Arthur, Casia, Garudax, Celina, Trayona, and her father, the village chief, sat around the long wooden table in the elven village's meeting hall. The soft flicker of lanterns illuminated the carved wood, casting shadows across the ancient tapestries that hung from the walls, depicting stories of old. There was a quiet reverence in the air, as if the walls themselves had witnessed untold years of history. But today, they were gathered for something far more pressing.
Trayona's father leaned forward, his eyes darkened by the memories of a past shrouded in mystery. His gaze swept over each of them, but it lingered on Arthur for a moment longer, as if weighing what he was about to say.
