As Lunara began descending into the village built atop the colossal tree, she was struck by the sheer wonder of it all.
The world around her felt like a dream—like something pulled from the wildest legends whispered between witches around campfires.
But this wasn't a dream. This was real. She was walking among them.
Massive wooden platforms layered with moss and vine connected the scattered treehouses.
Rope bridges stretched across branches the size of entire roads, and from above, birds soared lazily beneath the open canopy.
The air smelled like fresh leaves, pollen, and something sweet—perhaps the giant fruit she'd heard about.
Lunara moved slowly, almost in disbelief. Her boots barely made a sound against the soft wooden floor as she weaved through the crowd of witches.
They all seemed so calm, so immersed in their everyday lives—carrying baskets, hanging clothes, or chatting while their children played.
