Solrendel rose before them like a crown carved into the mountain's bone.
The white towers shimmered under moonlight, spearing up from the city's layered terraces like spears frozen mid-thrust. Veins of soft amber light poured from high windows.
Bridges arced between spires. The ancient trees lining the outer courts sparkled with embedded mana stones that hummed like distant bells.
And still, there was no mistaking the tension growing below.
Elves looked up.
Dozens. Then hundreds.
On balconies. From city walls. Across bridges. Along the sloped avenues.
Their heads tilted skyward with wide, unreadable expressions.
Some reached for their weapons.
Others clutched cloaks tighter around their shoulders.
Because even in Eldorath, especially in Eldorath, a full-grown dragon in flight was no casual thing.
Lindarion saw the moment panic would ripple outward.
