Under Ron's guidance, Aster Grant traversed the Central Plaza of the Holy City.
They arrived in a quaint, ancient hall.
On the old stone floor, a teleportation array formed of silvery white runes emitted a faint light.
Ron stepped back, bowing slightly: "Master, this is the place!"
"Through here, you can enter the sacred grounds of the Elven Race, the birthplace of the Elven Race."
Hearing Ron's explanation, Aster Grant took a deep breath and stepped into the center of the array.
The white light flashed, and in the next moment, his figure vanished from the spot.
When he opened his eyes again, he found himself in another world.
Aster Grant slowly opened his eyes to a sight that took his breath away.
An enormous tree towered into the sky, its massive trunk as majestic as an ancient mountain, with weathered bark etched with the ravages of time.
Standing at the foot of the giant tree, Aster Grant felt as small as a speck of dust.
