Some months ago...
The Grove, ancient and sacred, had long been a place of solace for Elion Miradove. Drawn there by the weight of loneliness after his bonded pair departed Arandor, the usually vibrant and lighthearted Wood Elf now carried a quiet melancholy. The trees whispered comfort, their leaves a soft chorus of empathy, but they could not fill the void he felt within.
It was deep in the heart of The Grove that Elion stumbled upon a peculiar wooden figurine. Carved in the likeness of a stunningly beautiful Wood Elf woman, her face bore a mischievous smile that seemed almost alive. When he touched the figurine, the world shimmered and dissolved around him.
Elion found himself in a realm of breathtaking beauty, the air alive with playful breezes and the scent of blossoms that did not grow in the mortal world. Before him stood the woman from the figurine, her smile warm and impish.
“Feeling a bit heavy-hearted, are we?” she asked, cocking her head. “Come now, there’s no room for sulking here.”
“I... Where am I?” Elion stammered, overwhelmed by the vibrant surroundings.
She waved a hand dismissively. “Where you are isn’t nearly as important as how you feel. And you, dear elf, are in dire need of some joy. Luckily for you, I am an expert at finding it.” She put her hands on her hips, laughing as she threw her head back, "No, I am THE expert at finding it!"
Before Elion could respond, she grabbed his hand and led him into a series of games and challenges. They raced through fields of golden light, exchanged quips over games of chance, and climbed radiant trees in a contest to see who could reach the top first. Her laughter was infectious, drawing out the humor and wit Elion thought he’d lost. Her games, though frivolous on the surface, seemed to chip away at the walls he’d built around his heart.
When Elion faltered, she nudged him back into motion. “You’re a natural at this, you know. A few more rounds, and you might even best me!”
Days—or what felt like days—passed in this realm. The woman never tired of inventing new distractions or engaging Elion in playful banter. Slowly, his burdens lightened, and his laughter became unrestrained, free.
One evening, as they prepared for an extravagant feast beneath a sky ablaze with stars, two figures emerged from the shadows. Their arrival silenced the whimsical energy of the realm. The first, a tall and commanding presence, exuded an air of authority that made even the leaves hush. The second was massive, his build reminiscent of a mountain given life, his silence more imposing than any words could have been.
The woman’s playful grin faltered, replaced by a mock pout. “Oh, you two,” she sighed. “I was only trying to help.”
The tall figure spoke, his voice steady and firm. “You know you are not supposed to meddle.”
She threw up her hands in exaggerated frustration, her cheeks puffing out. “And you know none of you ever do it, so it falls to me. Look at him—he needed this.” Elion wanted to move, but found himself firmly rooted to his chair. Still, for all that, he felt not a hint of fear.
The silent giant stepped forward, his expression unreadable. Without a word, he reached out and effortlessly scooped her up as if she weighed nothing. She laughed, kicking her legs like a mischievous child caught in the act.
“This is exactly why I meddle,” she protested, her grin never fading. “None of you play with me! This is your fault, really.”
The commanding figure ignored her protests and turned to Elion, his piercing gaze softer than his words. “You will leave this place now. Remember only what you need, and carry it with you.”
As the words echoed, the figurine crumbled into ash in Elion’s hand, and the radiant realm faded. The woman’s laughter was the last sound he heard as darkness claimed him.
Elion awoke on the temple bluff in Arandor, the dawn painting the city in golden light. Though he could not recall what had happened in the dream, he felt an unshakable peace. The weight he had carried was gone, replaced by a warmth he could not explain.
Compelled to return to The Grove, he rode south to the sacred woods. Yet when he arrived, the heart of The Grove—the place where he had found the figurine—was closed to him. No path, no light, no trace of the magical place he had been. Strangely, this did not trouble him. He felt no need to push further, content with what had been given, even if he could not remember it.
The burden he had carried was gone, and though the memory of what transpired eluded him, Elion knew he had been unburdened. The Grove had given him what he needed, and for that, he was grateful.