Chapter 75: The Gates Of Viridywn

Selene's POV

The towering gates of Viridwyn stood before us, woven from ancient roots and glistening with the soft luminescence of enchanted moss.

A faint shimmer ran through the wooden structure, as though the very air recognized intruders before they even spoke. It was a breathtaking sight, but I hardly had a moment to admire it.

"That's it. I'm done," Tyra groaned, rubbing her temples.

"If I hear one more question, I'm going to—"

"Throw me into the river?" Faelar supplied helpfully, grinning.

"Oh, but we're nowhere near a river. You'd have to carry me quite a distance for that."

Khael, dragging his feet beside her, waved a hand tiredly.

"I'd help. Not because I dislike you. Just… I don't have the energy to stop her."

Axel, as always, remained composed, but even he had sighed at least twice throughout Faelar's endless chatter. I couldn't blame them.

The elf had bombarded us with everything from the color of the sky beyond Viridwyn to the number of ruins left in Eldoria. Even I was starting to feel like my thoughts were tangled in knots.

Just as Tyra opened her mouth—no doubt to make good on her threat—a presence silenced the air itself.

From the shadows of the trees, a woman emerged. Her footsteps made no sound as she stepped forward, her emerald cloak flowing behind her as if carried by an unseen breeze.

Long silver hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her piercing green eyes gleamed with the wisdom of ages. Though she bore no visible weapon, the sheer force of her presence was enough to make even Axel straighten instinctively.

"You have traveled far," she said, her voice smooth yet firm, like the whisper of leaves in an autumn wind.

"And you have been expected."

Faelar, for once, did not chatter. Instead, he bowed slightly. "Lady Sylwen. It's been a while."

Lady Sylwen inclined her head, her gaze sweeping over each of us before settling on me.

"Lyrielle has spoken of your arrival. The spirits have whispered of your journey."

I tensed slightly. "Lyrielle?"

"A child of Viridwyn," Sylwen answered.

"Spirit-touched, blessed and burdened in equal measure. She foresaw your coming and awaits within the sacred hall."

Khael shifted uneasily. "She knew we were coming?"

"The spirits speak in riddles," Sylwen said, folding her hands before her.

"But their message was clear. You must enter Viridwyn, for your path winds deeper than you know."

Axel met her gaze evenly. "And what do you think of that?"

For a moment, Sylwen was silent. Then she smiled, though it did not reach her eyes.

"I think," she said softly, "that fate has a cruel sense of humor."

Faelar, ever the restless wanderer, fell into step beside us as Lady Sylwen took the lead.

Her movements were fluid, almost

otherworldly, as if she was part of the very nature she commanded.

She said little as we walked, but there was an unspoken authority in her presence that kept even Faelar from speaking for longer than a few moments at a time.

The path toward the sacred hall was unlike any road we had traveled before. The trees arched high above us, their canopies forming intricate patterns that let the golden-green light filter through like shattered glass.

The air was thick with magic, humming against my skin, whispering just beneath my hearing.

The elven people of Viridwyn stood along the edges of the path, watching us with unreadable expressions.

Some whispered among themselves, their melodic voices blending into the rustling leaves.

Others simply observed in silence, their eyes reflecting the glow of the enchanted flora around them. There was no hostility in their gazes, only deep curiosity—especially toward me.

Khael shifted uncomfortably under the weight of so many stares. "Are they always like this?" he muttered.

Faelar chuckled, his usual grin returning. "Oh, absolutely. Outsiders are rare, you see. And the ones who do enter rarely make it this far."

Tyra let out a tired sigh. "Wonderful. More staring."

"You should be honored," Faelar teased.

"They're probably deciding whether to tell songs about you or simply watch from the shadows."

Lady Sylwen cast him a sharp glance, silencing his playful tone in an instant.

"Do not trivialize their presence here, Faelar."

He raised his hands in mock surrender but said no more.

As we neared the sacred hall, the guardians stationed around its entrance became visible—tall, armored figures standing with spears that shimmered with an inner light.

Their presence alone exuded a quiet yet undeniable power, the kind that warned against reckless action.

Beyond them, the hall stood like something out of a dream. It was not built in the traditional sense but grown from the very heart of the land.

The trunks of ancient trees wove together to form towering pillars, their branches intertwining overhead in a breathtaking cathedral of nature.

The air here was heavier, thick with energy that pulsed in time with the heartbeat of the forest itself.

Lady Sylwen came to a stop before the entrance, turning to face us. "Inside, you will meet Lyrielle. She has foreseen your arrival and has awaited this moment for some time. Speak wisely."

With that, the great doors, carved with intricate designs of vines and celestial symbols, creaked open before us. A soft, ethereal light spilled from within, beckoning us forward into the unknown.

Third Person's POV

The sacred hall stood at the heart of the grove, an ethereal sanctuary woven from the very fabric of nature.

Towering trees arched to form a natural dome, their bark glistening with veins of silver, pulsating like a heartbeat in the still air. Wisps of soft golden light floated between the branches, each a wandering spirit bound to this place.

The scent of damp earth and blooming flowers mingled in the air, a testament to the hall's ancient sanctity.

As they stepped forward, the guards flanking the entrance barely moved, but their keen eyes never wavered.

Each elf bore intricately woven armor of deep green and gold, as if the very forest had crafted their garments.

They were silent but powerful, their presence alone enough to remind outsiders that they were guests under watchful eyes.

Lady Sylwen moved gracefully ahead, her presence like a whisper against the air.

"Do not stray from the path," she murmured, glancing at Faelar with particular emphasis.

"Even you."

Faelar grinned but made no protest, merely casting Khael and Tyra an amused glance.

Both of them, however, looked utterly exhausted by his earlier barrage of questions, their patience nearly drained.

The doors to the sacred hall were no ordinary barriers; they were formed of intertwining branches, pulsing with an unseen energy.

As Sylwen raised her hand, the wood shifted and unraveled as if recognizing her presence.

The entrance parted soundlessly, revealing a chamber bathed in an otherworldly glow.

At the center of the hall sat Lyrielle.

She was unlike any elf they had seen before. Draped in layers of gossamer fabric that shimmered between silver and pale blue, she exuded a presence that was both delicate and untouchable.

Her long hair, a cascade of moonlight, draped over her shoulders, barely concealing the faint markings that glowed along her arms—runes older than time itself. Her eyes, pale blue yet luminous, held a depth that belied her youthful form.

Despite being revered, she was still young by elven standards. If one were to compare her years to a human's, she was not much older than Khael's current form.

Yet, the way she carried herself, the way she sat with such effortless grace, made her seem far beyond her years.

As the group entered, her gaze lifted, landing on each of them before finally resting upon Khael.

It was subtle, just a fraction of a second longer than necessary, but she did not let it linger. Still, there was something in that glance—a flicker of recognition, of curiosity—that even Khael seemed to feel, though he did not understand why.

"Welcome," Lyrielle spoke, her voice light yet echoing in the chamber as if the very trees carried her words.

"The spirits have spoken of your arrival."

Axel nodded, his expression calm but assessing. "And what did they tell you?"

Lyrielle's fingers traced the patterns on her arm absentmindedly, as though listening to voices unheard by the rest.

"They whisper of many things. Of fate entwined with ruin and rebirth. Of a path that bends but does not break." Her gaze flickered once more to Khael.

"Of fire that once danced with shadows."

Khael tensed slightly. "What does that mean?"

A small, knowing smile played on Lyrielle's lips, though she did not answer immediately. Instead, she tilted her head, as if listening again.

"You are not who you once were," she finally said.

"But neither are you lost."

Khael shifted uncomfortably, but there was no malice in her tone. If anything, there was something almost… warm in the way she looked at him, though she kept it well-hidden behind her composed demeanor.

Selene watched the exchange closely. "Then you knew we were coming?"

Lyrielle nodded. "For some time. The spirits do not always speak plainly, but they have been restless.

They murmur of old wounds and a kingdom seeking its soul. And they spoke of you."

Her gaze moved to Selene. "The lost one. The returning storm."

Selene inhaled sharply but held her ground. She had been called many things, but never like that.

Lyrielle continued, unfazed. "You seek answers. And we may have them. But nothing comes without a price."

Tyra crossed her arms. "Of course, there's always a price."

Lyrielle smiled faintly, amusement flickering in her pale eyes. "Not all prices are burdens. Some are merely choices waiting to be made."

As the hall's energy pulsed softly around them, a realization settled upon them all—whatever lay ahead, Viridwyn's truths would not be given freely. They would have to earn them.

To be continued.