The group stepped into a cozy little plaza, where the air hummed with quiet magic. At its heart loomed a towering statue, carved from the gnarled trunk of an ancient magic tree, a wood so rare in human lands it was worth more than castles.
The statue stretched dozens of meters high, its surface smooth and glowing faintly under the sunlight.
Around its base, small fountains bubbled cheerfully, their water rising in delicate streams before dissolving into a fine mist that danced in the light.
The scene was breathtaking, like stepping into a dream woven from nature itself.
Renjiro's lips quivered as his gaze settled on the statue's face. It wasn't the Goddess staring back at him—it was him, crown and all, etched in perfect detail.
He turned to Elaria, who stood at his side, her hair catching the mist. "When did this go up?" he asked, his voice low but curious.
