Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

“Leandra…”

"Asino."

In that instant, her smile vanished, her expression returning to calm, as if the previous laughter had never happened, like the receding tide after a wave has crashed over the sea, leaving only a tranquil surface. Her voice was neither passionate nor erratic, but rather calm and dignified, carrying an air of detachment as she announced her name.

At that moment, Imrek's pupils contracted sharply, and his eyes widened abruptly; he finally remembered.

There was indeed such a person in the history of the Kingdom of Caledon—Liandra Asino, and she was far more than just "a person who existed".

As the most orthodox bloodline of Caledor, Imrek knew far more than the average person; he could even be said to be one of the living beings in all of Ulthuan who knew Lyandra the most.

A series of long-forgotten memories flashed through his mind, surging up like waves.

Young Leandera was taken to the court of Caledo after the catastrophic upheaval in the Kingdom of Kosqui, where she was still a naive young girl. At that time, Leandera's father and brother were still alive, stationed on the front lines for many years to defend against the attacks of Duruci.

The court of Caledon during that period was truly a constellation of stars.

His ancestor, Imradik, was living in the court with his brother, who later became the fourth Phoenix King, Caledo II, Tessanil, while the daily administration of the court was overseen by Imradik's cousin, Dorian, the regent.

Then, history turned its heavy gears.

Caledo I was killed in battle, and Dorian was killed in battle.

The throne of the Phoenix King was inherited by Tessanir, while Imradik, after completing his ascension ceremony, went to Elsin Alwyn to take on the heavy responsibility of managing the colonies. Leander also accompanied him to Kol Vanas to continue and manage the Asino family's colonies.

Then came the outbreak of the war of revenge.

That endless tragedy eventually consumed Tessanir, Imradrick, and Lyandra; they all died at the hands of Elsin Alwyn, at the hands of the dwarves.

But Imrek knew much more, far more. In his youth, he had read a memoir—a biographical account written by Soriol himself.

The document contains descriptions of Leandra, recording her interactions and conversations with Soriol, as well as her interactions with other members of the royal family.

What truly impressed Imrek was the book's extremely subtle hint—that there might be some less-than-honorable relationship between Leandera and Imrek.

Fortunately, he always held a firm belief in his heart.

He was certain that his ancestor Soriol was the daughter of Imradil and Jesaniel, a noblewoman from the White Wave family and a renowned scholar from Kosquieu.

They are not some unacknowledged illegitimate offspring.

Nevertheless, he could not ignore the conflict between the subtlety of that history and this sudden reality.

His gaze slowly shifted to Quirrellen and Marendry, his cousins ​​and descendants of Dorian, standing to the side. He wanted to find even the slightest confirmation or denial in their eyes.

The instant his gaze fell upon them, they turned to look at him as if sensing it. They neither nodded nor shook their heads, but simply looked at him silently, their eyes revealing a complex mix of emotions: suspicion, wariness, surprise, and an indescribable curiosity.

Imrek slowly turned his head, staring at the woman who seemed to have returned like a ghost, took a deep breath, and wanted to ask her a question.

"you……"

But as soon as he opened his mouth, the woman in the red dress interrupted him without hesitation.

"Me?" She repeated Imrek's unfinished question, a mocking smile playing on her lips. Her voice remained calm, yet sharp and clear as a blade. "Shouldn't I... be dead already?"

She smiled, not as flamboyant as before, but a gentle smile, a smile that conveyed a myriad of emotions. At that moment, the cave fell silent once more, even the blazing flames seemed to lower their voices, and even the sleeping dragons seemed to be listening to her next words.

She seems to embody the memories of the past, an echo of the past royal splendor, a melody that comes from the depths of history, and today, it resonates once again between the brazier and the dragon song.

Imrek didn't speak immediately. He simply gazed silently at Leandera before him, his deep eyes trying to pierce through her flawless exterior, searching for flaws, to verify the truth. Leandera voiced his inner turmoil. Too much time had passed; nearly four thousand years had gone by since the War of Revenge. If the Leandera before him was truly the Leandera he knew, then why was she still alive? She resembled the Shadow King of Nagareth, Malekith, Moras…

Leander understood Imrek's silence and offered her explanation for his hesitation.

“Yes, I should have died,” she whispered, her tone tinged with both regret and irony. “To die in the flames and raging torrents of Elsin Alwyn.”

Her gaze swept past Imrek, across the entire Dragon Cave, where the towering rock walls and rising steam seemed unable to obscure her memories.

“But I didn’t die…” she continued, her voice filled with barely concealed sorrow. “I survived, as if I were blessed, but I don’t feel it was a blessing. It’s more like a curse, a curse that makes you want to die but you can’t.” She spread her hands, her expression helpless, casting these painful memories of thousands of years into the void.

“My story is complicated, very complicated.” She changed the subject, looking directly at Imrek and the others present, her voice becoming calmer. “But I imagine you’re not interested right now, are you? Even if you were, I’m not interested in telling you. I’m not here to recount my past.”

Imrek nodded.

He truly had neither the time nor the inclination to delve into why someone who should have died long ago was still alive. He only wanted to know her purpose in appearing at this moment, and then continue his mission to awaken the dragon. He was concise and to the point.

"I acknowledge your identity, but we're short on time. Let's get straight to the point: why are you here?"

Leander did not answer immediately. Instead, as if her words had triggered some kind of memory, she paused for a moment, then raised the corners of her mouth, revealing a smile that was both familiar and unfamiliar.

“You…” Her voice was soft and light, but she stopped abruptly halfway through her sentence, then shook her head gently, as if mocking herself, or perhaps recalling something, “I forgot, here, the concept of time is blurred.”

She smiled, a smile that carried a sudden mix of tenderness and indifference.

"Guess where I came from?"

Imrek's patience was nearing its limit; the fire in his eyes was almost overflowing. He took a deep breath, his voice tinged with annoyance.

"Just say what you want to say! We really don't have much time left."

Unbeknownst to him, his fists had already clenched unconsciously, his knuckles turning white from the force. The power within him was boiling, and his patience, like thin ice on molten lava, was slowly melting away.

Leander sensed the impatience in his voice. She looked directly into Imrek's eyes, her gaze no longer filled with laughter, but with a cold indifference tinged with disdain and a hint of disappointment. For a moment, she considered turning away, leaving behind this echoing cave, leaving behind these descendants of Caledor shrouded in slumber and arrogance.

But she didn't.

She suppressed the thought, took a deep breath, and swallowed her anger along with it.

"I come from Blazing Island," she said calmly, her tone devoid of any dramatic flair, as if stating an ordinary fact.

"Why did you go there?" Lameran frowned, his voice revealing anxiety and vigilance.

Leander raised an eyebrow, not immediately answering the question, but instead glancing around, scanning the princes and mages in their red robes and dragon armor once more. She seemed to be confirming, or perhaps testing.

"Don't you really know what's happening outside?"

These words were like a sharp dagger, precisely piercing the vitals of this closed underground world.

She paused, waiting for a response. But she found the answer she needed in the eyes of these sons of Caledon, in their silence, their hesitation, their confusion.

She sneered, and before they could speak, she asked again.

"Do you know about Lorthorn's matter?"

At that moment, the atmosphere in the entire cave exploded.

“Traitor!” Imrek practically spat out the word through gritted teeth.

This word, like a venomous snake, burrowed into the deepest part of his heart, tearing out the betrayal truth he least wanted to face.

He knew that Fennubal had betrayed him, betrayed Asul. He had been fooled into believing that the massive fleet had been annihilated in Anaheim, suffering a defeat worse than the Day of Bloodshed. But the truth was that the fleet had returned with Duruch, brazenly entering the port of Lor'then and opening the gates of Ulthuan—the key had fallen into the hands of a traitor, and the gates of his beloved land were wide open!

He was furious.

The name Lorthorn ignited the emotions of everyone present.

The dragon mages and dragon princes' anger erupted like a tidal wave, shouting, questioning, and cursing. The entire cave seemed to boil instantly, and the flames in the brazier leaped three feet, as if ignited by this hatred.

Leander frowned, her face showing utter exasperation. She had already considered turning away for the second time; these people's reactions were irritating her, but she held back. She raised her arm, halfway up, her expression turning cold, her tone suddenly rising.

"Quiet!"

"Things... might not be what you think." After the surroundings finally quieted down, Leandera spoke slowly, her tone both calm and tinged with sarcasm, "There was no massacre, no destruction. Lorthene has imposed martial law."

She paused for a moment, letting her unexpected words hit everyone's heads like a bucket of cold water, before continuing.

"The lagoon was filled with the ships of Duruch and Asur, their sails crisscrossing and their flags mingling. Spheres known as 'control balloons' were suspended by chains above the lagoon, their complex structures varying in height, surrounded by dense arrays of heavy ballistae. Even the sea breeze was replaced by the roar of machinery and steel. Meanwhile, early warning aircraft hovered high in the sky like sentinels, constantly monitoring every move in the distance."

These words immediately caused an uproar in the cave.

The dragon princes' attention was almost instantly drawn to the heavy ballistae and anti-aircraft balloons. They engaged in a heated discussion about tactical applications, flight restrictions, and firepower deployment, quickly deducing from even fragmented conversations the substantial threat these things posed to the dragons. They were warriors, dragon princes, dragon riders—many without dragon companions, forced to fight on horseback—but they instinctively remained alert to every new development on the battlefield, a source of pride for Kaledo. The dragon mages, however, were caught in a different kind of confusion. They were astonished by the Duruchi's apparent civility, their failure to immediately launch a massacre of Asur. This was almost incomprehensible in their traditional understanding; what kind of Duruchi would they be if they didn't burn, kill, and plunder?
They whispered among themselves, their voices shifting from disbelief to confusion, and then to an eerie silence.

Having calmed down somewhat, Imrek did not join the commotion; the words "Flame Isle" were etched into his mind, impossible to shake off.

"Blazing Island?" He raised his hand to signal everyone to be quiet before asking the question.

Leander's eyes held a hint of mockery. She didn't rush to answer, but instead raised her eyebrows slightly, as if deliberately whetting everyone's appetite.

"Asur, Enil, and Asley, who were on Duruci's side, went there after things stabilized in Lorthorn."

"Could it be that Malekith... has entered the Holy Flame for the second time?" Imrek narrowed his eyes, his voice carrying an indescribable chill.

"Burned to charcoal like last time? No, this time it should be ashes!" Kalidor interjected with a cold laugh, his voice not loud but clear enough.

“A pathetic existence,” Isis chimed in. “What a pitiful fellow.”

"Ha ha ha ha……"

Instantly, sarcasm and ridicule erupted in the cave, and laughter leaped and echoed like flames on the rock walls.

But the uproar didn't last long.

No one signaled for silence, but the laughter stopped on its own. Everyone saw the expression on Leandera's face—not anger, nor shame, but a strange twist and an almost imperceptible pity.

Imrek's heart tightened, and the sarcastic words he was about to say instantly stuck in his throat. He took a step forward, his tone becoming unusually serious.

"What happened at the Temple of Asuyan?"

“It did indeed begin as you suspected.” Leander lowered her head and sighed softly, “Lord Dess from Azsorloth wielded the Vaal Hammer and shattered the structure of the Midnight Armor.”

"Marekis was covered in skin, like a skinned ghost, and was carried to the front of the sacred flame. To be precise, he was carried by his adjutants to the very edge of the flame, as he was too weak to stand."

She looked up.

"Then he fell, right before the blazing sacred fire."

Her voice was soft, like a whisper in the wind, but the meaning behind her words was thunderous.

“Oh, right,” she added, “you’d never guess who those two adjutants who carried him in were.”

Her eyes gleamed with amusement, a hint of mockery and a touch of wicked humor.

“I can give you a hint; you know one of them.” Her words were clearly provocative.

"Who?" Imrek asked coldly, his gaze sharp as a blade.

“Gilead,” she replied casually, as if she were referring to an ordinary name.

The crowd frowned and whispers arose.

“Gilder…? There is no such person in Ausuan.”

"Have not heard."

"Never even heard of it..."

“Gilder Losean-Marsanas!” Leander uttered the name softly, as if throwing a firework that exploded beneath the cave's dome.

"This is impossible!" a dragon prince shouted, his voice filled with disbelief.

“How is this possible!” another dragon prince exclaimed, his voice filled with anger and confusion. “Hasn’t the royal family of Tyrenlock long since died out? Where did this Gilead come from? What is the point of doing this? Is it some kind of low-level political performance?”

"Could he be Malekith's illegitimate son?" someone scoffed, their voice full of mockery.

"Does he still have that ability?" The question had barely left his lips when a burst of laughter erupted in the cave.

"Ha ha ha ha……"

Leandera laughed too, a hearty laugh, almost too enthusiastic. She loved it; in that moment, she felt back in this community, warm and familiar, everything just as it had been before she left a thousand years ago—that long-lost feeling had returned.

In addition, there is a feeling of casting the truth like a fishhook onto the water, and then watching astonishment and shock ripple through the eyes of the crowd.

"And the other one?" Imrek asked through gritted teeth, his voice almost tearing his throat.

“Aisalion,” Leander answered without hesitation.

"That Aysarion from the Kingdom of Iris?" A dragon prince's eyes widened, almost thinking he had misheard.

"Moralion's youngest son?" Another dragon mage asked in shock, his voice trembling with uncertainty.

“Yes.” Leander nodded, her tone unusually calm, yet it was as if a sharp dagger had pierced the convictions of the crowd.

"traitor!"

This roar ignited new chaos.

The dragon princes roared in anger. Some pounded their chests, some lamented, and some cursed. The scene became lively again. Words like anger, betrayal, and shame echoed on the rock wall, like a released spell.

"And then? What happened next? What was the result?" The rhythm was thrown off balance by chaos once again, and Imrek was on the verge of a breakdown. He gritted his teeth and almost roared as he pressed for answers.

“Marekis, who fell before the sacred flame, finally… stood up.” When Leander said this, her tone became ethereal, as if recalling a memory, or as if recounting a dream. “He stepped into the sacred flame, just as I watched Tessanir step into the sacred flame four thousand years ago.”

At this point, she glanced intentionally at the dragon princes and dragon mages, hoping to catch a glimpse of astonishment on their faces. However, before she could succeed, Imrek's urging interrupted her once again.

"What was the result? What was the result!" His voice trembled, yet it carried a coercive force, as if he wanted to pry an unbearable truth out of her mouth.

“He… disappeared into the sacred flame.” Leander pursed her lips, about to continue, but was interrupted by a barrage of questions.

"He was burned to ashes?"

Did he scream?

"Did he use a fire-repelling spell?"

"Shut up!" Imrek finally lost his temper and roared. His voice was like a thunderclap, tearing apart the echoes of the cave. He took a step forward, staring straight at Leandra like an enraged beast, ready to tear the truth apart and force it down.

“There is no fire-avoidance spell,” Leandera replied calmly. “I can assure you that you should know the Phoenix Priest who presided over the ceremony; his name is Kadjohn.”

She paused, her gaze shifting, before continuing to add.

“In addition, there is one more…you probably don’t know him. His name is Gavino Denarius, and he is Enil from Laurent Laurent.”

As she finished speaking, she took a step forward, her gaze as sharp as a branding iron fixed on Imrek's face.

"But they have one thing in common."

“They have one thing in common!” she repeated, a chilling light flashing in her eyes. Then she slowly raised her hand, pointing to her forehead, and traced a clear symbol between her brows with her fingertips: it was the holy emblem of Asuyan, the mark of fire and glory, the sole symbol of the anointed one.

"This... is impossible!" Imrek took a step back, his throat felt like it was blocked by a stone, his legs were weak, and he couldn't even stand up straight, staggering and almost falling to the ground. He barely managed to steady himself, but his face was as pale as paper.

At this moment, he didn't want to know any more results.

He didn't want to hear it anymore; it wasn't just a tearing apart of his past beliefs, it was a tremor that shook even the very foundations of his soul.

At this moment, he was really scared.

In his mind, Malekith had committed a grave crime on Flame Isle, and when Malekith set foot on Flame Isle again, he should have been met with rejection, resistance, and trial by the Phoenix Guardians, rather than being personally invited by the two Anointed Ones of Asuyan to preside over the sacred fire ceremony for him.

This is not just illogical; it is blasphemy, it is deception, it is denial.

The once lively dragon prince and dragon mages fell silent, the air seemed to freeze, and even the flickering flames slowed to a beat. No one spoke again, no one dared to utter a word; this time, without Imrek's prompting, they were as if controlled by a silencing spell.

Lamelaan stared silently at Imrek. The expression on his best friend's face was no longer anger or arrogance, but an undisguised shock and fear. He had never seen Imrek like this before.

He sighed, stepped forward, and asked the most crucial question on behalf of everyone.

"What was the final result...?" (End of Chapter)