The vision shifted once more.
She was older now.
Clad in deep green robes laced with golden vines, she walked slowly down a grand hall carved of living wood and white crystal.
Elves knelt on either side of the path, heads bowed, their bodies trembling. Not a single word was spoken as she passed, only the sound of her footsteps echoing through the silence.
At the end of the hall, towering doors opened to a massive gallery suspended in the sky. She stepped out, wind brushing past her robes as she looked down upon the city below—her city.
It stretched far in all directions, a marvel of elven beauty and symmetry. Floating gardens, towering spires, light bridges—all under the gentle golden hue of a setting sun.
Then the sky cracked.
A tear split through space above the city. Deathmist churned from it like a bleeding wound in the world. It pulsed, spiraled—and then something stepped out. A Phantom.
Her eyes narrowed.
