The Diary of Amador Vilmor (page 22)

I have crossed into the lands of Elyvandor and Valyndor, and though my pen is steady, I struggle to find words sufficient to describe what I have witnessed. These cities, home to the luminous Caeralyth, are unlike anything I have encountered, a harmony of artistry, nature, and light.
When i entered the caeralythean region I visited Valyndor first. The city stands a living masterpiece, it almost seemed to breathe with its inhabitants.
Nestled within a forest' edge amidst green hills the city blends seamlessly within. Great trees with trunks the width of stone towers support platforms and dwellings carved into their bark. Their surfaces are inlaid with endless patterns of gold and sapphire. Vines and flowers spiraling upwards, their growth seemingly guided by the artistry of the Caeralyth.

As I step through the moss-lined pathways each step it glows faintly beneath my feet. High above me, the canopy filters sunlight through a lattice of leaves and twirled branches casting the city below in shifting patterns of light and shadow.
The citizens here walked calmly among their creations although their gaze never seemed to rest with content. Whenever I made eye contact I saw a yearning for perfection. I admire it and recognize some aspects of it in myself yet it clearly weighed on them.
The Valyndians guided me through their grand forest to visit their other city; Elyvandor, on the other side. Even the path through the forest was an experience in itself, emerging in what felt like a different dimension. This was not the Thalrun I knew growing up.
Upon arriving on the other side of the forest the leaves opened giving way to another sight I will cherish until my ending days.

Elyvandor was different in its stature, it stood proud in an open landscape for all to behold. An entirely stone-built city with towers bursting in the sky aspiring to touch clouds.
Between them, vine-bridges stretched like strands of a spider's web, the river upon which the city is built runs naturally through its core.
Their stature was shorter than that of humans, and their skin seemed to radiate softly, catching the light like it was polished. And though the same people walked here, their pace seemed heightened. The time they devoted to their art was deliberate, never rushed, yet there was a fervor in their demeanor—a sense of minds always pacing ahead of their creations.
As I was guided to the grand hall within their tallest tower, the door opened to a feast for the eyes. The ceiling shimmered with embedded sanguinite, its deep crimson glow interwoven with the iridescent brilliance of a violet stone I did not recognize, said to be mined only from the desolate lands. These treasures reflected not mere wealth, but a profound pride, an unspoken declaration that this was the work of a people who valued their legacy above all else.
Seated around a massive stone table, the council members introduced themselves—not by titles of governance, but as masters of their craft. Here, respect was earned through artistry, and status was bestowed upon those whose works transcended time. I noticed something remarkable—each of these council members shone brighter than their kin.