The moment hung in soft suspension, like one of the drifting petals caught midair. Elysia stood motionless beneath the vast tree, the delicate pink leaves shimmering above her like a dream spun from stardust and memory.
The air itself felt different here—thicker with magic, sweeter somehow. She didn't want to blink, afraid the vision might vanish.
Malvoria moved beside her, silent but present, and then—without any fanfare—she set a hand on Elysia's back and gestured with her chin toward the soft clearing beneath the tree's shadow.
The grass was impossibly lush, a silken carpet of green and violet threaded with blooming wildflowers.
In the center of it, a thick quilt had already been spread—cream and navy with gold embroidery at the edges, regal yet worn, like something lovingly preserved from childhood.
A woven basket rested beside it, sealed with thin leather straps, and two polished silver canteens sat nearby, catching the light like tiny stars.
