Princess Elara stood at the edge of the Elven clearing, her eyes widening slightly as she gazed at the machine before her. The Blackhawk helicopter, with its sleek black frame and powerful rotors, loomed large against the backdrop of the towering trees. It was unlike anything she had ever seen—an invention of pure human engineering, made for war and travel in a way that her people's magic could never replicate. The metallic beast roared, its blades slicing through the air in rhythmic rotations, creating a strong wind that tugged at her long silver hair.
Behind her, her trusted advisors and royal guards stood at attention, waiting for her command. Their expressions mirrored her own curiosity and, perhaps, unease. Magic had always been their way of life. Seeing such raw mechanical power was foreign to them.
