The Exalted Peaks

Hidden among jagged, mist-shrouded mountains of Quyrie-Ève lies a land known as the Exalted Peaks, a place where the air hums with the soft chime of bells and the earth itself breathes with ancient magic. It is a land of paradoxes, where towering, moss-covered trees with leaves that glow with an inner luminescence grow alongside mountains of black, volcanic rock. The rivers that carve through Aethelgard's valleys don't just flow with water, but with liquid so clear it reflects the stars even in daylight, and in some rare places, it is said they carry particles of pure light, illuminating the riverbeds with a soft, ethereal glow.   This is the fabled birthplace of the Satyrs (at least according to the Valéquyrie), a people distinguished by the magnificent horns that crown their heads. It is a location that those who practice Chevric Fundamentalism strive their whole lives to return to once they die.   The landscape of the Exalted Peaks is a testament to time and a silent, profound power. Colossal, crystalline geodes are embedded in the mountainsides, their facets catching the light and casting rainbows across the valleys. The flora is unlike anything found in the outside world; bioluminescent fungi grow in spiral patterns on ancient tree trunks, and flowers bloom in hues of silver and deep indigo, their petals humming with a low-frequency vibration that can be felt in the chest. At the heart of the Exalted Peaks lies the Whispering Glade, a forest of trees at the highest summit within the mountain range, whose leaves are said to hold the memories of the land. When the wind blows through them, it creates a sound like a gentle sigh, carrying whispers of history and forgotten tales.   The Peaks are a place of deep harmony, where the wild and the serene coexist. The predatory creatures of this land are not savage; they are merely part of the intricate balance. Stone guardians, resembling ancient golems, stand silently at the entrances to sacred groves, their forms weathered by millennia of wind and rain. The very ground is imbued with a life force, and it is said that if one listens closely, they can hear the heartbeat of Quyrie-Ève itself—a slow, steady thrum that resonates with the rhythm of the seasons and the cycle of life and death.   The land is protected not by walls or armies, but by the will of the mountains themselves, which shift and change to conceal their secret from outsiders. The mists that eternally cling to the peaks are not merely weather; they are a living veil, guided by the land's own magic to confuse and misdirect all who are not meant to find it.   For those few who have ever breached the veil and seen Aethelgard, the memory of its silent grandeur and profound beauty becomes a tale to be whispered in hushed tones—a reminder that some of the world's greatest wonders are not built, but born, and that they are meant to be cherished, not conquered.