When I walked about ten feet from the wooden door to the pit guards crowded around me. They pointed spears at me. I should have also told you that the elves didn’t have the most up to date technology.

“Halt! You have killed the esteemed crown prince of the Wirewood and all elvish kind,” one of the guards said.

What? He wasn’t the king but he said he was the king. What does this mean? The confusion must have been obvious on my face because he told me why he was the prince instead of the king.

“The king is very sickly, so his son took the thrown forcefully but no one of the higher class took him seriously because he was so weak,” he explained.

Oh, that makes sense. Then what about the king? Is he fine? Is he dead?

“Is the king dead,” I asked.

“no”

“Then why did people consider the prince the king?” I retorted.

“Because the actual king can’t talk a lot,”

Then suddenly, a voice boomed in our heads.

“Come to my abode wielder of the blade. I wish to meet Emner again. It has been so long.”

“How is he still alive?” said Emner, surprised.

“Who?” I asked.

“The old king of the elves. I had assumed he was dead. It has been, according to you, 2,500 years since I last saw him. He was the strongest of all the elven kings back then. I should know he was the first of the Wirewood elves,” said Emner.

(sorry for the short chapter)