Lira reached out, fingertips grazing one of the glowing leaves. The moment her skin touched it, the world cracked like glass.
Sound vanished. Light folded inward. The grove was gone.
She stood in the middle of a small, sunlit village, stone paths weaving between cottages covered in ivy and flowers. Everything glowed with soft, golden light. The air was thick with birdsong and the scent of sweetroot blossoms.
But she wasn't Lira. Not exactly.
She looked down, smaller hands, wearing simple linen clothes. Her hair was longer, darker, braided with tiny wildflowers. Around her neck hung a polished wooden bead carved with a sigil she couldn't quite remember learning… yet it felt familiar.
Children laughed nearby. Elves. Tall, with long silver hair and almond eyes. One of them, a kind-faced woman with moss-green robes, bent down beside her and smiled.
