The Moon's Edge

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SOREN

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SOREN

"The bodies are getting closer," Aeros crouched to observe the blood at the cliff's edge. "Won't be long before the slain lay at the gate of King's Veil."

"The question is how long the spell will hold," Soren said with the hilt of his sword in the palm of his hand.

Aeros examined the unnatural color of the blood. He wasn't known to overanalyze with such serious regard. He was over a thousand years old, an Eldryn at birthright despite being a Silverstone. Aeros wasn't easily raddled, so his silence left Soren to wonder. This attack ignited something in him. Soren could tell by the intensity in his gaze, but he didn't understand why when his family was bred to destroy.

"The color," he whispered. "It's as black as coal."

"What an abominable thing," Nikolai whispered. "Truly, a waste of a golem."

"It wasn't human," Soren said. "Whatever that thing was, it's nothing the Valerian Court has ever seen."

Soren had been aware of the Galadhrim problem for months, but a few dead Golems was hardly reason to spark a civil war. However, when the creature procured a taste for netherborne, Lord Thrane Lightwood sent his best soldier to keep an eye on the border.

But in truth, he meant the crown.

"We'll be able to find out soon enough," Aeros announced, standing back up. "The blood is fresh."

Soren listened to the strong winds pushing from south of the border. A strong, putrid odor burned the inside of his nostrils, but not even a branch snapped in half. Maybe it was the dead elf, or perhaps they were being watched. "Let's not wait around to find out," Soren replied. "We're two-day's ride from Thoranfall. We should send word to Lord Thrane about the fallen."

"The Lord of Thoranfall may be a Netherborne at heart," Aeros pointed out. "But he's no king."

He walked closer to him with an indifferent stare. "When next you speak on common elves, Lord Aeros. Remember the thousands of soldiers that died so you can have the privilege of humping their daughters."

Soren sensed the crude smile fading from Aeros' mouth faster than the body decaying at his feet. In truth, he was mesmerized by how calmly Aeros regarded the fallen. They'd happened upon countless bodies, but he hadn't spared any of them as much as a second glance. Even after an Elfete lay before him with her flesh ripped clean off her bones and her entire ribcage exposed.

Body after body still, Aeros grinned.

It wasn't like Soren to quickly lose his temper. He had only spoken to Aeros out of anger, still his father always reminded him to mind his aggression. It was a gateway into his emotions, and nothing good would come of a Lightwood awakening their siel.

Not when the ancient kingdom sat directly below the sharp, jagged rocks of the mountain, engulfed in a thick cloud of mist. He heard stories about the great battle at the Moon's Edge and how the humans thought they were the victors. If mothers knew what happened on that battlefield, they would have dug a graveyard for themselves and their children long ago.

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