Twilight of the Evergreen

Aelor's fiery gaze never wavered as Aldric stepped closer, the distance between them shrinking with every passing second. His hand tightened around the staff, the tips of his fingers brushing the cold wood. He had learned long ago to hold his ground, even in the face of overwhelming odds. His heartbeat quickened, but his stance was unwavering, eyes locked with Aldric's, daring him to make a move.

Aldric's lips curled into a smirk, an almost predatory glint flickering in his eye. With a sudden motion, he slammed Aelor against the stone wall, his strong hand gripping the elf's shoulder, pushing him hard into the cold surface. Aelor's breath hitched for a moment, but he didn't flinch. The staff was already pointed at Aldric's chest, its runes faintly glowing as a warning.

"I'm not afraid of you," Aelor spoke through gritted teeth, his voice low and steady. "I've heard enough about what mortals can do, but I won't let fear control me. Not now, not ever."

Aldric's smirk widened. "It's not me you should be worried about, elf," he said, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "It's the king. He has... quite the interesting taste when it comes to elves."

Aelor's breath caught in his throat at the cold implication. He hadn't heard many details about the king's interests, but he had heard enough to know it was something he would rather not face. Still, he held his ground. No matter the danger, he had a mission to complete.

Aldric seemed to sense the weight of Aelor's resolve and released his grip, stepping back with a chuckle. "Come. The king's waiting. Let's see if your precious elf dignity survives his... hospitality."

Aelor's heart pounded in his chest as he followed, the staff still clutched tightly in his hand. The tension between them was palpable, but he refused to let it break him. He had come this far, and there was no turning back.

As they walked down the hall, the air grew heavier, charged with an oppressive sense of authority that seemed to weigh on Aelor's very soul. His stomach churned as they approached the massive doors of the king's chamber. The guards standing at attention seemed to snap to even tighter formations as Aldric pushed the doors open, revealing the throne room.

The room was dimly lit, its towering stone walls lined with tapestries depicting victorious battles and figures long forgotten. At the center, on a grand throne, sat the king. He was old—his skin pale and weathered, with deep wrinkles marking the passage of time. His eyes, however, remained sharp, gleaming with a dark, unsettling hunger. The sight of him made Aelor's stomach twist with disgust.

But it wasn't the king that caused Aelor to freeze in place. It was the two elves kneeling beside him. They were in chains, their thin white robes barely covering their bodies. Their eyes were vacant, glazed over as if they had long lost their will to resist. The sight of his own kind, reduced to mere objects of the king's twisted desires, made Aelor's blood run cold.

They were not much older than he was—perhaps only a few years, if that—and yet they looked... hollow. Aelor's throat tightened as he realized they were no different than slaves, their dignity stripped away by the king's cruel whims. He felt sick to his stomach, and for a brief moment, his resolve faltered. He had never seen such degradation before, and it was unbearable.

The king's gaze flicked to Aelor as he entered the room, a predatory gleam flashing in his eyes. "Ah, an elf who dares to walk into my domain with such... fire," the king crooned, his voice dripping with malice. "Tell me, little elf, what brings you to my kingdom?"

Aelor didn't speak immediately, his eyes darting to the two kneeling elves. One of them—a young male—met his gaze with a flicker of recognition, his lips parting as if to say something. But the king's hand came down heavily on his head, forcing him to bow lower, his body trembling under the king's touch.

Aelor swallowed the bile rising in his throat. He wasn't here for this. He wasn't here to beg for mercy or become another one of the king's playthings. He had come to stop the darkness that was spreading over their world, to prevent something far worse from claiming everything they held dear.

But the sight of his kin—broken and subjugated—left him at a loss for words. What could he say in the face of such cruelty? How could he make the king understand that the real enemy lay outside these walls, and that they needed his help?

The king's voice brought him back to the present, sharp and commanding. "You've traveled far, elf," the king said, amusement coloring his tone. "But tell me, what makes you think I would lift a finger to help your kind? You're all the same, after all. Weak. Fragile. Easily crushed under the weight of my desires."

Aelor's fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles white from the pressure. He couldn't let this man break him. Not now, not when everything was on the line. His eyes hardened, the fire from before reigniting within him.

"Your kingdom is crumbling," Aelor said through gritted teeth. "The world outside is dying. I came to beg for help—your help. The darkness that is coming will consume everything if we don't stop it. Your petty games and cruelties will be meaningless in the end, King. If you don't act, you'll be nothing but a footnote in a world that's already falling apart."

The king chuckled, his voice like gravel scraping against stone. "Such fire. It amuses me, elf. But fire alone won't save you. I decide what happens here. And you, you're not in a position to make demands."

Aelor's gaze flicked back to the two elves at the king's feet. He couldn't stand this. Couldn't stand seeing them like this any longer. With one final breath, he spoke, voice steady but heavy with emotion.

"Please... don't let my people become like them."

The king's eyebrow arched, his cold eyes narrowing as he leaned forward, his throne creaking under the shift of his weight. His voice dropped to a mocking whisper, carrying an air of dark amusement. "Repeat what you just said, little elf. I want to hear it again."

The king's eyebrow arched, his cold eyes narrowing as he leaned forward, his throne creaking under the shift of his weight. His voice dropped to a mocking whisper, carrying an air of dark amusement. "Repeat what you just said, little elf. I want to hear it again."

"I... I said, please don't let my people become like them." His voice trembled despite his efforts to remain strong, his emotions threatening to surge over him. His body felt hot with frustration, the weight of the moment pressing down on him like a physical force.

But the king, sitting high in his throne, only let out a dark, cruel laugh that echoed through the chamber. The sound sent chills down Aelor's spine.

"Is that what you think this is about?" The king's voice was filled with mockery, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrests of his throne. "You think I care about your pitiful race? About your weak, frail kind?" The king leaned back with a satisfied, cruel smile, as if savoring Aelor's discomfort. "You really think you have a chance against me, elf?"

Aelor's eyes burned, and a wave of frustration washed over him. He was standing here, in front of a creature who had no regard for the suffering he caused, trying to save a people who had already been forgotten. But he couldn't give up, not yet.

His voice was quieter this time, filled with an edge of desperation. "I'm asking for your help, King. Not for myself, but for my people. If you refuse, everything—everything—will fall to ruin. The darkness is coming, and it will swallow everything you've built here."

The king's smirk twisted into something darker as he leaned closer, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Oh, I see now." He chuckled darkly. "You think I'm going to help you out of some misplaced sense of nobility or compassion? Is that what this is?"

Aelor couldn't stop the tremor of frustration that ran through him. He tried to keep his gaze steady, but the king's words were like needles piercing his resolve. His breath hitched in his chest, and the fire inside him burned hotter than ever, but the king seemed to enjoy watching him struggle, relishing the power he held over the elf.

The king's voice was laced with an unsettling warmth. "Or perhaps..." He leaned forward, his lips curling into an unsettling grin. "You're offering something else? Your... body, maybe? I could be persuaded to help if you're willing to... *serve* me."

Aelor recoiled, the very thought of it making his stomach turn. He felt a wave of disgust flood over him, and for a brief moment, his breath caught in his throat. The king was making an offer that made everything inside Aelor revolt—how far had the king fallen to make such a vile suggestion?

Aelor could feel the heat rise in his face as anger coiled deep within him, but he didn't let it show on the surface. Instead, he raised his head high, refusing to flinch in the face of the king's predatory gaze. His grip on the staff tightened to the point of white-knuckled pain.

"No," Aelor said firmly, his voice a low growl. "I will not offer my body to you, nor will I ever." His eyes burned with fury. "But I will *fight* for my people. And if you refuse to help them, you will regret it."

The king laughed again, the sound ringing in Aelor's ears. "Fight? Oh, how amusing." His voice was cold, mocking. "You elves are all the same. Full of fire and conviction, yet so easily crushed under the weight of reality."

Aelor's heart pounded, but he stood his ground. He had come this far, and there was no turning back. He would never stoop to the king's level, no matter what he had to face. But the king's cruelty was unrelenting, his thirst for control infinite.

"I will fight for my people," Aelor repeated, quieter this time, but still with a fierce determination. "Even if it means standing alone against the world."