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The silver-gray backs of the remaining enemy fade into the white haze, their rhythmic marching boots thumping faintly in the distance.

All that remains are the tracks, the trampled snow, and the deafening silence that settles over the forest. It pulses in my eardrums, leaving a dry, bitter taste in my mouth.

Three star elves lie dead. One on Gann Gavannoa, the others temporarily concealed beneath the roots, all stiff, pale, lifeless, and bloodied, like the snow around me. How in the fires will I get rid of all this blood?

I need to hurry before the rest of Parae wakes up, realizes the threat is gone, and sees what I’ve done.

I crawl toward the nearest star elf, my skin prickling at the sight of their lifeless bodies.

Being this close is challenging, and I hold my breath.

I don’t want to inhale the vile odor of their skin.

Lifting the helmet, I cringe as grotesque, bulging eyes stare back at me like overripe cranberries.

Horns. He has horns on his forehead, as wide as thumbnails, jutting from his mud-gray skin. His ears hang low along the sides of his face, pointed and far longer than mine.

He looks wrong. Elves shouldn’t look so demonic.

And horns?

Elves aren’t supposed to have horns.

Feral rage grips me. “Black elf!” I hiss, as though he can still hear me. But his soul is already on its way to Agawauna, the spirit realm. That is, if he’s lucky and has been good. Otherwise, he’ll end up in the red-hot fires of Saxx. And for those truly evil, there are even worse fates in store.

Is this what Akares looks like? I wish it were him lying dead at my feet.

Everything is his fault. The war began because of him.

His lust for warfare forced my siblings, my father, and my mother, heavily pregnant with me, to flee across the country with the other sun elves, all of them fighting for survival and leaving countless dead behind.

He unleashed his black magic, causing the sun’s warmth to vanish, leaving the sun elves to die without their source of power. Now he wants to draw us out of hiding, as he did with the wind and sea elves. To exterminate us.

When I gain my ability, I’ll come for you, Akares. I promise you that.

I get up and place my foot on the black elf’s chest, pressing down until it sinks a few flakes beneath my weight.

Gripping the arrow lodged in his neck, I pull it free.

It’s sticky, so I wipe it on his clothes, which are so filthy the blood barely leaves a stain.

I gather all the used arrows and return them to the quiver.

Lastly, I pick up Brínnsesta, though part of me wants to step on her.

Finally, I close the warrior’s eyelids and whisper, “Tala cúnie.” Rest in peace.

I drag the bodies to the bottomless ditch at Gann Gavannoa. The same one Naueya Talenlyn vanished into ten sun cycles ago.

I need to work fast before anyone comes out and shouts, then questions me and locks me up.

Thud.

Saxx! Drums.

Sweat drips from my forehead. He’s as heavy as a fiery dwarf or a thick ear, and I must use my entire body weight to get him to the brink.

Tracks as red as molten rock smear across the dirty-gray slush. At last, I reach the ditch and use my foot to kick him over the edge. He tumbles down, his limp body catching on roots, rocks, and unseen things below.

Thud.

The last body is the heaviest of them all.

To my shock, I realize it’s female. No time to ponder that now.

I glance over my shoulder to be sure no one’s watching.

Then I wrap my arms under her armpits and pull with all my strength.

The stench of star elf, black elf, death, and demons is overwhelming, as if the fumes are seeping from her skin.

Thud.

The final drumbeat signals the threat is over.

I exhale, and the bottom of my bare foot meets the cold steel of the back harness as I kick the horrible creature hard over the edge.

The black elf is gone, swallowed by nature and the spirits of the forest. I quickly scoop up a handful of fresh snow from the mounds around me and toss it over the blood trails.

My feet work swiftly, pressing the frozen earth to hide all traces.

No one can know about the blood. The area remains silent and deserted, but it won’t stay that way for long.

I hurry, my feet leaving small narrow prints in the freshly fallen snow.

Delicate snowflakes settle on my shoulders as I crawl into a den beneath the roots of a lily tree hidden from the outside world.

It’s dark, save for a few rays trickling through the gaps.

My hair, usually shiny and white, is matted with mud and blood. I rub it with snow, trying to clean it.

Elven hair grows fast, and we rarely cut it. Mine reaches down to my waist, but it could’ve been much longer.

I pull an arrow from the quiver, pressing the tip against my fingertips.

Perfect. Sharp as rose thorns. I fold away the fabric of my shirt and press the edge against the skin of my right ribs.

The metal tickles. It’s been a long time since I last did this.

I carve three symmetrical lines, no longer than fingernails, beside the old ones.

The sting and burn spread in a strangely satisfying way.

Now I have five.