Dressed in their standard navy blue officer uniforms—clean lines, high collars, the understated sheen of duty and diplomacy, no jumpsuits today. Andersson's crew moved with purpose through the docking bay. There was an energy in the air: not quite tension, not quite excitement. A tempered anticipation. The kind that comes with knowing you're about to take a step into someone else's myth.
The shuttle waited, sleek and silent, its hull marked by a subtle Thedan sigil just beneath the viewport. Standing beside it was a Stonari attendant—short, broad, thick dark beard, and clad in reinforced workwear that had clearly seen its share of welding sparks and engine coolant. Copper-toned goggles sat perched on his forehead, glinting in the overhead light. His slate-grey skin looked almost metallic in the bay's cold glow.
"Captain," he said, his voice gravel and steel. "Your shuttle is ready. Have a safe journey."
Andersson gave a nod, offering a brief but genuine smile. "Appreciated."
With a soft hiss, the shuttle's doors parted, and the crew stepped aboard. The cabin sealed behind them, pressure adjusting with a muted chime. The engines engaged with a barely audible hum, smooth and precise.
The ascent was steady, the autopilot seamlessly guiding them away from the spaceport and toward the dense forests beyond.
As the shuttle ascended, leaving the spaceport behind, the city of Vael-Theron soon faded into the distance. Beyond its elegant spires and sweeping sky bridges, the landscape opened into a breathtaking panorama—one that none of them had seen before. The continent of Arlathan stretched beneath them, a tapestry of ancient beauty woven with both nature and civilization. Rolling plains, golden in the afternoon light, unfurled toward the horizon, cut through by shimmering rivers that wound their way through the land like silver threads. Settlements dotted the landscape, their architecture blending seamlessly with the natural world—stone towers and domed structures nestled against hillsides, bridges arching over wide, glistening lakes.
Reece leaned forward, eyes bright with admiration. "Now that is something else," he murmured. "Like someone took every picturesque European city and dialed it up to eleven."
Andersson nodded, taking in the winding streets and canals, the way the buildings, though clearly advanced, bore an undeniable sense of age—like they had stood for centuries, evolving with time rather than against it. Some settlements clung to the shores of vast lakes, their reflections rippling across the crystal-clear water, reminiscent of Lake Como back on Earth. Others perched atop cliffs, overlooking valleys bathed in golden light, their structures carved into the stone itself, forming a seamless bond between civilization and nature.
Hale exhaled, shaking her head in quiet awe. "This place doesn't just look untouched—it looks preserved. The people here figured out how to build a world without ruining it."
The shuttle continued its smooth trajectory, the plains and settlements giving way to rugged, forested mountains in the distance. The towering peaks loomed ahead, their slopes shrouded in wisps of mist, their jagged summits dusted with ice. Rivers cascaded from hidden springs, forming waterfalls that plunged into deep, pristine lakes below.
Andersson tore his gaze from the mountains as the shuttle banked westward, its course shifting toward the vast ocean that separated this land from the Brelan continent.
The water stretched endlessly, a blue-green expanse so clear that even from this height, they could make out the undisturbed sands of the ocean floor near the shallows. Dotted across the sea were small islands, some thick with lush vegetation, others little more than rocky outcrops rising defiantly from the waves.
Reece pressed his forehead against the glass, his eyes scanning the surface below. "Not gonna lie, I half expect to see a sea monster pop up any second."
As if in response, a shadow moved beneath the waves—a sleek, sinuous shape gliding just beneath the surface before disappearing into the depths.
Hale arched an eyebrow. "You might not be wrong."
Andersson smirked. "Let's just hope it doesn't mistake our shuttle for lunch."
They flew on, the ocean beneath them an unbroken expanse of serenity, untainted by pollution, the air crisp even within the confines of the shuttle. Compared to Earth's battered oceans, the purity of Thedas's waters was almost startling.
Reece let out a breath, shaking his head. "Damn. I don't think I've ever seen water this clear before."
Andersson nodded in quiet agreement, letting the moment sink in. This wasn't just another planet—it was something else entirely.
And ahead, beyond the endless ocean, lay the Elarin continent of Brelan.
The land came into view like something out of legend. At first, it was only mist, swirling along the horizon like breath over glass. Then, the trees emerged—impossibly vast, their emerald canopy stretching further than the eye could follow, rolling on forever.
The sheer density of the tree coverage was staggering. A rolling sea of emerald spread beneath them, broken only by winding rivers, shimmering lakes, and the jagged peaks of distant mountains. Mist coiled through the treetops, swirling lazily over the landscape as if the land itself exhaled with the dawn. The thick canopy concealed much of what lay beneath, but here and there, in clearings near water or nestled in craggy highlands, they spotted signs of habitation—small settlements blended seamlessly into the landscape, almost indistinguishable from the wilderness around them.
Hale leaned closer to the viewport, her eyes scanning the vast green expanse below. "You could lose an entire fleet down there and never find it again," she murmured.
Reece let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "I can't believe how untouched this place is. It's like the whole world is one giant forest."
Andersson nodded, watching as the shuttle began its descent. The transition had been swift—morning light bathed this side of the world, meaning they had crossed several time zones in mere minutes.
"Approaching Virehn," the shuttle's autopilot announced smoothly through the cabin.
Hale adjusted her belt, glancing at the shuttle console. "If the rest of the Elarin are anything like Fenris, we're not exactly getting a parade."
"Karass arranged this," Andersson said, though he wasn't entirely convinced that would make things easier. "That should count for something."
As they drew closer, the city came into view—a breathtaking sight that defied anything they had seen before.
Virehn was not built on the land but within the trees themselves. Towering trunks, as thick as fortresses, rose high into the sky, their branches sprawling outward to cradle elegantly curved structures that seemed to have grown as naturally as the forest around them. The architecture was a delicate blend of the organic and the engineered—wooden towers with sweeping, elongated rooftops spiraled gracefully into the air, their surfaces carved with intricate geometric patterns that glowed faintly in the soft morning light.
Bridges of woven root and vine arched between massive trees, connecting platforms and walkways that wove seamlessly through the canopy. Below, waterfalls cascaded into crystal-clear streams, winding their way through the forest floor, their surfaces catching the light like scattered gemstones. Bioluminescent orbs, suspended like stars, flickered softly among the foliage, illuminating the shaded paths that wound through the lower levels of the city.
"That," Reece exhaled, eyes wide, "is incredible."
"It's like something out of a myth," Hale murmured.
Andersson didn't respond immediately, still absorbing the view as they descended further. There was an undeniable harmony to it all— Virehn did not impose upon nature, nor did it appear built to control it. It was simply a part of the forest, as much as the trees themselves.
As the shuttle prepared to land on an open-air platform, Andersson straightened in his seat. "Well," he said, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Let's try not to make fools of ourselves in front of the Elarin."
With a soft thud, the shuttle settled onto the landing zone. The doors hissed open, and a wave of crisp, cool air flooded inside, carrying with it the scent of pine, damp earth, and something older, something deeply ingrained in the lifeblood of the forest. The hum of nature surrounded them—birds calling from the heights, the distant murmur of flowing water, the whisper of leaves shifting in the wind.
But what struck them the most wasn't the serene beauty—it was the life of the city.
Virehn wasn't just a relic of the past or a meditative retreat hidden in the trees. It was bustling, thriving. The soft glow of the bioluminescent pathways illuminated families strolling together, children darting between the towering roots, laughing as they chased shimmering orbs of light that floated through the air like playful fireflies. Street vendors stood at intricately woven wooden stalls, their wares displayed not on tables but hovering in elegant levitation fields—artisan-crafted weapons, shimmering fabrics infused with energy, and what appeared to be delicacies wrapped in translucent leaves that pulsed gently as though still alive.
A group of musicians played nearby, their instruments unlike anything Andersson had ever seen—harps strung with filaments of light, drums that resonated with deep, melodic hums rather than percussive beats. A pair of acrobats balanced effortlessly on twisting vines, the plants responding to their movements, coiling and unwinding as if they were an extension of their limbs.
A floating platform drifted overhead, carrying what seemed to be a moving garden—a lush, miniature ecosystem of glowing flowers and delicate vines, tended by Elarin caretakers who manipulated the flora with gentle hand movements, shaping growth with nothing but their presence. A child nearby mimicked their motions, and to Andersson's astonishment, the vines responded, curling toward the small hands in a slow, gentle dance.
There were no security patrols, no towering walls or checkpoints. The city had a peace to it, a sense of safety that was rare even among the most advanced cities on Earth. It was a place where people could let their children run freely, where danger seemed distant, if it existed here at all.
As they moved deeper into the city, Hale's gaze sharpened, her eyes flicking over the people around them. "Look at their markings," she murmured, her voice low but unmistakably serious.
Andersson followed her line of sight. Many of the Elarin bore glowing, intricate tattoos similar to Fenris's—etched across their arms, their throats, even their faces. Not decorative, not purely ceremonial. They were marks of something else. Of ownership, once.
"Lyrium brands," Reece muttered under his breath. "Like Fenris."
Andersson exhaled slowly, taking it in. In a city that looked like it had stepped out of a dream, here was a reminder of its reality. For all its beauty, its seamless connection to nature, Brelen had its scars. It was thriving, yes—but it had not been untouched by suffering.
"They were slaves," Hale said, her tone unreadable, though there was something tight in her jaw. "Maybe not them personally, but their ancestors. They carry the past with them."
Andersson watched as a group passed by—an older woman with the same luminous lines curling up her neck, a younger man walking beside her, his own markings partially hidden beneath the high collar of his robe. They weren't trying to erase them. They weren't trying to forget. This was history written on the body. A reminder that survival wasn't just about enduring—but about owning the scars left behind.
"This place looks like peace," Reece murmured, "but the rest of the world clearly didn't let them have it easily."
Andersson nodded, his gaze drifting back to the floating gardens above, to the laughter of children, to the quiet strength in the way the Elarin carried themselves. A civilization that had endured, that had been shaped by its suffering but had refused to be defined by it.
"Maybe that's why it feels different here," Andersson said finally. "This isn't just a sanctuary—it's survival."
The moment of reflection was interrupted by an approaching figure, flanked by a group of aides. His presence commanded attention before he even spoke.
The man leading them was nothing short of arresting—tall and poised, with an elegance that seemed to settle into every movement like it belonged there. His black skin held a subtle luster beneath the canopy light, smooth and radiant in a way that complemented the bold, sweeping tattoos marking his angular face. The ink curled like smoke over one high cheekbone, accentuating the line of his jaw and the arch of his brow. His ears were finely pointed, his hair cropped close in soft black curls, and his expression—serene, confident, and faintly amused—suggested a man who never had to raise his voice to be heard. But it was his eyes that truly held you: striking, crystalline grey with the faintest ring of violet, calm yet unblinking—like he was already five moves ahead and waiting for you to catch up.
His attire was sleek and impeccably tailored, more architectural than ceremonial—deep grey fabric with a subtle matte finish, structured with black piping and panels that gave the entire ensemble a sculpted, armor-adjacent silhouette. The high collar framed his neck with effortless precision, and the layered textures—smooth weaves, ribbed insets, subtle embossing—drew the eye without ever shouting for attention. The entire look was functional, elegant, and unmistakably regal. A uniform for someone who didn't need a crown to command respect.
Andersson was caught off guard—visibly, if only for a second. His stride faltered ever so slightly, his gaze lingering just a bit too long before he cleared his throat and looked away.
Reece noticed. He didn't say anything—yet—but one eyebrow arched with exquisite timing, a slow grin spreading as he kept walking.
When he finally spoke, it was with the kind of rich, velvet tone that could turn a diplomatic statement into something that felt like poetry. Low, calm, and smooth as silk, it settled over the group like warm wine. "Captain Andersson," he said, his lips curling into an intrigued smirk. "Welcome to Virehn. I am First Minister Davrin, and I will be overseeing your visit to Elarin lands."
Andersson straightened slightly, caught off guard. "First Minister?" He exhaled, shaking his head lightly. "I didn't realize I was meeting the leader of the Elarin people. I would have been better prepared."
He gestured quickly to his companions. "This is Commander Reece, and Lieutenant Hale—my second and third in command."
Reece and Hale both bowed instinctively, the motion stiff and slightly too deep—like they weren't entirely sure if they were meeting a king, a prophet, or both. They'd met powerful figures before, but Davrin's presence carried a different weight—less brute force than Karass, but no less commanding. There was a quiet intensity to him, a kind of regality that didn't need to announce itself.
Davrin inclined his head, the motion graceful, almost reverent. "There is no need for formality. You are our honored guests—we have long awaited your return." His voice was rich and steady, with a warmth that seemed to resonate in the air around him. "Your people are sacred to us. Though your arrival was foretold, I am still deeply humbled to be in your presence."
Andersson hesitated, clearly caught off guard. "Thanks," he managed, rubbing the back of his neck. "So, uh… nice forest you've got here."
Davrin's smile widened, amused but kind. He inclined his head again, eyes twinkling. "Come," he said, gesturing smoothly down the path ahead. "Allow me to show you our home. There is much for you to see… and much more to understand."