...The heart of the Elven Capital pulsed with unrest.
The city, known as Ael'thorien, was nestled within an ancient forest so vast and dense that the sky could barely touch the forest floor. But this city did not merely sit in the forest—it was the forest.
Mighty trees, some so thick it would take forty men holding hands to circle them, rose into the heavens. These were no ordinary trees. Their trunks were smooth and carved with glowing runes that bent nature to elven will.
Homes were not built but grown—branches had been taught to curl into walls, floors, balconies, and bridges. Flowers leaned into rooms as if to listen, yet glowed softly from within, illuminating chambers like lanterns. Vines spiraled like chandeliers. Leaves danced not with the wind, but at the whim of elven enchantment.
It was night in Ael'thorien, but that meant little. The city glimmered with quiet, bioluminescent life.
Until the alarm.
