The waves of the Heaven River undulate softly below the crystal blue sky of Phoenixford, with niveous and tangible clouds floating above the river plain. On the eastern bank of the river is a city, where the eastern center of Leorilien country settles. Almost all the tall concrete houses are decorated by fine green elven leaves and vines and branches, and a broad road paved with smooth bluestones passes through the marble paved central square and finally winds its way all across the city and up the wooded hill ranges behind. Only Elves dwell here—not exactly, as you will find out later---and they are pretty cultivated. They gathered the knowledge of nature and created thorough amenities through many, many scrupulous generations. They are not stagnating like many other solitary people, since they’re zealous at exploring their surroundings and learning infinitesimally. As years pass, they have made a complete set of maps and recordings of the areas along the long river and outside the city.

       The most distinguished landscape of Phoenixford is the Wall, which was built by the great Elven Kings of old days. It stands on the eastern side of the hills and stretches miles north and south, separating the river and the city from Wildlands until it reaches the edge of the northern country Dragonberg. Where the Wall faces the town there is a gap pass, and a great fort stands. The fort, also known as the Phoenix Pass, has a uniformly grey surface, with a fine-crafted phoenix totem embedded on the top tower.

       The sky grows dark. A group of Arenders on horse backs—eight in total---enter the gate, each lightening a torch. Who are Arenders? Well, basically they are messengers of the ford who serve under the mayor and take the job of occasional field investigation and news reporting of the city but are not knights. They wear soft formfitting armors covered by overall dark outfit and carry light weapons---usually long bows and swords and daggers in leather cases streaked with willow leaves--- just like other guards do, but they also wear extra army green cloaks made of fine fabric with leaf-shaped brooches. They go through the city as usual, but there’s something slightly different in the atmosphere. All Arenders look concerned. One of them, a short elf with round face, whispers to the captain: “Do you think it’s real, Lennox? ” “We know nothing for certain, Geong.” Captain Lennox, a sixty-year-old elf, has short yet thick brown hair and bright eyes. He is fairer than most others, a perky chap who leads the company of Arenders and is experienced and intelligent despite his young in elven terms.

Soon they enter the mayor’s golden hall and descend from their horses. At the head of the long table sits Eorl son of Deor, the mayor of Phoenixford, a middle-aged elf with long golden silky hair and bright black eyes. “So, what did thee find on this turn?” he asks.

       “Nothing good but something strange. There’s disturbance in the east, ” Lennox answers, “devastation was found on the west end of Wildlands. Large area of trees has been strangely cut down, the exposed sand is crisscrossed with wheel tracks and crushed rocks, and grass marks are very unnatural, as if scratched by someone. We saw birds fleeing, herds of beasts emigrating to the further south, and everything is just so deadly cold.” He pauses for a second, and then continues: “The thing that really disturbs me is the type of trees. They’re the superb Alfthrones planted by our ancestors. For thousands of years, they have stood there, providing fruits and saps for travelers, but now they are almost gone in a year.”

       Eorl frowns: “Alfthrones are indeed not normal trees; they absorb the essence of the sun and moon over years, which make them very hard but flexible; good materials for making any tools or weapons. Whoever cut them down must have a hidden agenda. What else?” “And the marks, lord, mysterious marks!” Lennox cries, “the remaining leaves of the Alfthrones are growing black, and there is this strange symbol….” He takes out two Alfthrone leaves wrapped by a linen and puts them on the table. 

“We have no idea what this symbol means,” said Geong, “but perhaps it is an evil trick played by some unknown power… Alfthrones…these are such fair and enduring trees older than two thousand years! How could it be? All disappear at once? These are one of the few things that decorate the wildlands! And also! Look at the small bloody letters written on the bag of tiles I picked there! ‘AT’, it says. It must belong to someone, native inhabitants, perhaps.”

       “ ‘AT’? Is that a name? We have found many strange articles there. Some are even housing materials like bricks and these tiles. They’re not simply the lost luggage of travelers. Somebody might want to exploit that land.”

       “They’re written in such a bloody way, like deliberate blood writing…and tiles? These are indeed for house building! There shan’t be any people dwelling there as far as we know. And if it is true, they must have moved there recently,” says Arlo, an elf who is about the same age as Arender Snotor, and both are elder than the others.“But we didn’t venture so far to seek out where all these things as a trail leads to. We should have. We might be able to find out their final settlement if we did.”

       Lennox continues: “If it is recent, the Alfthrones must also be cut recently. We need another exploration with purpose.”

       “Hey, I also have found something,” long-silent elf Karl begins to speak, “look at these two fur hats! They’re so thick! It must belong to someone from the very far north where the weather is always freezing! But unfortunately…they’re stained with blood!” He then starts to toss one hat around like a toy, and feels around in it with both hands, “Hmm…there’s a long wide pocket in the internal edge!”

       There’s a long silence before the bronze-skinned Arender, Snotor speaks again: “At least we know it was probably done by some people from far East. These lands have not been peaceful since ancient times, and even if it is close to Leorilien, it’s not our realm so they can still interfere. Some of them love to expand randomly, switching territories, leaving native lands. Phoenix Wall was built for no jokes. Outside is easily chaos.”

       “Look what I find in the pocket!” At this moment, Karl suddenly exclaims, as he pulls a wrinkled piece of paper out of the hat. “A note of blessing used by old northlings! I’ve heard in old songs telling how they are used to send best wishes in festivals….well, at least in the past since we cannot acquire any news about that land now. No travelers come. No tales told.” Then he pulls the thin rugged brown carton out. “Let’s look at what it says!” The elves gather nearer to the table where Karl sits. The words have already faded with time and were written with old-styled touches, but fortunately it is the language they also use.

       Lennox reads out loud: “It writes…‘best…wishes?.to…the…beloved land….of….” There he pauses. The next word is very faint, and they seem to be capital letters in old tongue. “Give me the dictionary of old tongue!” Eorl hurries to the bookshelf and pulls out a thick kraft paper book whose red cover is dusty with age. “Northlings…See if I can find the alphabet references.” With a while of flipping, he stops at one page in the middle, “Here, Lennox. One by one you can check out the faint letters and put them together to solve the puzzle.”
       “ ‘G’….wait…and then…” Lennox records it on another piece of paper with a quill pen. One by one the phrase comes into sight. The following letters are “A”, “M”, “O”, “L”, “R”, “I”, “T”, “H”, respectively. The rigid and rough acronym translation is done.

       Lennox gasps: “ ‘Gamolrith’?! Does it stand for that, a city name?”

       “But Gamolrith was the capital of old North Kingdom of humans! Nowadays men are almost extinct!” “At least we found some clues.”

      “Speaking of North Kingdom…Wait! You remember the Great War?” Snotor suddenly talks out loud. “The dark lord Atol had long desired the lands, so he invaded with his goblin army and threatened the inhabitants to serve him. Due to this great pressure humans fled from their home and sailed away to the Western World long ago. He was not too strong by then, but strong enough to be a threat and fight long against us. We elves have warned him with our tremendous military, and he promised not to do that harm again and would manage the lands well. But who really believes him? Maybe he gained more dark power secretly, but our ancestors were too reckless and exhausted to keep close eyes on him. Then no communication between the north and south is made for whatever reason or hostility. Anyway, there are few men on this continent now…”

       Lennox nods: “True. It was widely told forty years ago that the humans disappeared mainly because of Atol the terrible ’s invasion. These hats? Reliable or not, is a good warning, since objects cannot travel by themselves.”

“But there must be remaining descendants. I bet the remaining ones must know more about that shadowy land and the actions of Atol and the experiences of the men to help us know and prepare more. The blessing letter is a perfect clue to start an assumption, since it tells the plausible owners of these strange items. The hat traveled so far; it’s not a coincidence. If we shall do something, we must find our human guide,” replies Arender Jace, a young one who has lived for about six decades.

Reece, another young elf about the same age as Karl, whose face is thin and a little pointy, questions with doubt: “Two hats cannot mean important things. What if they’re simply collections belonging to the nearby folks? And we cannot know whether all the items belong to the same owners, and whether the owners are the ones who did harm to the Alfthrones?”

“These are good questions, Reece,” says Lennox, “but one thing for sure: these hats are not like gifts or collections. If so, why are valuable collections not used anymore casted away without packs? They’re already showing signs of use…” he examines the two hats again, “See? The furs at the edges are almost stuck together and there are some particles of dirt and dust in them if you look carefully. Plus, the blood stains on the outside, and it seems like the owners did not value these as rare collections and they’re just part of daily clothing. And only in north, where the weather is constantly cold, do folks wear such thick hats. Judging from the wear and tear of the two same notes, also, we can see that they’re very old, perhaps decades, which fills in the fact that they probably belong to the latest northlings who were known to be still interacting with the south. Overall, they are enough to show the sign of northlings who have carried these hats there.”

“You mean the northlings came from the place called Gamolrith and cut down the trees?”

“We know nothing for sure. But we haven’t supervised and visited the wildlands for a year. A lot could happen in that time. The northlings are mainly controlled by Atol now… He refuses to give any news about his snatched realm, and it’s indeed strange if his people came to the south, sent by him or not. He seemed to have forced the people to seize the land, not massacred them, and while unwilling to give it back in negotiation, at least he agreed not to expand anymore, and we couldn’t threaten him further about the disappeared men and could just try to keep things from getting even worse. It's okay if nothing happened these years, but if there's a bad sign, it's better to take care of it.”

       Eorl nods: “Yeah, Atol’s probably looting for Wildlands resources in preparation for war. And as for that ‘AT’? I know now! It could also stand for name ‘Atol’! If he sent the ones who lost the hats, then he’s probably making inquiries; if the ones who lost the hats weren’t sent by him, it’s still a thing worth paying attention to since it shows that the communication begins to recover for some strange reasons. There’s no time to lose, but where can we find a human descendent of Northeast as you said?”

“Don’t forget the human family and its kins that you tried to protect forty years ago from the goblins, as you told, mayor, when we were still kids,” Lennox smiles, “and the youngest member among them is just living in the city now, and we’ve known him well in these years; he’ll trust us…although he might be too young to know what happened in the past of the blocked north, but that’s better than nothing.”

       By the time they leave the hall, the night is deep, and the city is sound asleep under the soft tousle of the summer breeze.