Chapter 64:
East of the Salona Empire, an immense, dense forest sprawls across the land. It stretches for thousands of miles.
This forest—infamous throughout the continent—is known as the Forestof Death.
A wild, untamed expanse teeming with dangerous beasts and hidden threats. For centuries, no army has conquered or even mapped its treacherous depths. Legends speak of entire expeditions vanishing without a trace. Consumed by the forest's dark mysteries.
Yet deep within this foreboding woodland lies a hidden wonder.
An ancient, breathtaking city, untouched by the world beyond the forest.
Glimmering Grove.
The legendary home of the elves.
It stands as a testament to their connection with the magic of nature. A city unlike any other. Buildings are not imposed upon the land but interwoven with it—as if the elves and the trees grew together over millennia.
The city blends seamlessly into the forest. Homes nestle within towering trunks of colossal trees. Roots form natural staircases and balconies. Vines stretch like veins across the city, forming elegant, suspended bridges that connect the various levels of elven dwellings.
Stone pavements wind like rivers through the forest floor. Soft moss cushions the steps of those who walk the paths.
Every structure appears alive. Breathing with magic. Natural beauty enhanced by elven craftsmanship.
A place where nature and civilization are one. Indistinguishable.
At the heart of Glimmering Grove rises a tree of such immense size that it dwarfs all others in the forest.
This colossal tree—ancient and revered—towers over the entire city. Its thick, sprawling branches reach out like arms protecting the elves beneath. Its roots run deep into the earth, creating sanctuaries and halls within their embrace.
Balconies and staircases carved into its bark spiral upward as if born from the tree itself. Every surface glows with faint, magical light. Casting a warm and eternal twilight over the city.
In the midst of this otherworldly setting, high upon one of the balconies of the great tree, stands an elf.
He is older. His features reflect the wisdom of centuries past. His long, silver hair glints faintly in the soft glow of the city below. His posture is regal—as though he is part of the tree itself. As ancient and enduring as the city around him.
His face bears a striking resemblance to Valendor.
The strong jawline. The ethereal grace in his movements.
But his eyes carry the weight of far more years. The deep, knowing gaze of one who has witnessed the passage of many lifetimes.
He surveys the city.
His gaze is filled with both pride and melancholy.
This is his home. Glimmering Grove. A place of unparalleled beauty and magic.
But beyond the forest's edge, the world grows restless.
Even in the heart of the forest, the shadows seem to be lengthening.
"My King."
A beautiful elven woman,approaches the edge of the grand balcony. Adorned in flowing royal attire. Her voice is soft, yet it carries the weight of their shared burdens.
The Elven King stands still and composed. His gaze fixed on the magnificent city below.
Before him, the ancient tree towers over everything. Its colossal branches spread out like a protective canopy. Homes and terraces nestle into its bark, connected by suspended bridges and winding stairways that intertwine with nature.
The tree is the heart of their people. Ancient and eternal.
Much like the weight now pressing on the king's soul.
Without turning to face her, he speaks.
"Lireal."
The queen takes another step forward. Her presence graceful and poised.
"It's time."
She reminds him gently. Her own heart is heavy.
The king inhales deeply. He closes his eyes as if to hold back the tide of emotions threatening to overcome him.
He exhales slowly.
The grief lingers like a shadow.
"It's not your fault. You know that."
Lireal's hand rests lightly on his shoulder in a gesture of comfort.
Yet she knows that no words can truly reach him in this moment. Not with what he carries.
He remains silent for a long moment.
Then his voice,filled with sorrow.
"I'd like to say I know that... But had I been stricter... we wouldn't be preparing a memorial for my only brother."
Deep ache colors his words. A weight he has carried since the day his brother was lost.
Lireal feels it too. Her own emotions remain hidden behind her regal calm.
She says nothing more. Merely offers the comfort of her touch.
"Any leads?"
His voice is sharp and tired.
Lireal withdraws her hand. Folds them in front of her.
"The trackers are still searching. They have yet to find a trace of him."
The king's hand clenches into a fist. His knuckles whiten with anger and frustration.
"He takes after his father... far too much."
Bitterness drips from his voice.
"How dare he flee to the human lands when he knows what the humans did? When he knows they killed his father!"
Lireal stands silently behind him.
The fury in his voice isn't new. It has deepened with time. Fueled by his helplessness in the face of Valendor's disappearance.
The king's nephew—the son of his late brother—has been missing for too long. With each passing day, the king's anger toward Valendor and the humans only grows.
"Valendor is his father's son."
Lireal's voice is quiet. Tinged with sadness that runs deeper than her words.
Something else lurks beneath. Another emotion just underneath.
The king's gaze remains fixed. Burning with determined intensity.
"And it is because he is his father's son that we must bring him back."
His voice hardens with resolve.
"We must keep him safe from himself."
His words are resolute. But an undercurrent of obsession runs beneath them. One that has been growing ever since Valendor vanished.
The king's protective nature has twisted into something darker. A need to control the fate of his nephew in a way he never controlled his brother's.
Lireal's expression remains composed.
But a flicker of something else crosses her features. Something far more complex than grief.
Her lips tighten. Her eyes briefly flash with jealousy.
Its cause is unspoken. Buried beneath years of restraint.
The king does not notice. Too consumed by his own turmoil to see the shifting emotions in his queen.
"Let us go."
The king's voice is steady now.
He turns from the balcony and strides into the grand halls of the massive tree. His green and gold robes billow behind him. A regal reflection of the ancient tree's leaves.
Lireal follows. Her face returns to its serene mask.
Beneath it, something deeper simmers. Unvoiced. Unseen.
She trails behind her king, disappearing into the depths of the ancient palace.
Leaving the city of Glimmering Grove bathed in the warm, fading light of the setting sun.
---
The subject of all this?
He tends to plants peacefully.
Unbothered.