Hank’s eyes fluttered open, the world returning in slow, dizzy fragments. At first, all he saw was a blurry ceiling of rusted beams and shadowed lightbulbs, one of them flickering intermittently like a heartbeat. His head throbbed with a heavy pressure, and the air smelled of oil, old wood, and something fouler… sweat, blood, fear.
He tried to move but found that even shifting his fingers took effort. Then he felt it… a soft, cool pressure against his forehead. A washcloth. Wet. Chilled. Pressed gently to his burning skin.
A small voice whispered, barely above a breath. “Please don’t move… If they see you’re awake, they’ll hurt you again.”
He blinked. Slowly, his vision sharpened, and he looked into a pair of large, dark eyes… wide with fear, rimmed with fatigue. A little girl, no older than six or seven, knelt beside him. Her hair was tangled, her clothes wrinkled and torn, but she held the cloth with careful, practiced hands, her lips trembling as she stared at the closed steel door across the room.
Hank didn’t move. Not yet. He remembered the hotel… the elevator, the sting in his neck, the fall. The faces of the two girls who had been used to lure him in. The slap. The guilt in their eyes. And then, nothing but darkness.
“Where are we?” he whispered, his voice dry and brittle, barely recognizable even to himself.
The girl looked around nervously, then leaned in. “Some warehouse,” she said, her voice low. “I don’t know where. I just know it’s far. No windows. No way out.”
She shivered as she spoke, though the air in the room was thick and stale. Her small fingers trembled as she dabbed the cloth against his temple again. A tear rolled down her cheek.
“They hurt my sister,” she whispered. Her voice cracked under the weight of the memory. “She… she tried to stop them.”
Hank slowly reached out and took her hand. Even that motion drained him. But he held it gently, reassuringly, wrapping his fingers around hers with as much strength as he could muster.
“Listen to me,” he said, “we’ll be okay. I promise.”
Her lower lip trembled, but she nodded slightly.
“I need you to do something for me,” Hank said, keeping his voice even, calm, despite the spinning in his head. “Stand up. Look at the door. And say a name out loud. Say Maerisa.”
She looked at him, confused. “Why? Who’s Maerisa?”
He managed the faintest smile. “She’s a friend. A very powerful friend. If she hears her name, she’ll come.”
“But what if… the bad men come instead?” she whispered.
Hank squeezed her hand gently. “Then you let her deal with them. Just trust me.”
She hesitated, glancing again toward the door. Then, slowly, she stood. Her knees wobbled, but she stood tall as she looked down at Hank. His nod gave her the courage she needed. She took a deep breath, filled her tiny lungs, and then called out with all the strength her small body could muster.
“MAERISA!”
The name echoed in the warehouse like a thunderclap… sharp, defiant, impossible to ignore.
A heartbeat of silence followed.
Then the door slammed open.
A towering man stormed in, his thick boots stomping across the concrete floor. He was huge, dressed in tactical black, his arms like tree trunks. His face twisted with fury when he saw the little girl standing and yelling. He raised his hand, a snarl curling his lips.
“You little…”
The words didn’t finish.
There was a sudden surge of brilliant white light… blinding, radiant, ethereal… and it burst into the room like the sun had torn through the shadows. The man staggered back, shielding his face, and out of the light stepped two figures cloaked in flowing robes of black and emerald. Their presence was impossible to ignore.
Maerisa and Elenna.
Elves.
Maerisa’s violet eyes flared with soft blue light, her pale streaked hair floating gently around her like it was caught in an invisible breeze. Elenna, at her side, shimmered with moonlit armor and a staff that pulsed with quiet energy. Their arrival seemed to bend the very air around them… silent and powerful.
The little girl gasped and stumbled backward, eyes wide in wonder.
The man raised his arm again in anger… but he never got the chance to strike.
Maerisa’s fingers moved with elegant precision, weaving patterns in the air. Threads of magic shimmered in the space before her. In an instant, the man froze mid-motion, paralyzed where he stood.
“He can speak,” she said, her voice calm and cold, “but he cannot move. Or strike. Or flee.”
The man’s eyes bulged in rage, but his body refused to obey him.
Hank struggled to sit up, the dizziness threatening to drag him back down. Elenna was at his side in seconds, kneeling beside him. Her touch was warm and steady as she supported his back and eased him into a sitting position.
“Easy, love,” she whispered, brushing a lock of hair from his face. “You’ve been through hell.”
The little girl stared at them both, frozen in place. Her eyes filled with awe. “They’re… they’re elves,” she whispered, her voice almost reverent.
Hank smiled weakly. “They are. And they’re here to help us.”
She stepped closer, kneeling beside him again. She touched his hand.
“You have magic…” she said slowly, her eyes full of amazement. “You talk to elves.”
Hank smirked faintly. “You called them,” he said softly.
Her breath caught in her throat as realization bloomed across her small face. She had spoken the name. She had summoned them. Her mouth opened in awe.
“I did… I did that?”
Maerisa watched her and smiled gently, the cold warrior expression softening. The child’s innocent joy, pure and untainted, flowed through the air like warmth. For elves, it was more than touching. It was rejuvenating.
Maerisa knelt beside the girl and placed her hand softly on her shoulder. “Yes. And that call was heard across the world. You have courage, little one. And today… it changed everything.”
The girl’s tears had stopped. In their place, there was only hope.
A sudden crash echoed through the warehouse… metal on metal, something heavy toppling over and shattering. It was distant, but powerful enough to send vibrations up through the floor.
Hank’s head snapped toward the door, instincts flaring. Despite the lingering ache in his limbs and the dull throb behind his eyes, he stood… on shaky feet, yes, but under his own strength. He swayed for a heartbeat, then steadied himself, breathing deeply as if reconnecting to something long-dormant inside.
“Nienna…” he whispered, almost without thinking.
Maerisa, still kneeling beside the little girl, turned her head and smiled. There was something proud in her gaze, something ancient and wise. She rose with effortless grace and joined Hank at his side.
Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.
“You feel her now,” she said softly.
Hank nodded, sweat beading lightly on his brow, his body still reeling from the drug, but his mind… his mind was waking up. “She’s furious,” he murmured. “Focused. Cold like steel.” He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers. “It’s strange… I can feel the difference in you. In all of you. Like voices humming behind my eyes.”
Maerisa placed a hand gently on his arm. “You’re awakening. Not just your strength, but your attunement. You’re learning to sense the threads that connect us. It’s rare in humans… but not for the Elven King.”
Another sharp, metallic clang echoed through the warehouse. A faint yell, then silence.
“She’s handling the last guard,” Maerisa confirmed with a quiet certainty. “Efficiently.”
Hank didn’t doubt it. He turned toward the child, kneeling again so he could speak to her eye to eye. Her eyes were still wide with awe from earlier, but now, she looked to him with a fragile hope.
“Sweetheart, where’s your sister?” he asked gently.
The girl’s bottom lip trembled again, and she shook her head. “I don’t know… They took her. After I cried. She tried to stop them from hurting me… and they got angry.”
“She’s nearby,” Elenna said before Hank could respond.
Hank turned to her. The moonlit elf stood just beyond the shadows, her staff glowing faintly at its tip. She had closed her eyes, and the air around her shimmered as she reached out… not with her body, but with her spirit.
“She’s with the others,” Elenna murmured, her voice ethereal, almost melodic. “Four girls total. Older than this one, but still too young to be in a place like this.” Her brow furrowed slightly. “Caged in the northeast wing. Sylvana is there now. She’s unraveling the locks.”
Hank blinked, steadying himself as a familiar warmth rippled through his chest at the name. “Sylvana?” he asked, though he already knew.
Maerisa turned to him, her voice low with respect. “Yes. One of our eldest sisters. Where others see impossible walls, she sees paths. She walks through walls. She is the key that opens every prison.”
Hank nodded, a flicker of recognition passing through his eyes. He didn’t just know the name… he felt it, resonating in his blood like a call to something greater. He had met her before. He had met them all.
All fourteen.
They were more than warriors. More than legends.
They were the last.
The final daughters of the Elven race… fourteen sisters born of moonlight, starlight, and the dying echoes of a once-great civilization. No others remained. The ancient kingdoms of the elves had long since fallen into ruin, their cities turned to dust, their people lost to time, war, and silence. Only these fourteen endured, bound together not by chance, but by him.
They were his council, his shield, his champions… and his destined brides. Each one a living fragment of what the Elves once were: wisdom, power, grace, and fury. Together, they carried the soul of their people, and in him, they saw the future of their kind.
Hank was not just their chosen one. He was the last hope of the Elves.
Elenna closed her eyes, her silver lashes trembling slightly. “She’s done it. The chains are broken. The cages are no more. The girls are free.”
A sharp inhale drew Hank’s attention downward.
The little girl at his side looked up, hope etched across her tear-streaked face. “My sister?” she asked, barely able to breathe the words.
Maerisa crouched beside her, tucking a strand of hair behind the girl’s ear with gentle fingers. “She is safe. Sylvana is bringing her now. You’ll be together again.”
The tears came anew… but they weren’t tears of sorrow. They were bright, glistening, and overflowing with release. With joy.
Hank rested his hand on the back of her head, pulling her gently into his arms. He whispered, “I told you… they’d come. You were never alone. Never.”
Maerisa rose, placing her hand on his shoulder. Her touch glowed softly with magic… calming, restorative, familiar. “You should rest. The poison hasn’t left your system completely. But your body still needs time.”
He met her gaze…. and in it, saw not just worry, but devotion. The kind born of year-old vows written in her eyes. He shook his head.
“I don’t care,” he said, his voice stronger now. “They took her. Hurt her sister. I won’t sit still while they're still in danger. I need to see them safe… with my own eyes. I need to be there.”
Elenna stepped beside Maerisa, her expression serene but proud. “You are walking the path, beloved. Step by step. The bond between us awakens in you. And when the time comes to ascend, we will be ready.”
Maerisa turned toward the door, her black cloak catching the dim warehouse light, shimmering with threads of silver. “Come. The others are sweeping the lower levels. Once we’ve gathered the girls, we leave this place. The memory of us will fade from the minds of those who do not have trust.”
Hank hesitated. “And the ones who did this?”
Maerisa paused in the doorway, her figure framed by the fading glow of elven light. She turned her head slowly, just enough for Hank to catch the fire in her eyes… no longer soft, no longer serene. Now they burned with cold fury, glowing like twin embers beneath the shroud of a winter moon.
“I made Constance a promise,” she said, her voice a low, melodic whisper sharpened to a blade’s edge. “They will not see another day.”
It wasn’t a threat. It was an oath. A judgment passed.
Hank stepped forward and took the girl’s small hand in his. She clung to him, trembling at first, then steadier as she looked up into his face. Her eyes sparkled, wide with wonder and a question she barely dared to voice.
“You know them,” she whispered. “You’re not afraid… They listen to you.”
Hank looked down at her and gave a gentle nod. “They’re not just elves,” he said. “They’re my family. My future.”
She didn’t understand the full weight of those words. Not yet. But one day, she would.
Together, they stepped into the corridor… one man carrying the weight of prophecy, one child carrying the light of hope, and two elven sisters whose hearts and blades were bound to both.
---
Stepping out from the oppressive gloom of the warehouse felt like surfacing from murky depths. Hank shielded his eyes against the sudden, almost brutal glare of the sun, which beat down from high overhead, confirming his suspicion that it was well past noon. He’d lost track of time, plunged into darkness since eleven the previous night. Dust motes danced in the harsh light illuminating a desolate, industrial landscape… cracked asphalt, rusting chain-link fences, and the skeletal remains of abandoned machinery nearby. The air was thick with the smell of stagnant water and sun-baked metal.
Just as his eyes adjusted, a voice, thin and hesitant, called out, “Shimi…?” Hank turned, his gaze falling upon the beautiful Asian girl from the casino. She wasn't alone. Behind her huddled three other young women, their faces pale and tear-streaked, clothes torn and dirty. One was the striking ebony girl, also from the casino, her earlier confidence shattered, replaced by a haunted look. The other two, fair-skinned with features suggesting Scandinavian or possibly Russian heritage, clung to each other, trembling. Standing protectively behind them, radiating a calm, ancient power that contrasted sharply with the surrounding decay, was Sylvana. Her olive skin and night-black hair seemed almost luminous in the harsh sunlight, and she offered Hank a serene smile, her green eyes holding depths of unspoken knowledge. Hank returned the smile, a flicker of recognition and gratitude passing between them.
Maerisa materialized beside him, her presence a familiar blend of ethereal grace and quiet authority amidst the harsh sunlight and industrial decay. She took Hank’s hand, her touch cool and steadying, a silent anchor in the chaotic aftermath. Her violet gaze, however, wasn't on Hank, but fixed intently on the small group of rescued young women huddled nearby. Her focus narrowed specifically on the two fair-skinned girls, the ones who looked possibly Scandinavian or Russian, their eyes still wide with uncomprehending terror, their bodies trembling uncontrollably.
Maerisa leaned closer to Hank, her voice a low, urgent whisper meant only for his ears, distinct from the whimpers of the traumatized girls. “Hank,” she murmured, her gaze flicking briefly towards Shimi, her sister, and the ebony girl who stood slightly apart, supported by the calming presence of Sylvana, “those three… they have a strength, a resilience forged in the darkness they endured. They can hold the truth, bear the weight of our secret.”
Her gaze then shifted back, hardening almost imperceptibly, towards the other two girls. “But these two…” she continued, her voice dropping further, laced with a solemn finality, “their minds are too fractured by fear and the coercion they suffered. The terror has broken something vital within them. They cannot be trusted with this knowledge, Hank. Not for their safety, nor for ours. To protect them from a truth they cannot handle, and to safeguard our existence, we must erase their memories of us, reshape the narrative of their rescue.”
Hank looked at the two fair-haired girls, noted their fragile beauty now completely overshadowed by the vacant shock in their eyes, the way they flinched at every distant sound. He understood the grim necessity. Compassion warred with the harsh reality Maerisa presented… the secrecy of the elven world, their very existence, depended on this difficult choice. Protecting these two from a truth that could shatter them further felt, strangely, like the kinder path. “Do it,” Hank agreed, his voice firm despite the difficult weight of the decision. “Leave them here. The police will find the kidnappers’ bodies inside… the ones your sisters dealt with. Let the official story be that the kidnappers fought amongst themselves, killed each other. The police arrive, find the carnage, and ‘save’ the girls. But those two… they must not remember us. Not the elves, not the magic.”
Maerisa nodded, her violet eyes filled with a solemn understanding. She raised a delicate hand, her long, pale fingers tracing intricate, shimmering patterns in the air before her. Ancient elven words, soft as falling leaves yet resonating with an undeniable power, spilled from her lips, weaving a complex spell into the very atmosphere. She turned her hand, palm outwards, towards the two designated girls and blew a gentle, almost invisible kiss. A swirling mist of iridescent purple smoke, laced with threads of silver light, materialized from her breath, visible only for a fleeting moment to those with the Sight. It drifted purposefully towards the two frightened girls, enveloping them in its ethereal embrace.
Their eyes immediately glazed over, losing focus, their bodies becoming momentarily still as the potent magic washed through their minds. When the smoke dissipated without a trace, their expressions were subtly altered… the raw terror remained, the confusion lingered, but the sharp, impossible edge of remembering magical beings, of witnessing otherworldly power, was gone. Wiped clean. Dazed, their movements sluggish and instinctual, they looked towards the dark opening of the warehouse, drawn back towards the perceived safety within its grim walls, waiting unconsciously for the conventional rescue that would soon arrive, their memories of elves and magic erased forever. Shimi, her sister, and the ebony girl watched them stumble away, their own minds grappling with the incredible, terrifying truth they now carried, forever bound to the secret world Hank was becoming a part of.
