He stepped out onto the balcony. From here, the city stretched like a dream, bridges of woven vine, houses carved into living trunks, rivers of light flowing through leaves. The elves of Lorienya had always been artisans of harmony, but now, subtle cracks of golden glow traced through their usual emerald mana. It wasn't decay; it was change.
By midmorning, the glade once more filled with soldiers. But today, something was different. The air itself shimmered, responding to their presence.
When they stood, the grass beneath their feet glowed softly. When they exhaled, faint motes of light rose like pollen.
Thalan noticed it first. "The land… breathes with us," he said in disbelief.
Lindarion stepped into the circle. His eyes scanned each of them, tired, exhilarated, confused, but eager. "Good," he said quietly. "You feel it."
