Arweinydd passed through the city market place, the scent of fresh fruit and flowers hung sweet in the air. The elves never eat meat, for all creatures of the forest are the sole creation of Seren, and to kill and feast upon their flesh would be as great a sin as doing the same to your own siblings. Instead, the elves eat a diet strictly comprised of fruit, nuts, and edible leaves which had fallen from the plant, flavoured with spices collected in a similar fashion. Ordered tables of fresh produce, elven cloth, crystal objects, and crafts constructed from living wood consumed the city square, with only small clearings existing to make way for fountains and sculptures decorating the extravagant plaza.

Elves of all ages and castes bowed and curtsied as the elf lord gracefully marched passed them, affording them a hasty but respectful nod of acknowledgement. Pleasantries would have to wait, too much was on his mind and too little time existed. His paces quickened as he exited the market and approached the second gate to the citadel, already open in preparation for his arrival.

“Any news from the Arandar pass?” Arweinydd questioned the guards standing post, as he strode into the courtyard, the gates groaning to a close behind him. 

“None today my lord.” The guard replied in elven tongue.

“Notify me should any arrive.”

He stepped through the main archway separating the outer courtyard from the inner ward – a large hall decorated with large pillars sporting a great arching ceiling. It was lit with incandescent crystals floating within diamond shaped insets in the pillars. At the far end sat a single throne crafted from crystal, overlain with luxurious gold embossed elven silk, adorned with intricate swirls around a single silver diamond in the centre; Seren’s icon.

He stopped by the throne, passing his gloved fingers across the silk, following the swirls and finally the borders of the diamond. The elf who crafted this magnificent piece had died many years ago; slaughtered during the Zarosian conquest. Many had died, and had been many forgotten. None by Arweinydd. He bore every death and every loss, a permanent reminder of what he, and what Seren, strived to achieve. Peace. 

The moment lasted only a fleeting second, as he once again turned to pass through another archway and up a flight of spiralling stairs. Each conceding turn met with a diamond window, which pierced through the thick crystal hull of the tower. As he ascended the city sank and disappeared giving way to the vast forest beyond, and the mountains which bordered it. The snow topped mountains divided the elven realm from the kingdoms of the other races, giving physical protection from the preying civilizations of the east. 

At the top of the stairs he was met with large wooden door, gilded with shining metals of a blue hue. Inscribed the thick metallic bands was ancient Elven text. He pressed his hand against the door, and it responded. The wood sang as it swung open, greeting the elf back to his abode. The circular room was sparsely decorated, with only a few ancient banners hanging from the walls, and a large table in the centre. A bowl of fruit and nuts lying on a bed of leaves sat on the table. 

Arweinydd picked up a pomegranate, and rubbed his thumb over its skin. The surface was wet; freshly washed by one of the many elves who strove to maintain this grand palace. He broke the skin and placed a few of the crimson seeds within his mouth before placing it back into the bowl. Satisfied, he left the room and out through an arch onto a balcony. The sun was beginning to fall under the horizon, igniting the sky in brilliant auras of red, orange, and violet. Far out in the forest he could see a faint light moving through the trees. They are already coming, and they are almost here.