As they crossed a vine bridge toward the upper sanctum, a group of commanders approached. They saluted, but their faces carried unease.
The eldest among them spoke first. "My prince, patrols near the northern fringe report strange growths, trees blooming out of season, soil too warm to touch. Some of the younger elves call it a blessing, but others fear corruption."
Lindarion nodded slowly. "It's neither. It's the roots expanding.
Keep your men back until the pattern stabilizes. No torches—light interferes with the resonance."
The commander bowed, though confusion shadowed his eyes. "As you will."
When they left, Thalan sighed softly. "They fear what they cannot understand."
"They always will," Lindarion said. "But fear keeps arrogance at bay."
They reached the central terrace, where the great crystal pool reflected the night sky. Lindarion gazed into it long and silent.
