The solemn sounds of fanfare filled the air, spreading across the main square of the elven city of Ellen’Tanor, glowing in the golden rays of the evening sun. Rows of young elves stood as straight as blades, their gleaming armor reflecting the light of festive fireworks bursting above the crowd. Applause, cheers, and joyful shouts could be heard everywhere. The citizens had gathered in a massive crowd, surrounded by the tall spires of ancient buildings, to bid farewell to those being sent off to serve.


    On a high wooden stage, framed by the fluttering banners of the kingdom, stood the commander-in-chief. His stern gaze swept over the recruits, and his powerful voice echoed across the square:


    “You, the young generation, are the pride of our people! Today begins your journey—a path of honor, valor, and service to the great kingdom. It is you, as representatives of Ellen’Tanor, who will journey to the lands of men to bring harmony and peace. Know that you are the ones who will become legends for future generations!”


    The crowd roared in approval, applauding. Eldarion Nightwatch, a slender and focused elf with a silver spear in hand, listened intently to the speech, his gaze filled with seriousness and inspiration. Beside him stood Calador Crimson Dawn, who, in contrast, appeared relaxed and slightly mocking.


    “Hear that? You’re going to be a legend, Eldarion,” whispered Calador, shaking his head. “Though, I think our carefree days are over. How long do you think we’ll last before they send us to the front lines?”


    Eldarion turned to his friend, his eyes reproachful.


    “Don’t you understand? It’s an honor to serve such a noble mission. We bring peace!”


    Calador smirked:


    “The only place I want to draw my blade is in a brothel, Nightwatch. And here you are talking about honor.”


    Eldarion frowned:


    “That’s disgusting. You could at least try to be serious.”


    An irritated voice came from behind:


    “Both of you, shut up before we get in trouble!”


    <hr>


    Several hours passed. The townsfolk began to disperse to their homes, and the recruits were sent to their quarters. Eldarion and Calador found themselves in the barracks, a spacious room with rows of simple wooden bunks. Oil lamps hung from the ceiling, casting a warm but dim light on the rough walls. The air was filled with the scent of fresh wood, mingled with the sharp aroma of weapon oil.


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    Eldarion was removing his ceremonial armor, hanging it neatly on a stand. He turned to Calador:


    “I still don’t understand how you ended up here. You always said the army wasn’t for you.”


    Calador sighed heavily and shrugged:


    “Not my choice, believe me. Lioneer, the city where I grew up, is known for its wars. All young elves are taken from there to fill the ranks of the army. And given my lineage, they didn’t even leave me a choice. My family is a long line of heroes. Crimson Dawn—sounds nice, doesn’t it? And me? Well, you see for yourself.”


    Eldarion smiled:


    “I think you underestimate yourself. I came here voluntarily. My grandfather served in the army, and he always told me that honor, valor, and courage are the most important things for an elf. He raised me, taught me everything I know. He was my role model.”


    Calador thought for a moment, then snorted:


    “It’s all nonsense. But you know what, Eldarion? I respect you for your bravery. You’re too good for this war.”


    <hr>


    Another elf, Genior, sat nearby, his face twisted with anger. He couldn’t hold back:


    “I don’t understand how you can talk so calmly about service. We, elves, are supposed to help humans? The same humans who killed our Queen Sirena? This is betrayal!”


    Calador lazily retorted:


    “I wouldn’t have come if it weren’t for the circumstances.”


    Eldarion turned to Genior, trying to speak softly:


    “Not all humans are terrible. There are those who need our help. We can’t abandon them in their time of need.”


    Genior stood up abruptly and approached Eldarion. His voice was low and venomous:


    “You’re a human lackey! You betray your people by praising those who hate us!”


    Eldarion took a step back, bewildered. He tried to say something, but the words caught in his throat. The tension in the room reached its peak until Calador calmly stood up and placed a hand on Genior’s shoulder.


    “Cool off, friend. After all, none of us are here by choice.”


    Genior clenched his fists but said nothing. He shot a cold glare at both of them and silently left the barracks, slamming the door behind him.


    <hr>


    Silence fell over the room. Calador shrugged:


    “Let’s hope he doesn’t come back with a knife to slit our throats.”


    Eldarion wearily sat down on his bunk, running a hand over his face:


    “There was no need to complicate things like that. We’re here to help. Why is that so hard to understand?”


    Calador smirked, sitting down beside him:


    “Because no one likes to die, my friend. Not even for a good cause. But you know what? You’re no coward. Even with your foolish ideals.”


    Eldarion looked at him with a slight smile:


    “And you, Calador, aren’t as much of a coward as you pretend to be.”


    Calador leaned back, grinning:


    “You owe me your life now for that compliment. Remember that, Nightwatch.”


    They laughed, and the tension finally dissipated. Rising, they headed to the mess hall, where a simple dinner awaited them before bed.