"This is… my mother." Max's voice was barely a whisper, yet it echoed clearly through the silent hall, reaching every ear.
For a moment, no one moved.
No one breathed.
Shock rippled through the crowd like a silent wave, freezing them in place. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air. Eyes widened. Mouths parted, but no words came out.
The three statues standing before them were far from ordinary—they were sacred, revered by every elf not just as relics of the past, but as the very source of their strength and existence. To the elven race, these statues were more than stone—they were life itself. But behind the reverence lay a deeper truth, one rooted in ancient legend.
According to the stories passed down through countless generations, these statues were not crafted by mortal hands. They were manifestations of powerful elves from a higher dimension, beings whose might was said to rival that of true gods.
