The dawn in Lorienya was unlike any Lindarion had seen.
It wasn't just sunlight breaking through leaves, it was light refracted by the World Tree, filtered into gold and emerald shards, spilling down in rivers that painted every moss-covered stone with radiance.
The forest hummed, alive in ways other lands were not. Birds sang with voices clear as bells. Flowers opened like lanterns. Even the air tasted clean, sharp with mana.
Lindarion rose with the light, though he hadn't truly slept. The blessing of the Tree still pulsed through his veins, too strong, too restless.
He stood at the balcony of the wooden guest house they had given him, looking out over a city woven into branches.
Rope bridges swayed between colossal oaks, homes carved directly into bark spiraled up toward the sky, and laughter echoed faintly below.
It wasn't the laughter of soldiers or survivors. It was children's laughter.
