The memory formed around Leo.
Then everything shifted.
Where am I? he thought.
Did I just die?
Again?...
The surrounding was a stark contrast to the chaotic darkness from his fight in the forest. He was on a balcony surrounded by peculiar, organic furniture. Sunlight filtered through the living canopy, dappling the balcony's smooth wood. The table in front of him wasn't a separate piece at all, but a single, wide trunk of polished livingwood that grew from the floor. Its top unfurling into a smooth surface where faint, golden light pulsed rhythmically.
He tried to look around to get his bearings, but his body had other ideas. His arm moved with a graceful purpose that wasn't his own, reaching out to lift the teacup from the table.
The disconnect between his will and the action was a physical shock, as if his very consciousness was all a made up dream. The body he inhabited sipped the herb-infused tea, its steam mingling with the air. It set the cup down with a soft clink, then rose and drifted to the balcony's edge.
It finally dawned on him. He was not in his body anymore; he was a passenger in someone else's. Soon, the boundary between witness and participant began to blur.
Below, Elderglade sprawled out in its natural splendor, a city where nature and buildings had become one. Living wood twisted into graceful spires and archways, their branches swaying gently in the morning breeze.
"You seem particularly pleased today, young one."
The voice behind him was deep and old. Through his body's eyes, he turned to see one of the oldest of their kind. Time had colored his hair like moonlight. It fell in straight, silver streams past his shoulders. His crimson eyes held the wisdom of many seasons. Though his face was lined with ancient knowledge, his smile was as warm as spring sunshine.
"Syl!" The word escaped his borrowed frame with barely contained excitement. After a pause, then softer, tinged with reverence: "My father often spoke of your music. He said you were among the greatest musicians Elderglade has ever known. Perhaps... would you honor me with a performance?"
The elder's warm smile flickered like sunlight through leaves. "Your father, the late Elven God, was too kind in his praise." His eyes dimmed slightly. "But I'm afraid that part of me is sealed away now. I made a vow never to play again."
Leo felt the body's frowned form. His heart tightened with a sudden understanding. "Because of what happened to my father?"
Syl's expression softened, but something ancient and painful lurked deep in his eyes. "I'm afraid it seems that way, yes." Before the other could reply, he straightened, his tone brightening. "But let's not dwell on that because I bring good news."
"The Council has approved your proposal for the trading center within Elderglade."
Relief and joy flooded through the elf's body, and through Leo's mind, too. Turning back to the view below, he watched merchants carrying their wares along winding pathways, children practicing archery in a nearby clearing, and small creatures darting between the branches that formed natural bridges between levels of the city.
Yet something in Syl's tone caught his attention. The elf's lips curved into a knowing smile as he asked, "But you have reservations, don't you?"
Through Leo's borrowed senses, the air seemed to grow heavier with unspoken worries. The gentle rustle of leaves above suddenly seemed louder as they waited for Syl's response.
"You remain as perceptive as ever," the elder said.
"A quality befitting an Elven God." He clasped his hands behind his back, the sleeves of his sage robes rustling softly. "And yes, I do harbor certain... concerns. While your vision for sustainability is admirable, the pace troubles me. The Eldara clan has thrived for millennia through careful consideration, yet this change..." He paused, choosing his words with deliberate care.
"Perhaps there are other paths to the same destination."
Before he could say more, a soft shimmer filled the room.
Through the elf's eyes, Leo watched a figure step through the doorway. She moved with such otherworldly grace.
Her emerald eyes caught the morning light, twinkling like stars reflected in forest springs. Rich auburn hair was swept back in an elegant ponytail, not a strand out of place, framing features that spoke of both strength and gentleness.
"Mother!" The word burst forth, echoing off the living walls.
She raised a delicate hand in greeting, her expression shifting to mild embarrassment. "Lower your voice, dear one." Her gaze fell respectfully on the elder. "My sincerest apologies, Grand Elder. I wasn't aware you were gracing Caelir with your presence today."
As she began to withdraw, the elder's voice cut through the air.
"We shall continue our discussion tomorrow with the Council." With a bow that spoke of centuries of practiced courtesy, he glided from the room, his footsteps silent against the wooden floor.
His absence left a real emptiness in the room, filled only by the distant songs of forest birds and the whisper of leaves. Through the shared memory, Leo felt the elf's confusion and quiet frustration bubble up.
"Why does Syl always avoid you like that?"
His mother's laugh was gentle as she moved to the ornate chairs. The delicate clink of porcelain filled the air as she poured tea into both cups, the aromatic steam rising in lazy spirals.
"How many times must I remind you?" She shook her head fondly, a few strands of hair catching the light like copper threads.
"That charming appellation you insist on using is hardly appropriate for one of his standing."
"Syl-van-the-ri-on," she enunciated each syllable with musical precision, her voice flowing smooth as a crystal stream. The name seemed to carry weight in the air, like an ancient spell. "The Grand Elder deserves the respect of his proper name, dear one."
Through the memory, Leo felt the history between them in their words and actions.
The memory flickered and shifted. It blurred into quick scenes from Caelir's days. The lively bustle of the market, where merchants hailed him with cautious respect. Afternoons spent in his mother's garden, her laughter mingling with the song of the wind. Meetings with the Council, where his title weighed heavily on his young shoulders.
Through it all, there was a hidden feeling of longing. He searched for a purpose. He yearned for something more than what was expected of him.
But as the moments blurred together, the bright colors faded.
A chill seeped into the memory. It crept into every corner until even the leaves above seemed to shiver.
Leo felt it. A tremor shook through the memory. It felt like the first dark crack of thunder before a storm.
And then it came.
That haunting memory.