The morning sun in Vaelith never possessed the searing, oppressive heat that Dayat remembered from the concrete jungles of Jakarta. Instead, the rays that filtered through the colossal canopy of the World Tree were softened into a soothing hue of golden-green, casting long, ethereal shadows across the bark-paved streets. It was a light that didn't just illuminate; it seemed to heal the skin.
Dayat walked with a relaxed stride along the mid-tier boughs, a region known as the Althar District. Here, the hustle and bustle of daily life felt more human—or rather, more "Elven." There was no thunderous roar of steam engines or the choking stench of coal that defined the industrial zones of Bakasa. The only sounds were the melodic babble of water flowing through organic wooden pipes and the crystalline songs of tiny birds perched on windowsills of houses that had grown, quite literally, from the trunk of the tree itself.
