Just being a dark elf in Warhammer

The sound of steel clashing echoed across the wasteland of Naggaroth, and the figures of the two warriors crossed under the leaden sky. Eltharion's blade cut through the air, bringing with it a sharp sound of wind, but was easily blocked by Malekith. As if performing a silent dance, the two men's movements were swift and precise, and the sparks from the collision of swords flickered under the gray sky like short-lived stars.

Isharion's brows were furrowed, with confusion and uneasiness flashing in his eyes. His swordsmanship had become more sophisticated than ever after various experiences, but at this moment his blade, although sharp, was less resolute and more hesitant, as if he was looking for some answer.

Malekith seemed calm and composed, and every block and counterattack he made was full of unfathomable majesty. His movements were elegant and cold, as if he was teasing a trapped beast, and his sword was as flexible as a venomous snake, and every swing carried a deadly threat.

"Your sword is trembling, Eltharion!" His voice was low and cold, as if it came from the abyss. "What are you hesitating about?"

Eltharion did not answer, but gritted his teeth and swung his sword at Malekith again. His sword blade drew a silver light in the air, but was easily blocked by Malekith. At the moment of the collision, he felt a huge recoil force, which almost made him lose his grip on the hilt.

"What are you seeking?" Malekith continued, with a hint of sarcasm in his tone, "Power? Glory? Or...yourself?"

Eltharion's movements suddenly stopped for a moment, the sword in his hand drooped slightly, and a trace of pain flashed in his eyes. His breathing became rapid, and his chest rose and fell violently. At this moment, the inner struggle seemed to tear his soul apart.

"I don't know..." After a moment, he finally spoke, his voice low and hoarse, "I don't know why I am here, nor do I know where I will go."

"Confusion is an excuse for the weak, Eltharion. You should be proud, but now you are like a lonely bird that has lost its way." Malekith sneered and put away his sword. His figure looked particularly tall under the lead-gray sky, like an insurmountable mountain.

"I thought I knew everything, but now... I can't see anything clearly." Eltharion lowered his head, and his hand holding the sword trembled slightly. As if telling of his inner uneasiness, the sword in his hand also made a low hum in the wind.

“Then open your eyes!” Malekith’s voice suddenly rose, like a thunder in Eltharion’s ears. “Look at the world around you, look at yourself! You don’t need to look for the answer, the answer is in your heart.”

"There is only darkness in my heart." Isharion's voice was low, as if he was talking to himself. He raised his head and a hint of confusion flashed in his eyes.

"Then embrace the darkness!" There was an unquestionable power in Malekith's voice. "Darkness is not your enemy, never! It is your strength! Think about Daxus, only when you accept it, can you truly see yourself."

Eltharion frowned slightly, and the figure of Dakwus emerged in his mind. That Duruchi, who always had a cynical smile, could move freely in the darkness, as if darkness was his ally, not his enemy.

"Dakeus..." He murmured softly, chewing on the meaning of the name.

"He understood this truth earlier than you." Malekith's voice was a little sarcastic, but more of a guide. "Darkness is not the end, but the beginning. Only when you accept it can you transcend it."

Eltharion was silent for a moment, the confusion in his eyes was gradually replaced by a determined light, he tightened the sword in his hand, and pointed the blade at Malekith again.

"One more time." There was a hint of determination in his voice.

"That's more like it."

The two swords collided again, sparks flew. This time, Eltharion's movements were no longer hesitant, and every swing of his sword was accompanied by an unprecedented force. The blade cut through the air, making a sharp whistling sound, as if venting his inner depression.

Malekith continued to deal with Eltharion's attacks calmly. His sword was as flexible as a venomous snake. Every block was just right, constantly testing Eltharion's limits.

The battle lasted for a long time, until the afterglow of the setting sun sprinkled on the wasteland. The two finally stopped and looked at each other.

"Did you find it?" Malekith asked with a hint of anticipation in his tone.

"I have found... my path." Eltharion nodded, his eyes gleaming with determination. His voice was no longer confused, but full of determination.

"Then keep going. No matter whether there is so-called light or darkness ahead, don't look back!" Malekith put away his sword, turned and walked towards the military camp in the distance.

Eltharion looked at the train approaching in the distance, took a deep breath, and felt the cold air of the wasteland rush into his lungs. After a moment, his eyes followed Malekith's gaze and looked towards the dark kingdom.

"I will!" he murmured in a low voice, as if swearing to himself.

——

"We're here."

Lost in his memories, Eltharion was brought back to reality by Bel-Ahor's words. He sighed, then relaxed and lay on the railing of the deck. He buried his head in his arms and stared at the Temple of Asuryan, which was already within reach.

"I have an illusion." He whispered, with a hint of mixed emotions in his voice.

"What?" Bel-Ahor asked curiously, holding the railing with both hands, but his eyes were still on the temple in the distance.

"I feel like we are more like brothers... do you understand that feeling?" Isharion's voice was a little hoarse as he suppressed some emotion.

"I understand! No matter what happens next, no matter what happens in the future, the previous experiences are unforgettable, precious, and indelible. This experience makes us...you know what I mean." Bel-Ahol was silent for a moment, then nodded.

"I know." Eltharion nodded and responded in an acknowledging tone.

After three days and three nights of sailing from Lothern, an island appeared in their eyes.

The island looks like a volcano, but not like one, with palm trees covering some of the slopes, caves and terraces dotted on its sides. The highest point of the island is a huge stepped pyramid, majestic and solemn, as if announcing its sacredness to the world.

This island is undoubtedly one of the most sacred places in Ulthuan. It is home to the great pyramid-temple Temple of Asuryan.

But when Aenarion passed through the fire, everything was different.

Aenarion taught the Elves how to make war, how to follow a king, how to fight and conquer.

After that day, the elves became different and were no longer the same as before.

Aenarion fashioned the Elves into his own image, into the form they needed to survive.

Peaceful peasants can no longer survive in a world where the Old Ones have left and where the evil forces of Chaos are on the march.

Aenarion shaped the elves into beings that could survive in this world.

Every Phoenix King since then has ascended the throne here.

The boat got closer and the island became bigger and bigger.

Soon, the ship slowly sailed into a small port. The entrance was lined with statues of the Phoenix King, who looked down from the cliffs above, as if silently guarding this sacred land. The crew skillfully towed the ship into the port and tied the ropes, moving quietly and quickly, fearing to disturb the tranquility here.

A team of Phoenix Guards stood guard here quietly, their armor gleaming golden in the sun. The captain greeted them silently, and both sides seemed to have long been accustomed to this tacit way of communication.

As they stepped off the ship, Eltharion and Bel-Ahor noticed the gazes of the Phoenix Guard, which fell on them with an indescribable meaning. Then, they looked at each other, and they could feel that the look in the Phoenix Guard's eyes was indescribable.

That look seemed to tell them that the Phoenix Guards already knew their experiences and where they came from. But on second thought, it seemed to be just an ordinary look, just like the look that the Phoenix Guards would give to every visitor when they came here.

Eltharion did not ask, nor did he ask "What are you looking at?" like Dacreus did, because he knew he would not get an answer.

Sworn to silence, these warriors communicate in a way that only they understand. They guard sacred secrets and are said to know even their own fate.

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And this is also the purpose of his coming here.

However, no matter what, the Phoenix Guards just watched and did not block their way, let alone kill them on the spot.

Soon the two Asurs, not brothers but more than brothers, walked along the road to the Temple of Asuryan, past vineyards and gardens on the hillsides of the ancient island. The sun was shining, and birds sang in the branches, while huge butterflies, almost as big as the birds, fluttered among the hedges and flowers.

Everything is so beautiful.

Even an elf like Bel-Ahor, who was insensitive to most winds of magic, could tell that this was a mysterious place. Power filled the air around him, and he could feel it, like a cool mist on his skin. The power was not violent or oppressive, but a gentle yet omnipresent presence, as if the entire island was breathing, and each breath carried an ancient and sacred energy.

There was a light fragrance in the air, like a mixture of sea breeze, flowers and burning spices. He took a deep breath, feeling the energy flowing into his body along with his breath, lifting his spirit. His pace slowed down unconsciously, and each step was more cautious, so as not to disturb the tranquility of this land.

The Temple of Asuryan rose above, the stone below ancient and weathered, covered with ochre moss. He could hardly tell the true scale of the place; the Temple seemed part of the cliff, a mountain carved by ancient builders. The steps and arches and towers were woven into the mountain as if they were the work of nature rather than the work of the Elven.

He looked up. The outline of the temple looked particularly majestic in the sunlight. The top seemed to reach the sky and merge with the sky. The stone walls were engraved with ancient runes and patterns. Although they were blurred, he could still feel the power contained in them. It was an ancient and deep power, as if it came from the root of the world. He stared at it as if he was looking at a natural miracle: the architecture, the mountain scenery, the perfect beach, the brilliant sunset.

"This place... is like a miracle. God lives here." After a moment, he whispered, his voice mixed with awe and something else.

“Yes, I can see the flames burning on the cliffs,” Eltharion agreed.

"I could see it, too. Perhaps 'see' is the wrong word. I could feel the energy, a place where a force from outside was touching our world. Something huge and slow and extremely ancient."

"Did you notice? It doesn't look like it was made by elves, does it?" asked Eltharion, with a hint of doubt in his tone.

"Yes, I agree with you. This is not the typical elven architectural style." Bel-Aihor nodded, and then added, "Do you remember what we saw on the continent of Lustria?"

"certainly."

"This temple echoes the architectural pattern of the Lizardman Temple City... This..." There was a hint of thought in Bel-Ahor's voice.

“This reminds me of what happened in Athel Loren…Darkius…” Eltharion sighed.

"Yes." Bel-Ahor said with a hint of resonance in his voice. His eyes swept across the surrounding scenery, and an indescribable emotion surged in his heart.

"Aenarion is here... This feels strange." Eltharion whispered, as if talking to himself. His pace slowed down unconsciously, as if every step was a dialogue with history.

As he walked, an idea suddenly came to him.

When the Phoenix King first saw this place, he was not yet moved by Asuryan's power. He could have walked away, and the entire course of history would have been different. There would have been no Phoenix King, no rise of the elves, and perhaps the power of Chaos would have engulfed the entire world.

And he would not be standing here now, looking up at the temple with wonder and uneasiness.

"Malekis is here too..." Bel-Ahor whispered, with a hint of complicated emotions in his tone.

The Witch King of Naggaroth had walked here too, and he had crawled out of the sacred fire, a pitiful, scorched body, and utterly twisted by the experience. Yet, despite all that, he had left. He had outlived his great father, and became the most complex and controversial figure in elven history.

"Every Phoenix King who has ever been crowned has stood where we stand now, on this small island, so much of our history was shaped, but..."

"No matter what, our history will be formed now, and our destiny will be decided here." Bel-Ahor took over the conversation with a firm determination in his tone. His eyes swept across the outline of the temple, as if looking for some answer.

Soon, he found the answer, although this answer was...

As if he knew they would arrive at this moment, a priest appeared at the entrance of the temple.

The moment his eyes fell on the priest, he stopped in his tracks. There was a hint of surprise and confusion in his voice. He recognized the priest.

"Kazhuoyin? You..." (End of this chapter)