Chapter 3 – Echoes Beneath the Canopy
The sky above Elsera'Veyr shimmered like a living tapestry of light and color. Though it was still daytime, stars glittered faintly through the canopy, as if the city existed halfway between worlds—caught in a dream that never quite faded.
Aurther followed Lysaria along a narrow bridge woven from living roots, suspended between two platforms high in the trees. Below, the vastness of the forest stretched into shadow and mystery, a sea of ancient green.
His legs trembled. He wasn't afraid of heights—not really—but there was something about this place that made every step feel like a leap of faith.
"This entire city," he said, breathless, eyes wide with disbelief, "it's… alive."
Lysaria glanced over her shoulder. "It is. The Sylva'Thari—the World Trees—were coaxed into growth long before my grandmother's grandmother was born. Elves don't build. We grow. We ask. And the forest answers."
"You talk like the trees are listening."
"Because they are," she said, her tone entirely without irony.
They reached a terrace bathed in silver light. Small fountains gurgled softly between flowerbeds blooming with blossoms that shifted hue with every breath of wind. A gentle hum filled the air, like a lullaby whispered by the leaves.
Aurther leaned against the railing, trying to steady himself.
"So… this is the Elf Kingdom," he murmured. "Elsera'Veyr."
Lysaria nodded. "The Heart of the Canopy. Home of the Veyri'el. One of the last sanctuaries untouched by the Blood War."
"You mentioned that before," Aurther said. "The Blood War. What is it?"
Her expression darkened, as if the very name stained the air.
"A wound that never closed," she said. "Two hundred years ago, the kingdoms of Eryndor tore each other apart over something no one now remembers clearly. Land, power, vengeance, pride. All those things. But some say it began with a god's whisper."
"A god?"
"Not one of the Twelve," she said quickly. "At least… not one that still claims their name."
Aurther's hand drifted to the shard beneath his shirt.
Void… Silence… End.
The words echoed again in his mind.
Lysaria sat down on a bench carved from living bark. She gestured for him to sit.
"There are six kingdoms left," she said, "each older than the one beside it. The elves here in the northeast. The Stoneborn in the Iron Veins. The Dominion of Solan to the south. The Empire of Blackglass beyond the mountains. The Free Cities that drift on sky-reefs in the west. And of course, the humans in Velhara."
"Wait… humans?" Aurther said. "There are humans here?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Of course. What did you think you were?"
"I mean—I thought I was the only one. From Earth."
She considered this for a moment. "There are stories… of other humans. From the Beyond. From worlds not our own. But if they came, they didn't stay long—or they changed so much that no one remembers their origin."
"So I'm not the first."
"Perhaps not," she said. "But the shard you carry makes you… different."
He nodded slowly. "And these kingdoms… they all fought?"
"All but one," she said. "The Free Cities refused to join the war. They drifted farther west, hiding among the clouds. Velhara tried to control the old relics. Solan demanded blood for an ancient insult. Blackglass…" She trailed off. "Blackglass became something else entirely."
"What do you mean?"
"They lost their king and made a pact with something beneath the world. Now, their towers burn with shadowflame. They wear mirrored masks and speak in tongues no elf will utter."
Aurther frowned. "And the elves?"
"We defended the forests," she said simply. "The Whispering Wilds are sacred. When the Blood War threatened them, the Veyri'el closed the paths and called upon the oldest roots. We sealed ourselves off—cut even from our kin in the east."
He looked over the railing again, watching as glimmering deer with antlered halos passed through gardens far below.
"It's hard to believe this place exists on the same planet as war and death."
They were quiet for a time. Auther let the moment settle into his bones. He had questions—dozens of them—but they coiled inside him like tangled roots.
"Lysaria," he said finally, "how do people use magic here?"
She gave a quiet smile. "Magic is breath. Intention. Memory. It's not a tool to be wielded. It's a force that answers only when respected."
"So no spells? No wands?"
She laughed softly. "Your world taught you to think of magic as science with prettier names. Ours remembers it as the heartbeat of existence. Leylines run beneath the land like veins. Some attuned to fire, others to wind, some to memory, even sorrow. Only those who listen can call upon them."
"What happens if you try to force it?"
"You go mad," she said. "Or worse—you become something else. There are creatures in the Whispering Wilds who once wore faces. Now they wear bark and bone, twisted by their own hunger for power."
They arrived at a landing high above the rest of the city. Before them stood an ancient door woven from vines, bonewood, and silverleaf. It bore no handle—only a single, circular emblem: a spiral inscribed within a ring of twelve sigils.
Aurther paused.
"That's the same symbol I saw in my vision. When the sky turned red."
Lysaria didn't respond at first.
"This is the Gate of Echoes," she said softly. "Only those who carry memory may enter."
"Memory of what?"
"Of what came before the Silence."
The door pulsed.
And then, slowly, it opened.
Inside was a wide chamber shaped like a spiral. At its center was a circular table carved from petrified starwood. Twelve seats surrounded it—only seven were filled.
The elders rose as one.
Each wore robes that shimmered like leaves at dusk. Their eyes were old—not in age, but in weight. One bore antlers like a stag. Another's skin was laced with gold veins. One had no eyes, only vines for pupils.
Lysaria leaned toward him.
"The Council of Memory," she whispered. "Speak carefully. They will weigh your words."
Aurther stepped forward…
[End of chapter 3]