The morning sun peeked over the edge of the forest, casting golden light over many roofs glazed with dew in Faymere . Chickens clucked lazily in their coops, and the faint scent of baked bread drifted through the air.
The streets were already bustling with life. Some had already left to run errands, while others were still waking up from a heavy sleep.
Unlike the rowdy village, the huge villa situated on the higher ground was as peaceful as ever.
It was surrounded by tall walls as if shielding everything inside from prying eyes.
Somewhere near the well, three children huddled under a fig tree, whispering with the exaggerated seriousness only eight-year-olds could muster.
"Do you think he's actually an elf prince?" Rory muttered to his sister while chewing on a piece of bread, filling his chubby cheeks to the extreme.
