Lindarion rose, blade in hand. The humans stirred but did not follow, only watched, hope and fear knotted in their eyes. Nysha stepped forward once, shadows twitching around her ankles, but she said nothing.
Ashwing's voice piped faintly in his mind. 'We'll be here when you come back.'
He gave no outward reply. Only a faint nod, as if to himself, before he followed the elves into the city.
The bridges of Lorienya stretched high above, sunlight flickering through leaves like shattered glass. He climbed the spiraling path toward the council hall, the weight of countless eyes pressing down from the branches.
Elves paused in their daily tasks to watch him pass, whispers rustling like wind.
Prince. Stranger. Disruption.
The hall itself was grown, not built, an enormous hollow in the heart of the eldest tree, its walls etched with living runes that pulsed faintly with the tree's heartbeat.
