Page 5 of Condemned to Love

A murmur ripples through the Council. Brinda raises a hand, silencing them. "Tell us what happened."

"They came in overwhelming numbers," I say, recalling the chaos. "Hundreds, maybe more. Their ferocity was unmatched. They tore through our defenses like they were nothing."

A Council member leans forward, eyes narrowed. "How did they breach our barriers?"

"They used their magic," I reply. "We weren't prepared for that level of assault. We weren't even aware that they were in the wildsponts — that they knew of them. We would have needed to strengthen our borders if we had."

I try not to sound accusatory. I don't know if the Council was aware of the attack or the dark elves' movements. But I must assume they were. Otherwise, our war effort is hopelessly underprepared.

Another voice chimes in, this one sharper, accusatory. "And our warriors? What happened to them?"

I take a deep breath, the memories of fallen comrades flashing before me. "They fought valiantly. But we were outnumbered and outmatched. Many fell in battle — reduced to something that can't be saved. Those who survived...they're either captured or scattered."

Brinda's gaze narrows just a fraction. "And you? How did you escape?"

"Pure luck," I admit, swallowing hard. "I was cornered by one of their fighters—he managed to shear my hair." I gesture to my short locks, a raw wound still fresh in my mind.

"Bastard." Brinda's voice is full of shock and anger.

"Yes," I say, my voice hardening with resolve. "It almost seemed as if he knew what it would mean to us."

"It's not unlike a dark elf to find one angers another and use it in battle," one Council member weighs in.

Another Council member speaks up, their tone laced with urgency. "What about their strategy? Did you notice any patterns or weaknesses?"

I nod, recalling the chaotic dance of battle. "They rely heavily on their magic for both offense and defense. But it is clear that they don't fight in ranks. They are focused on individual pursuit, driving apart our ranks."

Brinda taps her fingers against the stone table, deep in thought. "And their leader? Did you see who was commanding them?"

"No clear leader," I reply. "But they all poured out of the forest. And as cowardly as they are, I could believe they had a leader waiting in the woods — too afraid to fight himself."

Silence falls over the room as they digest my words.

Brinda's eyes meet mine once more, searching for any sign of weakness. Despite my exhaustion, I stand tall. My wings are tucked in tightly at my back, never letting them sink even as they ache. I've fought hard, and I refuse to give them a reason to doubt me.

Especially since my wings signal something more. We once all had wings, back when the First — the woman who our god Akeldama Made into a vrakken to start our race — still walked among us. But the more generations of vrakken that havebeen Made have muddied our blood. Now the vrakken are too apathetic, wingless with weaker magic. Not everyone can even sun glamour anymore.

Which is another reason we should fight. To find what happened to the First, who is a goddess in her own right and disappeared during the war.

The Council begins to deliberate, their voices a murmur of concern and strategy. They seem to forget I'm even here, lost in their own discussions.

"This attack changes everything," one member says, her voice trembling with the weight of realization. "It signals the start of a war we might not be ready for."

"We've been preparing for years," another counters, though there's a hint of doubt in his tone. "But there's still so much we don't know about the surface. The dark elves have had the upper hand for centuries."

Brinda remains silent, her eyes fixed on some distant point as she processes the gravity of our situation. The others continue to talk, their words blending into a tapestry of fear and uncertainty.

"If this war mirrors the last," someone whispers, "we could face the same end."

"But it's worse now," another chimes in, voice tight with anxiety. "The dark elves know we're still here, under the mountain. Their Thirteen Maws are not waiting for them like they thought before."

Their words sink in, each one a lead weight on my already heavy heart. All we ever wanted was to hunt freely and soar through open skies. The tunnels offer neither game nor space, only cold stone and cramped quarters. The only thing that drove us out was necessity—the lack of animals and the suffocating confines.

"Are we prepared to face this again?" Brinda's voice cuts through the chatter, drawing everyone's attention.

One of the elder Council members speaks up, his tone grave. "We must learn more about the surface, about our enemy. We cannot fight blind."

They continue to discuss strategies and reconnaissance missions, but my mind drifts. I think of my comrades—those who fought bravely and fell, those who are now captured or worse.

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