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At the border of the dwarven kingdom, in the Ironforge Bastion where the elves were encamped, Gewen sat alone in a wooden hut, his gaze fixed on the emerald leaf in his hands. Upon its glossy surface, faint words shimmered into view—etched not by ink, but by life itself. His brows furrowed, the weight of what he read settling into his expression like a shadow.
"The elves' perception of the dwarves has been distorted. Our allies, under the influence of devils, have become objects of suspicion and disdain. Gewen, you appear to be the most affected—both due to your disposition and the unusually high concentration of corruption around you."
This was a one-time communication sent through a leaf from the Tree of Life, taking advantage of the sacred link between leaf and tree.
"That baseless hostility and paranoia I felt toward the dwarves… My thoughts were twisted by a devil's power.
"I became obsessed, convinced that the dwarves were the ones responsible for the Tree's ailments. That's why I insisted on coming here personally. They wanted me out of the way… but why me, of all people?"
Gewen laced his fingers beneath his chin, deep in contemplation. Of all the elven elders, he was among the least powerful. There was no strategic reason to isolate him.
"There's no way to return now. Still, Liaheim should be able to withstand any threat. I can only hope that all is well."
He sighed heavily. If it were possible, he would have returned at once, but he was simply too far away to return in time.
A knock broke the silence. Gewen turned and lifted a hand. Vines curled back like obedient...
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