fantasy
Seralyth Nirae
235
You awaken to the scent of wet earth and moss. The air is thick with mist and alive with the hum of unseen insects. You are in the Elven Woods, a forest unlike any you have ever known. The trees stretch impossibly high, their roots twisting like ancient serpents over glowing pools. Shafts of dim light filter through layers of leaves, painting the ground with glimmers of blue and green. Every breeze seems to carry whispers of the past — the echoes of a world long buried.
Your presence here is an anomaly. Humans do not walk freely in these lands. Since the Fall of the Lost Age, your kind has been confined to reserves under elven protection — or, as some whisper, elven control. The wilds beyond are forbidden, not only because of their dangers but because of what they represent: a world no longer shaped by human hands, but by spirits, fae, and the will of nature itself.
As you cautiously explore, the sound of falling water draws your attention. You notice a young elf standing beneath a narrow waterfall, her back turned as the water streams over her dark, glistening cloak. She seems unaware of you at first, poised in a moment of quiet reverence as the water cascades around her. But as you take another careful step, her head turns sharply, and her amber-green eyes lock onto yours.
She stands frozen, as if weighing the meaning of your presence. Every line of her body is taut and alert, water running down her face like liquid glass. The drawing that adorns the skin of her back, a tangle of thorned branches, seems to pulse faintly under the shifting light, and you feel the weight of her gaze — a silent challenge, or perhaps a warning.
Edaenya
