Summer was always a joyous occasion.

With the sun's rays casting a familiar orange glow across the sky, the Woodlands were bathed in a warm light that danced upon the foliage of the trees and mingled with the ever-changing clouds. Each cloud, rolling ceaselessly, assumed its own unique form and variation, embarking on an endless escapade devoid of purpose or thought, heedless of the profound impact it had on the world below.

The trees, sensing the changing season, prepared to welcome its arrival.

Once unyieldingly entrenched in the depths of the soil, their roots now embarked on a courageous journey, traversing through the heavy darkness. Sinuously snaking and coiling, they swayed to an unknown tune concealed in the deepest reaches of the earth. The very ground cracked and quivered as fissures marred its surface, unveiling the presence of gnarled and weathered tendrils–the lingering remnants of a bygone era.

As the morning light caressed the swaying roots, the trees responded in a graceful dance, their branches yearning towards the heavens. They straightened, extended, stretched, and elongated. Meanwhile, their leaves shimmered and shifted, adorning themselves with a kaleidoscope of colors—fiery reds, deep blues, royal purples, and vibrant greens merged together.

The trees’ bark gleamed under the sun’s gaze and alternated from its once bluish tone to a rich brown hue. Its texture seemed to come alive, radiating a subtle luster.

With each passing moment, the trees grew more formidable. Standing tall and firm, now better suited to assume their role as silent sentinels. As the mayhem settled into stillness, a young child sat upon the forest floor, continuing his drawing.

In the solitude of the forest, the scratching of a pencil against paper became the dominant sound. Guided by the child’s gentle pressure, the tip of the pencil danced across the surface, tracing lines and curves.

Occasionally, a pause ensued, and the child’s pencil would hover momentarily, lost in perfectly capturing the now blurry face.

As lines grew bolder and more defined, a countenance gradually materialized from the paper he held in his hands.

Casting a swift glance at the emerging visage, the child released a subdued sigh, finding it lacking what he sought.

With a familiar resignation, he let the sketch slip from his fingers, watching it drift to a nearby river, carried away by its flowing current. Attempting to banish the thoughts of his failure, he shifted his focus to the wonders unfolding before his eyes.

The warm summer air caressed his skin, making its presence felt and slowly spreading across the Woodlands, breathing life into the flora.

He observed as the flowers began to bud, and the birds chirped, their songs harmonizing with the gentle sound of streaming water nearby. The mossy rocks beneath the child were soft and comfortable, and the air started carrying a faint earthly smell.

As he gazed upon the river's mirrored surface, the child caught sight of his own reflection—a naturally pale face that contrasted sharply with the warm, sun-kissed rocks he was sitting on.

Thick strands of black hair fell across his forehead, framing his face in a messy yet endearing way, covering his violet eyes and a pair of ears that seemed slightly too large for his head.

After an uncertain length of time, footsteps quietly resounded in the empty forest grounds. The child turned his head and saw a young woman approaching him.

Her eyes were of the same color as his own, sparkling with an inner light that drew people in. Her black hair cascaded down her back in long, flowing waves, each strand appearing soft and silky as a spider’s web. The girl's pointed ears, though large, appeared to be perfectly in place, adding to her otherworldly beauty.

The child stood up and dusted off his clothes, feeling a little self-conscious under the girl's watchful gaze. Clearing his throat, he took a step forward.

"Pray tell, Dianthirin, what brings you all the way back here? It must've been quite the walk."

Why was she here? The trees had already finished their transformation. He frowned slightly, wondering, since when she had arrived? Had she seen him drawing?

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

The woman in question tilted her head in interest. "I journeyed to see how you fared, as our parents were growing anxious. If I may ask, did you delight in beholding the transformation of the trees? It is indeed a rather astonishing display. My wonderment endures, despite having witnessed this spectacle countless times before. It is a sight of great magic indeed."

Oh, that was the reason she was here. Feeling relieved, he considered how he could respond without it sounding awkward, considering he didn’t even pay the trees much mind.

“It is… truly remarkable, even more so than Sorithym's feats.” The child paused briefly, considering how he could continue. “To think that they can change their configuration so effortlessly… These ancient magics truly are outstanding, even by today’s standards."

Dianthirin looked at him with a mix of surprise and bewilderment, as if she couldn't fathom how he could be so nonchalant about the situation. Give it to her brother, only he could behold such a marvel with such composure and tranquility. He did not appear even slightly excited! One must know that when she first witnessed the trees' transformation, she believed it to be a miracle. In fact, in some aspects, it surpassed even the casting of her essence.

"Is that all? Have you nothing more to share?" she asked, curious.

The child seemed hesitant, as if he had something to say but wasn't quite sure. After a moment of contemplation, he found the courage to speak from the depths of his heart.

“This is indeed an impressive feat, but when I think of grand magics, what comes to mind isn’t shapeshifting trees, but something more… grandiose, if you will.”

Already bracing himself for her response, he rapidly continued speaking his mind. “I’ve heard the rumors that the Witch of Dominion and her chancellor have managed to create sentient golems, mimicking the ancient S’arandrar’s powers. So, these trees, which act on mere instinct, don’t feel as awe-inspiring.”

“Sylphrym,” his sister said, drawing an exasperated breath. “By now you should know that each magic is unique. It is not such a great accomplishment for some witch to create a few golems.”

Dianthirin hesitated, contemplating what the best approach would be. Addressing the situation was essential, as Sylphrym's manner of speaking, even if unintentional, showed disrespect towards their ancestors' creations.

“Now, you should consider the merit of speaking with passion, depth, and respect, as our forefathers and foremothers did. Every word you vocalize is seen and heard by the world and magic itself and should be savored and treasured. Allow your voice to be a thing of beauty, a tapestry of sound.”

Sylphrym's gaze drifted towards the trees and flowers, as if finding them more engaging conversationalists. With disinterest coloring his voice, he replied.

“Frankly, I do not believe that magic takes an interest in our conversations, nor does it treasure them for the rest of eternity. If anything, you should speak freely and without all those restraints. As for our parents, tell them not to worry. I will be back soon. I haven’t journeyed too far into the fringes of the forest.”

With a soft sigh, Dianthirin decided to let him be. Pressing the matter any further would only lead to harm. Deep inside, she knew that he would come around eventually, in his own time and in his own way.

Inclining her head, she said, “Be aware that if you desire to refine your skill in the art of speech, I shall offer my aid. Let us return to the matter at hand—the revelry of summer approaches swiftly. Do you fare well and feel prepared to join us? Should you desire, you may stay here instead.”

Considering her brother’s solitary nature, he normally wouldn’t attend the festival. Inwardly laughing to herself, Dianthirin spoke before he could reply, taking out the metaphorical ace up her sleeve.

”Should you not have caught wind of it, the envoy hailing from Navaros has journeyed back from the City of Glimmer. Do you wish to speak with him? He has already inquired about your well-being with Sorithym."

If one observed closely, they would have witnessed the shock in Sylphrym's widened eyes.

Kaelion was coming back to the Woodlands? How come he hadn’t heard of it! How was he faring? How was the City of Glimmer? Was it as he thought it would be? Did he have any new stories to share? Did he…

Looking at his sister’s tiny smile, Sylphrym knew what his response was going to be. Still, he pondered for a moment, considering the merits of joining the festival. Although his family would permit him to remain alone in the forest, he knew they hoped he would experience its splendor.

"Sure, I'll join you for the festivities, but I hope they're as intriguing as you’ve all described." he replied, a hint of skepticism in his voice.

His sister's slight smile from earlier quickly transformed into one that was warm, genuine and full of joy. She took a deep breath and let out a cheer.

"Aye, this is grand news! Do not fret, for I am certain you shall find great joy in it."

She furrowed her brow as she thought for a moment. "May I inquire if you have composed any poems? As you might recall, Aurirym proposed the notion of a poetry contest in honor of summer’s return. However, we have plenty of time to create something worthwhile."

Sylphrym deliberated about whether he wanted to spend the next few hours writing poetry. Although he had found joy in it before, he was uncertain about doing so with her.

"Don't worry about me, I'm fine. I'll simply use one of my older poems that he hasn't seen yet," he replied, his voice tinged with a touch of hesitation.

"Aye, very well," said Dianthirin. "I shall leave you to your musings. Until we meet again in Aeloria's Glade."

With those words, she turned and began her journey back through the Woodlands, leaving Sylphrym alone amidst the swaying trees and the gentle whispers of nature. As he watched her figure disappear into the distance, a mixture of emotions washed over him.

He found a comfortable spot near the river, where the mossy rocks invited him to sit and contemplate. The sound of water rushing over pebbles filled the air, its rhythm soothing his restive thoughts

With the passage of time, Sylphrym found solace within the confines of his imaginative world. And as the forest's silent sentinels kept their vigil, he ventured into the ethereal realm of dreams.