Hours after Auren first crossed paths with Austaire, the two had reached a mutual agreement- a fragile alliance formed under pressing circumstances and a common enemy.
Now, the towering silhouette of the Aetherthorn rose before them.
The Grand Hall was nestled within its colossal trunk, its bark glimmering faintly with golden runes that pulsed in time with the heartbeat of the forest. Each root was thicker than a cottage, curling into the earth like the limbs of some ancient guardian. Wisps of light drifted lazily around the structure, drawn from the luminous moss that clung to its base.
It was their strongest fortress against the King Beast disasters three years ago.
Elves stood like sentinels at the vine-woven gates, their armor carved from living wood, some made of Runesteel. Their faces are expressionless, but their eyes are sharp.
