He haunted her.

Followed her like her shadow.

Was in everything she did.

Every movement,
Word,
Thought,
Emotion.
He had never left.

Even now after twenty years had passed she still heard his voice, thought she saw him in the halls of the castle, on the streets. In the faces of those she knew. He was here, wandering through the halls like a ghost. He was there in the back of her mind, in every memory that floated to the surface.

He was gone, however. The man she had known, the man she had loved, was gone. That much she knew for certain. Islande was pulled from her thoughts when she heard laughter below her.

She watched the children run through the cobblestone streets, happy. She had built this Kingdom herself, alone. Islande had refused to let anyone in after she had lost Viseron.

She hadn't taken a husband, which meant Crysinlor didn't have a King for the first time in centuries. That drew ridicule from the other rulers. They were opposed to change in the ways of the world. The way things had been done for thousands of years.

She wondered why she couldn't rule alone when Evarian ruled Abhainne, the River Kingdom, alone. When the Elves had only one Queen or King at a time.

Because Crysinlor, the Kingdom of Light, the center of the Kingdoms, has always been ruled by a King and a Queen to balance power. She thought, looking out at the life she had built for her people.

They had accused her of wanting the power for herself. She had countered that they had exiled her one love. That she wouldn't marry to appease those in power.

Her one soul supporter had been Valindra, the elven Queen who now ruled the Silathian, the Elven Kingdom. She had taught her how to break free of what held her back, her fear of doing something wrong, the fear of being judged. She had helped her become the Queen she was now. One who wouldn't be pushed around, one who incited change.

She wasn't the Queen she had been twenty years ago, when she was barely eighteen. When she had taken the throne after her mother and her father had been killed by the Shadowalker.

Someone cleared their throat behind her, pulling her out of her reverie. She turned to see Tyros standing patiently by the gilded arch of the castle wall, watching her with knowing eyes.

Tyros was an elf who had come from Zimeria, one of the two elven forests that made up the Elven Kingdom. Tealay was the other. Silathian was the two Silver Forests together, and translated to Sanctuary in elvish.

He had been an Advisor to her parents, coming to Crysinlor before they took the throne to learn the ways of Solais, Light Magic, the magic of Crysinlor, The Kingdom of Light. He spent fifty years learning magic and climbing the ranks until he was General by the time her parents ruled the Kingdom.

He was over 300 years old but, as all elves did, looked to be only 30. If you looked closely, however, his eyes held the knowledge the past 300 years had granted him.

He was a formidable warrior, able to hone his magic and swordsmanship skills over a large period of time.

"One mage has returned." He said, his voice reminding her of wind whispering through pine trees.

"He can barely speak, rambling about a man in a black cloak. Saying he killed the others but spared him."

Islande turned back to the city below, tall, pristine buildings sparkling in the setting sun. Tyros came up beside her, hands clasped behind his back.

"You can feel the cold winds from the South now," he said. "It grows even as we try to beat it back."

Islande was silent, knowing that the forest alone wasn't to blame. The Shadowhunter was the one killing her Mages.

"He is killing our Warriors," she said.

Tyros nodded, knowing who she spoke of.

"We can't keep sending them to try to find a way to stop its growth."

Beside her, Tyros gave her a knowing look, his blue-green eyes already seeing what she was thinking.

"You cannot go yourself," said the elf. "We need you here, Nin Alor."

Islande smiled at the term of endearment, looking up at Tyros. It meant My Sun in elvish; he had called her that for as long as she could remember.

Tyros had been her caretaker when her mother and father were busy running the Kingdom and didn't need his insight or he wasn't training. She remembered insisting that she ride on his shoulders because he was so tall.

Tyros had never said no, even if he was tired. She remembered exploring the forest that lay to Crysinlor's West with him, remembered sneaking out and going to the market to buy candies from vendors. Of him using his Elven magic to grow flowers for her.

She remembered coming to him saying the lessons she learned from Mages at the academy were boring, and him showing her much more interesting ways to learn magic. Islande also fondly remembered him lifting her up to get books on high shelves in the library. She was still shorter than him, as most people were. He was around seven foot three or so.

The tallest Knight she knew was Rannan, and he was six foot ten.

"This sunset reminds me of one of my favorite memories," she said, looking back at the pastel pinks and oranges that spread across the canvas of the sky.

"Oh?" Asked Tyros, finally breaking the strict formality of his posture by leaning on the gilded railing next to her.

"And what memory would that be, my Queen?"

"When you would tell me stories on this balcony of how Tealay and Zimeria came to be. How Onera saved your people from persecution by Dark Mages by growing the Silver Forests from nothing. How she gave the elves the gift of Saileah Airgrid, the Silver Willow. How that tree was where your magic originated from."

Tyros smiled, his eyes twinkling.

"Your favorite tale was always how the forests grew from nothing. You were awestruck that such a thing was possible, and I loved the spark in your eyes when you heard that legend."

He looked to her again, not saying anything at first. Islande got the distinct impression, however, that he was thinking. After a moment he stood straight, bowing his head respectfully before walking away.

"Remember what I said, Nin Alor," he told her. "You cannot go after the Shadowhunter yourself."

Islande nodded, turning back to where the sky was darkening quickly. He was right, of course, as he so often was. She couldn't go after him herself, but couldn't keep sending men to die.

So what choices do I have? She wondered.

Islande turned away from the balcony edge, walking back into the castle as she pondered this question, coming to an unsettling realization.

If I make a bad decision, he will kill us all.

She was straying dangerously near provoking the Shadowhunter more than she already had, so much that he came after her. She knew that, but she had to keep the Drenzian from encroaching too far into her Kingdom.

I may have to take that risk, she thought to herself, it may be the only way.

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Again I hope you guys enjoyed, make sure to leave feedback! Hope you guys are liking the story so far!

-Nightfury107