Once upon a time, I wanted to get out of the usual writing rut and write about a protagonist who isn’t a young person being called to save the world. Instead, Lorielei Alterian presented herself. Lorielei is an elven Healer with centuries of knowledge, and she is called upon to help purge relics of the old world.

Lorielei watched as her new companions gathered around a scarred wooden table in a corner opposite the hearth. Certain that the tabletop had seen more spilled ale and whispered deals than honest meals, she stood a moment longer, studying her associates. Not their faces, but the language their bodies spoke. How they stood and the seats they selected. When and how they spoke, the words they chose, and the silences they allowed. After a few moments, she took the remaining seat, back to the room, a gesture of trust in her fellows.

“Let’s start with what we know,” she said, looking around the table. “Not what we suspect, not what we fear. Let’s look at the facts we have up to now.”

Dreyah unrolled a map before Loriel finished speaking. The ink smudged across the parchment showed the different regions. Scribbled notes filled the margins, and new symbols covered old ones.

“We know of five relics,” Dreyah said, raising her hand, extended fingers emphasizing the number. “Each tied to a region, each associated with pre-cataclysm conduits. Not symbolic. Functional. The ancients used them, they didn’t revere them.”

“Anchors of supposed divine expression in the material world.” Loriel nodded. “Rare. Dangerous.”

“Exactly,” Dreyah said, eyes bright. “And one’s been activated.”

“Awakened,” Loriel corrected. “Activation implies control. I doubt it was roused with intent.”

Dreyah hesitated, then conceded with a tilt of her head.

Argaron leaned forward. “We’ve confirmed the disruption in the Southern Wastes. Crops failed north of the frost line and the wildlife’s behaving erratically. I’ve had reports of entire settlements found abandoned.”

“Animals don’t flee cold.” Durin said. “They flee wrong.”

“You’ve seen it?” Loriel’s gaze shifted to him, her attention sharpening.

“Not there,” he said. “Elsewhere. Smaller. Same feeling.”

“Then this isn’t isolated.” Her stomach tightened.

“No,” Argaron said. “It isn’t.”

“And now we have competition.” Zaren strummed a soft, dissonant chord on his lute, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “Fanatics with a flair for theatrics and mind games.”

“Protectors of the Past,” Loriel said dryly. “A name that suggests both arrogance and a fundamental misunderstanding of the ancient histories.”

“They weren’t wrong about one thing,” Argaron said, glancing at her. “The amulet.”

All eyes turned to Loriel as she resisted the urge to touch it.

“It’s older than the House of Healing,” she said. “That much is clear. Possibly older than the divine order we know now.” She paused. “If they called it a key, then it was never meant to simply protect. It was meant to interact.”

“With the relics,” Dreyah made the question a statement.

“Perhaps. Or with whatever links them.”

“And you didn’t know?” Zaren asked.

“No. And I don’t appreciate being sent into danger with incomplete information.”

Argaron’s jaw tightened. “Nor do I.”

Gash spoke then, her voice cutting through the noisy room.

“Doesn’t matter what we were told,” Gash said. “Matters what we do now.”

Loriel inclined her head.

“A practical perspective. I agree.”

Gash gave the slightest shrug.

Dreyah tapped the map.

“If the Southern Waste artifact is active, then the others may respond. Resonance, perhaps. Or… escalation.”

“Or defense,” Argaron said.

“Defense?” Dreyah sounded surprised.

“If these relics are part of something like a spider’s web,” Argaron continued, “then disturbing one might upset the others. Not to build power, but to maintain balance.”

Durin grunted. “Like beasts hunting the weak.”

“Or beasts being threatened,” Loriel said.

“So we’re not just chasing artifacts.” Zaren said, leaning forward, interest piqued. “We’ve stepped into a pantomime that’s already started.”

“Possibly,” Loriel said. “And we don’t know the story.”

A brief silence settled over the table. Then Argaron spoke.

“Our first destination is west of here. We have reports from across the Western Range north of the city of Do’Rel in the Lower Warren. We learned of old temple remains, abandoned centuries ago.”

“Abandoned,” Loriel asked. “Or sealed?”

“Records suggest abandonment,” Dreyah said, flipping through her notes. “But the language is somewhat evasive.”

“Meaning sealed,” Loriel said flatly.

“Likely,” Dreyah replied.

“Nothing like a sealed temple full of ancient power to ease us into things.” Zaren grinned.

“You joke,” Loriel said, “but that is precisely how people die.”

“Ah,” he said lightly, “but not us. We’re far too interesting for such an early exit.”

“Confidence is not a substitute for caution,” she replied.

“No,” he said with a grin. “But it makes the adventure more exciting, don’t you think?”

Gash’s gaze flicked between them. “Focus.”

“Focusing.” Zaren raised his hands in surrender.

Argaron nodded once. “We leave at dawn. Travel light, stay alert. If these so-called ‘Protectors’ are tracking us, assume they’ll strike again.”

“They will,” Loriel said.

“You’re certain.”

“Yes.” Her voice was calm but firm. “They believe they’re right. People like that don’t retreat. They regroup.”

Durin’s wolf shifted, its ears twitching as though sensing something not seen.

“Then we move quiet,” the dwarf said. “No straight roads.”

“That’ll slow us down,” Dreyah said with a frown.

“Slow and alive is better than fast and dead,” Durin replied.

Dreyah paled and swallowed, and Loriel nodded approval to herself.

“Agreed,” Argaron said.

The conversation stretched on. They debated their routes and discussed the supplies they’d need. Loriel listened to everything. She spoke when asked for her input and corrected them when their knowledge diverged from her experience. She watched how they disagreed, how they yielded, how they held their ground.

This wasn’t a polished unit. Loriel saw a capable group determined to work together. Eventually, the table quieted. They planned their path, knowing that even the best plans transformed as conditions developed.

“Well,” Zaren said with a long stretch when they finished. “Nothing like impending danger to bring people together.” He settled his lute in its case.

“Nothing like it,” Loriel agreed dryly.

Dreyah gathered her notes and rolled her maps, muttering about resonance patterns and divine matrices.

Durin rose without a word, the wolf padding at his side as he strode to the door.

Gash watched Argaron.

“You trust her?” Gash asked, nodding toward Loriel.

Argaron didn’t hesitate. “I do.”

Gash studied Loriel for a long moment. Then nodded once.

“Good.”

“I assume that means I’ve passed some unspoken test.” Loriel met her gaze.

“For now,” Gash said.

Loriel gave her a faint smile. “I expected nothing less.”

One by one, the group dispersed to their rooms, each preparing for the expedition in their own way.

Loriel lingered.

She stepped outside into the cool evening air, the noise of the tavern muted behind the heavy door. The sky stretched above, blue-black glittering with stars. For a moment, she stood there, breathing, taking in the calm. The world smelled different out here.

Untamed. Uncertain. Alive.

“You’re thinking about turning back.”

Argaron’s voice came from behind her. She didn’t turn.

“No,” she said with a short laugh. “Just thinking about how foolish I was to believe I could spend my final years pruning hedges and avoiding the world.”

He stepped beside her, following her gaze to the sky.

“Regret?” he asked.

Loriel considered that.

“No,” she said at last. “Closer to… irritation.”

“At what?”

“At the gods,” she said. “For their timing.”

“Ah.”

She glanced sideways at him. “And you?”

“No regret,” he said. “Plenty of concern.”

“As there should be.”

They stood in silence for a moment longer. Then Loriel straightened, leaning on her staff.

“Well,” she said, “if we are to meddle in the affairs of ancient forces, confront corrupt zealots, and perhaps unravel the fabric of divine balance, I suppose we should at least be well-rested.”

“A reasonable goal,” Argaron said.

She turned to the door.

“Do try not to get into trouble before dawn,” she said looking back over her shoulder at him.

“I’ll do my best.”

“I expect better than that.”

“Then I’ll exceed expectations.” He smiled.

“See that you do.” Loriel stepped back inside.

Tomorrow, they’d leave.

Tonight, she’d rest. If sleep would come.

And somewhere deep beneath her calm, beneath the discipline and the years and the practiced control something stirred.

Not quite fear. Something vigilant. Something awakening.

Something far outside her long experience.

~~~
Read the first part of Lorielei’s journey at: Lorielei: Ready or Not