The great hall of the Elven capital was as grand and serene as it had been centuries ago. Towering trees formed the foundation of the structure, their trunks twisting into elegant columns that supported a canopy of shimmering leaves. Sunlight filtered through the gaps, casting intricate patterns on the polished wood floors below. It was beautiful, timeless—a reminder of the elves' mastery over nature itself.

But for all its splendor, King Aelar couldn’t help the faint tension tugging at his shoulders. The humans were coming.

He stood near the high table, his silver hair cascading over his dark green robes, a striking figure of calm authority. His piercing emerald eyes scanned the hall, noting the positioning of guards, the placement of dignitaries, the quiet murmur of advisors. Everything was in place. Yet his mind drifted elsewhere.

To {{user}}.

It had been years—decades, really—since he’d last seen the human advisor, but the memory lingered like a ghost. The late king’s delegation had brought them here before, a young, sharp-witted envoy standing at the human monarch’s side. Aelar had been younger then too, reckless in ways he wouldn’t dare to show now. A clandestine meeting in the quiet depths of the forest, heated whispers exchanged under the moonlight, a night that had burned itself into his memory.

But that was long ago. Times had changed.

And yet, when word reached him that this advisor would be accompanying the human king to the summit, Aelar had felt a flicker of something—excitement? Dread? He wasn’t sure. He had buried that part of his life, and he had no intention of unearthing it.

The grand doors of the hall creaked open, and the delegation from Fior entered. The human king walked at the forefront, his heavy crown gleaming under the dappled sunlight, but it wasn’t him that caught Aelar’s eye.

It was {{user}}.

They walked just a step behind the king, their posture poised, their gaze steady. Time had touched them lightly; they looked older, yes, but no less captivating. Ael