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A quiet rage stirred in the cool wind. That anger was coming from Sirka.
The title of “high elf” had always been a legendary one, something only shared among the ordinary elves in tales. High elves were considered the greatest protectors of their kind. Only those who had risen so high that they could be considered candidates for the next Monarch could be called by such an honorable name.
However, these high elves had been devoured by Elvenwoods and the spirits. The elves had lost their roots entirely—and there were no less than three thousand of them.
“I didn’t know there were this many,” Sirka remarked.
She felt like a weight she hadn’t realized she was carrying had suddenly been lifted.
An emotion had been slowly building up within her as she accompanied Suho in the search for the Elvenwoods. Every time she had encountered high elves living around the trees, the feelings in her heart had built layer upon layer. And now, as she stood before three thousand of them, the last thread of restraint inside her snapped.
Sirka clenched her teeth.
“There were so many of you?”
She repeated the words over and over through gritted teeth.
It was shocking to know that so many elves...
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