Orlo

  Noun / Proper Noun

  Translation: Horizon / Frontier

  Antonyms: Veilla

  Definition as a common noun: "Orlo" evokes the concept of the horizon or frontier — the edge of the known world and the promise of the unexplored.

  The frigid wind whipped around Jaer as he walked barefoot across the beach, the frozen sand crunching beneath his feet. As he approached, the sight of Zora's tent, crafted from spider silk, appeared almost otherworldly in the dimly lit light of the campfire where the young mage herself was seated. The flames cast shadows over her features as she idly stirred the coals with a stick.

  "May I?" Jaer asked gently, pausing a respectful distance away.

  Zora looked up, her expression unreadable for a moment, before she nodded slightly.

  Jaer settled himself next to her on the cold sand, immediately feeling the biting chill of the wind. He regretted not bringing a cloak, realising too late that the beach was colder than the camp, especially influenced by the brisk sea winds.

  She was dressed simply in a shirt, her feet also bare against the chill, her slight form making her seem even more vulnerable on the vast, open beach. Jaer couldn't help but notice the presence of the Spider Spirit, which lingered near as a silent guardian to the dark elf.

  Jaer smirked to himself. Zora seemed to have passed the Trial of the Chosen the day she was born.

  The fire crackled between them, a comforting sound against the roar of the ocean waves nearby. The moment was ripe for conversation, yet Jaer took a moment, letting the serene yet eerie ambience set in.

  "I've noticed you prefer to be here, away from the rest," Jaer began, his voice low and inviting rather than probing. "This place... it feels different from the camp. More peaceful, maybe?"

  Zora continued to poke at the fire as she considered his words. After a moment, she spoke, her voice just above the whisper of the wind, "It's quieter. I can think."

  Zora then asked as the icy wind swept over the beach. "Is there anything else I have to show?"

  He had come to check on her, yes, but now confronted with her directness, Jaer found himself at a loss for words. "Just... I just wanted to check on you. See if you are okay."

  "I'm fine," Zora replied curtly, her gaze fixed on the flickering flames.

  "No one is fine. And those who say they are fine are lying or forgot where the pain came from," he responded, trying to inject a hint of lightness into the conversation, hoping to coax a smile or perhaps a laugh from her. But her expression remained unchanged, serious and thoughtful.

  "What is it?" she pressed, turning to face him more fully now, her eyes searching his.

  "What is it?"

  "Yeah, what is your pain?"

  Jaer took a deep breath, the cold air filling his lungs before he exhaled slowly, "Yeso," he said simply. The name was a confession, a revelation of his deepest sorrow, spoken aloud after so many Winters.

  The sea chose that moment to roar louder, a wave crashing fiercely against the shore.

  "He is very popular around here."

  Her comment made Jaer chuckle, the sound soft but filled with a tinge of nostalgia. "He was even more popular when he was alive."

  "Lover?"

  "No, nothing like that. I guess it would have been simpler if it was," Jaer replied, his smile fading into a more contemplative expression.

  "What was he like?"

  "A dreamer and a fool. The man had an idea and would spend a lifetime to make it true," Jaer said.

  "Did he make it? I mean, did his dreams come true?"

  Jaer paused, considering her question. "Some of them," he finally answered honestly. "We're living part of his dream now, with the camp, the community. But dreams like his... they don't have a clear end. They evolve, they grow, and sometimes, they outlive the dreamer."

  Jaer adjusted his position on the sand, leaning back on his elbows and drawing his feet closer to the welcoming warmth of the fire.

  "But... but I don't know... I mean, I would say maybe not; otherwise, we wouldn't be living the Long Night. But on the other hand, he had everything. He won battles and wars. He lived in pure luxury until he met the love of his life. He travelled all over the Map. And even when he had nothing besides a dagger and the love of a woman, he helped others. And who knew him would just follow him. And then he had a son... so I ask myself, as a man, was he happy? I think so, as a dreamer, probably. But as a Commander... I don't see him happy as the world is now."

  Zora turned her eyes to Jaer, his face illuminated by the intermittent bursts of flame. Jaer's answer hung between them, suspended in the night air, mingling with the scent of the ocean and the earthy aroma of burning wood.

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  "He reminds me of a... a friend," Zora said as she stared into the flickering flames of the campfire. "He also dreams big and is never scared to fight. He went to university to become a professor. I think I never saw him giving up on a challenge, even if it almost cost him a leg. I kind of envy him for how he can see things in his mind and turn them into reality. He makes it look so easy."

  Jaer listened intently, the shadows cast by the fire playing across his face, highlighting his thoughtful expression.

  "Is the one that you are expecting letters from?" Jaer dared to ask.

  "He promised," Zora almost whispered, her focus intensifying on the stick she manipulated through the ashes, stirring up tiny clouds of dust and ember. "Well, not with these words... but I thought we promised each other. And not even a word, nothing."

  Jaer paused, sensing her disappointment at the broken promises that seemed to hover just beneath her calm exterior. How ironic it was that he knew that feeling by heart. Empty, broken promises had a bittersweet taste that would last, if not forever.

  "We were supposed to share this journey, you know? To support each other, no matter the distance. But it's like... I'm out here, and he's moved on, clearly. It's not just the absence of letters. It's the silence that fills every space where his words used to be. I miss that."

  The sea interrupted them, a sudden large wave crashing nearby with a loud, resounding boom, spraying cold, salty mist into the air and momentarily engulfing the sounds of their voices.

  "I started to feel alone and wanted to make friends. She was nice, and she always smiled. Shuri has a really beautiful smile. It was good to talk to someone about everything and eventually things..." Her voice cracked, not just with sadness but with an undercurrent of shame that made her pause, her eyes focusing intently on the dancing flames.

  "And you both got involved?" Jaer gently probed.

  "It was just a kiss or two... I didn't want more, and I told her that I had feelings for someone else. And they had for me. At least, that is what I believed. I told her everything about me and him. She seemed to understand, and things went back to normal. Or so I thought," Zora corrected herself, her gaze drifting away from the fire to the dark expanse of the sea.

  Jaer straightened his back, preparing to ask a more probing question, needing to understand the full scope of what had happened. "Because you don't feel anything, you didn't realise that she..." he started but found himself unable to finish, "I mean, that she took advantage of you?"

  "The marks started to show up. I was unsure at first... but she became cocky. And when I caught her and said no... I asked her to stop. I asked her several times. But she would... well, the other girls."

  Jaer felt a cold rage settle over him, not just at the betrayal of trust but at the abuse of power and affection. The fact that Zora, unable to feel pain, had been unknowingly marked explained so much about her isolation and the physical evidence of abuse that she had initially been unable to understand.

  "I'm so sorry, Lolth," Jaer said sincerely, his voice soft yet firm, acknowledging the gravity of her experience. "What she did was unforgivable."

  Zora nodded, her eyes still on the sea, grateful for his understanding but still visibly shaken. "It's why I stay away now. Why I prefer to be alone, it's easier to... manage."

  "We'll make this right, somehow. No one should feel unsafe, especially not in their own home or among their own people. But now things make sense."

  "Maybe it's my fault... if I didn't... kiss her... maybe none of this would happen... or maybe if I just let her do what she wanted, nobody would get hurt."

  "So it's okay if others hurt you?"

  "I can't feel anything anyway," Zora responded, her voice flat, a defence mechanism against the pain she didn't want to acknowledge.

  Jaer's actions were tender as he reached out, his thumb catching a droplet of tear that had escaped Zora's control, tracing its path down her chin. "Lolth, you are crying. Not all pain is in the flesh," he said softly.

  She quickly dodged her face away from his touch, using her hands to wipe her face, as if she could also dismiss her feelings so easily. "I'm fine."

  "Nobody is fine with a broken heart," Jaer countered, not easily convinced.

  "I don't have a broken heart. I'm mad she stole my letters!" Zora insisted, her anger surfacing over the layer of hurt she felt. “That is the only explanation, he wouldn’t… he wouldn’t miss his promise. He wouldn’t…

  "You think she did?" Jaer probed, trying to understand the full context.

  "I'm convinced Orlo would never do that to me. He wouldn't lie or trick me. If really he moved on, he would tell me! He would send me a very wordy letter and tell me the truth."

  Jaer suddenly furrowed his brows, a light of recognition flickering in his eyes. "Orlo?" he echoed her words, a piece clicking into place in his mind.

  "Yeah. Orlo, it's a stupid name. Rhymes with Ollo," Zora said, a brief, humourless chuckle escaping her lips despite the tension.

  Jaer chuckled aloud, the sound warm in the cold air, his mood briefly lightened by the coincidence. "It does. It's funny that he has the same name as Yeso's son."

  Zora tried to ignore his comment; she had maybe spoken too much.

  Sensing her discomfort, Jaer decided it was best to change the subject. "Well, why don't we go together to the camp? Maybe you don't need to be hidden here," he suggested gently, standing up and extending a hand to help Zora to her feet.

  "I'm not hidden. I'm not in danger. I came here, so I’m not close to Shuri; otherwise, I would kill her," Zora declared firmly, her tone leaving no room for doubt.

  Jaer stood tall, observing Zora sitting in the sand. To others, she might appear as a small, fragile, elven girl, vulnerable and alone. But Jaer saw something entirely different.

  Before him was a fierce Noitelven in all her might, a warrior with the patience of the wise and the blade of a merciless assassin. Her presence on the beach, far from being a sign of weakness or retreat, was a strategic position chosen by someone who knew exactly when and where she wanted to make her stand.

  She knew Shuri's weakness, and she was more than ready to use it.

  This night, under the Long Night and beside the rhythmic sea, marked the beginning of a deep, trusting friendship. One was later known as the Right-Hand of the Summerqueen, and the other was the Killing Shadow.

  

  In the annals of Elven history, the demise of the Noitelven civilization is marked not merely by the clatter of swords but by a decidedly more sinister conclusion. Long before Veilla, the Fallqueen, claimed her regal seat in Whitestone, the Noitelven, or star elves, found themselves entangled in a disastrous conflict with their kin from Mir-Grand-Carta. The casus belli? A rather sordid dispute over the ownership of Orcs and Tieflings, whom both factions viewed less as sentient beings and more as movable property or, to put it bluntly, slaves. Leading the charge were Commander Echternach and Commander Finnegan Berdorf—the latter of whom would ascend to become an Elven king, no less. While Magis, including my esteemed father, exerted considerable efforts to broker peace, their noble intentions were ultimately derailed by an event that could only be described as grotesquely inventive. In a macabre experiment, the Elves of Mir-Grand-Carta unleashed a devastating biological weapon: captured humans, their throats slit, stumbling through the ranks of the Noitelven. The effect was catastrophic. Upon contact with human blood, the star elves succumbed to excruciating agony, collapsing mid-stride from their mounts, dissolving into the ether until nought, but memories remained. Miraculously—or suspiciously, depending on one’s penchant for conspiracy—the body of Commander Echternach was never recovered. Thus, the war concluded not with a diplomatic parley but with a bloodbath, quite literally. The moral of this story? In Elven politics, as in life, the ends often employ means that make even the most seasoned historians wince. ——The Monsoon & The Howling Night by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, First Edition, 559th Summer