Morning arrived gently in Greenwood Village.
The forest did not wake suddenly like a human city. There were no loud noises, no rushing footsteps, no clattering carts. Instead, the world seemed to breathe awake slowly.
First came the birds.
Soft chirps echoed through the towering ancient trees, their songs weaving through the forest canopy like threads of music. Then came the wind, rustling the leaves overhead and carrying with it the scent of moss, damp earth, and blooming wildflowers.
Sunlight filtered through the massive branches high above, falling in thin golden beams that drifted down toward the wooden platforms of the elven village.
It was peaceful.
Suspiciously peaceful.
High above the forest floor, resting on a reinforced platform built around the trunk of one of Greenwood's largest trees, John lay curled like a massive shadow.
The young black dragon had folded his wings close to his body, his long tail draped lazily over the edge of the platform.
