THE TROLL WHISPERER

The snow fell softly over the Weeping Wilds, a white shroud that muffled the sounds of the forest and turned the bronze-oaks into skeletal giants. In the center of the Silent Peaks, the First Tree stood as a silent sentinel of amber and emerald, its glow dimmed to a soft, internal light. It was a time of stillness, a time for the world to dream.