In a place untouched by the Perpetual War, a new conflict threatens to ignite.
Generations of war have been put to rest. The D’Karon scourge has been wiped away. All that remains for Myranda, Deacon, and the other Chosen is the long, slow road to recovery for their weakened kingdom. It is no small task, as dark magic has taken a terrible toll on the land. Crops struggle to grow. The scars of war are slow to fade. But from across the sea comes hope.
The haughty King Mellawin presides over the kingdom of Sonril. His people, the elves of South Crescent, have grown concerned with their place in history. Fate left the prophesy in the hands of the mortals of Tressor and the Northern Alliance. And now the legendary unseen tormentors from North Crescent, the Aluall, have spilled the blood of their people. Mindful that his subjects have come to doubt him, King Mellawin comes to the Northern Alliance with an offer. In exchange for the service of the Chosen, he shall provide a treatment to heal the land.
Myranda, Deacon, Ivy, Myn and the others shall be the first of their people to set foot on the Crescents since before the Perpetual War… Or so they believe. But what they find there will reveal long-hidden secrets of their history, and threats they could never have imagined.
The Book of Deacon, Tome 5: The Crescents
The sun had only just risen. It had yet to chase the cold of night away. That was for the best. This close to desert, it didn't take long for the heat of day to become punishing. Best to et to the shore quickly and start fishing. Dillydallying only meant traveling under the baking sun before finally reaching the relief of the cool breeze of the North Crescent Sea. And so he hopped onto his horse and set off toward the pier, where his fishing boat and the rest of his crew would be waiting.
Blind squinted at the sky, eying a cloud creeping toward the sun. He tried to will it there, to reduce the glare upon the white sand that made up the path. Sometimes he questioned why he'd moved away from the forest. The desert - even the very fringe of one - was no place for en elf. Indeed, neither was the sea - though of the two he preferred the waves. But then, that was the point, wasn't it? So few of his countrymen had ventured beyond the isthmus and braved the wilds of North Crescent; every day of work here was worth a dozen back home. Fewer boats vying for fish, fewer suppliers for local markets. It was trouble, to be sure, but it was worth it.
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