Lyra, the youngest of the three guardians, was the first to find her voice. It was a hushed, trembling whisper that seemed sacrilegious in the sacred silence of the Sanctum. "It… it vanished."
"Not vanished," corrected Elara, the eldest, her silver eyes still fixed on the spot where the portal had closed. "It departed. Through a means I have never seen or sensed."
The third guardian, a stoic male named Valerius, knelt and touched the moss where Leo had stood. "There is no lingering trace of planar magic. No tear in the weave. It was not a summoning, nor was it a teleportation spell." He looked up at his companions, his usual calm façade cracked by profound confusion. "It was as if he simply... opened a door where no door existed."
For a hundred years, the three of them had maintained their vigil in the Sanctum of Renewal. It was a role of immense honor, guarding the Wellspring of Life at the heart of the dome and absorbing its pure, natural mana to strengthen their own connection to the world. Their days were a peaceful, unbroken cycle of meditation and quiet communion. Nothing ever happened. That was the point. The wards outside, woven by the Grand Archon himself centuries ago, were absolute.
And yet, a creature had bypassed them all. A human, by the look of him. Clad in strange, coarse blue fabric and clutching a bar of something that smelled unnervingly sweet and artificial.
They knew they could not keep this to themselves. The protocol, dusty from centuries of disuse, was clear.
"We must report this," Elara declared, her voice regaining its authority. "Valerius, you will remain on watch. Lyra, come with me."
With a shared look of grim purpose, the two elves approached the living gate. Elara placed her palm against the interwoven vines. She murmured a single word in the old tongue, a word that was less a sound and more a vibration of intent. The luminous green lines on the door brightened, and the living wood flowed apart like parting water, revealing the world outside.
The change was breathtaking.
The air inside the Sanctum was cool, serene, and still. The air outside was alive with sound and movement. They stepped out onto a wide, circular platform of polished white stone that wrapped around the base of the dome. From there, graceful bridges made of living, woven wood soared through the open air, connecting to a city built not on the ground, but in the canopies of trees larger than any on modern Earth.
This was Silverwood, the hidden heart of the elven civilization.
Massive, iridescent sky-lanterns floated gently between the boughs, casting a soft, warm light on homes that were sculpted, not built, from the very wood of the trees. Balconies dripped with flowering vines, and the gentle music of harps and flutes drifted on the breeze. Young elves with laughter like wind chimes chased shimmering, dragonfly-winged sprites along the bridges, their parents watching from ornately carved verandas. Artisans worked with light and wood, their creations glowing with innate magic. It was a city in perfect, harmonious symbiosis with nature.
The sight, usually a source of comfort and pride, did little to soothe Elara's disquiet. She and Lyra moved with practiced speed across the soaring bridges, their white-and-green robes marking them as Guardians of the Sanctum. Other elves bowed their heads in respect as they passed, sensing the urgency in their pace.
Their destination was the highest dwelling in the city, the home of the Grand Druid, Lord Arion. It was a living tower sculpted from the heartwood of the oldest tree, its peak shrouded in mist and adorned with crystals that sang softly in the wind.
They were granted an immediate audience. Lord Arion was ancient, even by elven standards. He looked as though he were carved from the bark of an old oak, his skin wrinkled and weathered, his long beard interwoven with living sprigs of mistletoe. But his eyes, a deep forest green, were sharp and preternaturally wise. He sat in a throne of woven roots, listening patiently as Elara recounted the entire incident.
When she finished, the chamber was silent save for the soft singing of the crystals.
"A demon?" Lyra offered, her voice small. "A trickster spirit?"
Lord Arion slowly shook his head, his gaze distant. "No. The Sanctum's aura is anathema to demonic entities. It would have been immolated by the very air it breathed. And trickster spirits, for all their cunning, are bound by the laws of nature and magic. They cannot simply ignore wards woven by an Archon."
He steepled his long, gnarled fingers. "This being… you say it looked human?"
"It did, my lord," Elara confirmed. "But its clothes were unlike any human attire we have seen in centuries. And it carried no weapons. It seemed… lost. Frightened, even."
"And it just... left," Arion mused. "Disappeared as easily as it arrived. Into nothingness." He thought of the legends, the old prophecies about beings from beyond the veil, but none of them fit these circumstances. This was not an invasion. It was not a divine messenger. It was an anomaly. A puzzle.
"What are your orders, my lord?" Elara asked. "Shall we bolster the wards? Increase the watch?"
Lord Arion was silent for a long moment, his ancient mind sifting through millennia of wisdom. Hasty action was the refuge of the fool. This creature, whatever it was, had breached the ultimate defense without effort, yet it had shown no malice. It had fled when confronted. It held power they did not understand, and to challenge such a power without knowledge would be the height of folly.
"No," the Grand Druid said finally, his voice raspy like dry leaves. "You will do nothing. Return to your vigil. Do not change a thing."
Elara and Lyra exchanged a look of surprise. "My lord?"
"Do not meddle with the unknown," Arion continued, his green eyes glowing with a faint light. "This creature… this visitor… may not even know the significance of the place it has entered. Hostility would be met with hostility. Fear with fear. We will adopt a different strategy."
He looked towards a large crystal basin in the center of the room, filled with the pure water from the Sanctum's Wellspring.
"We will observe. We will learn. I will attune the scrying pool to the Sanctum. If it returns, I wish to see what it does when it believes it is alone. Its actions will reveal its nature more than any confrontation." He fixed his gaze on Elara. "Report its every appearance. We will watch this strange new piece on the great board and discover why it has been placed in our midst."