Far away in the heart of the Sea of Tranquility, the Blue Flame Archipelago dotted the boundless azure canvas like gems carelessly scattered by a god.
At night, Moonstone Port, on the archipelago's outer rim, lay bathed in a strange, gentle glow... It came not from the twin moons overhead, but from searchlight runestones elven artisans had hastily erected, floating in midair.
Their light was as cool as moonlight, yet brighter and more focused, illuminating a complicated picture of recovery after disaster intertwined with stubborn scars.
Nearly half of the port's once-graceful curved piers remained charred, twisted wreckage, like a mermaid's torn tail fins lying limply in the unnaturally still seawater.
The familiar blend of salty sea breeze and spices from merchant ships no longer filled the air. In its place lingered a stubborn scorched smell, like the aftermath of a lightning strike.
The High Elves Eliunor stood at the end of the main pier.
He stood tall and straight, his long silver-white hair shimmering faintly beneath the runestones' glow, as elegant as ever.
Yet his emerald eyes, green enough to reflect the stars, now held an unrelenting gravity.
Three months.
Three whole months.
He, his investigative team, and helpers from other elven families had worked here day and night, clearing rubble, comforting frightened human residents, and trying to read the truth of that catastrophe from this brutally ravaged land.
Through combat reports from elves who had returned to the World Tree through "Life’s Final Redemption," and vivid accounts from human laborers who had survived the attack on the port, Eliunor had gained some understanding of what had happened.
First, the port's defense fleet had come under attack in waters beyond visual range. Faced with a small unidentified fleet containing a massive ship, the similarly sized Moonstone Fleet had offered