The wind blew gently between the treetops of the Forest of Lúmen, where golden sunbeams danced through the leaves, creating mosaics of light on the mossy ground. Birds with crystal-clear songs darted through the ancient trees, and the air carried the scent of rare flowers that bloomed only in this sacred region.
In the heart of the forest, where the sunlight shone purest and the silence was deepest, stood a figure of natural majesty: Lyari, the elf guardian. Her long golden hair flowed like strands of light in the breeze, and her emerald eyes, bright as freshly polished gems, reflected centuries of calm wisdom.
She wore a ceremonial outfit that blended traditional elven green with golden accents. The fitted upper part emphasized her generous curves — uncommon even among elves — but seemed to radiate an ancient power. Her short white skirt flowed lightly, and a long olive-green cloak trailed behind her as if it had a will of its own.
She stood in the center of the sacred glade known as Al'thielon, a natural sanctuary where the roots of the Tree of Lúmen emerged — a living, holy entity, source of the pure magic that kept balance in the entire elven realm. Lyari was not just a sentry; she was the chosen one, spiritually bound to the forest itself.
Despite her extraordinary beauty, it was her aura that left the strongest impression. Anyone who saw her, even briefly, felt small before her presence — not out of fear, but reverence. There was something eternal about her, something divine that surpassed appearance.
The Root's Call
Lyari knelt before a natural altar, where the roots of the Tree of Lúmen rose from the soil in graceful spirals. She closed her eyes, pressing her palm against one of the roots. Instantly, a wave of energy flowed through her body, connecting her to the consciousness of the forest.
An ancient voice, without gender or tongue, whispered in her mind:
"The shadow stirs... the North trembles... the Gates of Varn'el will open once again."
Her eyes snapped open, heart racing. The magical gates of Varn'el, the entrance to an ancient dark empire, had been sealed for decades. Their awakening signaled an imminent imbalance — a threat that could consume not only the elven borders, but the entire world.
Lyari stood firmly. The Tree's roots had trusted her for centuries. Once again, it would be her duty to prevent corruption from reentering the world of the living.
The Guardian's Duty
Hours later, gathered with the elven council in the crystal halls of Syl'dorei, Lyari shared the vision she had received. The elders, all over a thousand years old, listened in silence. One of them, Archmage Thalor, furrowed his brow:
— "If Varn'el threatens to awaken, we must seal the gates once more. But it will require a spiritual catalyst of great power."
Another elder added:
— "And only the Guardian of the Glade can pass beyond the forest's edge without becoming corrupted. Lyari, once more, the fate of our realm lies with you."
She nodded calmly. She did not fear danger — only the consequences of failure.
The Journey Begins
Departing at dawn, Lyari traveled alone. Her journey was not just physical, but spiritual. She would cross regions forgotten by maps, woods where time flowed differently, and plains where reality itself bent under ancient enchantments.
Crossing the Passage of Elrhen, she faced creatures tainted by the dark energy of Varn'el: faceless shades, ghosts of fallen warriors, wolves with blazing amber eyes. Her magic, channeled through a staff adorned with natural crystals, was strong — but it was her bond with the forest that gave her true strength.
Every root that rose from the earth at her call, every flower that bloomed at her touch, seemed to show that the land itself protected her. Even in the darkest moments, her presence radiated confidence. Human and dwarven warriors who crossed her path fell silent at her approach, sensing they were in the presence of a living legend.
The Gate
After weeks of travel, Lyari reached the Ruins of Varn'el, where two statues of forgotten gods flanked the dark gates of the ancient arcane prison. Runes glowed red — a clear sign that the magical barrier was fading.
She shivered. The air was thick, heavy, as if reality itself were sick. But she did not falter.
She drove her staff into the ground, knelt, and recited the Sealing Chant, an ancient prayer in high elven tongue passed down only to the Guardians of Lúmen. Her voice was soft but powerful, each syllable resonating in the air like a harp string.
Even this far from its source, the roots of Lúmen responded. They erupted from the ground around the gates, wrapping them in living spirals. The screams echoing from within the ruins fell silent. The red light of the runes was devoured by a brilliant green glow.
Exhausted, Lyari collapsed to her knees. But she smiled. The seal had been renewed. For now, the world was safe.
Epilogue – The Living Legend
Back at the Glade of Lúmen, Lyari was welcomed with honor and reverence. Elven children stared at her in awe; the elders bowed respectfully. But to her, this was not a personal victory.
— "The forest lives because we live for it," she said at the end of the ceremony.
As night fell and stars twinkled through the branches, Lyari returned to her favorite place: standing in the center of the glade, feeling the wind touch her skin and listening to the trees whisper.
She was the beauty that protected. The guardian of an age. And in silence, she prepared for the day when she would be called again.