"Haaah…"
Roland slowly exhaled, gradually waking from a deep sleep. His consciousness felt like it was slowly surfacing from the bottom of a dark ocean.
He opened his eyes to the familiar sight of a rough stone ceiling. A few clusters of moss, embedded in the stone, cast a faint, blue glow, providing the room's only light.
The air was filled with a mixture of scents: subterranean herbs, damp rock, and the faintest hint of a chilly fragrance.
It was the characteristic scent of a Zor Elf habitat.
Three full months had passed since the world-shaking battle against Corellon's avatar.
The outcome of that battle had profoundly changed the balance of power in the region.
The Surface Elves could once again feel the call of Magic Power, regaining their long-lost ability to cast magic.
Although it would take time for them to reacquaint themselves with and master these powers, the fate of their entire Race had already reached a turning point.
