The Last Sunrise.

The setting sun cast its last warm rays as it sank below the horizon. Isolated clouds, frozen in stillness, turned golden and red in its glow, creating a picturesque mosaic. Animals were preparing for sleep, people were returning from the fields after a hard, labor-filled autumn day. The shadows cast by the spreading trees, lengthening by the minute, heralded the end of another day. Night was approaching, a time for well-deserved rest. But not for everyone. Milindor, a young half-elf, rode his horse along the ancient Mithril Road, heading for Taur Caras. He had been on his journey for over a dozen days, and another few still lay ahead. He anxiously searched for a suitable place to spend the night. True, less than an hour earlier, he had passed through a village where there was surely an inn and vacant rooms waiting for anyone willing to pay the price, but he hadn't stopped there. Not out of carelessness. No, quite the opposite. He was prudent enough to know that the available rooms were seemingly for everyone, but no one would rent them to him anyway. He might have considered himself lucky if he hadn't been thrown out, but he doubted it. He hadn't been born under a lucky star. He was half-elf, and that meant a changeling and an outcast. To both humans and elves. At the sight of him, they spat on him and cast contemptuous glances at him. They called him a bastard, despised him simply because he was different. And how was he different from them? Nothing, nothing but his appearance, a combination of the subtle beauty of elves and the vitality of humans. His parents had loved each other despite everything around them, but they too had finally succumbed, suffering abject poverty and having to abandon him. He didn't know where they were now; he doubted they were still alive. And he wandered: an outcast, a loner, a pauper, an eternal wanderer.

It was almost completely dark when he finally decided there was no point in continuing his journey that day. He set up camp at the edge of the forest, far from any human settlements, far from civilization. He tied his horse to a large oak tree, unslung his saddlebags, and prepared a fire pit. He still needed to gather firewood. Without hesitation, he set off into the forest, looking around. It was already completely dark among the trees, but fortunately, he could see quite well even in the twilight. Dead, fallen leaves rustled under his feet, and in the distance he could hear the hooting of night birds, eagerly awaiting dusk. He quickly finished his task and returned to the spot where he had decided to spend the night. Fortunately, it hadn't rained for several days, which was rare for this time of year. Milindor wasn't worried, though; at least the firewood was fairly dry. With great skill, revealing the seasoned traveler in him, he lit a fire and began unpacking his saddlebags in search of something edible. He still had plenty of provisions, enough to reach Taur Caras without stopping. And even if he'd miscalculated, he could easily satisfy his hunger in the forest. He sat by the fire, basking in its warmth and nibbling on a caraway cake, which, thanks to repeated baking, had retained its freshness and distinctive flavor for a truly long time. Staring at the flames dancing on the dry logs, his mind wandered elsewhere. He wondered how his only friend, his only close friend, the alchemist Arille, was doing. A few weeks ago, disturbing news reached him. From the merchants traveling south in large numbers, he learned of the strange phenomena Taur Caras had recently witnessed. The specter of a new danger loomed over the city. Milindor had never been amazed at how its inhabitants could live peacefully just a few hours' journey from the cursed ruins of the ancient elven stronghold, Alfirithorn. Burnt and completely plundered centuries ago, they were shrouded in a terrible legend. Supposedly, anyone who crossed the line formerly defined by the outer walls never returned to their home. Or rather, they did, but as a ghostly apparition, not a living being. According to merchants, the powers slumbering within Alfirithorn have recently awakened. Terrifying things are said to be happening in the city, though no one can truly say what exactly. Missing people and mysteriously vanishing objects supposedly no longer surprise anyone. However, the inhabitants refuse to leave and view newcomers with a hostility they had never known before. Arille, of course, was not a well-known figure for anyone to learn anything about him from the frightened merchants. Milindor had no other choice, he had been planning to visit him for some time, and in these circumstances he simply hastened his decision. Nothing kept him in these lands anyway, he had no home, he had nowhere to return to,He had nothing to throw. So he set off, his mount his only companion. Now, after many days of arduous travel, disturbing thoughts still haunted him, and he made no effort to suppress them. After finishing his meal, he once again examined the spot he had chosen for the night, so that no unpleasant surprise would arise at the least expected or desired moment. After making sure everything was in order, the half-elf settled comfortably on the bed.

Somewhere in the distance, the long, desperate howl of wolves resounded, and from the forest came the ominous hooting of a tawny owl. Milindor wrapped his blanket tighter around himself; the fire would burn for several more hours, until then, no animal would approach him. And after that? He didn't think twice; many years of solitary wandering had effectively killed his fear of spending the night in the wilderness. Obedient to the elven blood flowing in his veins, he had learned to appreciate and love nature. No, it wasn't his enemy, he didn't have to fear it. Surrounded by the wild howls of wolves, the mysterious hooting of owls, and the unfriendly rustling of leaves, Milindor quickly fell asleep. It had been his lullaby for many years. He knew it by heart.

He was awakened only by the first rays of sunlight breaking through the thick, milky fog that enveloped the fields and meadows. He stretched on his bed, stirring his frozen limbs to life. From his black hair, he pulled a few red oak leaves, which had become entangled in them during his blissful sleep. Autumn had already settled firmly in these lands, spreading thick mists across the fields with its hands, sending shivers down the spines of travelers with its breath, and turning the forests golden and red with its touch. The half-elf prepared himself breakfast, which he ate with gusto, and then set off again. The fog slowly cleared, and the sun's rays warmed the frosty air. The morning chill, however, was making its presence felt, so the traveler wrapped himself tightly in his brown, worn-out cloak, which still provided plenty of warmth and, moreover, brought to mind the most beautiful moments of his youth. Times so different and yet so similar to what he was experiencing today. Now he would have to travel through the forests. In fact, right up to the buildings of Taur Caras, he would wander under a canopy of colorful leaves, and instead of clattering on gray stones, his horse's hooves would gently tread on a carpet of leaves. Most importantly, however, no one would bother him along the way, and as he approached his destination, he would be able to learn more and more about the situation he would encounter in the city.

The sun had already completed half its journey across the sky when Milindor reached the first fork in the road; the forest was still dim, though the mists had long since cleared. The half-elf was about to turn onto the right branch of the trail, recalling his recent journeys; he didn't think he could make a mistake. However, he preferred to be sure; the journey had already lasted many days; he didn't want to prolong it any further. Dismounting his horse, he approached a wooden signpost nailed to one of the trees. The inscription he read, however, disconcerted him; the signpost indicated something completely different. Had he made a mistake? No, certainly not. "Someone must have swapped the signposts," he thought quickly, before other, more disturbing thoughts flashed through his mind. What was so unusual about some irresponsible prankster trying to mislead merchants and travelers? But during his travels, which he had been conducting for at least a dozen years, nothing like this had happened. "The world is changing," he thought, "nothing more." Without looking back, he continued on his way, trusting his own intuition; it had never failed him before, so he thought this time would be no different. He was right. After several hours of riding, he came upon a merchant caravan. Several armed men on horseback, four wagons loaded with goods, driven by merchants perpetually preoccupied with something, were heading south with surprising speed. Seeing the lone rider, they exchanged knowing glances, then urged their horses to ride even faster. None of them responded to the half-elf's friendly, if not overly effusive, greeting. As he passed the last wagon, he heard a lively, if hushed, conversation among the merchants:

"He's not one of them, is he?" one of the merchants asked in a trembling voice. "We're already far from those accursed ruins."

"Don't you know they've been venturing further and further south lately," the second voice replied. "It's good he passed us, he was clearly in a hurry."

"He didn't seem to be in a hurry. The fact that he looked suspicious in that cloak, with the hood pulled low, didn't mean he was one of them. We could have at least warned him.

" "Then turn around and tell him," the merchant snapped. "

For a moment, he could still hear the increasingly excited voices of the traders from the wagon, but he couldn't quite make out what exactly they were talking about. Besides, he'd heard enough; at first he thought the lack of any reaction to his greeting was because they recognized him as a half-elf. Only after a moment did he realize they couldn't see his face. Now he knew the answer to the question of why a well-armed group of men reacted so strongly to the sight of an inconspicuous, lone rider. But who were these?who struck such great fear into the timid hearts of men? He would soon find out.

Meanwhile, he continued northward, encountering no one. The last time he had traveled this route had been many years ago. He didn't wonder if the Mithril Road was always so deserted, or if the lack of travelers was unusual. If he had been a frequent visitor to these parts, he would have known that it was usually impossible to travel even five furlongs without encountering at least ten merchant caravans, mostly representatives of dwarven trading posts trading in iron, coal, silver, and other raw materials abundant in the rocky Ice Mountains, the northernmost mountains in the world. Once upon a time, there had been deposits of mithril there, thanks to which this region experienced periods of rapid development. Today, although the deposits of this most precious metal were only memories and colorful legends from those years, these lands were still a good place to settle and begin a normal life. Arille had repeatedly encouraged Milindor to do so, but he didn't believe he could begin a normal life anywhere. It wasn't meant for him. Meanwhile, the road, carpeted with fallen leaves, was deserted, shimmering in the sunlight filtering through the treetops. It was warm, and a light breeze pleasantly caressed his face. It seemed like the most ordinary autumn day a fortunate traveler could experience. Milindor thought so, forgetting the merchants' words he'd surreptitiously overheard and the strange reversal of signposts. The weather encouraged singing and dancing rather than gloomy contemplation. Soon, succumbing to its charm, the half-elf began quietly whistling old songs he'd heard in his youth.

The next few similar days passed unnoticed, filled with a lonely but pleasant hike along a forest path bathed in sunlight. The forest became somewhat sparser, so there was more light and warmth. He chose small clearings for the night where he could build a fire, warm his body, and eat his fill.

It was late afternoon; by this time the next day, he should have been in Taur Caras; the road was unusually quick and quiet. Seemingly, everything was in its proper place, but when Miilindor considered it more carefully, he realized that he hadn't heard birdsong for at least two days, save for the hooting of night owls and tawny owls. Mornings were strangely quiet without the birdsong, but the half-elf, constantly lost in his own thoughts, only now realized this. He also didn't recall spotting any deer or wild boar darting through the trees. No animal had bothered him on the road or approached his camp. Milindor stopped his horse in the middle of the track, stroking its mane and listening to the sounds of the forest. The only sound that reached his ears was the rustle of leaves falling in the light breeze. The forest seemed desolate, yet it looked completely ordinary. "Maybe it's just my imagination. Since I hadn't noticed the birds had fallen silent until now, I might as well have missed the animals scuttling by unnoticed. Why should I worry? Everything will become clear soon anyway." Milindor spurred his horse slightly, signaling it was time to move on. He tried not to think about his recent observations, but to no avail. To pass the time, he even began to sing quietly, but he had the distinct impression that in the deafening silence of the forest, his song sounded like a shout announcing his arrival. Soon he fell silent, confused by his own thoughts and the awkward silence that, though it hadn't bothered him at all just that morning, now seemed unbearable.

The forest was already dark, and strangely, the forest was only now beginning to come alive. In the distance, night birds could be heard squawking, and near the road, a dry branch snapped under the feet of an animal. Milindor looked around carefully, the darkness catching him off guard this time before he found a suitable spot for the night. He could see well at night, but he was already very tired from the day's riding. He didn't want to stop just anywhere, though; he preferred to keep moving forward while he still had the strength. His eyelids gradually began to close on their own. Milindor didn't even try to fight them, he was inclined to stop, even in the middle of the road, when the sound of breaking branches roused him from his reverie. He opened his eyes instantly, and the sleepiness temporarily vanished. A few hundred paces ahead, the wavering glow of flames illuminated the road. The half-elf forced his horse to a faster pace, simultaneously checking if his sword was coming out of its sheath correctly. It came out perfectly. Soon, a small clearing came into view, in the center of which a small fire burned, and beside it sat a slightly stooped figure, staring into the flames. Milindor readjusted his sword once more and slowly approached the mysterious figure. Snippets of the merchants' conversation he'd overheard flashed through his mind again. They feared the lone, hooded figures wandering around Taur Caras. But then, hundreds of travelers looked exactly like that; he wasn't about to attack a defenseless man just because he was afraid. No, fear was a bad advisor. The half-elf dismounted, deliberately trying to attract attention; if something was amiss, at least he wouldn't be surprised. The lone figure, seeing the newcomer, raised her head slightly, regarding him closely. The firelight illuminated her face; Milindor easily recognized the woman before him. Her expression was one of concern mixed with curiosity. Surprisingly, not fear. "She's probably used to solitude too," the half-elf thought, pleased with the turn of events. He'd dealt with female warriors before, but this one didn't look like one. There was gentleness in her eyes, not intransigence. When he was a few steps away from her, he bowed slightly to show he wasn't her enemy.

"Greetings, ma'am," he began, slightly embarrassed. "I'm Milindor," he said, trying to keep his voice as gentle as possible. "I'm traveling to Taur Caras," he added after a moment.

"I'm called Eliana, I'm a healer," she replied in a melodious voice, and only now did Milindor notice she was holding a gleaming dagger. "You say you're going to Taur Caras, but what brings you to those parts? So far, I've only met travelers heading south. You're the first one who, like me, is heading to that city."

- I wish to visit my friend, the alchemist Arille - he replied, coming a little closer and smiling kindly at her - It seems that we will have to travel together for some time.

"I suppose so," she replied with a smile, discreetly tucking her dagger into her cloak and gesturing to the newcomer, who, after tying his horse to a tree, eagerly accepted the offer to join the camp. "But I don't know if you've chosen the right time to visit a friend," she added after a moment, her voice suddenly becoming serious and slightly sad. "You've heard that things haven't been going well there lately, haven't you?

" "I have, actually, those rumors only hastened my decision to leave. I've wanted to visit him for a long time, and since I heard he might be having some problems, there was no need to hesitate."

"Really?" she asked, a spark of admiration glinting in her eyes. "I don't suppose you realize how much danger you're playing with."

"I don't know," he agreed. "Should I? Do you know more about him?

" "Yes," she agreed. "If you're determined to help him, no matter what threatens him, you might need such knowledge. I'm familiar with the history of Alifirithorn and its fall." I know more about the forces that have taken over it than all the scholars of Taur Caras combined, and I was sent here specifically to defend this city. I just don't know if I'm not arriving too late.

"And how do you intend to defend it?" Milindor asked ironically.

"You don't believe I can handle myself," she replied, perfectly guessing his thoughts. "Don't worry about it, it doesn't concern you. You'll visit your friend and leave here as soon as you see how things stand.

" "You don't know me," the half-elf snorted, "but I don't know you either, so let's leave it at that. Just tell me more about Alfirithorn, and maybe I can help you."

"Really? But I'll tell you what I know," she replied conciliatorily. "Later, you can decide what to do next. Besides, we're going to Taur Caras together anyway, so I guess we can spend it more pleasantly than arguing over who can afford how much. So if you're interested, listen." Eliana waited until Milindor pulled the evening meal from his saddlebags before beginning her story. "Alfirithorn was an elven city founded at the end of the Second Age by exiles from the south. Soon, thanks to the unusually favorable conditions in which it was located, the small settlement quickly transformed into a thriving city dominating the then-backward region. The rulers of Alfirithorn, embittered by their wandering fate, to which they had been condemned by the former kings of the south, tried to redress their losses on the poor inhabitants of the north. Their bloody reign is still remembered with fear." Through violence, they quickly transformed Alfirithorn into a city rivaling the mightiest fortresses in the world. However, they weren't content with wealth and fame; they yearned for more and more. By a strange coincidence, Vo'than was present at the royal court at the time. A powerful mage and cruel advisor to the rulers, it was through his instigation that a secret alliance was forged between the elves and the forces of darkness. To this day, they speak of it with pain and shame, but it was the truth. No one knows exactly what this dark alliance entailed, but it was a fact that Alfirithorn eventually became the capital of a kingdom stretching from the Silver River to the Ice Mountains. No one in history had ruled such a powerful land, and no one likely ever will again. However, as is often the case, pride was the ruler's undoing; the southern coalition managed to push the enemy back to the walls of the capital, which was besieged for months. Thanks to Vo'than's spells, the siege ended sooner than expected. A grim, yet almost imperceptible shadow passed across Eliana's face. The north flowed with a sea of ​​blood, and Alfirithorn itself became a truly immortal city, a habitat for demons, who, however, had no access beyond the outer walls of the fortress. The healer stopped talking, and the last remnants of her smile vanished. Milindor also remained silent.

"They didn't, but something has changed," he whispered to himself; Eliana hadn't even heard him. "Can they cross them now?" he finally asked, when the silence became too oppressive.

"I don't know for sure," she replied. "The barrier created after the bloody war still exists, but it weakens with each passing day. Their emissaries already roam the world; I don't know how much time we have before the barrier falls completely. I hope Taur Caras hasn't succumbed to their whispers yet; that would make our task much more difficult."