The moment they emerged from the mountain pass, the group fell silent.
There, across the frozen valley, lay a scene pulled from a painter's dream: a glassy lake nestled in a pristine glacial bowl, untouched by time.
At the lake's center sat an island bathed in silver moonlight, with snow-frosted trees, crystalline blossoms, and a gentle steam rising from a bubbling spring.
It shimmered like a mirage—soft, surreal, and suspiciously romantic.
"…Okay, so," muttered Tevin, the child of one of the officials in the Elvarine family, "that's either a forbidden paradise or the start of a horror story."
"Shhh," hissed Lyra, the daughter of the vice patriarch of the Elvarine family, elbowing him. "Don't jinx it!"
Aira, standing at the front, narrowed her gaze. "That's where the smoke came from."
The group slowly nodded, still awestruck by the impossible beauty of the place.
Then someone asked the question hanging in the cold air.
"Shouldn't we… You know… call an elder or something?"
