Afternoon, 2:00 PM.
Eastern Kalmara City, Verdant Glen Gardens.
The gardens stretched wide beneath the afternoon sun, a sprawling sanctuary of green tucked away from the city's noise. Stone pathways wound through carefully tended beds of flowers in full bloom, their colors bright against the dark soil. Tall trees lined the outer edges, their canopies casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across the ground. The air was clean and cool, carrying the faint scent of jasmine and freshly turned earth.
A small stream ran through the heart of the gardens, its water clear and slow-moving, crossed by a low wooden bridge worn smooth by years of footsteps. Birds called to each other from the branches above, and the only other sounds were the soft crunch of gravel underfoot and the distant murmur of other visitors enjoying the peace.
