As a child my mother told me of the elves, of their kind. How they placed themselves above all the rest, claiming they were the true beauty of the moon and as powerful as the darkest star. She said the elves still lived in the past, never wanting to acknowledge that their age of supreme power had faded away.
Fifteen guards surround me, armed to the max, ready to die for me if anything goes wrong. Elijah stands by my side as we await the gates to open.
To most it would look easy to break into, the walls made of stones stacked upon one another, the gate made of thick wood with designs. To most they would not think that the gate and walls were guarded by the most powerful spell of the ancient world.
"You speak of Keva?" The elf asks, looking down upon me. His skin is flawless like the rest
