Emperor's Reckoning - Chapter 1160: It Wasn’t A Rumor, Was it?

Elandril’s brows furrowed as the news swiftly reached the far corners of Eldora. “A non-elven?” he questioned with a stern expression.

“Show yourself and appear before me,” he declared, his voice resonating with authority. In response, an old elf stepped forward, weathered by the passage of time but exuding a pearl of profound wisdom.

Despite his age, he knelt before the emperor, his eyes reflecting a mix of reverence and determination. The hushed crowd observed the unfolding scene, awaiting the words that would shed light on the unsettling incident that had shaken their serene world.

Elandril’s piercing gaze remained fixed on the aged elf who had stepped into the spotlight. The emperor’s eyes, full of wisdom and authority, bore into the elf’s soul, demanding respect with every unspoken word.

In response to Elandril’s silent interrogation, the aged elf, though weathered by the years, displayed an admirable composure. “My name is Feril, my lord,” he declared, offering a respectful acknowledgment of the emperor’s presence.

Elandril’s scrutiny lingered for a moment longer, a testament to the intensity of the situation. However, in a swift transition of attention, he redirected his focus to Yala, his daughter.

“Yala,” he instructed, the tone of his voice commanding immediate obedience. “Bring the parents and the child to the palace. Inform your mother about the situation.” The weight of imperial authority carried through his words, leaving little room for hesitation.

Yala caught momentarily off guard, found herself under the unyielding gaze of her father. With a regained sense of purpose, she responded to the emperor’s directive. The urgency in Elandril’s voice emphasized the critical nature of the situation, prompting Yala to swiftly comply.

The crowd, witnesses to the unfolding events, felt the palpable tension in the air. Elandril’s decisive commands echoed through the space, solidifying his role as the leader of Eldora.

Elandril, having directed Yala to attend to the unfolding events, shifted his attention back to Feril. The gravity of the situation hung in the air as he questioned the old elf. “A non-elf, are you sure? What race?”

Feril, displaying a solemn demeanor, closed his eyes briefly before delivering the unexpected revelation. “Human…”

The utterance of the word sent a ripple of astonishment through Elandril and the gathered crowd. The very notion of a human presence in Eldora seemed unfathomable, and disbelief echoed through the assembly. Elandril himself, caught off guard by the revelation, repeated the word incredulously, “A human…” The murmurs among the elves intensified, spreading shock and speculation through the onlookers.

The revelation hung heavy in the air, and the elves began exchanging hurried whispers among themselves.

“I heard the humans brought a curse with them.”

“A curse? But the emperor—”

“—is not like other humans. Something must have gone wrong.”

Elandril’s furrowed brows mirrored the crowd’s growing unease. The name Lyon Torga circulated like wildfire.

“Lyon Torga? The Zodiac Emperor?”

“The child’s death… could it be connected?”

As murmurs and speculations echoed through the crowd, attempts were made to connect the shocking revelation with the recent human visitors—specifically, the renowned Zodiac Emperor, Lyon Torga. Whispers circulated among the elves, creating an air of uncertainty and concern.

Amidst the rising tension, a voice cut through the noise, drawing attention to Ithildir as he made his way into the scene. His countenance reflected sorrow, and he addressed Elandril with a somber tone. “I think the child’s death is enough, Your Excellency.” He looked at Elandril. “This is what I feared, Your Excellency.”

Then Ithildir’s gaze swept across the gathering, his words carrying a weight of apprehension. “This! is what! Eldora feared!” he raised his hands and made his words a testament.

The gravity of the situation was underscored by Ithildir’s words, as the elves grappled with the implications of the unexpected intrusion and its tragic consequences.

The crowd became divided, torn between the loyalty they felt towards Elandril and the rising fear fueled by Ithildir’s words. Elves exchanged wary glances, some nodding in agreement with the elder’s impassioned plea. The air thickened with uncertainty, and the once harmonious unity of Eldora now seemed fragile.

“Were we uphold the legacy of our ancestor’s teaching, there wouldn’t be any more death,” Ithildir continued, his gaze fixed on Elandril. The emperor felt the weight of those words like a heavy burden on his shoulders. The tradition and teachings of their ancestors had guided Eldora for centuries, and now, it seemed, those very principles were being questioned.

Elandril, torn between the past and the present, struggled to find the right response. The loss of a child was a tragedy that shook the foundation of their beliefs, and the anxiety in the crowd mirrored his internal conflict.

“And this is not the first death, Your Excellency, there were many before, and there will be many more if we keep opening our doors to all races!” Ithildir’s words echoed through the space, finding resonance among some of the supporting elders. Their voices rose in agreement, creating a wave of dissent that threatened to engulf the emperor’s vision of a united Eldora.

The elves who had once admired Elandril’s open-minded approach now hesitated, unsure whether embracing diversity was worth the price they seemed to be paying. The vibrant tapestry of Eldora’s culture seemed to fray at the edges as the crowd teetered on the precipice of a decision that could reshape their future.

At the same time…

Yala, Elandril’s daughter, stood with a heavy heart at the entrance of the grand throne room. She took a deep breath, her chest tight with sorrow, and with an unexpected surge of strength, she kicked the ornate door open.

The resounding echo of the door meets the wall cut through the calm ambiance of the throne room. It reverberated through the cavernous space, a herald of an impending tragedy. Yala ushered in a grief-stricken elf couple, cradling the lifeless form of their child. The hushed gasps of onlookers echoed, and a somber air settled over the once majestic hall.

“Mother! Mother!” Yala’s voice resonated, carrying with it the weight of anguish. Her cries pierced the air, reaching the ears of Iris, Elandril’s wife, who had been enjoying a moment of tranquility in the palace garden. Iris’s brows furrowed in confusion and concern as she rushed toward the throne room, an uneasy premonition settling in her chest.

As Iris entered the regal space, the sight that greeted her shattered the calm she had held mere moments ago. The childless elf, still cradling the small, lifeless figure, stood at the center of the room. The intricate details of the throne room seemed to blur into insignificance as the tragedy before her took precedence.

Her eyes widened in shock, and her steps faltered for a moment. The child’s absence of movement cast a haunting stillness over the room. The usual buzz of courtly affairs had been replaced by a heavy silence that hung in the air, stifling and oppressive.

Iris, regaining her composure, rushed forward, her elegant gown flowing behind her like a cascade of moonlit petals. “Yala?! What’s wrong—” Her words trailed off, swallowed by the profound sorrow etched on the faces of the mourning parents. The child’s lifeless form was a poignant reminder of the fragility of existence, a stark contrast to the grandeur of the throne room.

The throne, a symbol of authority and power, stood as a stoic witness to the human tragedy unfolding within its sacred confines. The once vibrant colors of the room seemed to dim, and the tapestries depicting the history of Eldora blurred into the background as the heart-wrenching scene took center stage.

Iris, with a graceful yet firm demeanor, took charge of the situation. “Quickly, summon the imperial physician and tell them to bring the Ice Coffin,” she commanded, her voice cutting through the air with an air of authority. The guards, ever dutiful, hurriedly left the room to fulfill her orders.

Amidst the commotion, the grieving mother’s anguished cries pierced through the solemn atmosphere. “Nooo! She is not dead, she is not dead!” Her wails echoed, a poignant reminder of the raw grief that engulfed the once regal throne room. The husband, his own face etched with sorrow, did his best to console his distraught wife.

Iris, embodying a blend of empathy and practicality, approached the grieving mother with a gentle touch. “It might not be too late, but for now, we need to trap her body and her soul from further dissipation. As long as the day has not gone yet, her soul should linger around her core meridian,” Iris explained softly, offering a glimmer of hope in the face of tragedy.

The mother, her entire body shaking with the weight of sorrow, begrudgingly nodded, understanding the necessity of the actions that needed to be taken. Iris, with a solemn grace, reassured the mother, guiding her through the unbearable pain of the moment.

As the reality of the situation settled, the mother succumbed to the overwhelming emotions, her body unable to withstand the crushing weight of grief. She passed out, finding temporary respite from the harrowing scene. Iris, undeterred by the unfolding tragedy, maintained her composed facade. n–./..ℯ).-.(/I).n

Turning her attention to the panicked father, Iris issued further instructions. “Bring them to the guest rooms,” she commanded the guards, who promptly moved to fulfill her directive.

n the quiet aftermath of the tragic incident, Yala approached her mother with teary eyes, seeking solace in an embrace. “I could do nothing,” she confessed, the weight of helplessness heavy on her shoulders.

“It’s okay,” Iris comforted her daughter, reciprocating the embrace. “You did your best.”

Yala, still grappling with the reality of the situation, looked at her mother with a mix of sorrow and confusion. “Ice Coffin… mother, why are we prolonging the sorrow by giving fake hope?”

Iris, with a warm and understanding smile, gently explained, “The hope is not fake.”

“Huh…” Yala’s tears began to dry, replaced by curiosity. “You mean… we can revive the child back to life? But it would take a Life Element Cultivator to do that, and there is only a handful that ever appeared in hist—” Her eyes widened in realization, her words trailing off as she pieced together the puzzle. It was a realization that led her thoughts to a particular individual, a person shrouded in rumors and legends.

Yala hesitated for a moment before posing the question that lingered in the air. “It wasn’t a rumor, was it…?”

Iris met her daughter’s gaze knowingly, and with a subtle shake of her head, she confirmed, “No, he was, or rather… is one as well.”

In that shared moment, a proud smirk simultaneously appeared in both of their minds, an unspoken acknowledgment of a person who had left an indelible mark on their lives. The Zodiac Emperor, Lyon Torga.