The chamber of the Verdant Synod glowed with gentle light, shimmering along the crystalline walls as if the trees themselves breathed through them.
Unlike the Ember Court or the fractious human houses, the Elven Magi did not gather in dark halls of power, but in sanctuaries of knowledge.
Robed figures sat in a semicircle, their silver-threaded garments faintly alive with glyphs of warding and remembrance.
At the chamber's center, a scrying orb pulsed with captured images.
The battle of Dawnhaven replayed in silence, the human levies kneeling, rifles lowered, a storm of fire and steel erupting in unison.
The Ignarion cavalry crumpled on the field, enchanted plate pierced as though it were parchment.
And then, the smooth rhythm of reloading, another volley, and the slaughter repeated.
No one spoke at first. The images themselves seemed sacrilegious.
Finally, High Magister Elorath, his face lined with centuries of patience, broke the silence.
