I had always assumed that all of the houses were directly connected to the surface, but to my surprise, Marl leads me down several stairs into a maze of curved hallways. The walls are made of the same blue stone used throughout the city, but the ceiling is made of some sort of crystal and appears to emit a dim white light. I suddenly second-guess myself. Perhaps it was not a good idea to go home with this stranger.

We pass several beggars, both human and dwarven, sitting against the walls, wrapped in dark cloaks and blankets. Marl greets some of them as we walk past, but I do my best to ignore them.

“Here we are.”

Marl points to an old, weathered stone door on his right side. He removes what appears to be a silver ring from his pocket and taps the door once. The door flashes, creaks, then slowly opens.

Behind the door is a small room measuring three by three meters. A large wooden table with two chairs sits in the center, flanked by a large closet. Both the table and the closet are cluttered with trinkets, books, and jewelry. A giant white mat can be found next to the left wall. A wooden folding screen stands nearby, leaning against the wall.

There is a small kitchen to my right. The counter is strewn with pots, pans, and other kitchen tools. Above the counter, there is a large metal bar with two rabbit corpses hanging from it. On the stove, a large pot of stew is simmering. Next to it, there is a copper kettle decorated with golden symbols.

Marl shuts the door behind me.

“You like that kettle?” He asks, pointing. "It is magic. When you apply heat, it creates water. Neat huh. The stove on which it is placed is also magical. It always stays warm without the need for fuel. Keep the water clean, and the hunter's stew from spoiling. It also keeps the room warm. Or at least above freezing.”

I grab a random trinket from the table, a small purple bottle. "You seem to have a lot of magical trinkets. Where I come from, only the wealthy can afford a few of these. And you appear to have too many to count."

Marl shrugs. "This city is the top producer of magic items. They are not too expensive here. I am a bit of a collector. I acquire interesting magic items and sell them for a profit.” He carefully removes the bottle from my grasp and sets it back on the table. "Be careful; if you open this bottle, it will cover the whole room, hell, the entire neighborhood, in a dense mist."

"Wow, you must make a lot of money selling these."

He scoffs. “Do you really think I would live here if I made loads of money?”

He shakes his head. "That reminds me, you can remove your boots and place them on the bottom shelf." He points as he speaks.

I sit on the chair and untie my boots. When I take them off, the room seems to cool down by twenty degrees. I hand them to Marl.

“Are they magic?” I ask.

“Yes,” he answers. "They are known as Boots of the Winterlands. It renders the wearer immune to cold. Well, if the wearer isn't a frost elf, frost elves are naturally immune. "These are damaged," he says, pointing to the missing felt, "but they will still fetch a good price."

I take a deep breath and look at him. "Why do you keep implying that I am not a frost elf?

Marl frowns. “Because you aren’t one?”

I cross my arms. "Yes, I am. What else do you think I am?”

Marl stammers. “A storm elf.”

I take a step back, then cross my arms. “No, I am not. I am not even sure what a storm elf is."

Marl walks over to the shelves and grabs an old dusty book. He wipes away the dust and hands it to me. The cover features a drawing of an elf with white skin and long, curly blond hair. The title below reads: “The six known storm elves.”

I show Marl the cover and point to the picture of the elf. “I look nothing like that.”

Marl sighs. “Just open the first chapter and read the first paragraph.”

I comply and open the book.

Storm elves may be the most rare of all elven subspecies. As a hybrid between frost and fire elves, storm elves usually have a light blue, light purple or white skin tone and blond or electric blue hair. They are distinguished by their inherent magical abilities and elemental affinity for lightning and thunder. Five of the six known storm elves have a sorcerous affinity.

The cause of their scarcity is a subject of debate. Early historians attributed their rarity to a lack of interactions between frost and fire elves, but modern scientists reject this notion, as increased acceptance of cross-species elven relationships has not increased their numbers.

I stare at the page. “Okay, that does sound like me.”

I put down my book as Marl hands me a bowl of stew and a spoon. The bowl is sticky on the outside. I carefully inspect the stew. It smells slightly burned, and the dark brown color is anything but appetizing.

“What is it?” I ask.

Marl smiles as he grabs another bowl and drips it directly into the stew pot, scooping out another portion with the bowl itself rather than a spoon.

"This is hunter's stew." He explains. "Whenever I get my hands on any type of meat or vegetable, I just throw it in. I believe the scoop you got was mostly snow rabbit."

"Thanks, I am not hungry," I lie. I place the bowl between the mess of trinkets on the table, as my stomach growls. I realise I am hungry. Really hungry.

I pick up the bowl and carefully place a spoonful of the brown slurry in my mouth. It tastes quite bad, but not as bad as I expected.

I reluctantly finish my bowl and hand it back to him.

“So, Sapphire.” Marl inquires. "How do you prefer to trance?"

I tilt my head. "What exactly do you mean?"

He shrugs. "Some elves prefer to sit on soft surfaces, like that," he says, pointing to the mat. "While others choose to sit on the hard floor."

I shrug. "I always learned it while sitting on the floor." I say. "But I have never been particularly good at it. Or, you know, managed to do it at all.

He raises his eyebrows. “You never managed to trance? At all?”

I hang my head. “Not really. There were times when I succeeded for about an hour. But yeah, most nights I just sit there, unable to trance.”

He offers a sympathetic smile. Or maybe a pitiful one.

"If you like, I can help you trance." He says softly

“Help me?” I ask. “How? Meditation is something you must do on your own. Nobody can help you with it.”

He tilts his head. “Who told you that?”

"My mother."

"Well, your mother is wrong. Elves can undoubtedly help each other meditate. Allow me to show you."

I shake my head. "I am not sure if you can help me."

He smiles warmly. "Let me try. Open your mind. Perhaps it works. If it does not work, there is no harm done.

"Fine," I reply.

He claps his hands. “Great. Please kneel on the floor.

Marl points to a spot near the wall. I comply and sit on my knees, back against the wall. I shiver as the cold floor comes into contact with my legs.

He sits in front of me in the same position, his knees nearly touching mine. He looks at me with deep blue eyes and speaks. “Not like that.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

"Do not fold your hands like that. Place them on your knees, like this." He slaps his knees twice.

I place my hands as he instructs.

"All right, now keep your head straight and close your eyes. Listen to my voice.”

I close my eyes and listen. He begins to speak in a soft, almost singing voice.

“You are in a forest. The sun is shining. You look up through the leaves, and you can see a few rays of sunlight. You can feel the sun's warmth on your face. You are standing on a dirt path that zigzags through the landscape. A bird chirps nearby.”

Marl's instructions appear to work. The scene he describes appears to materialise before my eyes, as if it were real. I can even hear the bird's call clearly. I gradually feel my muscles relax, as if I am slipping away into another world.

His voice continues. He almost sounds like he is chanting an incantation. "You turn around to look at the bird. It is perched high up in a nest nestled between two branches. There is a creek nearby. You cannot see it, but you can hear the splashing of the water."

He caresses the back of my hand, jolting me awake. Panic washes over me, and I open my eyes. "Stop touching me!" I yell while pulling my hand away from his grasp.

He shakes his head. "Sapphire, this will only work if you trust me. You want this to work, right?

I sigh. "I believe it was already working. Can you keep talking to me as before, but without touching me?”

He smiles weakly, barely covering his disappointment. “Fine, if you wish. Close your eyes again.”

I. 5. The six known storm elves

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