The morning sun poured through the towering windows of Thalorin's home, spilling golden light across the long, polished wooden table.
The remnants of breakfast lay scattered across its surface, crumbs from freshly baked bread, the faint sheen of honey left on a silver knife, and the lingering warmth of clay cups that had once held spiced tea.
Outside, the world stirred with the quiet hum of a new day.
Birds trilled from the high branches beyond the glass, their songs weaving through the rustling leaves.
The light, soft at first, grew richer as it stretched across the room, catching on the deep grain of the wooden beams above and casting shifting patterns on the floor.
Dust motes floated lazily in its glow, dancing with each breath of air that stirred the curtains.
The air still carried the lingering aroma of warm bread, its rich, yeasty scent woven with the subtle sweetness of butter and honey.
