The rhythm of the dance reached a climax.
The elves' bodies danced in the darkness, forming moving shadows around the Mother Tree. Each step was a vibration, a heartbeat in tune with the earth. Their bond was at its peak, a pure wave woven between them, an absolute harmony.
At the centre of the circle, Foster shone.
The Avatar of the World Tree rose around him, his figure bathed in a golden glow, his tattoos glittering like roots of light spreading across his skin. He was the pivot of the ritual, the catalyst of this sacred birth.
The elves danced faster and louder, their feet pounding the ground in a muffled drumming. The world itself seemed suspended at that moment.
Then, the universe shifted.
A wave of magic exploded out of the circle, projecting a blinding light that lit up the clearing.
The Mother Tree reacted immediately.
