Elfsong
The veil between the aether and the material worlds was thin for Nilinriall. Few beings of the aether could see through to the other side as clearly as he could. The aethereal realm was said to be situated between the material realm and the realm of gods, though its presence was abstract, and didn’t occupy time and space in the same way as the material worlds.
Nilinriall found great pleasure in sitting upon the edge of Mount Celestir, practising elfsong of vision and wisdom, and looking into the material worlds, observing.
Below, white and grey wisps of cloud drifted above a lush tapestry of green, sprinkled with reds, blues, purples, yellows, and many other colours. He intensified his song. With it, his focus sharpened, and it appeared to his mind’s eye as if the clouds parted. He felt himself getting closer and closer until he was right there.
Even though his physical form stayed on the mountain, in his mind he was sitting at a distance behind a crowd, watching them. No one would know he was there unless they perceived spirits, and few beings in the material worlds could.
A woman stood by a campfire and sang, her voice as beautiful as a human’s could be. As an esteemed member of the High Elven, it perplexed, intrigued, and excited Nilinriall to watch the material beings revel in their fun and folly.
To the High Elven, all material voices sounded bland, holding only a sliver of power, yet this woman sang so well that she could make battle-hardened warriors cry. With their sheathed swords in the grass, the warriors swayed slowly to the music, their tattooed, battle-scarred muscles glowing with a sheen of sweat, and tears welling in their eyes. Everyone around this singing woman was gripped. Even the fierce orange and red flames of the campfire swayed to her entrancing tune.
She sang about a lover who left her for a younger woman, and of intense lust and longing. Nilinriall could feel sorrow, yearning, and desire building in the crowd.
The woman sang of adventure and the unknown, and her long brown hair swung as she swirled and her deep brown eyes shone above her beaming smile. She quickened her tempo and raised her key, and a man began playing a stringed instrument.
The crowd erupted. Jumping and dancing and revelling in pure joy. Drinks were spilled and feet were stomped, and Nilinriall couldn’t help but smile. She really was something.
This is not attachment. The High Elven do not become attached, Nilinriall told himself. It is fine to learn about the nature of the universe, and what better way than to observe beings who are yet to ascend to the aether? How else can one understand the nature of ascension?
These distracting thoughts pulled him away from the material world, and clouds washed over the vision in his mind. His attention returned to his surroundings. The sun was shining. The air was warm, with a gentle and welcoming breeze.
Mount Celestir stood tall among the ancient, tree-covered mountain range sacred to the High Elven. The waterfalls, glistening like diamonds, were thunderous. The greenery was vibrant and abundant, interspersed with rivers appearing as veins of silvery blue and the occasional turquoise lake lightly reflecting the sky and clouds.
He became aware of two people walking up the path behind him. Gwynnestri and Dillinir. He could sense their breath, and as they got closer, he felt their raw essence.
“We assumed we would find you here,” Gwynnestri said. Her core essence radiated with vibrant blues, and her threads were pure, white, and strong, elegantly gripping and toying with all the other forces around her.
All beings possessed an essence, also known as their spirit, and a being’s spirit branched into threads of energy that interconnected with all other energies. The threads of all beings were known as the fibres of the universe. The more profound a being’s understanding of the fabric of the universe, the more powerful they could be.
“You know there are some who joke that you like humans more than us,” Gwynnestri said. Her material form was tall and thin, and her rich, white hair came to her waist, framing her pale eyes, which held a tinge of blue.
“There is much to learn from them,” Nilinriall said. He felt the slightest hint of discomfort in himself, triggered by Gwynnestri’s words, and having observed humans and other material beings so intently, he could compare it to something akin to a particle: just the tiniest part of a material being becoming agitated. Though a human would never have recognised it. The High Elven called these incipient glimmers of emotion partillas. He relaxed the agitated partilla with his mind.
“There is much to learn from everything, Nilinriall. We must not get attached to anything,” Gwynnestri said.
Nilinriall hummed a harmony that said, Of course, and let it go we shall. It was a common elfsong note among the High Elven.
“How was your musing of the Songspire?” prompted Dillinir.
“Enlightening and inspiring. I think it may be my time to be accepted,” Nilinriall said. It was the highest honour of the High Elven to be accepted into the Songspiren. The Songspiren practised elfsong in its purest forms, gaining great mastery by dedicating themselves entirely to learning and teaching the way of the High Elven, which was the route to ascension. Nilinriall was confident that being accepted into the Songspiren was the next step on his path. He was prepared to dedicate himself to it for eternity, until the moment he was ready to ascend.
Gwynnestri and Dillinir smiled. Dillinir, who was shorter than Gwynnestri, with golden hair reaching to his shoulders, glowed with a purple essence. His threads were light blue, shorter and thicker than Gwynnestri’s, and less inquisitive. They interacted with everything around them in a slow, sturdy, and firm manner.
I am focusing on the material more and more, Nilinriall observed. There was a time he discerned only essence, as most beings of the aether did, for the aether was a realm of essence – of energy – and its material manifestations were insignificant in comparison.
“There is such hope and haste in you, Nilinriall. Is that wise? Ages must pass before we are even slightly worthy of the Songspiren,” Gwynnestri said.
Nilinriall sang a note that meant, Elfsong is wisdom, then said, “And my elfsong is the most powerful in all of Sorrelcrest, of all the High Elven in the aether and beyond.” There was no elfsong to connote those words.
*
The Songspire temple atop the mountain was mostly white and grey, with veins of pale platinum-gold and rose-gold marbling through its stone, gleaming metallic in the sun. Its curved stone exterior caught a gust and coaxed the wind through meticulously carved grooves, channels, and extrusions, guiding it up along the spire. Reaching the peak, the wind escaped into the sky, causing the temple to sing.
Change, the note said. It wasn’t a welcoming note. It spoke of a change so drastic, even the wisest beings would find it difficult to accept.
Gwynnestri and Dillinir exchanged cautious glances as they walked down the mountain path ahead of Nilinriall, who eyed the gust of wind as it flowed out of the temple’s curved spire. Its energy threads weren’t as fluid and smooth as the threads of the wind usually were. He wondered what had agitated it.
His companions sang an elfsong note of purity and cleansing. The wind had sung about change, and so this was a prudent response. Nilinriall harmonised with their melody; the chord was full of wisdom and might. His material senses dissolved and everything became essence again. Pure, bright-white threads, beams, and orbs everywhere. The elves held the note for as long as they could.
The walk down the mountain path to Sorrelcrest was illuminating. The aether’s energies beamed and flowed. Nilinriall dropped his material senses and soaked in the threads of everything around him – little plants whose spirits burst with vibrant colours; trees shooting long strands of energy from every branch and root; the ground with its dense glowing sheets of light.
Birds’ threads toyed with the spirit of the air as they soared through it; other creatures of all shapes and sizes scurried and fluttered over the ground and among the growths of the mountain, full of life and light.
To an untrained eye – a material eye – the aether would look like a fantastical and diverse material world, but every being, including the mountains, the air, the birds, and everything else, was an ascended spirit with a lucid awareness of the energies around it.
The elves breathed freely, their voices steady as they held the note of purity and cleansing. A memory of the singing woman caught Nilinriall off guard, and the material world returned to him. Colour, form, solidity. Less interconnectedness, more rigidity. Nilinriall’s song stopped. Gwynnestri and Dillinir wavered. For a few moments, the three walked in silence, only nature and their footsteps making sound. His companions’ steps were cautious; they were clearly concerned.
Gwynnestri started humming a new note and Nilinriall recognised the tune to be one about companionship and connection. Dillinir joined her, his bass tones adding depth to the melody. He found solace in their song, their voices creating a moment of pure, shared connection, and he took their hands as they entered Sorrelcrest.
Sorrelcrest was a stunning utopia of stone and greenery. The stone buildings were carved to harmonise with the natural forms surrounding them. Each building caught the wind and gently channelled its song, and the architecture within was crafted to harness the acoustics and energies of elfsong. There were many curved and flowing edges, ridges, and beams that channelled sound. The buildings merged into the landscape, with trees and plants integrated into their structure, breathing life into the stone.
The High Elven lived humble lives, enhancing their essence through the magic of elfsong – a medium that allowed them to channel the magic of sound, and which combined the magic of the aether, air, and earth. They were dedicated to learning the ways of the universe through their practice and exploration of the magic of sound.
Nilinriall appreciated everything before him. But he couldn’t help comparing it to what he’d seen in the material world. High Elven walked the paths contentedly, singing and observing. It was calm and peaceful. Nothing like the singing, dancing, and revelry around the campfire.
