Eucian of the Stars was born of humble beginnings.

As the son of an elven woodworker, it was never his life’s due to lead what remained of his people. 

To be a king was a weight few could have expected him to carry, not least because it was a task all before him had sought to butcher. Now the elven tribes were scattered like the petals of a dandelion, their grandeur spread to the far corners of the continent to be viewed as curiosities.

Living mementos of a once great kingdom. 

And all which remained to Eucian were those he had cajoled like lambs to a pen. 

A pen of ruined stone and shattered tapestries.

Eucian quietly regarded the story on the wall. Few of the tiles remained intact, yet all of them spoke of the same omen. His people as they held aloft a falling meteor, their limbs breaking to merely stand beneath the weight which sought to crush them.

That the elves foretold their own demise was a tragedy more sombre than the day it happened. And though that future had long passed, Eucian still bore the weight of that falling star. 

A great expectation to lift the plight of the elves. 

After all, it was what Eucian had promised.

Day and night, his proud figure and creased brows could be seen parting the shadows between the broken pillars of this once grand refuge, offering his presence and his wisdom to those around him.

And for his time, the gathered tribes he called his own were proof of his leadership, his tenacity, and his ability to silently dispatch foes. Where others faded into distant memories, or occasionally, became buried beneath several mounds of soil, Eucian stood alone like a beacon to his kind.

So as he looked upon the broken tapestry, he didn’t merely see the downfall of the elves.

No … he saw the rise of himself.

The Elven King.

He waited until the footsteps of his servants had ceased to echo beyond this chamber’s door.

And then, dispelling the rigid expression of a monarch in the ascendancy, he raised his hand to his brows, clutching his forehead … and laughed.

“Ahaha … ahaha … ahahahaahaha …!”

Oh, it was the sweetest joy. 

The plight of the elves?

It was nothing compared to the struggles of Eucian of the Stars.

Eucian the Outcast. Eucian the Pariah. Eucian the Fallen.

Over the long years traversing the world, Eucian was many things. 

Yet even as the Elven King, what he remembered most were the words of spite levelled against him as he merely sought to hone his craft. 

Gifted in the ways of nature, the day he was made an archdruid should have been the day he was hailed as a hero amongst his kind.

Instead, the words he heard were of suspicion and scorn. 

He had sought the truth to magic others had long hoped to bury, and for his reward, he was made a fugitive in his own home.

Now those days were gone, the mocking jeers as distant as the backs of the fools as they crawled from his presence. The singers and poets espoused his name where it was once shunned. And all he heard were the cries of the desperate as he spun a dream as sweet as amber wine. 

Little did they know it was not wine which would spill today.

It was blood.

Lots of blood. As was ever the case.

“Yup, there’s the face I remember.”

And then Eucian was torn from his moment of revelry.

A casual voice as loud as a falling tree. He turned from the tapestry and set his eyes upon the woman lounging on a bed of vines she’d fashioned into a hammock.

Lounging.

Despite her predicament, Ophelia the Snow Dancer made her light of her current settings.

Thoroughly relaxed with her boots lifted high, her only movement was to sway side to side, occasionally interrupted by a flick of her hands as she tossed a grape from a bowl into the waiting beaks of her ducks. 

Ducks.

The fact she was now a long term guest within a prison of roots did not seem to disturb her in the slightest. On the contrary, she shifted on the hammock, using the vines to scratch her back.

Eucian pursed his lips.

“I apologise for my expression, though I dare say it’s no less unregal than yours.”

“Yeah, mine is way worse. See the face I’m making? This is the face of an elf living the life of leisure.”

He had no response to that. 

It was true, after all.

Within her cage, all the luxuries of an elven palace could be found for her to enjoy. 

Though much of the refuge was still ruins, the tower spire they inhabited had been refurnished, its walls repaired. Now, it was an ode to times gone by and times yet to come. 

Carpets of golden leaves. Chandeliers of enchanted candles. The finest mahogany bent to provide finer tables than could be found in a troll carriage. And of course, an armchair of elderwood. The same ancient wood which formed the circlet which ran upon his brow. 

The Crown of Sages.

That alone was a sight which would have drawn the fixation of elves all across the continent. Not the Snow Dancer. She was more concerned with her ducks.

He looked at them as they obediently opened their beaks. A slovenly sight. A suggestion to serve one with orange sauce flickered across his mind.

The moment it did–one of them suddenly looked at him.

All of a sudden, a stare captivated him. The duck’s dark, beady eyes almost seemed to flash with an impossible colour as it bore through him, imprisoning his soul within its infinitely deep gaze.

And then it looked away to catch another grape.

Eucian of the Stars blinked, gave a tiny shudder, then chose to ignore the ducks.

“Are you enjoying the hospitality?”

“Yeah, it’s great. Usually I have to steal everything. Nobody gives me stuff. Unless I wave my sword. But other than that, this isn’t bad! Hey, are we at the top of a tower?”

“Yes. We’re on top of a tower.”

“Amazing. So that’s what all the bumps on the way were about. I never get the captive princess treatment. I should have done this earlier.”

Eucian frowned as the outrageous woman tossed a grape into the air, before catching it in her mouth.

The Snow Dancer, she was … highly unconcerned with her present imprisonment. The blasé nature was nothing if not worrying. Yet she was without her sword. No matter how carefree her demeanour, she had no hope of escape. 

A point he apparently needed to make again.

“Ophelia, I remind you that your present circumstances do not give way to merriment. As glad as I am that you take to your kin in that respect, I require your sombreness.”

“For that, you’ll need to give me better grapes. These ones are too sweet. Could you conjure up some more sour ones with your nature magic?”

Eucian raised a brow.

Then, with a point of his finger, he lifted a bundle of grapevines, bursting between the tiles. Violet as the bottom of a rainbow, each was aburst with sour flavour.

The Snow Dancer plucked one, then tossed it to the ducks.

A moment later, she nodded.

“They say they like it.”

Eucian swallowed a deep breath.

Years. Decades. He’d worked his way to where he was, removing as many foes as he did friends. And all that time, he never once found himself wavering.

This woman, on the other hand …

Her very demeanour caused him to feel like he’d lost years of his life.

Needlessly charmless. But be that as it may, she was the Snow Dancer. And whether she recognised it or not, she would be useful for the days ahead. 

And if not, well– 

There can always be another Snow Dancer.

“You recall our past conversation, I hope.”

“Nope. Not at all.”

“The one we had moments before you decided to set Granholtz’s border fortress ablaze.”

“That I remember. Because it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t put those barrels there.”

“A point I’m certain your peers will appreciate as they recover from the extensive burns they received.”

Ophelia scratched her tummy.

“I wish them all a speedy recovery.”

Eucian tapped at his feet. He stopped when he realised what he was doing.

“Ophelia, I shall be frank. Especially as time is my most precious resource. The Elven Kingdom will soon be restored, and while I do not require your sword to ensure its success, it will save me some of that said resource. We shall have no shortage of foes in the days ahead.”

“Now, you say ‘we’, but I can’t think of a single person who considers me their foe. After all, they’re all dead.”

“Yes, your reputation for incivility precedes you. One which can be better put to use when not swinging in a hammock.”

“I feel like this is part of the conversation where you say I’m not leaving until I agree to help you. Which is very poor diplomacy from someone who says they’re a king. You know, since that doesn’t really make me want to say yes.”

In response, Eucian offered his smallest smile.

“I’ve won over more difficult guests.” He turned his back to the juvenile Snow Dancer. “As I will now.”

Ensuring his robes were free of leaves, he swept away from this makeshift guest room to attend to greater and significantly less irksome matters at hand.

He followed the spiralling staircase down, entering into the main solar.

Here, the tapestries upon the back wall were unbroken, the story replaced with one he himself had written. But the greatest monument was the fountain of white marble nestled against it. 

A simple thing, really.

It boasted no grand statue nor any tiers overflowing with water, yet sung with the song of the seasons. Appearing little more than a pond encased in white stone, it was nonetheless one of the greatest relics available to the elves.

A fountain of life.

Perpetually full, its basin was a surface of shimmering liquid–a veritable mirror capable of reflecting the stars. Eucian passed it with a smile, slowing down his steps to admire it.

The moment he turned his eyes away, he swept past the waiting table laden with enough fare for a coronation, before arriving at a gate of elderwood and thorns. It unravelled before his coming like snakes coiling away from a den. And in its place, a trio of elves was revealed, each with expressions less impressed than the last.

High Lady Tirin of the Hazewood. Duke Morinus of the Sands. And High Lord Visani of the Pale.

The greatest of elven nobility. 

Here were a trio of elves whose tribes demanded their own embassies. They were the eldest, wisest and most powerful. Direct descendants of those boasting the oldest blood. And given the expressions on their faces, they also knew it.

“You kept us waiting, Eucian,” said High Lady Tirin. “We all have matters to attend to, and your misadventure upon the borders of this featureless kingdom are highly distracting.” 

Eucian smiled, neither insulted nor surprised by the lack of pleasantries.

“My apologies, High Lady Tirin. I too have been consumed by matters of importance. I regret that I did not prepare a proper welcoming for you. Nor those with you.”

“Save it,” said Duke Morinus. “I had to traverse Weinstadt to reach here. Absolute mess. Bog and blood everywhere. Especially after my entourage escorted me through. Travelling through endless battlefields is no joy. I wish to return in due haste.”

“I concur with the good duke,” added High Lord Visani. “We can forego the pleasantries, though I see the chairs in your chamber weren’t prepared for us in any regard. We shall make this swift. The High Council of the Elves has convened and made a judgement.”

Eucian’s smile lifted. This was a gift he wasn’t expecting so soon.

“Oh? I wasn’t aware there was a High Council meeting. As the Elven King, I believe it is traditional that I chair it.”

“The High Council meeting was about you,” said High Lady Tirin. “And as of several days ago, you are no longer the Elven King.”

“I wear the Crown of Sages.”

“You wear what is lost. And for good reason. The power within it is for those of ancient lineage and divine wisdom. You possess neither. You are a rodent who burrowed so long in the dirt that you eventually found it amidst the droppings of the rats you converse with.”

“The rats will feel hurt. Their conversations are quite pleasant. Far more than I’ve enjoyed with elves over my lifetime.”

“Were it only that you made a passing effort. It is a waste that an archdruid would engage more in forbidden tomes than in addressing the plights of its people.”

“And yet here I am, doing just that. You may not have heard, but I intend to restore the Elven Kingdom.”

“We’ve all heard, despite our best attempts not to. You may have cajoled enough of the lesser tribes with your ridiculous promises. But that does not impress the High Council. You are to cease your scheming at once. You place all the tribes in jeopardy. We will not go to war with the fae.”

Eucian smiled.

“War with the fae? … Well, now, I quite agree. That sounds dreadful.”

Duke Morinus frowned.

“You intend to negotiate with them using that stolen crown upon your head?”

“No. I intend to have nothing to do with them in any capacity. The Fae Realm belongs to the fae. It is there, clear as day in the very name. I’ve no intention of raising the issue with them. They may have it.”

Horrified looks met him. 

Eucian was both pleased and annoyed. They didn’t want to war with the fae, and yet baulked at the idea of relinquishing their ancient lands. The people he led.

High Lady Tirin took a step backwards.

“You … You have no intention of restoring the Elven Kingdom in the Fae Realm. You would settle for less. Far less.”

“No less than what you’ve all done. I hear you’ve made quite a home for yourselves, even as refugees. Why not replace our tents with stone? As far as I’m concerned, we’re several centuries overdue.”

“Treason,” hissed Duke Morinus. “You defile the Crown you have stolen.”

“Come now, I didn’t steal a thing. As you said, I plucked it from beside the droppings of rats. I assure you nobody was aggrieved. The corpse of our last king was quite amenable.”

Pallid faces met him at that. 

Eucian did his best to remember the sight. This conversation was a joy amongst joys. Though he didn’t enjoy the Snow Dancer’s slights against him, he also understood the joy in earning the ire of elves.

“You … what have you done?” whispered High Lord Visani, finally living up to his name as Lord of the Pale.

“Only what was needed. A dead king certainly wasn’t going to restore the Elven Kingdom. I am carrying on his legacy.”

“A grave robber. You have committed taboos beyond what any of our laws can judge you for.”

“Which is just as well, since I’m now the Elven King. I believe I have a certain amount of immunity to laws.”

“You do not. For you are no longer the Elven King, as decreed by the High Council. And you have admitted to crimes beyond measure.”

“Then will the High Council judge me for my crimes?”

There was barely a pause before their response.

“Yes, we will.”

True to elven form, they moved faster than the eye could see.

More than elders, they were warriors and mages. The greatest of their kind. 

The magic swelled, pouring forth from Lady Tirin’s palms and striking at the floor even as she raised her hands. With her came a sword of blue silver, ancient and deadly as the day it was first forged, held in Duke Morinus’s hands. Yet both paled to the danger by the Lord of the Pale as his blue eyes turned grey, and magic which would never be spoken by the other two rushed forth from his soul to sweep away his.

It was not enough.

The elderwood gate closed with a hissing groan, the enchantments woven within absorbing it all.

But it wasn’t Eucian’s intention to hide, cowering while besieged by the condemnation of his peers.

Which was why–

“What is … mmmfhh–?!”

“Nmmh … cowardly … grrhhh …!!”

Smiling, he waited as the strangled cries sounded from the other side. 

Gasps of air cried out, struggling against the elderwood roots that had taken hold of them like twisting cobras. The sound of desperate magic flared, igniting the air around the outline of the gate with a hue of flashing crimson. And then came the snapping, the crunching, the grinding of bones.

Eucian waited a handful of seconds before waving the elderwood gate open.

What remained upon the ground wasn’t even a corpse. Only the faintest dribble of red seeping between the cracks. 

In moments, they had become veins of running scarlet, flowing beneath Eucian’s feet and into the heart of his new realm.

Behind him, the fountain of life took on a red sheen, bristling with energy.

It had begun.

Strangely, he almost felt apologetic.

He was fairly certain at least one of them was his cousin.

Still, it needed to be done. None could now stop him. The humans were toys. The greatest of the elves were food. And the fae could not care less about where the elves chose to make their new home.

Tonight, he would see the Elven Kingdom blossoming amidst a wellspring of blood.

And those who tried to stop him?

They would simply feed it. Provided they didn’t first die in some other horrible way which didn’t even leave a corpse behind. An unfortunate possibility.

After all–

Eucian of the Stars was the Elven King.

And within these ancient halls of memories, he commanded more than the earth.

He looked down at the last of the blood seeping into the cracks.

Then, he turned to his waiting table, laden with a king’s banquet. He gave a satisfied hum. 

He was finally feeling peckish.