In the heart of the Gabble Grove, a sanctum alive with the whispering of leaves and the faint stirrings of nocturnal creatures, Lok lay cradled in a bed of leaves with his arms behind his head and his gaze lost in the depths of the night sky. Beside him, Milo, nursing his wounds with a torn strip of cloth clenched between his teeth as he carefully dressed the cuts and scrapes on his arms.
The heavens above were a wonder to behold, a breathtaking composition strewn with countless points of light. The stars gleamed like tiny diamonds scattered across the inky expanse, their collective brightness challenging the darkness. The cosmic panorama was alive with vibrant hues of sapphire, violet, and indigo, their glow melding seamlessly, creating a mesmerizing mural.
Suddenly, a streak of light sliced across the sky, instantly drawing Lok's attention. "Milo, look!" he pointed out excitedly. The single shooting star was quickly joined by others, the sky becoming a shimmering waterfall of celestial bodies. It was a spectacle as brief as it was captivating.
As the meteor shower faded into nothingness, Lok turned to Milo. "In some kingdoms," he began, "it is believed that those shooting stars carry the wishes of those who look upon them, up to the heavens. As if they were cosmic messengers."
He paused, turning on his side to face Milo, "So, if you could make a wish upon a star, what would you ask for?"
Milo scoffed lightly, a bemused grin on his face. "Isn't it obvious?" he responded sounding slightly distorted as his filtered through the bandage clamped between his teeth, "I'd wish to get my memories back."
A silence descended upon them, Milo found himself observing Lok's expression, his gaze back upon the multitude of stars above. A hint of melancholy was reflected in his eyes, an unspoken longing that Milo could almost touch. It was as if Lok's face, usually so animated and full of life, was silently beseeching him to reciprocate the question.
It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but the implication hung heavily in the air between them, a silent request awaiting response. After a moment, Milo asked Lok, mirroring his previous position. "What about you, Lok? What would you wish for?"
Lok's gaze turned pensive for a moment, lost in thoughts and memories unseen. Then, his eyes met Milo's, a soft, sincere tone carried his words, "I wish I knew my mother."
-
Lok's effervescent eyes - which had just moments ago glittered with life and mischief - were now fading into nothingness. As the treant beneath them slowly succumbed to decay, so too, did the light within Lok's eyes begin to dull. Yet through the encroaching shadow of death, a ghost of his smile still lingered.
Silently, Lok offered Milo a final act of gratitude.
"Thank you" he silently mouthed. A quiet appreciation for the friendship they had shared.
He was his first friend. His only friend.
As Lok's head slumped, the fleeting life within him finally departed.
The blood covered spike, its task fulfilled, began to wither away alongside it's treant, its deadly deed imprinted on the life it had stolen.
As the body of his friend grew limp and fell, Milo managed to catch him just before he met the earth. Those vivid blue eyes, once filled with warmth and wit, now held nothing more than the cold touch of death. Milo's eyes welled up, a tumultuous mix of sorrow and fury welling up within him. He carefully placed Lok's body on the ground, rose, and faced the looming threat ahead.
An audible gasp echoed through the stunned audience, followed by shrill cries of shock and disbelief. With faces drained of color, Esron and Risea could do nothing but stare in horrified silence. Ayerf and Nido clung to each other, their grief evident in the silent tears they shed. In the face of this unthinkable tragedy, even the monstrous treants halted their assault. The remaining treants stared down at the fallen boy, their bark softening to a softer hue, reflecting a strange sense of remorse.
And within Milo, a storm was brewing. His cyan aura, once thought exhausted, reignited with a fury he had never felt before. Every inch of his being blazed with the consuming need for revenge.
However, Milo pivoted slowly, turning his gaze towards the remaining trio of treants. His face, unreadable as stone, held no hints of the turmoil that raged within him. His head tilted ever so slightly to one side, an eerily calm and composed motion.
And then, he grinned. It wasn't a smile of joy, nor of triumph. It was a grin that held no warmth, a grin that promised retribution. It was chilling, haunting, a macabre curl of lips that would be ingrained into the memories of all who witnessed it. The colosseum fell silent.
Each of the treants recoiled, a shudder running through their massive frames as if a frozen wind had swept across them. This was a mere boy, and yet his simple grin was imbued with such unspoken threat, such ambiguous fury.
Slowly, with a deliberation that felt alien to his very being, Milo raised his right leg. It moved with an eerie, almost inhuman precision. As soon as his foot hit the ground, he burst forward with an explosive rush of speed, heading straight for the remaining treants.
Their wooden features were carved into expressions of deep sorrow. They did not stir, did not attempt to shield their fellow treant as Milo closed in. Each footstep rang out with a hollow echo, hitting the ground before Milo's form had caught up.
Upon reaching the colossal limbs of the first treant, Milo climbed like a nimble spider. But the treants held no fear, certain that a lone attacker could not make a dent.
Then, reaching the treant's knee, Milo lashed out. His sword thrust through the air, a lightning bolt of gleaming steel, leaving the massive limb unmovable in its wake. The treant collapsed on one leg.
Panic flared in the eyes of the remaining treants as they turned to defend their crippled comrade. In the stands, Esron leaned forward, squinting to get a better view. A single thrust from Milo seemed to have done the impossible, he thought. It was fast, true, but there was something else, something breathtaking about its precision.
Milo didn't stop. He maneuvered his way upwards, deftly dodging the treant's desperate attempts to skewer him with newly sprouted spikes. As he neared its broad chest, Esron saw it. From seemingly nowhere, two swift slashes, forming an 'X' appeared ahead of Milo. And as swiftly as it formed, Milo's blade met the intersection point. The thrust was a blur, the exact number of times the blade made contact was indeterminable. And then, as sudden as his assault, the treant began to wither.
As the treant turned to dust beneath him, another's colossal fist was bearing down on him. With quick thinking, he used the still-standing chest of the withering treant as a springboard, propelling himself upwards, over the incoming attack and landing atop the enormous fist.
Two more to go. Now, the remaining treants knew fear.
With swiftness, Milo ran along the outstretched arm of the towering treant. Ahead of him, an 'X' formed in the air at the joint of the elbow. Without stopping, Milo's sword found its mark, reducing the limb to a lifeless appendage. He moved on, racing up the length of the arm, heading straight for the shoulder.
The other treant, driven by a confusion of emotions, delivered an ill-placed punch. Its mammoth fist crashed into the face of the treant Milo was navigating, a shocking incident of inadvertent friendly fire.
The force of the blow acted as a boost for Milo, sending him flying unnoticed to the region just below the treant's neck. Using his sword, he controlled his slide down the creature's rough bark toward the chest.
There, just as before, an 'X' appeared. Once again, Milo was ready. His sword thrust inward. The instant the steel met its mark, a tremor coursed through the vast treant, beginning its inevitable decay.
Milo landed on the ground, a horde of dust billowing about him, remnants of the wilting treant. Before him stood the final sentinel, the last barrier between him and the emerald sap. Monumental and imposing, the treant slowly kneeled, exposing its broad chest to the boy it towered over. Its eyes closed in a gesture of surrender.
Why would such a magical being kneel before Milo, a mere mortal? The world seemed to hold its breath at the spectacle of this paradox. Milo looked down, a humble nod to the treant's submission, before complying with its silent plea.
The arena had the hushed stillness of a cathedral as Milo drove his sword home, an icy thrust that punctuated the silence like a death knell. With no pomp or ceremony, the life of the treant unraveled swiftly, its existence extinguished. The crowd, still grappling with the tragic demise of Lok, watched in an eerie silence.
Sheathing his sword, Milo began his solemn procession towards the crystalline emerald sap, its radiant glow casting long shadows that moved and flickered with his every step. The sap, a magnificent teardrop of nature, gleamed in the spectral lights of the arena. Its resplendent emerald hue was a vivid reminder of the life it represented, the very life Lok had been fighting for.
With that thought in mind, Milo glanced over his shoulder, his gaze falling upon the lifeless form of Lok. There he lay, inert and cold, a pale variant of the vibrant boy who had once been so full of life. Yet in his tranquility, there clung a faint remnant of a smile that still graced his lifeless face.
With a soft laugh, Milo broke the silence.
"You can come out now."