Morning arrived quietly in Greenwood Village.
Mist drifted lazily between the towering ancient trees, curling around wooden bridges and platforms built high among the branches. Dew clung to wide green leaves, reflecting the pale golden light of the rising sun. The forest breathed slowly, calm and undisturbed.
For a while.
Sylvara stood on a wooden balcony outside the healer's hall, gently watering a row of medicinal plants arranged in clay pots. Her silver hair swayed softly as the morning breeze passed through the canopy.
The scent of herbs and damp earth filled the air.
Below her, several young elves were practicing with bows in a small clearing between the trees. Their arrows struck wooden targets with dull thuds while an older instructor corrected their stances. Nearby, a group of warriors tightened armor straps and checked blades before heading out for their patrol.
The village had almost returned to its normal rhythm.
Almost.
Because the dragon was still here.
