Unbothered

East of the Salona Empire, an immense, dense forest sprawls across the land, stretching for thousands of miles. This forest, infamous throughout the continent, is known as the **Forest of Death**, a wild, untamed expanse teeming with dangerous beasts and hidden threats. For centuries, no army has been able to conquer or even map its treacherous depths. Legends speak of entire expeditions vanishing without a trace, consumed by the forest's dark mysteries.

Yet, deep within this foreboding woodland lies a hidden wonder—an ancient, breathtaking city, untouched by the world beyond the forest. **Glimmering Grove**, the legendary home of the elves, stands as a testament to their connection with the magic of nature. It is a city unlike any other, where buildings are not imposed upon the land but are interwoven with it, as if the elves and the trees had grown together over millennia.

The city blends seamlessly into the forest around it, with homes nestled within the towering trunks of colossal trees, their roots forming natural staircases and balconies. Vines stretch like veins across the city, forming elegant, suspended bridges that connect the various levels of the elven dwellings. Stone pavements wind like rivers through the forest floor, soft moss cushioning the steps of those who walk the paths. Every structure appears alive, breathing with magic, its natural beauty enhanced by elven craftsmanship. It is a place where nature and civilization are one, indistinguishable from one another.

At the heart of Glimmering Grove rises a tree of such immense size that it dwarfs all others in the forest. This **colossal tree**, ancient and revered, towers over the entire city. Its thick, sprawling branches reach out like arms protecting the elves beneath, while its roots run deep into the earth, creating sanctuaries and halls within their embrace. Balconies and staircases are carved into its bark, spiraling upward as if born from the tree itself. Every surface glows with a faint, magical light, casting a warm and eternal twilight over the city.

In the midst of this otherworldly setting, high upon one of the balconies of the great tree, stands an elf. He is older, his features reflecting the wisdom of centuries past. His long, silver hair glints faintly in the soft glow of the city below, and his posture is regal, as though he is a part of the tree itself, as ancient and enduring as the city around him. His face bears a striking resemblance to Valendor—his strong jawline, the ethereal grace in his movements—but his eyes carry the weight of far more years, the deep, knowing gaze of one who has witnessed the passage of many lifetimes.

As he surveys the city, the elf's gaze is filled with both pride and melancholy. This is his home, Glimmering Grove, a place of unparalleled beauty and magic. But beyond the forest's edge, the world grows restless, and even in the heart of the forest, the shadows seem to be lengthening.

*

"My King." A beautiful elven woman, Lireal, adorned in flowing royal attire, approached the edge of the grand balcony. Her voice was soft, yet it carried the weight of their shared burdens.

The Elven King stood there, still and composed, his gaze fixed on the magnificent city of Glimmering Grove. Before him, the ancient tree towered over everything, its colossal branches spreading out like a protective canopy over the city. Homes and terraces nestled into its bark, connected by suspended bridges and winding stairways that intertwined with nature. The tree was the heart of their people, ancient and eternal, much like the weight that now pressed on the king's soul.

Without turning to face her, he spoke. "Lireal."

The queen took another step forward, her presence graceful and poised. "It's time," she reminded him gently, though her own heart was heavy.

The king inhaled deeply, closing his eyes as if to hold back the tide of emotions threatening to overcome him. He exhaled slowly, but the grief lingered like a shadow.

"It's not your fault, you know that," Lireal said, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder in a gesture of comfort. Yet she knew that no words could truly reach him in this moment, not with what he carried.

He remained silent for a long moment, before he finally spoke, his voice filled with sorrow. "I'd like to say I know that... But had I been stricter... we wouldn't be preparing a memorial for my only brother."

His words held a deep ache, one he had carried since the day his brother was lost. Lireal felt the weight of it too, but her own emotions remained hidden behind her regal calm.

She said nothing more, merely offering the comfort of her touch as the king continued to gaze at the city below. The elves lived long lives, but even their longevity could not protect them from loss.

"Any leads?" he asked after a pause, his voice sharp and tired.

Lireal withdrew her hand, folding them in front of her. "The trackers are still searching. They have yet to find a trace of him."

The king's hand clenched into a fist, his knuckles whitening with anger and frustration. "He takes after his father... far too much," he muttered bitterly. "How dare he flee to the human lands when he knows what the humans did—when he knows they killed his father!"

Lireal stood silently, watching him from behind. The fury in his voice wasn't new, but it had deepened with time, fueled by his helplessness in the face of Valendor's disappearance. The king's nephew, the son of his late brother, had been missing for too long, and with each passing day, the king's anger toward Valendor—and the humans—only grew.

"Valendor is his father's son," Lireal said quietly, her voice tinged with a sadness that ran deeper than her words laced with something else another emotion just underneath.

The king's gaze remained fixed, burning with a determined intensity. "And it is because he is his father's son that we must bring him back," he said, his voice hardening with resolve. "We must keep him safe from himself."

His words, though resolute, carried an undercurrent of obsession, one that had been growing ever since Valendor had vanished. The king's protective nature had twisted into something darker, a need to control the fate of his nephew in a way he had never been able to control the fate of his brother.

Lireal's expression remained composed, but a flicker of something else crossed her features—something far more complex than grief. Her lips tightened, and her eyes briefly flashed with jealousy, though its cause was unspoken, buried beneath years of restraint. The king, however, did not notice, too consumed by his own turmoil to see the shifting emotions in his queen.

"Let us go," the king said, his voice steady now, as he turned from the balcony and strode into the grand halls of the massive tree. His green and gold robes billowed behind him, a regal reflection of the ancient tree's leaves.

Lireal followed, her face returning to its serene mask, though beneath it, something deeper simmered, unvoiced and unseen. She trailed behind her king, disappearing into the depths of the ancient palace, leaving the city of Glimmering Grove bathed in the warm, fading light of the setting sun.

The subject of all this, though was tending to plants peacefully and unbothered.