Under the boughs of trees that rose like cathedral spires, where light filtered down in golden sheets and the forest floor glowed with amber and rust, the glades of Sylvarion stirred with slow, reverent breath. It was Longfall — the one day held in Autumn’s grasp where song softened and memory ruled. All around, the forest changed into ceremony. Leaves drifted in wide, spiralling arcs and settling on cloaks and shoulders….