest! And so soon!” A voice sang from beyond the portal. No, it had been dozens of voices, all speaking at once. Nylaathria froze. “Don’t be shy, child. Did those men send you? Where are they now?”
Nylaathria didn’t say a single word. All of her thoughts had become a jumbled mess, and the words she wanted to say only caught in her throat.
“Come to me.” Said the now hypnotic voices, all of them in a different tone. “Come.”
“N-No,” Nylaathria stammered. “I shouldn’t be here. This was a mistake.”
There hadn’t been anything about this in the tome she’d read. There had been no mentions of the human sacrifices behind her, nor of the being beyond that mysterious portal. She was supposed to offer her blood at the shrine of a being named Soren, goddess of obviation.
“Hmmm…” the voices paused, thinking. “You are early, I suppose.”
Nylaathria’s blood went cold. “What do you mean?” Her voice was small, fearful.
“Those men, those cultists, said that the next sacrifice was due one moon from yesterday. So, who are you?”
Cult? Sacrifice? Nylaathria felt her feet begin to move backward, and she willed them to go faster, willed them to break into a full sprint away from whatever lurked inside that portal. She could sense no magical energy from within, but it was apparent that it was a being not of this world.
“Come to me, child. You need something from me. Maybe we can help each other.”
“No!” Nylaathria shouted. She fired a spell toward the portal, watching as her gleaming blue mana burst against it, doing absolutely nothing. She turned to run when her entire body went numb, her eyes locked on the human sacrifices that hung above the braziers a few yards away. Her wand clattered to the ground as her grip loosened.
“I was not asking you,” the voices snarled, contrasting their earlier kindness and curiosity. “Walk to the portal.”
Nylaathria turned, shouting silent curses around her mind as her body moved on its own volition, as if it was being controlled by someone other than her. What kind of magic was this?! She could no longer speak or control her movements, but she could think. And she could hear her heart hammering away in anxiety.
“Good, touch the portal, dear child.”
A bony hand reached up, and Nylaathria would have recoiled away had she been able to, but as her fingertips pressed against the portal’s gel-like surface, she calmed down. The drumming of her heart slowed, and her sweat began to dry.
The voices purred in excitement from beyond the portal, and what appeared to be a woman’s alabaster hand, donning silver rings embedded with black jewels, reached out suddenly, pushing through the portal’s obsidian surface and tracing their way up Nylaathria’s outstretched arm. The hand closed softly around her upper arm, and before she knew it, Nylaathria was being pulled gently through the hellish gate.
