The Elf Village.
The village wasn't built; it was grown.
This place was the definition of organic. There were no sharp angles, no bricks forced into stacks. The houses were part of the trees themselves—branches curving to form roofs, hollowed trunks serving as doors, roots intertwining into stairs and bridges. Some structures were made of hardened white clay, blending perfectly with the surrounding nature. Dimly glowing vines wrapped around natural pillars.
In the center of the village, a Mother Tree towered. Its trunk was so massive it would take hundreds of people to embrace it. Its canopy pierced the clouds, as if acting as a pillar supporting the sky itself.
"Välkommen till min by... tomteby…"
I stood there, slightly agape. Elves passed by. Green, golden, and silver hair. Their clothing was simple yet elegant, fabrics that draped softly over their bodies like ancient Greek robes. Almost all of them were barefoot, directly connected to the earth. They carried books, musical instruments, staffs with glowing crystals, or plant seedlings. They glanced at me in passing—looks that weren't hostile, but simply alien.
Viela patted my shoulder. "Följ mig."
He pulled my hand, leading me across a suspended root bridge over a clear stream. The scent of herbs and old paper began to waft through the air. We stopped in front of a tall structure formed at the base of the Mother Tree.
"Låt oss gå."
We entered.
The interior was vast, much larger than it appeared from the outside. The smell of old paper and ink filled the air. A library. The walls were bookshelves stretching up to an unseen ceiling, holding thousands of volumes of knowledge. We walked through the aisles of books, heading toward the center of the room.
There, a woman sat in a wooden chair that seemed to have grown straight from the floor.
Her hair was white as snow, trailing long to the floor. Her stature was tall, graceful. Her eyes were closed. Before her, a cup of tea let off a thin wisp of steam. Beside it lay a blank sheet of paper and a quill. She sat so still, so perfectly upright, that the aura of her tranquility felt like physical pressure in the air.
"Miss..." Viela whispered.
Viela patted the chair opposite the woman, nudging me gently. "Du är säker med henne..." He gave a thumbs up, then gestured toward the woman. He stepped back, leaving me alone in the face of that silence.
I sat down. I looked at the woman. Elyra.
Her beauty was almost painful. A sharp nose, pale thin lips, skin that looked as if it had never been touched by the harsh sun. She was the embodiment of static beauty.
One minute. Five minutes. Thirty minutes.
She did not move. Her eyes remained closed. Only the ticking of a large clock in the corner of the room filled the silence.
Tick... tick... tick...
Awkwardness began to creep up my spine. Was she sleeping? Was she waiting for me to speak? I glanced at the clock. Almost an hour had passed.
"Miss..." My voice sounded hoarse, breaking the sacred stillness.
The woman opened her eyes.
My world stopped for a second.
Her irises were pure gold. Without a dominant sclera, without black pupils. Swirling liquid gold, majestic, yet entirely devoid of reflection. Those eyes did not reflect my image; they seemed to look straight through the flesh, piercing down to the bone and the emptiness within.