**Gaia’s POV**

The grand hall of Volcano Valley’s compound was alive with warmth and light, transformed into a haven of celebration under the harvest moon. Garlands of moon apples—plump, glowing fruits that had become the valley’s signature—draped from the rafters, their sweet scent mingling with the aroma of roasted meats and spiced cider. Tables groaned under platters of abundance: apple-stuffed venison, fresh breads, and pies bursting with the fruit’s juicy filling. ...