However it was that a dusty path existed in the heart of such a forest, Zane couldn't explain. More than that, there was something about this place that felt fundamentally unreal, a fleeting thought perpetually at the edge of his mind, dissolving each time he tried to grasp it.
He could breathe the air, but it didn't feel right. With every inhale came the rich, earthy scent of forest soil, layered with the heavy, cloying perfume of the Selenus trees. It was a smell that tugged at a deep, buried part of him, reminding him of another forest—the Flemuer Forest, the fayen, and… the memory slipped away, a wisp of smoke through his fingers.
Flemuer Forest. The name rang in his mind with the force of a long-forgotten bell, sparking a nostalgic longing that swelled with every breath, every glance at the impossible trees around him. But Blendriad had said this was Elgard Forest. How could he remember a place he had never visited, never even heard of?
Then there was the path itself. His shoes should have been caked in dust, yet they remained perplexingly clean, as if the very particles shifted aside with each step to avoid soiling him. And like the forest, the path stirred a phantom recollection—a pilgrimage to a temple he had once taken in his youth, to worship some ancient, nameless god…
Above it all hung the two suns. Helion—a bright yellow blazing ball that evoked memories of morning basks under a yellow giant, a joyous start to countless days. And Hydrium, a bright blue luminary whose evening watch meant the day's resolution, a preparation for the dark embrace of night. Now they circled each other at their zenith, a celestial dance that always, always meant noon.
His legs moved with a continuous, automatic rhythm, marking the passage of hours that should have built a deep ache in his muscles. But the ache never came. Instead, a steady, unfamiliar power thrummed within him, a resonant rhythm that whispered he could walk like this forever. Why does this feel so easy?
The question was just cohering in his mind when the trees finally thinned, parting like a stage curtain to reveal a stone-gray giant of a mountain—Endor Mountain.
But its peak was not the white, familiar crown he somehow remembered from another life. Carved into its very summit was a city. A wall of sheer, pale stone encircled it—Eryndor. It had to be. His breath caught. Beyond the formidable battlements, the shadowy spines of a few towers speared the azure sky, but the city's heart remained a secret, stubbornly hidden from the outside world.
The path ahead stretched a considerable distance to the mountain's foot, then transformed into a stone serpent, coiling up and around the colossal rock face. It led to a single, narrow gate—a toothless mouth in the immense wall. From that narrow gap, Zane could just glimpse the city's interior, a blurry hint of life and structure distorted by the distance, the mysteries of Eryndor still jealously guarded from his sight.
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As they approached the gate, two soldiers flanked the entrance, their armor gleaming like oiled slate. An emerald the size of a robin's egg was set into each of their breastplates. Plumes of deep crimson feathers swept back from helmets that obscured their faces completely, rendering them impersonal, living statues.
Zane braced for a challenge—for demanded papers, for suspicious glares leveled at the strange, brown-headed outsider. But it never came. In perfect, silent unison, the two guards stepped aside, clearing the path. Their blank, metal gazes fixed on some distant point ahead, utterly ignoring him as he passed. A thread of unease coiled in his stomach. Why no challenge? Is this for me, or for the concept of an "ancestor"?
The city's interior was on another level entirely. Structures of elegant, impossible standards stood side by side, no two alike in size or shape, yet all carved from the same pale stone, plastered and laid with intricate designs that defied any mundane geometry. The architecture was so exquisite it lent the entire city an overly artistic, almost theatrical look, as if it were a grand exhibition rather than a living place.
A wide central street, inlaid with elaborate, swirling patterns, stretched from the entrance to a monumental, domed structure in the distance. Narrower arteries branched off, giving glimpses of the city's deeper life.
Zane followed the Gentlets, his gaze sweeping the scene. It was unlike anything on Earth, even in the most ambitious films. The designs were fluid and elegant, carved into every surface, a language of form and line. On Earth, it might have been called 19th-century neoclassical, but here it was something else—softer, more organic, and infinitely more sophisticated.
Down the branching streets, he saw horse-drawn carriages and Gentish children at play. He spotted only a few elder Gentlets, standing like serene sentinels, watching the children or moving with a slow, deliberate grace.
They walked on until they reached the domed building. It was more monumental than the others, a hexagon of pale stone crowned by a vast, glassy dome supported by intricately fluted marble columns. The entrance was a vaulted affair held aloft by two ornate golden pillars, leading to a smooth marmoreal veranda and, finally, to arched double doors of rich brown wood, elaborate golden depictions gleaming from the archway.
Blendriad moved forward and pushed the doors open. The three other Gentlets followed, with Zane close behind.
The interior was even more piquant. A polished marble floor, its elaborate patterns all converging at the center of the vast hall, like a stone mandala. Small, square pillars stood at strategic points, each displaying vases, delicate statues, or vibrant, alien flowers. The entire arrangement nagged at him, a déjà vu of a visit to the Achron Mausoleum, a relic exhibit center he had toured on a school trip.
The realization was dawning, murky but insistent. He was remembering things he had never lived, seeing echoes of a past that wasn't his. Whose memories are these? The fragments didn't form a coherent narrative, only adding to the disorienting wonder of this realm. It grew more fascinating with every passing second.
"I request a meeting with the Council," Blendriad announced.
A Gentish woman sat at a reception desk nestled in a marble booth in an eerily empty corner. Dressed in a neat navy blue suit and clerk's cap, she didn't speak. She simply pulled a cord hanging above her head, then placed her palm flat on a clear orb mounted on a wooden stand beside her.
Silence stretched, thin and expectant. Blendriad stood perfectly still, satisfied. Then, a tremor. The ground shuddered subtly, and a large, circular portion of the floor around them began to rise, tearing smoothly from the rest. Only the reception area remained stationary.
The platform ascended into the dome, stopping high above the main floor. They now stood in a vibrant, colorful atmosphere, light from the stained glass dome casting shifting hues across the platform. Before them arced a semi-circular wooden structure that stretched high—a podium where council members would sit, constructed so they looked down from a great height upon anyone standing below.
There was a moment of suspended silence. Then, hooded figures appeared on the high wooden platforms, popping into existence as if from nowhere. They wore deep purple robes, their heads shadowed by hoods. The kaleidoscopic light from the dome made it impossible to see their faces, leaving only dark, imposing silhouettes.
"What brings you here, younglings?" A rich, heavy voice boomed through the chamber, emanating from nowhere and everywhere at once.
Easyglow stepped forward, stealing a quick, triumphant glance at Blendriad. "Forgive the intrusion, Senior Elders. We were returning from a hunt when we chanced upon an ancestor lying by the Travore Well. We brought him to the city and now seek the Council's guidance."
Blendriad's face soured, his expression grudging as he watched Easyglow claim the moment.
"You have all done a great service in reporting this to us, and in bringing our esteemed guest to Eryndor. You will be greatly rewarded." The voice enveloped them, resonant and final.
"The Council would now speak with our guest alone. You will be contacted to discuss your rewards. The younglings may take their leave."
"We—" both Blendriad and Easyglow began in unison. They cut off, glaring at one another. Blendriad cleared his throat, a clear signal for Easyglow to stand down.
"We have nothing more to say. We will take our leave."
With that, the platform descended, leaving Zane alone on the central circular section. It rose again moments later, now bearing only him before the Council.
"The Council greets the esteemed guest. Eryndor is blessed to have you." The entire assembly of hooded figures bowed as one. A powerful, tangible pressure descended upon the chamber, a weight of attention that seemed to press solely on Zane's shoulders.
"Please, don't flatter me too much," Zane replied, his voice steady despite the pressure. "The honor is mine. I am grateful to be welcomed into your beautiful city."
The pressure vanished as abruptly as it had appeared when the Council members raised their heads.
"What brings the esteemed guest to our beloved Eryndor?" the chamber boomed, asking the question for which Zane had been desperately preparing an answer.