Before Lindarion could reply, a knock came at the door. A tall elven guard stepped in, his armor shaped of overlapping wooden plates polished to a mirror sheen. His brown hair was braided with vines, his expression unreadable.
"The council awaits you, Prince Lindarion," he said, voice formal but clipped.
Nysha stiffened, but Lindarion only nodded, stroking Ashwing's scales once before standing. The dragon stirred but didn't lift his head.
"I'll return," Lindarion murmured to Nysha. She didn't reply, only tilted her chin in silent warning.
The walk to the council chamber was longer than he remembered.
Elven guards lined the bridges that stretched between trees, their gazes sharp, tracking his every movement. The city itself was breathtaking, spiraling staircases carved from bark, crystal orbs humming with faint mana, children darting across suspended walkways with laughter that rang like bells.
