The sun pressed brighter through the canopy as Lindarion crossed a narrow bridge toward another platform. Ashwing stirred on his shoulder, blinking awake, claws flexing against the leather strap.
You’re walking in circles, the dragonling muttered, voice groggy in his mind. You’re lost, aren’t you?
"I am not lost," Lindarion answered flatly.
Ashwing snickered. ’Then why did we pass that fruit stall three times?’
Before Lindarion could reply, a voice broke in, clear, melodic, carrying the lilt of Lorienya’s tongue but softened into Common.
"You walk as one with no destination, stranger."
Lindarion turned. An elf stood at the far end of the bridge. She looked younger than most around him, perhaps not yet a century by elven reckoning.
Her hair was a warm chestnut-brown, braided back simply, and her eyes matched the bark of the trees, rich, earthy, steady. She wore no ornaments save a leather satchel slung over her shoulder, marked with green embroidery.
Her gaze lingered on him, curious but not hostile.
"You are not of Lorienya," she said.
Lindarion studied her in silence a moment before answering. "No. I am passing through."
Ashwing’s tail flicked. You should say more than that. She looks like she’s trying to decide if you’re interesting or dangerous.
The girl stepped closer, her bare feet silent against the wood. "And yet, you carry yourself like one of us. No—" her eyes narrowed slightly, "—not like us. Like... someone higher."
Lindarion’s mouth curved faintly, though not in a smile. "You’re observant."
She tilted her head. "And you are evasive." Her voice softened. "What is your name?"
He considered lying, then dismissed it. If the council hadn’t announced his arrival, word would spread soon regardless.
"Lindarion," he said evenly. "Of Eldorath."
Her breath caught faintly, recognition flickering. She lowered her head, a motion somewhere between a bow and a reflex. "Forgive me. I did not realize."
"Few here would," Lindarion said.
She straightened, brushing stray strands of hair from her face. "I am Elira Ironroot. Apprentice to the lorekeepers." She glanced at his sword, at Ashwing now perched alert on his shoulder. "You wander as though you search for something, Prince of Eldorath. May I guide you?"
Lindarion’s eyes lingered on her for a heartbeat. A guide might mean less wandering. A lorekeeper’s apprentice might mean more knowledge. And she seemed unafraid of him, unlike most.
He gave the smallest nod. "Very well."
Her face brightened, though she kept her composure. She gestured toward a broader path winding upward. "Then follow. There are places even guests of the council do not find without a hand."
She led him through winding bridges and stairways carved into living wood. Elira spoke as they walked, her voice soft but steady.
"These homes are not built. They are grown. Each family weaves their dwelling with care, asking the tree to shape itself to their need. The World Tree provides, if we tend it in return."
Lindarion’s gaze swept over the spiraled doorways, the vines curled into natural balconies. "Eldorath builds with stone. Lorienya grows with roots."
"Stone endures," Elira said, glancing at him. "Roots heal."
Ashwing piped up in his mind, ’She’s trying to teach you. You should say something clever back.’
’I am not here to entertain,’ Lindarion thought dryly.
Still, his eyes softened briefly. "Both break if enough weight is set upon them."
Elira considered that, then inclined her head, as if he’d passed a test. She led him further, across a bridge so high the wind tugged at their hair. Below, the canopy stretched like an endless sea of green, sunlight breaking in waves.
"Most strangers stop here," Elira said, pausing to let him take in the view. "They see the surface and believe it is all Lorienya is. But the heart lies deeper."
She guided him down spiraling roots to a chamber woven in the base of a colossal trunk. The air shifted, cooler, thicker with the scent of earth. Lanterns glowed faintly, their light caught in crystalline resin seeping from the bark.
"This is where the lorekeepers gather," Elira explained, her hand brushing the trunk reverently. "Every mark upon the bark is a memory of our people. Every song sung here binds us closer to the tree."
Lindarion’s eyes traced faint carvings spiraled into the wood, stories etched in flowing patterns, scenes of battles, harvests, and celestial figures dancing above.
"You record in living flesh," he murmured.
Elira’s lips curved faintly. "And the tree remembers longer than any stone or parchment."
Ashwing wriggled slightly on his shoulder. ’It smells weird here. Old. Like something’s watching.’
Lindarion’s hand brushed the lizard’s back absently. His gaze lingered on one carving near eye level, a figure with wings of flame, sword raised against a sea of shadow.
Elira followed his eyes. "The first defenders. Half-dragon, half-elf. They stood with us when the void first rose." Thɪs chapter is updated by novel·fire.net
His chest tightened faintly. The memory of the underground temple stirred, the strange drawings, the fragment of system now fused to his core.
Elira led him on, showing him gardens that glowed faintly at night, pools where moonlight was captured even at noon, towers where hawks nested and messages flew faster than wind. She spoke of peace as though it were eternal, of harmony as though it could not be broken.
And Lindarion listened, silent, each word a reminder of what they still had—and what he had already lost.
When the sun began to dip, painting the canopy in gold and crimson, Elira stopped at the edge of a high balcony. "You have seen more of Lorienya than most who are not of our blood," she said softly. "I hope it brings you peace, even if only for a moment."
Lindarion stood beside her, Ashwing quiet now, eyes wide at the sunset.
Peace. The word cut sharp.
"I will remember it," he said, voice low.
Elira turned to him, studying his face as though trying to read the shadows behind his eyes. Then she bowed her head lightly. "Until we meet again, Prince of Eldorath."
And with that, she left him at the balcony, the World Tree’s branches stretching infinite against the sky.