While the Regent saw Chiron as an eyesore, he had no idea what was coming.
Then again, even if he could, he would not. After all, he was about to have his hands full with a much bigger problem.
The celebration had reached its peak.
Voices rose like a tide beneath the Mother Tree—songs, cheers, laughter born from relief and renewed hope. Petals drifted through the air like falling stars, and for a brief moment, it felt as though the elven people had truly found peace again.
Then Silmarien stepped forward.
He raised a single hand.
The Mother Tree responded first.
Its hum deepened, a low resonant pulse that rolled across the plaza like a breath held by the world itself. One by one, the cheers died down. Conversations ceased. Even the children fell silent, wide-eyed.
This was the power of the crown on his head. The power to command the mother tree that gave life to the elven society.
Once everyone had become silent.
Thousands of gazes fixed on their new king.
