A very young Kishrylmian elf named Delvyréla Zefaltro sat on a chair in her small cottage, which was among the twenty in her village, Schalyrykk. It was a very humid summer day that was drawing to a close.
She fidgeted with a lock of her long, straight, brunette-red hair absentmindedly, staring at the ceiling.
“Delvyréla,” her mother, Latavyss, suddenly called out. “It’s time for dinner.”
“Okay,” replied Delvyréla. She walked at a somewhat ponderous pace towards the kitchen. A pleasant aroma drifted through the air. She breathed deeply, embracing it.
Without knowing why, she felt that something horrible was going to happen soon. This feeling had gotten stronger throughout the day, and at that moment, it was stronger than ever.
The family sat down together at the smooth, glossy rectangular table. Just as they began to eat, Delvyréla discovered the reason why she had been feeling so strange.
An elf whom they had never seen leaped spontaneously through a window, with a twisted, evil grin on his face. He had shaggy, uneven, short black hair that hung over his blood red eyes. He wore a black hooded sweatshirt. He also wore a cloak, which was blood red.
I wonder why he waited until now to come barging in here, Delvyréla thought irritably.
Her thoughts were interrupted as the elf began his attack, which was mostly directed towards her parents. His shouts of “Zegro!” and “Dejarralynryu!” rang throughout the entire village. Delvyréla instinctively tried to stop him. She ran into her bedroom, where her staff was laid on the leaf-green carpeted floor. Faint purple Kishrylmian gemstones brightly gleamed atop the staff as she reached for it.
Before she could do anything, the elf shouted, “Dejarralynru!” yet again. A bright, dazzling, black laser beam whirred across the cottage and shot Delvréla’s head. Dazed, she staggered back, crashing into a wall and slumping onto the floor.
After hearing all the commotion, Delvyréla’s fellow villagers suddenly rushed through the doorway. All of them held a staff in their hands. Delvyréla stared at them helplessly in disbelief.
After ten minutes, she suddenly felt her strength and energy return. “Everyone, get out of here. NOW,” she commanded the villagers. Despite the fact that she was only eleven years old, they all fearfully backed away.
She brought her focus back to the elf, who was slowly murdering her parents. They could not defend themselves; they were tightly bound together against a wall by some sort of magical rope, which gave off an eerie blood red light.
Unsure of what to do next, she screamed, “Zadyzhelrémylyn!”
A white light projected from the tip of her staff and shot the elf squarely in the chest. He immediately dropped to the cold floor, staring blankly at Delvyréla. She felt impressed with herself, as she had never practiced that spell. She swiftly advanced upon the elf, trying to think of a question to ask him.
“Why are you trying to murder my parents, and what is your name?” she asked.
“I am trying to murder your parents because…” the elf started flatly. He then seemed to fall out of the spell’s manipulation. He whipped out his staff and muttered a few words that Delvyréla did not understand. A bright blue laser beam projected from the tip of his staff, and Delvréla fell to the floor, unconscious.
He turned around, and with a shout of “Zegro!” Delvyréla’s parents were dead.
The elf, whose name was Jifaltron, looked at Delvyréla somewhat indecisively. “Should I take her away now?” he asked himself aloud. He then decided, No. I’ll come back for her in a few years…
* * *
“What happened?” Delvyréla mumbled as she woke up, still leaning against a wall. She felt very weak, as if her energy had been taken away. Her eyelids also felt heavy; she struggled to keep them open. After only ten seconds, she let herself collapse on the floor. The faint beams of sunlight that dappled the floor almost blinded her.
After fifteen or so minutes, she sat up against the wall and swept lock of hair away from her face, then glanced around the cottage in horror and confusion.
Her parents lay limp and lifeless on the smooth, stony floor of the kitchen. Their untouched dinner remained on the table.
Who are those dead elves in the kitchen? Who killed them? Delvyréla thought. She looked down, noticing that her staff lay just a few inches away from her. She slowly picked it up, examining it.
Suddenly, an elf came barging through the door- her closest friend, Arryzério Fejaierr. It took a moment for Delvyréla to comprehend that.
“Delvyréla?” he called out, with a hint of nervousness in his voice. “Are you awake yet? It’s been two days, and I’m growing tired of having no one to talk with!”
Delvyréla stood up, trembling. “I’m right here,” she stated.
“Okay,” replied Arryzério, turning his head around to look at her. As he did this, his strawberry-blond hair swished in front of his attractive, pale blue eyes. “I’m sorry about the loss of your parents,” he said solemnly.
“What are you talking about?”
Arryzério stared at her, shocked. “You… you didn’t know? But you were right there when it happened!”
Delvyréla gazed at the ceiling, trying to convince whatever memory she had of the event to return. However hard she tried, her mind stayed almost completely blank. “I don’t remember it at all; maybe I was brainwashed,” she finally replied. As she said this, thoughts of dragons randomly began drifting across her mind. She suddenly remembered something. “Can’t Kazerreshrida dragons cure memory loss?” she said, convieniently changing the subject.
“I believe so,” answered Arryzério. “Or maybe their scales are used in a potion. Hopefully the dragons know.”
“Yes,” agreed Delvyréla, nodding gravely. “And there is a dragon cave at Mt. Rendyflykon, which is around the edge of the forest.”
“Wild dragons can be slightly dangerous,” warned Arryzério. “Are you sure you want to go there?”
Delvyéla pondered the question for a short while. Shouldn’t I remember who my parents were? she thought.
“Yes” was her answer.