The town spread through the canopy like something from a King of the Signets film. Wooden structures curved along massive branches, their architecture flowing with the natural grain of the trees rather than imposing geometric order. Delicate bridges arched between platforms, their supports carved to resemble vines. Lanterns hung from copper hooks, unlit in the daylight but positioned to cast patterns once darkness fell.

  Elves moved along the walkways with that particular grace their species possessed—feet barely seeming to touch the wood before they’d already shifted to the next step. One passed within arm’s reach carrying a basket of what looked like oversized acorns, her blonde hair woven with blue thread.

  “So.” Aria broke the silence. “What now?”

  I blinked. The question yanked me from my observation of the architecture. “I honestly have no idea.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “The guide covered geography and customs.” I gestured vaguely at the surrounding town. “Nothing about how to actually find adventures.”

  Faith shifted her weight. “Maybe there’s a notice board? Somewhere posting requests?”

  “In an elven settlement?” Isabella’s tone carried amusement. “Not likely.”

  “Why not?”

  “Population density.” Isabella started walking toward what looked like a central plaza. “Elven towns rarely exceed a few hundred residents. They’ve had centuries to meet each other. Everyone knows everyone else’s business already.”

  “Oh.” Faith’s enthusiasm dimmed slightly. “Then how do we…?”

  “Town hall.” Isabella pointed toward a larger structure ahead—three stories built around the trunk of an ancient oak. “According to the guide, that’s where visitors register anyway. With luck, we’ll overhear something useful.”

  “And if we don’t?” Aria asked.

  “Then we head to the closest human city.” I fell into step beside Isabella. “Where bulletin boards actually exist.”

  The direction settled something in my chest. A plan, even if contingent.

  We walked. The path beneath our feet was smooth wood worn by centuries of traffic. Smaller branches grew through gaps in the walkway, their leaves forming a ceiling that filtered the afternoon light into green-gold patches.

  An elven child ran past, chasing something that looked like a cross between a squirrel and a butterfly. Her mother called after her in a melodic voice.

  “Elves have to be the most boring mortals,” Aria muttered.

  Faith glanced at her. “How so?”

  “I thought you liked elves,” I added.

  “It’s not that I don’t like them.” Aria gestured at the passing residents. “Bellas is great. But we’ve been walking for almost an hour and literally nobody has looked at us. I mean, they notice we’re here—new faces, curiosity, whatever. But not a single appreciative glance.”

  I laughed. “Only you would consider that a downside.”

  “It’s weird.” Aria’s tail would’ve lashed if the glamour hadn’t hidden it. “We’re objectively gorgeous. All four of us.”

  “Maybe they have standards beyond physical appearance,” Isabella said dryly.

  “Impossible.”

  Faith grinned. “Or maybe they’re just not interested in strangers.”

  “Also impossible.” Aria quickened her pace slightly. “There’s interested and there’s… whatever this is. It’s like walking through a town of statues who happen to be polite about ignoring you.”

  “They’re not ignoring us.” I pointed at an elf watching us from a balcony. “That one’s definitely staring.”

  “That’s different. She’s trying to figure out where we’re from.”

  “Which is attention.”

  “Wrong kind of attention.”

  Isabella sighed. “You’ll survive.”

  “Will I though?”

  The banter carried us forward. Around us, the town continued its measured pace—elves tending gardens that grew from hanging planters, others sitting on benches carved directly from branches, a few entering buildings through doorways that curved rather than cutting straight lines.

  The architecture fascinated me despite Aria’s complaints. Every structure incorporated the living wood rather than simply building atop it. Windows followed knots in the grain. Roofs grew from carefully trained boughs rather than separate thatching.

  Beautiful. Completely impractical for rapid construction or standardization, but beautiful.

  “There.” Isabella indicated the large structure ahead.

  The town hall rose three stories, built around an oak that had to be at least forty feet in diameter. Stairs spiralled around the trunk, leading to multiple entrances at different heights. Carved symbols marked the doorframes—probably protective wards or property markers.

  More elves moved through the area. Some carried documents bound in leather. Others spoke in small groups near fountains fed by channels carved through the branches themselves.

  “Stick together,” I said quietly. “And try to look like we belong.”

  “I always look like I belong,” Aria replied.

  “Then look like you belong here.”

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  We approached the main entrance. The door stood open, revealing a circular chamber where light filtered through strategically placed gaps in the walls. Shelves lined the interior, filled with scrolls and bound volumes.

  An elf looked up from a desk positioned near the centre. Her eyes were grey, her hair the colour of birch bark.

  “Visitors.” She set down her quill. “Welcome to Silvaraeth. How may I assist you?”

  * * *

  I stepped forward. “I am Lyrieth. These are my companions—Aelara, Farenis, and Isariel.”

  The names rolled off my tongue with surprising ease. The guide had included a list of common elven naming patterns, and we’d spent half an hour during our walk selecting ones that wouldn’t immediately expose us as frauds.

  The elf’s grey eyes tracked across each of us in turn. “Well met. I am Celair?, keeper of records for Silvaraeth.”

  “We came to announce our arrival,” I continued. “As is customary.”

  Celair?’s expression shifted slightly. Not quite a frown, but something that suggested we’d confirmed an expectation she’d hoped to avoid. “You arrive in troubling times, travellers.” She retrieved a fresh sheet of parchment, her movements precise. “From which part of the realm do you hail?”

  Isabella answered without hesitation. “Thornhaven, in the eastern reaches.”

  Thornhaven had occupied a single paragraph in the guide—a minor settlement notable primarily for its exceptional vineyards and distance from major trade routes. Perfect for travellers who wanted to avoid detailed questioning about local politics.

  Celair? studied Isabella for three full seconds. Her quill remained motionless above the parchment.

  My pulse quickened despite the glamour hiding my supernatural nature. The guide had warned that elves possessed centuries of experience reading faces and detecting inconsistencies.

  “Thornhaven,” Celair? repeated. She wrote something in flowing script. “The vintage there is remarkable. I trust the recent frost spared the western slopes?”

  Isabella’s face remained perfectly calm. “The damage was minimal. Our household lost perhaps a quarter of the early harvest, but the primary vines survived.”

  Another pause. Then Celair? nodded and continued writing. “And your lineage houses?”

  “Silverleaf,” Faith said quickly. “Lesser branch, but recognized.”

  “Moonwhisper,” Aria added. “Third daughter’s line.”

  “Dawnsong,” I supplied. “Recently separated from the main trunk due to philosophical disagreements.”

  That last detail came straight from the guide’s section on elven political structures. Families split regularly over matters of Path or principle, and the resulting separations created enough complexity that few outsiders could track every branch.

  Celair? made notes beside each name. “Nightshade?”

  “Fifth generation removed from the founding house,” Isabella said smoothly. “We maintain cordial relations but pursue independent paths.”

  The quill scratched across parchment for another moment. Then Celair? set it down and folded her hands atop the desk. “What brings you to Silvaraeth?”

  Faith leaned forward slightly. “We’re passing through. But we thought we might offer assistance to our brothers and sisters if any urgent matters required attention.”

  “Generous.” Celair?’s tone carried something that might have been approval or might have been polite scepticism. “Though I’m afraid our current troubles are largely internal.” She paused, considering. “What is your Path?”

  I’d been waiting for this question. “Last Joy.”

  Recognition flickered across Celair?’s face. “Ah. The Ael’suvara.”

  “We’re in the adventuring portion of our Path,” I explained. “Seeking experiences that will deepen our understanding of the world’s pleasures before they fade into memory.”

  Celair? nodded slowly. “Then there may be something for you after all.”

  Aria straightened. “Oh?”

  “As I mentioned, you arrive in troubling times, but our troubles are internal. Succession matters.” Celair? gestured vaguely toward the upper floors of the town hall. “The council is currently occupied with determining proper lineage protocols following recent… complications. It leaves little time for other concerns.”

  “Such as?” Isabella prompted.

  “The northern forest has grown restless.” Celair? retrieved another document from a stack beside her desk. “Minor disturbances. Wildlife behaving oddly. A few travellers reporting strange sounds after dark.”

  “How long has this been happening?” I asked.

  “Three months.” She scanned the document. “The council debated sending scouts but ultimately decided to postpone action for a decade or two. The disturbances haven’t reached concerning levels, and with succession taking precedence…” She trailed off with a slight shrug that somehow conveyed entire paragraphs of bureaucratic reasoning.

  Faith’s eyes lit up. “We could investigate.”

  “If you wish.” Celair? returned the document to its stack. “I cannot offer official sanction or reward—the council hasn’t formally acknowledged the issue. But if you’re seeking adventure as part of your Path, the northern reaches would certainly provide it.”

  “What exactly should we expect?” Isabella asked.

  Celair? spread her hands. “That’s precisely what the council would like to know. Hence the value of investigation.”

  Translation: we’d be doing their work for free, with no resources or support, in exchange for the privilege of potentially dying to whatever was making the forest restless.

  Perfect.

  * * *

  The town hall door closed behind us with a soft thud. The rope bridge swayed slightly beneath our feet as we moved away from the ancient oak structure.

  I glanced at Faith. “So? Do we actually want to investigate restless forests, or should we skip straight to finding a human settlement?”

  Faith’s eyes tracked the branching pathways ahead. “Let’s try it. The northern route passes near human territories anyway, according to the map. We can always bail if this turns out to be nothing.”

  “You know what I think?” Aria folded her arms. The borrowed elven tunic—all flowing green fabric and silver embroidery—bunched awkwardly at her shoulders. “I think we should leave this boring village immediately. Gosh, at least those fake elves we met between the layers had some personality.”

  I reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “We’ll get to have some fun soon.”

  “You promise?” Aria turned toward me with exaggerated desperation, hands clasped like a performer in one of Hell’s theatre districts.

  I smiled. “No.”

  “Spoilsport.”

  Isabella stepped past us, her boots landing soundlessly on the wooden planks. “Then we should leave this town quickly. Unless you’d prefer spending more than a day here listening to succession debates?”

  “Gods, no.” Aria shuddered. “Three months of possibly something interesting and they’re still arguing about lineage protocols. How do these people function?”

  We crossed two more bridges before the settlement’s edge appeared—the last platform before the forest proper stretched out below us.

  Faith peered over the railing. “How far north did Celair? say the disturbances started?”

  “She didn’t.” Isabella pulled out the realm guide we’d borrowed from the palace library. She flipped to the section on Arborea’s geography. “But the map shows a dense woodland about fifteen kilometres from here. If something’s making wildlife behave oddly, that’s where I’d start.”

  “Fifteen kilometres on foot through underbrush sounds terrible,” Aria said. “Let’s drop the glamours once we’re away from town and just fly.”

  I checked the afternoon sun filtering through the canopy. “We’ve got maybe four hours of good light left. Should be enough to scout the area and make camp before dark.”

  “Camp?” Aria’s expression suggested I’d proposed sleeping in a refuse pit. “Can’t we just portal back to the resort for the night?”

  “The gate’s in the opposite direction from where we need to go,” Isabella said. “We’d lose time backtracking.”

  Faith descended the ladder first, the elven dress she’d chosen—something simple in cream and brown—catching slightly on the rungs. I followed, then Aria, with Isabella bringing up the rear. The forest floor felt different than Hell’s manufactured environments. Softer. The soil gave slightly beneath each step, and the air carried scents I couldn’t quite identify—growth and decay existing simultaneously.

  “Once we’re out of sight,” I said quietly, “we drop the glamours and take to the air.”

  “Finally.” Aria pushed ahead through a cluster of ferns.

  We walked another hundred meters until the tree-town disappeared behind us, swallowed by dense foliage and distance. I checked behind us—nothing but green shadows and filtered sunlight.

  “Clear,” Isabella confirmed.

  The glamours dissolved like smoke.