The world Racheal had once called home was unlike any other. It was Yggdrasil, a tree so vast it could not be compared to forests or mountains but to planets themselves. Its colossal trunk pierced the skies, and its branches stretched into eternity, their ends unseen, their widths broad enough to cradle entire cities. Upon those branches, layer upon layer of elven civilization thrived, each higher tier reserved for elves of higher standing.
At the crown of the tree, beyond clouds and light, resided the one known simply as the Elf Ruler.
This throne was not bound by blood. It never had been. The traditions of the elves forbade such inheritances. Instead, the Guardians of Yggdrasil, ancient impartial beings tasked with the tree’s protection, selected candidates. From those who had reached the proper age and proven themselves legitimate to the great tree, the ruler would emerge. Whoever ascended would stand as the embodiment of their people, elevated to a rank second only to the tree itself.
But in those years, the position carried more weight than ever before.
The Great Tree was under siege. Demons had breached its outer layers, forcing the elves, once creatures of serenity and song, who had lived in harmony with nature to take up arms. Their salvation came only through those blessed by the Trial Resonance. Elves who had awakened, stepping into the trial world, returning with gifts no natural talent could mimic. In this new age, the strongest among these chosen was destined to become the Elf Ruler, for the ruler always received Yggdrasil’s blessing, the power needed to lead, to fight, to survive.
That was why the appointment of candidates was no small matter. It was a declaration of future. Of survival. Updates are released by 𝔫𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔩~𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢~𝔫𝔢𝔱
And it was the reason Racheal’s world began to slip from her grasp.
Her sister, Elaine, had been chosen. The one person Racheal leaned on, the last piece of family she had left, was now claimed by duty. From that moment on, Elaine’s presence became fleeting, her laughter rarer, her gentle guidance replaced by long silences and absences.
Even as the sisters rose in the hierarchy, Racheal felt herself falling. The higher Elaine climbed, the farther she drifted from the girl who had once needed nothing but her.
The scent of fresh herbs clung to the air as Racheal moved swiftly through the kitchen. Bowls of crisp greens, bright fruits, and delicately seasoned sauces lined the counter in neat rows. She wiped her brow with the back of her arm, cheeks flushed from the rush of preparing the feast. For once, her hands weren’t busy with a bowstring but with wooden spoons and chopping boards.
Two years had passed since Elaine had been chosen as a candidate. Two long years of seeing less and less of her sister, the one person who had been her anchor since childhood. Their elevation in status had given them a semblance of respect, but it had also stolen away the closeness Racheal had once taken for granted.
"This is the one chance I’ll get to see her this year," Racheal whispered, determination hardening her voice as she laid the last dish onto the counter. "I can’t let it go to waste."
The house was spotless, lanterns glowing with soft light, garlands strung neatly along the walls. By the time everything was arranged, the sun was still high, not yet past four in the afternoon. Elaine was due by six.
Hours stretched. The kitchen, once alive with her busy movements, grew still. Six became eight. Eight became ten. And by midnight, the great tree’s eternal twilight had deepened into shadow, the kind that pressed heavy against the windows. Still, there was no sign of her sister.
Racheal sat slumped on a wooden stool, emerald eyes dimmed, staring at the untouched feast. Her fingers toyed with the corner of a napkin as the silence grew unbearable. She almost rose to pack it all away when a sudden knock echoed through the house.
Her heart lurched. Hope flared bright and desperate as she rushed to the door, her lips already shaping her sister’s name.
But when the door opened, her voice faltered.
It wasn’t Elaine standing there. It was a guard, his face solemn, his armor still dusted with the residue of travel. In his hands rested a single bow. Elaine’s bow.
Racheal’s breath caught in her throat as her knees buckled, her eyes fixed on the weapon as though it could explain itself. No words were needed. The truth struck harder than any blade could.
That night, the food went cold, the lanterns burned low, and Racheal sat alone in silence. It was the longest night of her life.
Racheal stood in the heart of a vast hall, her figure dwarfed by the towering stone pillars that rose around her like silent sentinels. Only a week had passed since Elaine’s death, just two days since the ceremony where they had mourned her with nothing but a painted portrait in place of a body. Racheal hadn’t even been given time to grieve properly. The grief still pressed down on her chest like iron, yet here she was, summoned before the elders of Yggdrasil.
Atop each of the twelve pillars sat an elf of the council, their ageless faces calm and unreadable. Though they were centuries old, their features bore the strength and grace of those who looked no older than their mid-forties. Their presence filled the chamber, making it oppressive in its stillness, as if the tree itself listened through them.
One of them spoke, a woman with golden hair that shimmered faintly in the light filtering through the high canopy windows. Her beauty was severe, every word carrying both weight and disdain.
"Racheal Morningstar," she said, her voice echoing through the chamber. "You have been summoned by the council on account of the death of your sister, Elaine Morningstar—leader candidate of our great tree. In the wake of her passing, we, the council, have reached a decision."
Her pause was deliberate. The golden-haired elf’s eyes narrowed, her lips curling faintly, betraying the distaste she tried to mask.
"By the laws of Yggdrasil, a substitute must be appointed. Thus, we name you as the successor to stand in her place."
Her words hung in the air, heavy, sharp. And then came the dagger beneath the silk.
"Despite you being a bloodborn."
The chamber fell quiet. The weight of the word lingering like poison.
A/N: Thank you for reading