Elf Village Tyrion,
This Pocket World, guarded by the Elf Race for generations, was gently embraced by boundless forests. Every inch of land flowed with an ancient, mysterious aura, like a breathtaking painting personally crafted by the Elf Gods.
Stepping into Tyrion's forest felt like entering a dreamlike realm forgotten by time.
Sunlight filtered through layer upon layer of branches and leaves, falling like golden threads and weaving mottled patterns of light and shadow across the ground carpeted with fallen leaves.
The towering trees stood like silent giants, piercing the clouds. Their trunks were thick and twisted, like weathered wrinkles carved by the years.
A thick layer of moss covered the bark like a green velvet blanket, swaying gently in the breeze as if recounting the forest's ancient tales.
However, when Li Si came to Tyrion this time, he keenly sensed that the once peaceful and harmonious atmosphere throughout the Pocket World had changed somewhat.
The entire forest seemed shrouded in an invisible solemnity, exuding a grave and mysterious feeling.
As he walked along the winding path, the fallen leaves beneath his feet rustled, as though the forest were whispering something in a low voice.
The once cheerfully flowing stream had also grown much quieter. Its waters flowed slowly, producing clear tinkling sounds as though playing an impassioned melody.
Looking up, Li Si saw that the birds in the sky no longer sang as joyfully as usual. They perched silently upon the branches, their eyes revealing a trace of worry and unease.
What was going on?
Li Si examined the abnormalities throughout Elf Village Tyrion, somewhat surprised.
Even when the Phillips Crystal had caused its previous mutation, Tyrion had not exuded such a solemn atmosphere.
It felt as though the entire forest were facing some impending crisis.
Venturing deeper into