Chapter 24. The Sacred Forest.Principality of Qua-Toyne. The Sacred Forest of Ren-Noa.
It was here, in this ancient, mysterious land, that five thousand years ago, the High Elves and other races—whose names have long since faded into the sands of time—prayed to the Supreme God for salvation from the impending annihilation at the hands of countless demonic legions. And it was from this very place, this hallowed sanctuary, that the people of the New World, united under the banners of the warriors of the Supreme God, waged a desperate resistance against the demonic hordes. With an unrelenting fury and unmatched courage, they drove them back to the sinister continent of Grameus, where darkness seemed never to recede.
Since those ancient times, a vast and enigmatic forest—Ren-Noa—has grown over the sacred altar, its roots entwined with the past, soaked in the prayers and tears of generations long gone. This sanctuary, as if a living entity itself, remains under the eternal protection of the High Elves, the descendants of those who once pleaded for divine intervention. According to legends passed down through the ages, one of the celestial vessels belonging to the envoys of the Supreme God is still hidden deep within this sacred land, preserved by an ancient and forgotten magic that transcends time itself.
The towering canopies of ancient trees formed an emerald vault overhead, shielding the sky and allowing golden rays of sunlight to pierce through the thick foliage like streams of liquid gold, casting intricate patterns on the forest floor. Not far from Ren-Noa, a crystal-clear stream murmured playfully, its waters so transparent that fish and crayfish could be seen darting between the smooth stones as if the river were a flawless pane of glass. A gentle, cool breeze whispered through the leaves, carrying the sweet fragrance of flowers and wild herbs, filling the air with the very breath of nature. It was as if the land itself sang a soft, tranquil melody, joined in harmony by the birds whose voices echoed throughout the forest, a welcoming chorus beckoning travelers to step into its embrace.
At the very heart of the forest, a natural archway, formed by intertwining trees, stood like a portal to another world—an entrance to the most ancient of sanctuaries. Standing near this gateway, like vigilant sentinels, were two High Elves, awaiting the arrival of the Russian expedition team—an event as sudden and disruptive as a bolt of lightning shattering a clear blue sky.
Their names were Uor, whose sharply defined features bore an expression of restrained wariness, and Miana, whose deep, lake-like eyes shimmered with curiosity, reflecting both anticipation and unease.
"I don't like the idea of letting humans into the sanctuary of our ancestors," Uor grumbled inwardly, his thoughts heavy with doubt and concern. He couldn't shake the feeling that these outsiders, much like reckless barbarians, might desecrate this sacred ground.
Through centuries—spanning a time so vast that, to an ordinary human, it would seem eternal—he had never once imagined that the elder, whose wisdom was believed to be unwavering, would grant permission for humans or any other race to enter the sacred halls of the sanctuary, whose secrets had, until now, been known only to a select few.
Traditionally, only High Elves and their kin—those who shared the same ancestral blood—were permitted to set foot in Ren-Noa. To them, distinctions between High Elves, Wood Elves, or Half-Elves meant little; what truly mattered was the nobility of one's heart and the purity of one's soul.
Before vanishing from the memory of her children, the Elven Goddess, as a final gift from the Supreme God, had left a decree: her people were not to harbor hatred toward their distant kin, nor judge them by race. Instead, she bestowed her last remaining divine power upon their lands, blessing them with eternal fertility.
Throughout the ages, ever since the fabled Era of the Gods' War, never once had a being of another race set foot within this sacred forest.
"Uor! You don't understand! These humans are extraordinary!"
"They are the ones who saved our kin and defeated the Kingdom of Louria, like mighty heroes from the ancient legends! And it was they who destroyed the awakened Demon Lord Nosgorath, scattering his power to the winds like ashes! And it was our elder who invited them into the sanctuary, seeing no threat in them," thought the High Elf Miana, her thoughts shining like bright stars against the night sky.
"Miana, you are no longer a child, yet you are still far too trusting… far too naive," Uor wanted to rebuke her, but at that moment, an unfamiliar sound sliced through the air—a deep, rhythmic humming, like the buzzing of some enormous insect.
"What is that?!" Uor exclaimed in shock, his eyes widening in astonishment as his heart pounded with unusual intensity.
For the first time in centuries, the High Elves, so accustomed to a serene and measured existence, were shaken by the rapid, thunderous beats of an approaching sound. The Russian Ansat helicopter, like a bird never before seen in these lands, cut through the air, racing toward Ren-Noa and shattering the forest's tranquil silence, sending a wave of unease through the elves.
"This… this can't be real! Is that… a celestial vessel?" Miana muttered in stunned disbelief, her lake-like eyes filling with both fear and awe. Her mother's tales of the Envoys of the Supreme God suddenly resurfaced in her memory.
The Ansat, like a massive metal beetle, landed near the sanctuary's entrance, causing the very earth beneath the elves' feet to tremble. From within the belly of this skyborne vessel, several humans emerged—dressed in strange garments, with unfamiliar mannerisms and bearing an air unlike anything the elves had encountered before. Two of them wore brightly colored, elaborate clothing with heavy-looking packs, while the other three were clad in mottled green military uniforms, their presence exuding discipline and quiet authority.
As the delegation approached, their expressions revealing a mix of curiosity and restraint, one of the men—his face open and friendly—stepped forward and introduced himself.
"Greetings," he spoke with a faint accent, "My name is Eduard Anatolyevich. I am the head of this archaeological mission, and this," he gestured toward another man whose face was shadowed beneath the brim of his hat, "is Igor Mikhailovich, my colleague. We are truly grateful for your generosity and for granting us permission to conduct research in your sacred Ren-Noa."
Uor gave a polite nod, then gestured toward the natural archway—the living gateway that seemed to beckon like a portal to another world.
"Follow me," he instructed, his voice firm yet respectful, devoid of arrogance. "Stay close, or you may find yourselves lost in the labyrinth of our forest."
They may have been humans, their appearance unusual and unfamiliar, but they had saved the elven villagers who had fled from Lourian cavalry—their hooves striking the earth like hammers, their swords thirsting for blood. Uor had expected them to be haughty and condescending, as so many outsiders were, but these humans carried themselves with surprising humility. There was no air of superiority about them, only quiet dignity and a deep respect for the sacred land they had been allowed to enter.
The research team, unaccustomed to long treks, had covered a significant distance. Yet, they endured the challenge with stoic determination, showing no signs of fatigue—a trait that earned them the elves' respect. After four hours of walking, the lead High Elf suggested taking a break. To the elves' surprise, everyone agreed without hesitation.
One of the security personnel, settling onto a fallen tree, pulled out what appeared to be a peculiar mirror. He studied it with a furrowed brow, as if trying to decipher something.
"Excuse me, but what is that in your hands?" Miana asked with curiosity and a slight smile, eyeing the soldier whose face bore a light stubble.
"Oh, this? It's a tablet," the soldier responded, as if snapping back to reality. He lifted his gaze from the reflective surface. "I was trying to check our location, but for some reason, the GPS isn't picking up a signal…"
"I don't really trust all your electronics," another soldier remarked with a smirk, "but even my compass is acting crazy. Though…" He leaned back against the massive trunk of an ancient tree, his eyes shifting between Miana and Uor with curiosity.
"If it weren't for you, we really would have gotten lost in no time. Hell, we might've disappeared entirely in the depths of your forest."
"Is it true that you defeated Louria and the Demon Lord Nosgorath, the one who wanted to exterminate all races and plunge the world into darkness?" Miana asked, her emerald-like eyes gleaming with intrigue.
"Yeah," the soldier with the tablet replied briefly, tucking the device into his pocket. "But during that fight with Nosgorath… our guys took a real beating."
As the conversation with the High Elf continued, the break seemed to pass in an instant. Rested and reinvigorated, the group pressed onward, venturing deeper into the forest.
By the following day, the team had finally reached their destination. Emerging from the dense woodland, they found themselves before a structure that once must have been grand. The dome-shaped building, resembling an ancient temple, carried an air of solemn majesty despite the ravages of time. Now, it lay in ruins, overgrown with moss and vines, like a forgotten monument from a bygone era. Only a small portion of the temple remained visible beneath the thick foliage.
Miana stepped closer, her heart pounding with reverence as she gazed upon the sacred site. Turning to the research team, she spoke with quiet pride.
"This temple is the sanctuary of the High Elves. It safeguards a treasure from the Lost Age—the era when the Gods themselves intervened in battle to protect their children from the demonic races, their divine light piercing through the darkness.
Here, the elders of the elves, the chieftains of the beastkin, and the kings of humankind gathered as one. Casting aside their differences, they offered a prayer to the Supreme God and formed a grand coalition to stand against Nosgorath. The Supreme God, hearing their plea, commanded His warriors to march forth in a crusade of liberation, striking down the demons with fire and lightning.
Within these sacred halls lies the celestial vessel of the Supreme God's Envoys—a ship whose arrival heralded great change and whose power seemed limitless. The runes of a lost spell, like an invisible seal, locked time and space within the temple itself, preventing the ship from vanishing from the annals of history. It remains here, an eternal reminder of those who once dared to challenge the darkness."
"Can't wait to see it with my own eyes. Wouldn't you agree, Eduard Anatolyevich?" an archaeologist asked his colleague, his eyes burning with excitement as he gripped a camera, like a hunter who had just caught the scent of a legendary beast.
— That's an understatement, Igor Mikhailovich. I can barely contain my excitement myself, — Eduard nodded to his colleague, his eyes filled with anticipation as he glanced at Miana, as if awaiting her permission.
Sensing his gaze, Miana and Uor stepped up to the carved stone slab, its intricate patterns barely visible at first. Together, they placed their hands upon it and began to chant, as if unlocking a gateway to the past. In an instant, the engravings began to glow with a turquoise radiance, like stars scattered across the night sky. A heartbeat later, the colossal doors trembled, then, as if by magic, groaned open, revealing the depths of the sanctuary—a place brimming with mysteries waiting to be uncovered.
— It… it can't be, — the head of the research team murmured, his voice trembling with disbelief. His eyes burned with excitement, like two embers in the dark, while his colleague, practically delirious, kept flashing his camera, capturing the ancient sanctuary's walls and, more importantly, the bizarre metallic object resting inside—a sight so impossible it defied all logic.
— I don't believe my own eyes. How? How did it end up here?!
The security personnel were equally stunned, their faces frozen in shock, their wide eyes darting between each other as they murmured frantic discussions.
— Why are you all so surprised? — Miana asked, puzzled, her emerald eyes reflecting pure bewilderment.
— This… This is our aircraft, — the team leader exhaled, never once looking away from the metal colossus. — A MiG-15 fighter jet. It's a Soviet aircraft! How is this even possible?!
— Misha! As soon as we get out of Ren-Noa, we need to report this to Domik, — Eduard's colleague called out urgently.
— Copy that, — Misha responded, his fingers still feverishly clicking the camera's shutter, as if afraid to miss a single detail.
The veil had been lifted, but instead of answers, the discovery only raised more questions—questions that deepened the mystery rather than unraveled it. A MiG-15, a first-generation Soviet fighter jet, lay dormant in an ancient High Elf sanctuary, as if it were some relic of a forgotten era. The MiG-15, the most mass-produced jet fighter in military history, now rested in this cryptic place, a silent witness to a past that no one could explain.
When the Russian government received word of the expedition's findings in Ren-Noa, it was decided that a more thorough and intensive investigation into the mythology and history of this world was necessary. It was as if they were deciphering an ancient enigma—one that had the potential to challenge not only their understanding of this realm but their perception of their own.