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Battles through the Heavens

Introduction
“BttH” is a high fantasy novel with lots of inspiring lessons and themes.
Despite this, it contains violence and death within many chapters. It is
considered the reading level of middle ages and young adults.
Link to informations and power system:
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Vbw780fHIz9RHnSnJBzqA8uIaEkVt
Ch4U-jOm4SeM1Q/edit?usp=sharing

Prologue

Doom came to us all. The desperate refugees struggle to survive.

Perhaps, we had a chance for peace. But desperation and trust are
 sealed in allies. So began a millennium of conflict. By far the greatest
of the warriors, and the reason they fight. And yet, here they still
stand, searching for a sign of peace. I will show them… I am Arfol. I
bring war, I bring wrath.

Chapter I: Redemption
After hours of grueling travel through the fields, the weary trio found
themselves at the foot of the hills that led to the imposing mountains.
The encroaching darkness of night forced them to halt their journey, as
they could barely make out their surroundings through the thick mist
that blanketed the land. Determined to find shelter, Virigon and
Flynnson led the way to a shallow cave nestled among the rocky terrain.
The night passed in silence, until the faint light of dawn crept through
the misty veil of Voron. With renewed vigor, the three travelers set out
once again on their journey, eager to reach their destination despite the
challenges that lay ahead.
“The Great Winged-Tigrons.” Whispered Virigon.
As Faldir gazed up, he noticed three shapes descending from the distant
mountain peaks, beating their wings with strength. They circled in the
air, before suddenly turning and flying off towards the South.
Undeterred, the trio continued their arduous trek up the seemingly
endless mountain. Finally, they paused in front of a dark, seemingly
endless tunnel. Upon entering, the cavern was filled with smoke and the
smell of war flames. They stood still, listening for any sounds in the vast
space. The air was still and silent, and not even the sound of water
droplets could be heard. However, their whispers awakened the echoes,
which multiplied and reverberated along the roof and unseen walls,
creating a hissing and murmuring sound akin to many stealthy voices.
Suddenly a lantern was unhooded, and its burning ray was turned upon
the three travelers before they could do anything else. The creature cast
back its hood and his face shone in the ray.
“Why had you come,” talking with its lowest voice, “no one had bid
you goodbye…”
“What do you mean?” asked Faldir. “The one who entered this place
shall never be seen again.” the creature lowered its voice.
Flynnson perceives an imminent threat lurking in the cavern, which
seems to be an ambush. Abruptly, an arrow coated with poison hurtles
across the distance, slicing through the air and piercing Faldir's chest,
inflicting an excruciating sensation akin to dragon fire, scorching and
rending his flesh. In response, the remaining two comrades unsheathe
their swords and engage in a fierce battle against the unearthly
creatures that are bellowing and shooting venomous darts. These
otherworldly beings are impervious to conventional weaponry, but the
trio's armor, forged from Silver Steel, proves to be an impenetrable
defense. The creatures they had encountered were vulnerable at the
neck, as Virigon's swift strikes proved fatal. Miraculously, Faldir
managed to escape with the others, though he sustained an injury that
required attention. Upon examination, Faldir discovered a hardened
patch of skin at the site of the wound that refused to yield even to his
attempts to remove it. It was possible that he had been poisoned.
Donning his shirt once more, Faldir sought respite under a nearby tree.
The trio was awakened by the sound of laughter and approaching
footsteps. In the distance, they spotted four young elves running
towards them, pushing a wheelbarrow. Despite the initial confusion,
they realized that the children meant no harm. With a quizzical
expression on his face, Faldir watched as they approached.
“What?” Asked Flynnson in confusement, “Who are they and what are
they going to do? Sabotage our mission?or make some “improper act ?”
“They are the Children of Light.” Faldir whispered to them.
The four ran and ceased in front of them. They were introduced as
Elaran, Isfendil, Ellandir and lastly, Gilborn. The oldest, Isfendil,
handed them the wheelbarrow and told them that this was the gift of
their ancestors to help them complete their mission. Then Faldir offers
them to stay for the night and guide the team over the Misty Seas, then
he will reward them with his cloak, the Ring of Luck, to return to their
parents.

Chapter II: Elseward

As the day gave way to night, the horizon lost its luminance and was
cloaked by the darkness. It was then that the travelers espied two
magnificent stallions, one silver and the other white, galloping down
from the highlands. These were the ethereal steeds of the Light, known
to be the swiftest and most valiant of their kind. Without delay, Faldir
mounted one of the majestic creatures while the other was reserved for
his companions. With a sense of urgency, they set off to the Southeast,
leaving the Northern peaks of Voronnos behind. The sound of the wind
rushing past them was so deafening that they could scarcely hear one
another speak. As the night progressed, they reached the Tower of
Dawn, which lay silent in the shadow of the Western hills.
“Faldir!” a voice whispered as though it wanted to shout, “What are you
thinking?!” it added, and now revealed to be his friend.
“Thou should not have followed me, Aerwyna,” said Faldir with a sigh
of relief.
“And you should not have draw nigh here.” replied Aerwyna, a hand on
the pommel of her sword. “ Yet here we are regardless,” she added,
seeming displeased.
“You know that I would be scolded for it, while you would be deemed
treasonous.” “And I will not lose another woman of mine.” replied
Faldir.
“This place of treachery is forbidden,” as Aerwyna approached him.
“I needed to see the scrolls for myself,” said Faldir, as he roweled his
horse to turn upon the tower.
Aerwyna was helpless. She couldn't stop him from setting his foot into
the halls.
“Ah, so you can read it, but I cannot…” Aerwyna jested with a soft
laughter.
Faldir could not help but smirked. And now he could hear three voices,
approaching at a slow pace. He blew out the candles and grabbed
Aerwyna’s arm and rushed towards the gate. The tremendous doors
slammed in their face like thunder, shutting them inside. The voices
grew louder and more stealthy.
“Seorré?” Faldir spoke in whispers, “Why would they speak of the Beast
on a day like this?”
“Here none but myself shall set foot, lest you fall under the wrath of
Enthranor.” bellowed the voice.
“Then shall our paths be sundered.” Faldir answered, roweling his horse
towards the gates. For he feared that some evil had come even to the
realm.
“I bear you my fate, release me.” Faldir replied.
The gate abruptly opened with a sense of urgency. Faldir and his
companions hastened out, feeling the powerful gusts of wind as they
fled towards the North, leaving the Tower of Dawn behind. The road
beckoned, and they were compelled to embark on their journey, as the
first rays of the sun broke out. They traversed over hills, and under
trees, through uncharted territories where light had never reached
before. Finally, Faldir turned his gaze towards the paths that led to The
Realm of Darkness, as he witnessed the fading of the sunlight from the
sky, letting out a deep sigh in the wind. The luminosity radiated by the
stars and clouds illuminated the shadows of the valley. While traversing
through the rocky terrain, a Silwe emerged from behind a cluster of
boulders and approached them, revealing himself as Fëanduilas. He had
been a victim of Arfol's heinous attacks that had destroyed his city,
leaving him with only a few surviving members of his community.
Fëanduilas offered his assistance to guide them to the cursed gate, and
in exchange, they would have to help him transit to the other
dimension. Faldir accepted the offer and escorted Fëanduilas to his
stallion.

Chapter III: Of the downfall of Elgandar

As the Last Sun of Summer slipped beneath the western horizon, the
people of Voron gathered atop the kingdom’s walls to celebrate the
arrival of the First Moon of Autumn. Little did they know that Arfol,
the harbinger, had unleashed his minions, the Terrors, upon their
land. The deafening razors of these creatures reverberated off the
towering cordillera, shattering the serenity of the surrounding fauna.
Despite the cacophony of their bellowing calls, the revelers below
remained oblivious to the impending doom that lurked just beyond
the walls. The once peaceful wilderness erupted into chaos as the
corrupted creatures tore through the canopies with savage fury. The
army of the dark lord Arfol had arisen, determined to topple the
kingdom by exploiting its vulnerabilities. Lord Elgandar, the valiant
ruler of the land, grew increasingly despondent as he watched his
people and his brothers fall prey to the relentless onslaught. Arfol's
twisted creativity had imbued his minions with dark powers, sowing
despair and hopelessness among those who dared to resist. The balance
and order of Terrias and its rulers had been thrown into disarray,
threatening to unravel the very fabric of the kingdom itself. Yet, little
did the people of Terrias know that the world was far vaster than
their wildest imaginings. Beyond the reaches of their land, in the
deepest depths of the oceans, lay an unexplored realm, a mysterious
esplanade of the unknown. But to reach it would require a
blood-soaked journey, a treacherous path fraught with peril and pain.
It would be a tragic and dreadful moment in the history of the land,
but perhaps it was the only way to save their world from the grasp of
darkness.
**************************************

In the midst of the fog, a Silwe stands alone, gazing tearlessly upon
the sight of centuries-old sepulchers. With one hand resting on the
edge of a large tomb, memories flood his mind of the War of Wrath
and Corruption, where countless brave souls perished in honor to
protect society. As time passed, their numbers dwindled, and
 subsequent generations have been left to wither away in despair. The
Silwe lets out a heavy sigh, his voice quavering as he speaks.
“I’m sorry brethren, bless us, and overcome the fear fullness of rage
and corruption,” he stops, and to hearken, the tears of those who had
fallen for glory. “You shall rest, until the time comes, my kinsman.”
He steadily withdraws his elven sword, and cleaves on the headstone a
message.
“I am Quinlan, I swore the oath will be destroyed.”
***************************************************

From afar, Faldir is now heading Northwest. To the ascending land of

Isar. Isar is a floating piece of land, making it unique. They can only
reach it with the support of the great Blessing from The Children of
Light. It is the land of blessings, and no evil can lay even a finger on it.
Not even Arfol.
No one below had witnessed the scene above.
“Honor, what do you know about honor?” “You had never faced the
truth here,” “learn what honor is, before you pretend to become a
warrior.” “The path where sadness goes along with pain, and where
glory is the color of blood.”
A flashback from when Faldir’s father was alive, suddenly struck his
mind.
“I am a warrior. I know what is honor…” Faldir thought.
They felt a sign of peace upon the valley of Isar. Thousands of years,
people quelled in the face of madness and conflict. Clamor rose in the
middle of the argument of the three.
“Thou shall stay, once you’re upon it then there’s nowhere to flee. Upon
their wrath.” Exclaimed Faldir.
With a heavy heart, he spurred the stallion onward, knowing that the
once-glorious kingdom of Elgandar, which had stood strong for
countless ages, was now on the verge of losing its luster and vitality.

Chapter IV: Tragedy and wrath

The tomb is illuminated by the light of the three blood moons, an
occurrence that happens only once every decade, hence why its location
remains within the mines of Goliath. The significance of this event,
though often dismissed as a mere legend, is a testament to the enduring
power of folklore.
“Well met! My fearless foe…” “This world would collapse in your
despairing eyes.” Arfol spakes to Curunëldor through the rusted bars.
“I shall slay you in battle and enrange your kin!” Arfol strengthened his
voice.
Curuneldor’s brethren, Celeneldor and Finneldor are slain and thrown
out to the Western Seas. Arfol would likely bound the Neldorian
bloodline. Their fate is growing weary and dark.
“Get thee kin gone from my sight!” the Dark Lord scolded.
The Neldorian had been ruling the entire Southern part of Belaria and
the White Heavens for more than one whole Age. Later soon Arfol will
feign Curuneldor’s death in order to trick the citizens. As the last of
Neldorians descendants, with a wide ranging legacy, if it ends, it dies.
Soon a new age will bloom and flourish. They were completely in
Arfol’s thrall. So strict were the guardians that none had ever ousted
them.
************************************
As Faldir casts himself into roaring waves, there comes the message
from the Neldorians.
“Joy, ye hast felt in the forest. When the cries of thy kin arouses, thy
soul shall rest no more amid the mountain valley.” The message reads,
“Firmed shall thy grip be on the sword and bow, as foes waylay thy
journey.”
Yonder from Midland, where enemies dwelt. Where the Demon’s Bane
sword lies. Legend brief that it had wounded the Dark Lord 8 times
before it’s master fell to death. Doer seeking to make us forsake the
sojourn to Isar.
“May I beseech, O my lord, Scourge,” Faldir spake in a faint voice.
“When we first awakened by the start of your creations, you’d blessed us
with many blessings.” He ceases for a while “one last, once and for all,
shall I possess the Demon’s Bane…”
Although possessing the Demon’s Bane is near forbidden, there’s a
fortunity that one’s true hands can wield it. With a sound akin to the
vibrations of a thousand thunderclaps, the portal opened before Anna,
its power shaking everything in its vicinity with its raw energy. It was a
fearsome sight to behold, yet the young teenager remained unafraid.
She stepped through the portal with a sense of wonder, eager to explore
the strange new world that lay before her. As she emerged on the other
side, she let out a soft whistle, her curious nature getting the better of
her as she listened to the echo reverberating through the empty
expanse. Despite the uncertainty that lay ahead, Anna did not mourn
the life she had left behind. Instead, she embraced the prospect of
starting anew in this mysterious realm. As she stood in the quiet
stillness, Anna could hear the sound of Quinlan approaching on
horseback, his steed's hooves crunching against the unfamiliar terrain.
As he came to a halt beside her, she gazed up at him with admiration,
struck by the grace and agility of his movements, even in this strange
and unknown land.
“I nighed, and what shall I bring ye?” He spoke with a firm and loyal
voice.
Anna remained silent, but her eyes betrayed the joy she felt in her soul.
As Quinlan reached out to help her onto the stallion, Anna felt a deep
sense of familiarity with him, as if he were her own father. It was clear
that they had formed a bond of friendship the moment they had met.
Quinlan had received a message to look for the new guest, and as the
sun began to set and the land plunged into darkness, Anna held onto
him tightly, feeling him twitching occasionally. She sensed his sadness,
and knew that he saw spirits in his path - the spirits of those whose
faith had been tied to the prophecy.
“Fear I see, fear I hearkened. Shall they sit in peace or rage, but I ought
to keep my pace.” Quinlan thought
“What hast thy heart forsake, feigned the love of thy kinsman.”
Athenduilas shut off their road. He was one of Quinlan’s most gifted
kin.
And he drew his sword to Quinlan’s chest.
“See for thyself! The blade is sharper than thy words!” Athenduilas
cried
Still the younger one was asleep. For she does not awoke of the sound
from the drawing sword.
“I forsake my kin, yea, as a halfson.” Then Quinlan halted, glancing at
Athen with bitter-shame eyes.
Athen pushes his sword hand further, sending the point piercing
slightly into his flesh. Blood spilled and soaked the cloak. Still he did
not weep from the pain of the burning wound. Quinlan was grim and
bleak, all with his half confused stare.
“For I wouldn’t rue, it wasn't a sheer folly act of mine.” Athen retreated
his blade. He stepped backwards. His eyes were stealthy as a wolf, like
the fire of torches is seen within his heart. The cloak he pulled then
faded into the pitch-black darkness. One palm on his gash, and he rode
off bearing the pain. Grief, he had enough. Anna’s eyes snapped open.
Now he’s arriving at the general’s mansion, General Huan Wei. His race
is similar to the elves. It is the Anora. Described as though they have
less pointed ears and shorter height they do have a connection with the
other species like men. Formerly they came from the Eastern lands and
seas. The few reasons why they depart their homeland to live here is to
maintain business and knowledge.
“Wasn’t it too late, Quinlan?” Huan surprisingly opened the gates. “I’ve
been watching your march in the woods.”
“You’re always welcoming, thus I’d sent forth a message to clan Lao,
your noble clan.” Quinlan replied.
Huan smirked as usual and they all passed through the yard.
“Thou brought thy disciple?” He glanced at Anna. “Childe Quin, go
occupy yourself if you ought to. Take a rest.”
Quinlan grinned and gait to his room. His hand was numb, holding the
open cut. He halted at the porch, and turned to face Huan.
“Arfol’s servants had held many of our kind in bondage.” In hatred he
spoke. “You bother giving me the gauze?”
Huan sighed. He reached his hand out to the desk and grabbed the
stuff.
“Bro Quin,” Huan uttered. “Take care, The next dawn is the coming of
our armies to defend the demolish force.”
Quinlan raised his hands and bowed. Then swiftly he walks inside.
Tomorrow marks a turning point of his life, as he finally steps beyond
the safety of the bulwark he once called home and ventures forth to
engage in battle. He has spent years honing his skills, tirelessly training
for this moment of reckoning. As his parents bid their farewell, he
carries himself with the utmost self-discipline and grace, not just only
towards his own people but to all whom he encounters on this perilous
journey. For he knows that the path he has chosen will demand more
than just physical prowess; it will require a strength of character and a
firm resolve to overcome the challenges that lie ahead.

Chapter V: Limitless
With a mix of trepidation and excitement, Quinlan embarked on his
very first mission to the neighboring nation, Lorando. From atop his
trusty steed, he surveyed the landscape as they galloped through
verdant fields and rolling hills. His senses were on high alert as he
scanned the horizon for any signs of dangers or obstacles, while his
mind raced with a flurry of thoughts and emotions. For he knew that
every step he took could be his last, and yet he also felt a surge of
adrenaline at the prospect of what lay ahead. It was a moment that
would test his mettle, and he was determined to prove himself worthy
of the challenge. And of a sudden he tugged the reins and drew out his
sword, Riptide. Circling around the place silently, a corpse has been
drawn to his sight. The body was not slain, but drowned to death. His
skin was cold to the touch, and his eyes were still open, staring lifelessly
into the sky. The bones were wrecked, and inside the sleeves was a spirit
pouch, which means that the soul of this body has returned to the spirit
world. It has one last life to live when reborn. Although Quinlan has
never met him in person, he perceives him to be Faldir Errandor, a
warrior from the far land of Leithendar. Therefore he could do nothing
but take the pouch.
" You had the Quenchless love, Faldir. I couldn't give thou help, unless
thou are reborn." Quinlan tinge helplessly. “I witnessed the curse on
your forehead.”
Quinlan gently retrieved a white shroud and carefully draped it over
the lifeless body. Climbing back into his horse, he refused to look back,
his tears flowing freely as he tightly gripped the reins and urged his
steed onward. The stallion galloped forward, carrying Quinlan and his
sorrow away. Those who dare to pursue him, inevitably condemn
Quinlan with a terrible curse that forces him to live a wretched
existence, deprived of the ability to glimpse into the future. Tearing
through the veil of Lorando,