Luna climbed the winding staircase that spiraled around the ancient tree, her hand trailing along the smooth wood that had been shaped by elven magic centuries before her birth.
The steps, grown rather than carved, seemed to curve more gently tonight, as if the tree itself recognized her delicate condition as an elf with a baby in her belly.
Halfway up, she paused to catch her breath, a pregnancy symptom her mother had warned her about and looked out across the village.
What she saw made her smile despite her weariness.
Every treehouse was lit.
Every single one.
Lanterns hung from porches, candles flickered in bedrooms, and even the communal cooking fires still glowed, though the feast had ended hours ago.
Normally, the elves maintained a strict schedule—asleep by moonrise, awake with dawn.
But tonight, the entire village defied tradition.
'Of course.' She thought with a gentle smile. 'They're all awake.'
