Eryk's stomach lurched as the portal spat them out, the ground tilting beneath his feet like a ship caught in a storm. He staggered, one hand clutching Ares to his chest, the other grasping blindly for Sera. Beside him, she cursed, her voice muffled as if underwater, her fingers digging into his arm hard enough to bruise.
Then, after a few minutes of standing in front of the portal, the dizziness faded, replaced by a breathless awe.
Eryk blinked, his vision clearing slowly, and the world resolved into something impossible.
The Silver Grove was not a kingdom of stone and mortar. It was alive.
Trees towered above them, their trunks wide as city gates, their bark shimmering with veins of silver that pulsed faintly, like slow, sleeping heartbeats. Bridges of woven vines arched between the branches, delicate as spider silk, glowing with bioluminescent flowers that cast a soft, blue-green light over everything. The air hummed with magic, thick and sweet, carrying the scent of blooming night-bells.
And the wind.
It was everywhere. Not the harsh, howling gales of the Whispering Wastes, but a living thing, playful and whispering. It coiled around Eryk's fingers, tugged at his hair, brushed against his cheeks like the touch of a curious child.
"Stars above," Sera breathed, her voice uncharacteristically small.
Ares chirped, his wings fluttering as he wriggled free of Eryk's grip. The dragon perched on his shoulder, his molten-bronze scales reflecting the eerie glow of the grove. His golden eyes were wide, his nostrils flaring as he took in the scents. For once, even he seemed subdued.
Yavanna stepped forward, her bare feet barely disturbing the moss beneath them. She smiled, though there was something guarded in her amber eyes.
"Welcome to the Silver Grove!"
Her grandfather, Eldrin, was a tall, elegant figure with hair like spun moonlight and eyes that held the weight of centuries. He studied them with quiet amusement, his gaze lingering on Ares. The dragon hissed softly, smoke curling from his nostrils, and several of the elves nearby flinched.
Eryk frowned. "They're afraid of him."
Eldrin's smile didn't waver.
"Dragons are rare here. And memories are long."
Before Eryk could ask what that meant, Yavanna clapped her hands together. "Come! You must be hungry."
~○~
The feast was unlike anything Eryk had ever seen.
It wasn't merely a banquet. It was a spectacle of magic and reverence. The grand hall stretched like a dream beneath a vaulted canopy of intertwining branches, each limb laced with bioluminescent blossoms that glowed with subtle hues of sapphire and gold. Moonlight trickled down through the foliage in slanted beams, catching on floating motes of dust that danced like fireflies in the open air.
The floor beneath their feet was not stone or wood, but a living mosaic—petals, moss, and creeping vines that shifted colors underfoot, reacting to each step with a gentle ripple of light, like the forest itself was watching.
The table sprawled like a river of silver, adorned with platters that shimmered with enchantments. Fruits, translucent as gems, pulsed faintly with an inner glow. The roasted meats exuded an aroma that sent warmth coiling through Eryk's lungs—sweet herbs and honey, a scent both foreign and comforting. The bread, golden and steaming, seemed so light it threatened to float into the canopy, anchored only by delicate silver pins etched with runes.
And the elves.
Dozens of them, their skin kissed by starlight and their hair cascading like spun moonlight. Every movement was a dance—graceful, deliberate, effortless. They didn't sit so much as hover near their chairs, their robes flowing like mist. Their eyes flicked often toward Eryk and Sera, but always returned to Ares, who now sat upright and alert at Eryk's side, his wings half-flared and his tail coiled around the boy's wrist like a living gauntlet.
Eryk swallowed.
Sera, usually the loudest soul in any room, was eerily quiet. She nudged at her food without appetite, her sharp gaze constantly scanning their surroundings. Eryk recognized the look. She was identifying exits, memorizing faces, weighing potential threats. In a place this beautiful, she only saw danger.
"You're staring," Yavanna said softly, leaning toward him with a knowing smile.
Eryk blinked, startled from his thoughts.
"It's just... different."
"From Veldros?" Her smirk held no malice, only gentle amusement. "I've heard stories about Veldros. Cold stone, colder people."
Eryk hesitated, unsure if she was joking. But he answered truthfully, "In Veldros, if you're born without a mana core, you're nothing."
The words slipped from him heavier than he'd meant them, sinking between them like iron. His shoulders tightened with shame but Yavanna didn't mock him. Instead, her expression dimmed.
Eldrin, silent until now, gently set down his goblet. His eyes, though aged, glowed with wisdom untouched by bitterness.
"Here," he said, "a core is not a birthright. It is a choice."
Eryk's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"In the Silver Grove," Eldrin explained, "no child is born with magic. At sixteen, we undergo the Awakening. The wind decides who among us is ready. Who is open. Who listens."
"The wind decides?" Sera scoffed, her voice slicing through the hush. "So some of you just end up... ordinary?"
Yavanna's posture straightened, just slightly, but her grandfather only chuckled and unbothered.
"Normal is a matter of perspective, child," Eldrin said gently. "Not all gifts are loud."
Eryk's chest tightened again, but differently this time. In Veldros, his void had branded him a defect—a monster, even. Here, in this place wrapped in wind and wonder... it was another possibility. Another thread in the tapestry.
Then Ares tensed.
The dragonling's ears perked, and its wings were twitching. A sudden gust swept through the pavilion, carrying with it the scent of coming rain, charged air, and something else—something electric and commanding.
The elves turned as one.
A figure stood at the entrance to the hall.
Tall, resplendent, the Queen of the Grove moved with the quiet power of someone who never needed to raise her voice to be heard. Her silver hair tumbled like a river down her back, and her gaze—amber and sharp, the mirror of Yavanna's—scanned the guests like she already knew every answer before she asked the question.
Beside her stood a man of equal presence. His cloak fluttered with the wind, yet his posture never wavered. One hand rested on the hilt of a sword that pulsed faintly with restrained power as if it, too, recognized the gravity of the moment.
Yavanna stood immediately, bowing low. "Mother! Father!"
Eryk and Sera followed, hesitantly.
The Queen's eyes moved across the table, settling briefly on Eryk—and then on Ares. Her lips curled into a smile, but it was not warm. It was polite.
"Welcome, travelers," she said, her voice a melody layered with warning. "Eat. Rest. Tomorrow, we will speak."
No one dared respond.
Because her tone made it clear. It wouldn't be a conversation.
~○~
Later that night, Yavanna's presence was a quiet comfort as she led them along winding paths lit by glowing blossoms and floating lanterns. The Silver Grove seemed even more alive at night—the wind whispered in song, and the trees responded in kind, their leaves trembling like an audience on the edge of breath.
Sera's room was tucked into a knotted hollow of a tree. Inside, warm light spilled over walls lined with tapestries that depicted storms being tamed by dancers in midair. The air smelled of lavender and rain.
Yavanna gestured.
"You'll stay here." Then she surprised them both. "And I'll stay with you."
Sera blinked as she was startled. "What?"
Yavanna shrugged with feigned nonchalance.
"So you're not alone."
"I don't need a babysitter!" Sera snapped, though there was no bite in her voice. Only exhaustion.
"No," Yavanna said gently. "But maybe you need a friend."
Sera opened her mouth. Closed it. For a heartbeat, something softer flickered in her eyes. Then she turned, muttering, "Suit yourself," and vanished inside.
Yavanna turned to Eryk next. "Your room is ahead. Ares can stay with you."
Eryk nodded, though his thoughts were far away—back in the pavilion, trapped in the Queen's gaze. He hadn't touched dessert. He couldn't stomach it.
Yavanna touched his arm. Her hand was cool and steady. "You're safe here."
The room was a dream carved into a tree.
The bed was a nest of silken sheets and furs that seemed to shift to match his temperature. The windows were open to the sky, framed by ivy that shimmered faintly with starlight. And yet, Eryk could not sleep.
Ares had claimed the windowsill, his tail twitching as he surveyed the grove with narrowed eyes. Eryk joined him, sitting beside his companion in silence.
What he saw took his breath away.
The Silver Grove unfurled beneath them like a dreamscape—the trees aglow with sapphire light, the lanterns rising and falling with the wind like drifting spirits. Far beyond, a waterfall plunged from unseen heights, the silver waters catching moonlight like falling stars.
And above it all, the sky.
No longer the muted grey of Veldros. No iron clouds. No smokestacks or spell-fog. Just stars.
So many stars.
Eryk felt something crack in his chest.
"It's beautiful," he whispered but his voice was so hollow with longing.
Ares chirped in agreement, nuzzling his hand.
But Eryk didn't smile.