The day Guinevere was born, house Othniel celebrated. Not only was she a newborn Sea Elf, whose life was to be celebrated regardless, but she was given the mark of the Guardian: pure black eyes. Over the next 100 years of her life, she would be trained to protect all of Elf kind; then, at the dawn of her 101st year, she would take the mantle from the Guardian before her. House Othniel had not yet bore a child that would become a Guardian, and this blessing filled them with joy.

Not all were celebrating, however. Malachi, the Guardian of the Southern Coastal Province whose place she would take, and the other five Guardians took to a solemn dinner in his honor the next night. They all knew the truth of the matter: in 100 years, Malachi would not only bequeath his position to Guinevere but also give his life back to Mother Earth, thus completing the cycle and renewing life. The grim realization of the nearing end of their stories filled the Guardians with a sense of both duty and dread. To pass on the knowledge of their lives’ work was fulfilling, to say the least, but their death, no matter how distant, would loom over them, growing as the day drew near.

Apphia, the Guardian of the Northeastern Sylvan Province, hosted the dinner in the great forests that the Wood Elves held. At 174, she was the youngest trained Guardian of the six and held the privilege of hosting this first “party” in celebration of Malachi’s life. The other four would take turns over the next century to recognize him. The dinner was held out in a grove of elder trees, with the table they sat at having been carved from apple trees. Apphia, as a powerful mage, had shaped the table and furniture for the gathering herself and had crafted an ornate seat for Malachi.

Malachi received the honor gracefully, though he wanted to turn it down. He did not want the grand gestures, the recognition, nor the praise he knew he would receive throughout the night. He did not want to acknowledge the day at all, let alone celebrate it. Regardless, he faced it without giving his peers any sign of fear or concern.

*****

Guinevere stood outside the small cabin where the six Guardians were holed up. They had gathered for the final night of recognition for Malachi, the first day of Guinevere’s 100th year. With only a year left, this would be the last time the six current Guardians would for certain be together in the same spot. The festivities, had not begun yet, however, as they were currently arguing over Malachi’s charge outside.

“What were you thinking, bringing her here, you wooden dolt?” The voice belonged to Sidonia, the eldest and the Guardian of the Far North Glacial Province. The Frost Elf was bitter and harsh to her younger associate. “She is not yet one of us. She does not belong at these gatherings.”

Apphia pipped up in reply. “She’s spent her fair share of time training with each and every one of us. She will be one of us sooner than-”

“Did you not think this action would be a mockery of Malachi? To bring his charge to his final recognition?” That was Yannis, Guinevere could tell. The High Elf that overlooked the Capital Province. His voice pierced her, even through the walls of the cabin, and chilled her more than the freezing air around her. She clutched her parka more closely. “You might as well have paraded her over his grave!”

Marius, Guardian of the Western Wilderness Province, spoke next, his normally rough voice sounding almost quiet compared to the others’. “You speak as if our friend is already gone. None of you have yet asked his opinion; it is his banquet, after all.”

Malachi smiled to the Sand Elf. “No, no, bring her in. It is cold outside, which is no good for us Sea Elves. Besides, she will see this soon enough in her own right, what harm will a preview give her?”