"The air seems unusually quiet tonight," Freyja muttered. She stood alone on the marble balcony of her castle's grand terrace, overlooking the silver-lit sprawl of Elyen Kiora below.
The Utopian High Elven capital shimmered in the moonlight as beautiful as ever. Normally, the city's nocturnal serenity would soothe her; Elyen Kiora was the epitome of elven beauty and grace. Yet tonight, something felt… off.
A strange feeling tugged at her chest, faint but persistent.
Perhaps it was intuition—or maybe simply her mind playing tricks on her again.
"Are you worried, perhaps, for Lord Edward, Your Highness?"
The deep, gravelly voice came from behind her. Grukel approached slowly, his cane tapping gently against the marble floor with each step.
Freyja didn't turn around. "Why would I worry about him?"
Grukel chuckled. "It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say Utopia still stands today because of him, Your Highness. And he is the Guardian of the Tree, after all."
