Her father was lost in a daydream about the early days of Cintarzia. After he left, she looked at Raen and Elyra, closing her eyes and shaking her head ever so slightly.

Rhiane’s hair was as dark as her father’s, and she kept it in a simple braid. She preferred to concentrate on her combat skills instead of how her hair was styled.

Raen and Elyra bowed and stepped back, deciding their task was over. They had delivered the message. Elyra tried to keep her opinion on the matter to herself, but couldn’t.

“You realize we are no match for Solanzir’s dragons. I’ve seen them in the sky. They can level a forest in minutes. We rely on the trees. If the dragons burn them, what will we have?” The young elven woman asked.

Rhiane took her hand and held it in hers. She liked Elyra. She was young, and sometimes outspoken. She expected a challenging question from someone with such an intellect.

“I promise I will do all I can to convince my father to come to the right decision,” she told Elyra.

“The king may brood, but it’s understandable. He must also come up with an answer to an impossible question. I don’t envy his position,” Raen said.

Less sure of their future, both left Rhiane’s company. As an elf gifted with premonitions that sometimes came true, Rhiane saw a bold future for the young woman. She reminded her of herself at that age.

The wandering spirits of past druids dwelled among the ethereal lights of Everloch. They refused the afterlife because there was nothing like Everloch in this world or the next. The memory of its peacefulness kept them in the shadow world.

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The ghosts regretted their existence shrouded in shadow. Immortality would have been better. At least they would have some influence.

The stairs that led to the dwellings in the trees and those underground were lit by creatures with bioluminescence, gifts from the elves. They gathered in dark corners to serve the druids. In Everloch, nature was unhindered.

A meeting was taking place at the center of Everloch, within a circular dwelling. Eight druids were seated in unfinished wooden chairs. The table was made from planks of log held together and in place by magic. The table would remain intact as long as their council endured.

“Ever Rose is a threat,” Geddison said. He was tall, his dark blonde hair streaked with white. His face was that of a man in his forties, but he was much older.

His handsome face was marked with laugh lines. His blue eyes were filled with regret. Eron could tell he was out of sorts. Raile reminded him of his failure.

“Yes. It seems your Saffron continues her manipulation. You have yourself to blame for her actions,” Raile replied, his scowl deeper than usual. He had a perpetual look of displeasure on his face.

His wrinkles pinched together for an overall cantankerous appearance. In contrast to Geddison, Raile’s face was filled with frown lines. Eron spoke up.

“Geddison has walked through fire and emerged as ice. There will be no further discussion of our failings of late. They are evenly distributed throughout this council,” Eron scolded, trying to keep the druids on the subject. His long white hair had streaks of red, remnants of his original hair color.

Raile wanted Geddison to step down as leader. Eron disagreed. In his opinion, Geddison’s decision to cease his involvement with Saffron showed his strength.

He’d given up his passion to move forward from his error. It was his most trying test of all, but he chose the safety of the council over Saffron’s machinations.