The Journey, Book 2; Chapter 3 - Previous Chapter
Chapter 4, Gabija
The clan leader sat at a large table overlooking paper, ruffling through pages and notes, sent to her by many different people. She sat back in her chair and sighed heavily.
“Frustration is not one of your finest qualities Gabija.” quipped the oversized raven, Loki.
“And neither is your annoying habit of creeping up on people… why must you always be in your animal form? Would it not harm to be as yourself for once?”
“Hmm…” The raven looked out over Caa Alora. “You know why Gabija, I’ll stay as a raven for as long as necessary…”
“You don’t need to suffer though, there are healers here who could help you with your pain, and your scars. I don’t want you to suffer any more.”
“I appreciate your concern but I’m not going to change any time soon. Why did you call me here? It’s nothing to do with my health is it not?”
Gabija sighed heavily again, picking up a wooden cup and drank some Elderberry water. “No, but your health is still important to me, to all of us… fine, fine you stubborn fool.” She said with a light hearted smile. “We’ve had to move our hideout again, I don’t know how they are doing it, but they seem to be getting closer and closer by the minute.”
“That’s strange, what of the cloaking spell? Nobody should be able to detect a thing with that in use, unless there is a magic user among them…”
“If there is a magic user with them it won’t be Thomaz, he won’t accept anyone that uses magic will he? Even Rubian can’t do anything other than the basic elements, he has to use orbs”
“I have spies trying to figure out how he’s getting those orbs. A bright of what coloured light was seen flashing for a few moments in the old side of Thomaz’s palace a few weeks ago, no one knows what it was for”
“How is he doing with Vivi?”
“He’s regained his memory of Meera, but nothing since, his training goes well. He trained with Tarasque teaching her the Falcon’s Guard. Tarasque struggles but seems to find Nekonata’s methods more suited to her, no doubt Jason will adapt his ways now after seeing a different path.”
“Yes, Jason, as great of an instructor he is, he was always very direct. What of Elqiana?”
“She is learning the history well, and has some interesting outlooks of her own, mostly ‘have the two-legs always been this stupid?’ and a few others of course.”
Gabija chuckled, “She isn’t very subtle is she?”
Loki shook his head, Gabija held out her arm, “Walk with me.”
Beneath the emerald canopy of an ancient, towering tree, where golden sunlight filters through layers of enchanted leaves, the Gabija descends the spiral stairs carved into living wood. Each step echoes softly with grace and timeless power, the air shimmering faintly with residual magic. Draped in silken robes woven from moonlight, her presence stills the gentle rustle of the leaves. Upon her arm rests Loki, his obsidian feathers glinting with unnatural intelligence, his sharp eyes sweeping the forest beyond. As she steps from the embrace of the great tree-palace into the dappled light the Elven citizens bow, doing the traditional greeting of respect.
The morning light spills like honey through the latticework of Caa Alora, the hidden city of leaves and light. Suspended between the boughs of trees older than time, the walkways of woven goldvine and flowering branches stretch like delicate bridges in the sky. Gabija walks these paths, her silken robes trailing behind her like a breeze made visible. Her crown gleams with dew and starlight, yet it is not a regal distance she wears today, it is a smile.
Around her, citizens pause in their morning errands, market baskets in hand, songbirds fluttering near, whispers of reverence on every lip. She stops often, greeting each elf by name. Her voice is soft, her laughter a melody the trees lean in to hear. On her arm rests Loki, the great raven, his obsidian feathers shimmering with an iridescent sheen. The beast is massive, his hooked beak and sharp eyes enough to quiet a forest, but today, he is still, his feathers ruffling gently in contentment.
Children rush forward, eyes wide, voices eager. Gabija kneels, robes pooling like a moonlit tide, and lowers her arm so the little ones can reach. Tiny fingers stroke Loki’s feathers with cautious wonder. The raven eyes them with solemn patience, occasionally letting out a soft croak that makes them giggle and squeal.
"He only lets those with kind hearts touch him," Gabija says, smiling, her eyes warm. One child gasps in pride, another beams up at her as if she were a goddess come to earth. Perhaps, to them, she is.
Above, the branches rustle with the breeze, and petals drift down like a slow rain of blessings. For this moment, the city breathes in peace. Gabija walks not as a ruler burdened by prophecy, but as a mother to a nation that remembers what it means to love the light.
The gentle hum of Caa Alora continues, leaves whisper, laughter drifts, birds trill in their endless chorus, but the Queen’s raven, Loki, grows still.
Perched on her arm, his head tilts sharply, eyes narrowing. Then, without warning, he leaps into the air, not with the graceful swoop of flight, but a comical waddle to the ground below. He lands with a soft thump of talons on polished wood, and begins to walk, purposefully, through the crowd. The elven children stop petting him and watch, puzzled. Gabija lifts her gaze, curious.
He moves through the gathering like a shadow with wings, ignoring vendors, nobles, and guards alike, until he comes to a secluded edge of the walkway, where a young boy, no more than eighteen summers, sits cross-legged and quiet. His clothes are simple, a little too worn to be noble, yet too clean to be destitute. His eyes are downcast, his hands wrapped tightly around something tucked into his lap.
Loki stops before him. Tilts his head again. Croaks once, low, inquisitive.
The boy startles, looking up, and for the first time Gabija sees his face. Not familiar. Not born of Caa Alora’s lines, she is certain of it. A traveler’s son, perhaps. Or…
No. There is something in his eyes. Not fear. Not awe. Something older. A memory that does not belong to someone so young.
The Queen approaches, slowly, as if not to disturb the stillness now crackling faintly with unseen tension.
"Does he always do this?" the boy asks, softly, as Loki steps closer, peering at the object in his lap.
"No," She replies, kneeling beside him. "He only approaches those who are touched by something forgotten."
The boy hesitates, then unfolds his hands. Nestled there is a small, broken stone etched with runes, ancient, almost lost. Her breath catches.
Loki caws, loud, sharp, wings flaring slightly. The sound silences the plaza.
The Queen stares at the stone. "Where did you find that?"
The boy looks up at her, eyes no longer shy, but glowing faintly with a light not born of this world.
"I didn’t find it," he says. "It found me."
Suddenly with a green poof of smoke Loki changed from his raven form into his Elvish form. One side of his face was badly scarred, one eye white and the other grey.
“Child, please hand me the rune carefully.”
“Loki,” Gabija whispered softly, he nodded knowing what she meant.
Gabija watches in stillness as the boy, hands trembling slightly, lifts the broken rune stone and places it in Loki’s grasp. His hand curls with uncharacteristic care around the fragment.
The moment contact is made, the world stops.
Loki stiffens. His pupils dilate until his eyes are swallowed by shadow, and then, he is no longer in Caa Alora.
He sees a forest, not as it is now, but as it was thousands of years ago. Trees tower higher, the light dimmer, everything older, wilder, alive with primal magic. Elves in ceremonial armor stand in a ring of white stone, chanting, hands raised toward a floating stone, whole, glowing, spinning with ancient power. Runes carve themselves into its surface mid-air, glowing gold, silver, and violet.
This is no mere artifact. It is a keystone. A binding. A prison.
Beneath the stone, something writhes. Something that should not have a name.
The ritual nears completion, when a scream shatters the circle. Betrayal. One of the High Elves turns, eyes ablaze with corrupted fire, and lashes out. The explosion that follows is silent and vast. The stone shatters. A shockwave ripples across time. The forest burns. The ring of stones is reduced to rubble.
And one shard, the very shard now in Loki’s grasp, flies through the chaos, catching the light of dying magic before vanishing into shadow.
Loki jerks back to the present with a violent flap of his arms. Gabija reaches for him, steadying Loki as he sways. The boy gasps, gripping his chest as if he felt the echo too.
Her eyes narrow, no longer soft.
"That was the Binding Stone," she whispers, voice nearly lost in the wind. "The one used to seal… no. It was destroyed before I was born."
Loki lets out a long, mournful cry, from a long locked away memory.
The boy looks up at her, pale but calm. "I think… it’s calling the rest of itself back."
And in the distance—beyond the trees, beyond the mountains—something ancient shifts.
“Gabija, it’s not the stones calling the rest back… it’s him, it’s the corruptor.” Loki muttered, staring at the broken rune stone.
Loki’s hand glowed a deep green his aurora enveloping the broken rune stone, he muttered a few lines of the ancient language, a green spark came from it as any remaining magic was removed making it ineffective. He handed it back to the boy, then poof, he was the large oversized raven again.
“Hey umm… mister, how did… how did you get that scar?” The boy asked softly but curiously.
Loki hummed for a second… “An enemy so dangerous tried to burn me alive…” He squawked softly.
“Did you beat him sir… for hurting you?” The boy asked, but Loki didn’t answer, he just waddled away on the ground, Gabija following by his side.
Chapter 4, Gabija
The clan leader sat at a large table overlooking paper, ruffling through pages and notes, sent to her by many different people. She sat back in her chair and sighed heavily.
“Frustration is not one of your finest qualities Gabija.” quipped the oversized raven, Loki.
“And neither is your annoying habit of creeping up on people… why must you always be in your animal form? Would it not harm to be as yourself for once?”
“Hmm…” The raven looked out over Caa Alora. “You know why Gabija, I’ll stay as a raven for as long as necessary…”
“You don’t need to suffer though, there are healers here who could help you with your pain, and your scars. I don’t want you to suffer any more.”
“I appreciate your concern but I’m not going to change any time soon. Why did you call me here? It’s nothing to do with my health is it not?”
Gabija sighed heavily again, picking up a wooden cup and drank some Elderberry water. “No, but your health is still important to me, to all of us… fine, fine you stubborn fool.” She said with a light hearted smile. “We’ve had to move our hideout again, I don’t know how they are doing it, but they seem to be getting closer and closer by the minute.”
“That’s strange, what of the cloaking spell? Nobody should be able to detect a thing with that in use, unless there is a magic user among them…”
“If there is a magic user with them it won’t be Thomaz, he won’t accept anyone that uses magic will he? Even Rubian can’t do anything other than the basic elements, he has to use orbs”
“I have spies trying to figure out how he’s getting those orbs. A bright of what coloured light was seen flashing for a few moments in the old side of Thomaz’s palace a few weeks ago, no one knows what it was for”
“How is he doing with Vivi?”
“He’s regained his memory of Meera, but nothing since, his training goes well. He trained with Tarasque teaching her the Falcon’s Guard. Tarasque struggles but seems to find Nekonata’s methods more suited to her, no doubt Jason will adapt his ways now after seeing a different path.”
“Yes, Jason, as great of an instructor he is, he was always very direct. What of Elqiana?”
“She is learning the history well, and has some interesting outlooks of her own, mostly ‘have the two-legs always been this stupid?’ and a few others of course.”
Gabija chuckled, “She isn’t very subtle is she?”
Loki shook his head, Gabija held out her arm, “Walk with me.”
Beneath the emerald canopy of an ancient, towering tree, where golden sunlight filters through layers of enchanted leaves, the Gabija descends the spiral stairs carved into living wood. Each step echoes softly with grace and timeless power, the air shimmering faintly with residual magic. Draped in silken robes woven from moonlight, her presence stills the gentle rustle of the leaves. Upon her arm rests Loki, his obsidian feathers glinting with unnatural intelligence, his sharp eyes sweeping the forest beyond. As she steps from the embrace of the great tree-palace into the dappled light the Elven citizens bow, doing the traditional greeting of respect.
The morning light spills like honey through the latticework of Caa Alora, the hidden city of leaves and light. Suspended between the boughs of trees older than time, the walkways of woven goldvine and flowering branches stretch like delicate bridges in the sky. Gabija walks these paths, her silken robes trailing behind her like a breeze made visible. Her crown gleams with dew and starlight, yet it is not a regal distance she wears today, it is a smile.
Around her, citizens pause in their morning errands, market baskets in hand, songbirds fluttering near, whispers of reverence on every lip. She stops often, greeting each elf by name. Her voice is soft, her laughter a melody the trees lean in to hear. On her arm rests Loki, the great raven, his obsidian feathers shimmering with an iridescent sheen. The beast is massive, his hooked beak and sharp eyes enough to quiet a forest, but today, he is still, his feathers ruffling gently in contentment.
Children rush forward, eyes wide, voices eager. Gabija kneels, robes pooling like a moonlit tide, and lowers her arm so the little ones can reach. Tiny fingers stroke Loki’s feathers with cautious wonder. The raven eyes them with solemn patience, occasionally letting out a soft croak that makes them giggle and squeal.
"He only lets those with kind hearts touch him," Gabija says, smiling, her eyes warm. One child gasps in pride, another beams up at her as if she were a goddess come to earth. Perhaps, to them, she is.
Above, the branches rustle with the breeze, and petals drift down like a slow rain of blessings. For this moment, the city breathes in peace. Gabija walks not as a ruler burdened by prophecy, but as a mother to a nation that remembers what it means to love the light.
The gentle hum of Caa Alora continues, leaves whisper, laughter drifts, birds trill in their endless chorus, but the Queen’s raven, Loki, grows still.
Perched on her arm, his head tilts sharply, eyes narrowing. Then, without warning, he leaps into the air, not with the graceful swoop of flight, but a comical waddle to the ground below. He lands with a soft thump of talons on polished wood, and begins to walk, purposefully, through the crowd. The elven children stop petting him and watch, puzzled. Gabija lifts her gaze, curious.
He moves through the gathering like a shadow with wings, ignoring vendors, nobles, and guards alike, until he comes to a secluded edge of the walkway, where a young boy, no more than eighteen summers, sits cross-legged and quiet. His clothes are simple, a little too worn to be noble, yet too clean to be destitute. His eyes are downcast, his hands wrapped tightly around something tucked into his lap.
Loki stops before him. Tilts his head again. Croaks once, low, inquisitive.
The boy startles, looking up, and for the first time Gabija sees his face. Not familiar. Not born of Caa Alora’s lines, she is certain of it. A traveler’s son, perhaps. Or…
No. There is something in his eyes. Not fear. Not awe. Something older. A memory that does not belong to someone so young.
The Queen approaches, slowly, as if not to disturb the stillness now crackling faintly with unseen tension.
"Does he always do this?" the boy asks, softly, as Loki steps closer, peering at the object in his lap.
"No," She replies, kneeling beside him. "He only approaches those who are touched by something forgotten."
The boy hesitates, then unfolds his hands. Nestled there is a small, broken stone etched with runes, ancient, almost lost. Her breath catches.
Loki caws, loud, sharp, wings flaring slightly. The sound silences the plaza.
The Queen stares at the stone. "Where did you find that?"
The boy looks up at her, eyes no longer shy, but glowing faintly with a light not born of this world.
"I didn’t find it," he says. "It found me."
Suddenly with a green poof of smoke Loki changed from his raven form into his Elvish form. One side of his face was badly scarred, one eye white and the other grey.
“Child, please hand me the rune carefully.”
“Loki,” Gabija whispered softly, he nodded knowing what she meant.
Gabija watches in stillness as the boy, hands trembling slightly, lifts the broken rune stone and places it in Loki’s grasp. His hand curls with uncharacteristic care around the fragment.
The moment contact is made, the world stops.
Loki stiffens. His pupils dilate until his eyes are swallowed by shadow, and then, he is no longer in Caa Alora.
He sees a forest, not as it is now, but as it was thousands of years ago. Trees tower higher, the light dimmer, everything older, wilder, alive with primal magic. Elves in ceremonial armor stand in a ring of white stone, chanting, hands raised toward a floating stone, whole, glowing, spinning with ancient power. Runes carve themselves into its surface mid-air, glowing gold, silver, and violet.
This is no mere artifact. It is a keystone. A binding. A prison.
Beneath the stone, something writhes. Something that should not have a name.
The ritual nears completion, when a scream shatters the circle. Betrayal. One of the High Elves turns, eyes ablaze with corrupted fire, and lashes out. The explosion that follows is silent and vast. The stone shatters. A shockwave ripples across time. The forest burns. The ring of stones is reduced to rubble.
And one shard, the very shard now in Loki’s grasp, flies through the chaos, catching the light of dying magic before vanishing into shadow.
Loki jerks back to the present with a violent flap of his arms. Gabija reaches for him, steadying Loki as he sways. The boy gasps, gripping his chest as if he felt the echo too.
Her eyes narrow, no longer soft.
"That was the Binding Stone," she whispers, voice nearly lost in the wind. "The one used to seal… no. It was destroyed before I was born."
Loki lets out a long, mournful cry, from a long locked away memory.
The boy looks up at her, pale but calm. "I think… it’s calling the rest of itself back."
And in the distance—beyond the trees, beyond the mountains—something ancient shifts.
“Gabija, it’s not the stones calling the rest back… it’s him, it’s the corruptor.” Loki muttered, staring at the broken rune stone.
Loki’s hand glowed a deep green his aurora enveloping the broken rune stone, he muttered a few lines of the ancient language, a green spark came from it as any remaining magic was removed making it ineffective. He handed it back to the boy, then poof, he was the large oversized raven again.
“Hey umm… mister, how did… how did you get that scar?” The boy asked softly but curiously.
Loki hummed for a second… “An enemy so dangerous tried to burn me alive…” He squawked softly.
“Did you beat him sir… for hurting you?” The boy asked, but Loki didn’t answer, he just waddled away on the ground, Gabija following by his side.
