The elf stood in the ceremonial hall, facing an elaborately decorated throne. On the throne sat an elderly elf woman, her thin, aged face showing wisdom even beyond her years. She stared intently at the young man in front of her, the fire that provided the only source of light in the large room reflecting in her dark eyes. The elf shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, his own eyes studying the intricately carved legs supporting the woman’s chair.

The older elf cleared her throat, breaking the oppressive silence, and addressed her companion. “Kethian, I have foreseen your destiny. You are to bear twelve sons, all of whom will become great warriors. Their bonds will be strong, and they will hold the future of our world in their hands. As long as they maintain those bonds and allow nothing to break them, they will remain undefeated. But if they break apart, their fate and that of our world will be dire.”

“Thank you, Lady Coriel. I will heed your words and pass them on to each of my sons.” The elf bowed low and left the chamber. Coriel looked after him, her stern eyes softening somewhat.

“Their battle will be long and hard, and it may seem as if they will fail. But they will be strong, and they will prevail. As long as you are strong, Kethian, your sons will prevail.”

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Baelthar stood on the cliff overlooking the ruins of his home. The beautiful halls and delicate dwellings, the luscious forest and fertile fields, the serviceable roads and places of business were all destroyed. Everything his people had labored for centuries to build up had been taken from them in a matter of days. He shuddered when he thought of all the lives that had been lost trying to protect what never should have been taken from them in the first place. His father was among those dead… and for that, Baelthar swore vengeance.

The young elf had sworn to his father upon his death that he would watch over his brothers. He had promised to protect the bond that had always held them so close, and to never let anything happen to break them apart. He wiped the tears from his face, steeling his angular features and squaring his broad shoulders. He had also promised himself to be strong. He could not show such weakness in front of his brothers, not when they needed him the most.

Baelthar turned and strode back to the group of survivors. About two hundred and fifty of the elves had escaped the village, a mere remnant of the population. Most of them were women and children, unable to fight. Many of them were old men, retired soldiers who knew the art of war but lacked the strength it required. A few of them were young men, untrained but strong and willing to fight to protect what was left of their people. And all of them were looking to him for guidance.

His father, Kethian, had been the lord of the elves, and the title had fallen to Baelthar upon his death. He looked over his father’s followers—his followers—and cleared his throat. “Elves of Eytheraear, we have lost much. We have lost our homes, our livelihoods, and our forest. Many of us have lost loved ones. But we remain; and as such, we must consider this day a victory. The morguls will not go unpunished. We shall destroy those who seek to destroy us, and we will make for ourselves a new home. I, Baelthar Aleanurdrenn, swear upon the grave of my father, Kethian Aleanurdrenn, that I shall lead our people to victory!”

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Well, there’s the prologue. This just kind of randomly popped into my head, and I wanted to write it down. I hope it wasn’t too confusing; the next few chapters should answer any glaring questions I’ve left unanswered (if you have any questions, let me know and I’ll be sure to answer them). Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story, and I’ll update as soon as life allows.