Faint particles of light drifted everywhere.
They moved slowly, almost lazily, like fragments of stars that had broken free and now wandered aimlessly. Some glowed with soft blue light, others shimmered in gold or pale white, and each one carried a subtle presence, as though they were remnants of forgotten moments or pieces of existence that had been left behind.
There was no sun.
There was no source of light that could be identified.
Yet the entire world was illuminated.
The glow came from everything at once, from the ground, from the drifting particles, and most of all from the immense tree that stood at the center of it all.
That tree dominated the realm.
It rose upward in a way that defied scale, its trunk vast and ancient, marked by patterns that seemed to shift when observed too closely. Its surface was neither wood nor energy, but something in between, something that carried the weight of time itself.
