The Goddess of the World Tree appeared before them.
Sylvaria.
Root and Soul.
Lesser God, but God nonetheless.
The figure stood before the altar, a shape of pure light so brilliant that it hurt to look upon directly, yet so magnificent that none could avert their gaze. She rose taller than any elf, taller than the queen, taller than the elders, taller than the knights in their silvered armor. Her form seemed to stretch upward into eternity, her crown lost in the void beyond the stars, her feet invisible within the radiant glow of the sacred pond. Her countenance defied comprehension, each time a mortal sought to fix their gaze upon her features, their eyes would slide away as water over stone, unable to grasp the infinite made finite.
Yet her presence was unmistakable.
