The World Tree's song had changed. What was once steady had flared wild, surging like a river breaking its banks.
Mana swept through the city in an unseen tide, strong enough that even the lesser elves in their homes stirred in their sleep, frowning, clutching their chests.
Vaelthorn's breath hitched. Not since the War of Sundering had he felt such a shift.
"By the roots…" His voice was a rasp. "Something has awakened."
He pressed harder against the roots, closing his eyes. The pulse was not blind, not wild, it carried direction. It radiated from deep within the Tree itself, where no one but chosen guardians or summoned souls could walk.
And at its heart… a new spark blazed. Young, fierce, golden.
It wasn't the Tree's own breath. No, this was someone else. Someone bound.
"Lindarion…"
The name left his lips before his mind could stop it. The boy, the prince of Eldorath, who had entered his halls only yesterday, cloaked in weariness and silent fire.
