The soft, golden morning light filtered through the branches of the ancient trees that bordered the elven capital.
Dew still clung to the cobblestones, and the airship dock.
Luka stood near the edge of the loading platform, a travel bag slung over one shoulder, his hair tousled by the wind.
Serene stood beside him, holding a wrapped box of elven pastries and casting suspicious glances at every approaching elf.
They had just said their goodbyes at the palace.
Nuvian, with her usual cold grace, had nodded her farewell, saying nothing more than "You did well."
Even that had felt strange coming from her.
Ahshala had tried to sneak into Luka's luggage, declaring that "boring places need cool people," until the Elf King personally plucked her out like a cat and grounded her to her room for a week.
Now, finally, they were leaving.
At least, they thought they were.
"Something's wrong," Serene murmured, narrowing her eyes. "Too many eyes. Too few smiles."
