They stepped onto the Crownroot tier.
And there it was.
The amphitheatre unfolded like a breath held for centuries and finally released.
Built into a hollow of the Tree of Life, the arena was not made—but grown. Smooth natural walls curved like cupped hands around the stage below. Rows upon rows of seating rose in rings, formed from thick petals hardened into platforms, each one veined with glowing sap. Nobles stood in fine robes, jeweled circlets catching the sun. Citizens stood farther up, wrapped in brightly dyed sashes, flower garlands adorning their hair. Acolytes in pale tunics sang in harmony, their voices weaving into a hymn as old as the kingdom itself.
Above it all, golden leaves drifted slowly from the upper canopy, carried by lazy, circling breezes. They sparkled in the sun like fragments of falling stars, and the spell woven into them ensured they would never land roughly—only settle like kisses on shoulders and brows.
