(2 years later)
In the shadowed twilight of Skogrheimr Wood, where eerie whispers graced every fallen leaf and fog curled between gnarled tree roots, Kael sped like a bolt of lightning. With powerful thrusts of his massive stone pillar staff, he leaped from one ancient trunk to another, the runes upon his weapon emitting a fleeting, phosphorescent glow. His staff, carved from stone, allowed him to manipulate his trajectory with uncanny precision, exploiting each contact with the dense wood to accelerate his relentless pursuit. He wore black sackcloth, white wraps around his hands, and deer skin for pants and fur raccoon boots.
'Faster..'
Ahead, the ElsBear beast—a colossal bear with sinister black fur and twisted horns sprouting from its brow—barreled through the underbrush, leaving a wake of chaos. As the beast surged, glowing red locks atop its head flickered ominously, illuminating its path with blood-red light, rendering its fury as palpable as the damp, heavy air of Skogrheimr.
The creature's massive paws dug furrows into the earth, uprooting centuries-old saplings and crushing the iridescent fungi that carpeted the floor. Its destruction did not go unnoticed; from the dark recesses of the forest, the Ethervolk watched, their translucent forms shimmering with an innate, otherworldly light. They murmured among themselves in a dialect that sounded like wind through leaves, debating whether to intervene or to observe, ultimately choosing the latter, entranced by the spectacle of the chase.
'They're all watching me.'
At the heart of Skogrheimr, near the streams that whispered of ancient secrets, the Stonegrip trolls paused in their labor. Massive, muscled creatures with skin tough as granite, they normally cared little for the forest's dramas. Yet, this chase was different; this creature's terror shook even their stoic hearts. They tightened their grip on the rune-inscribed boulders they were aligning for a mystical circle, their amber eyes tracking every movement of the majestic pursuit.
Kael vaulted off a towering Yggdrasteel, a tree as old as Skogrheimr itself, its branches laden with silver leaves that jingled like tiny bells. His landing sent shockwaves through the forest floor, startling a group of Nightrunners—small, agile creatures with owl-like faces and deer-like bodies—who bolted, their hoofbeats a soft patter against the mossy earth.
'I hate being immortal.'
The bear crashed through a Veil of Mist that perpetually hung over Murk Hollow, a depression in the forest where light seldom ventured. As Kael followed, leaping into the thick fog, his vision smeared into hues of gray and shadow, but his resolve never wavered. The Stone Singers, beings as old as the earth and shaped from rock and soil, ceased their eternal chant momentarily, their voices a deep rumble across the landscape, recognizing the gravity of this disturbance.
"Whoa!"
Pushed by the urgency, Kael used his staff to launch from the ground, spinning through the air to gain speed. His target, now mere strides ahead, snarled in frustration, feeling the nearness of his pursuer. The bear's claws slashed wildly, tearing through a patch of Ghostflowers, whose spectral petals floated towards the sky, dispersed by the violence.
'Am I even immortal? I heal from everything.'
As they neared the Widower's Cliff, a sheer drop shadowed by the towering Canopy Giants, Kael found an opening. He thrust his staff into the hardened earth, using the recoil to thrust himself upward with tremendous force. Time seemed to slow as he soared above the bear, aligning himself with deadly precision.
The creatures of Skogrheimr ceased their movements, a hushed silence falling. Even the air seemed to still, anticipation hanging thick as the final moment approached.
'I want to get to the Divine Tree..I wanna embrace its essence, so I can get rid of it. But to get rid of the root of all issues In this world.'
With a warrior's cry, Kael descended, his staff aimed at the bear's skull. The impact was monumental, a collision of force, magic, and fury, echoing like thunder through Skogrheimr. The staff penetrated the skull with a sickening crunch, the bear's momentum halting as abruptly as a broken legend.
'The Divine Tree is poison. It corrupts kingdoms, the Dark Trio still judges and sentences, it's evil. But if I am immortal, I'll watch it all eventually crumble, that's the only satisfaction. Being able to live long enough to destroy it altogether. But if I get too close to someone, I have to watch them go, and I'll suffer through loneliness over…and over again. I'm only 14; why are those thoughts flooding me now?'
Blood, dark as the shadows that haunted the deepest parts of the wood, spurted in gruesome arcs, painting ferns and flowers alike with its stark, grim hue. The creature's body crumpled, a mountain felled, its last breath a mist that mingled with the fog of Skogrheimr, drifting away as spirits freed from a cursed vessel. As the echo of the demise reverberated through the forest, Kael stood breathless, his staff still embedded in the creature's head, his form a statue of both triumph and sorrow. Around him, the forest slowly came back to life; the Ethervolk emerged from their hiding, their eyes wide with a mix of reverence and fear. The Stonegrip trolls resumed their chanting, a note deeper perhaps, in respect for the fallen beast.
One of them said, "This is a bad spot for you to be, kid!"
"Yeah! Run now while you have the chance!"
Kael replied, "I know."
The Nightrunners crept back, their curiosity getting the better of them, their eyes reflecting the moonlight as they watched the mighty warrior. The Stone Singers' chant rose again, filling the air with a vibrating solemnity as they paid homage to the balance of life and death, their song a tribute to the fallen creature of myth.
Then they sang:
"Oh, please deliver this kid!"
As Kael turned to leave, his figure was silhouetted against the silver moon, his cloak billowing gently in a wind that seemed to carry the whispers of the forest. The Ethervolk, in a rare gesture of acknowledgement, bowed their shimmering heads. The trolls nodded in respect, and even the elusive Nightrunners offered a silent nod. As Kael turned towards the deeper shades of Skogrheimr, his steps laden with the weight of his recent kill, the trees seemed to tighten around him, whispering of unseen tensions. A slight rustling above drew his eyes upward. Branches creaked under the weight of shapes that were not merely part of nature. From among the boughs, spectral figures emerged, each draped in bear pelts, their faces hidden behind the skulls of deer, their antlers stretching into the dark canopy. They were the Drýgri, elusive guardians of the forest, seldom seen but always felt—a presence spoken of in hushed tones among the inhabitants of Skogrheimr.
"Oh." He murmured.
'A tribe. Marshy told me everyone is affected by the Divine Tree's power, and she was right. Even mere tribes and villages can be on the same degree as kingdoms.'
Unbeknownst to Kael, his pursuit had encroached upon the Drýgri's arcane sanctum. Dozens of eyes, glinting behind bone masks, watched him with silent judgment. The leader of this enigmatic troupe, known only as Thornebane, separated from the shadows. Adorned with the largest antlers, frosted with age and battle scars, and draped in patches of darkest fur, Thornebane's mask bore intricate carvings—the stories of the forest rendered in bone. His presence commanded immediate respect, and even the Ethervolk paused in their nocturnal dances to gaze upon him.
Thornebane's voice, when it came, resonated with the deep timbre of fallen trees and rushing winds, "You, warrior of stone and rune, have disturbed the Sacred Silence. In your quest, you have slain one of the Sacred Beasts of Duskwood, a protector under our watch."
With a sweeping gesture, Thornebane summoned their deity, the forest god Wyldermyth—a figure of towering terror and primeval power. From the earth, a form began to assemble—roots twisting into sinew, branches bending into bones, leaves fluttering together to form flesh. Wyldermyth was no benign spirit of green leaves and gentle breezes but a primal deity, as old as the forest itself, with eyes like embered coals and breath like the wind before a storm. Tendrils of mist coalesced around its form, making the air thick with the musk of raw earth and ancient magic. It had a crown of bark on its head and its eyes glow yellow, its teeth sharp and branches for wings. Wyldermyth loomed above Kael, the embodiment of the forest's wrath, its purpose clear—protector of the Drýgri and avenger of the Sacred Beasts whose lives were intertwined with the ebb and flow of Skogrheimr's hidden veins. With a rumble that echoed the deepest thunder, Wyldermyth's voice resounded through the forest, a sound that trembled leaves and bent boughs.
"Your triumph, warrior of stone, has shifted the balance. Reckoning is upon you. You now know what must happen to you, I'm sure of it? Hmmm.."
Thornbane asked Wyldernyth, "What's wrong, king?!"
Wyldernyth pointed and stated, "He's not a mere human. He has to die immediately."
Without a word, Kael clenched his staff, understanding the grave miscalculation of his actions. Despite his formidable strength and prowess, facing the wrath of a forest god and its guardians was unlike any challenge he had faced. The enormity of the forest's spirit loomed over him, a reminder of the deeper, more ancient magics that thrummed through the wooded land.
The air was thick with the tension of a pending storm—electrical, charged, as Kael and Wyldermyth stood poised on an invisible brink. The Drýgri surrounded the clearing, their silent watch akin to specters of judgment. The stone beneath Kael's feet hummed with a foreboding resonance, the very earth bracing for the clash of mortal and divine. In this unexpected confrontation, the forest held its breath, and for a moment, all of Skogrheimr lay suspended in a taut stillness, waiting for the storm to break.
Amidst the thickening gloom of Skogrheimr, the colossal figure of Wyldermyth, crowned with gnarled bark and backlit by the eerie glow of yellow eyes, towered above Kael. Branch-like wings unfurled from its back, rustling with a sound like wind through dry leaves. Its sharp, wooden teeth clacked as it spoke, the voice resonant with the might of the ancient forest.
"Behold, I am Wyldermyth, sentinel of these sacred woods. My vigilance sustains the balance, the ebb of life and death that nurtures this land. Through me, the cycle persists unbroken, offering shelter to the creatures of the wood and a pact of peace with those who respect its laws. And you..sensing how dangerous you are, you have to die immediately."
Kael, his patience frayed by the deity's authoritative tone, tightened his grasp on his staff. In a sudden burst of defiance, he hurled the weapon at the towering deity. The staff spun, charged with his own rune-infused power, and struck Wyldermyth with a force that shattered the silence of the forest.
The tribe exclaimed, "King!!!!"
The impact was cataclysmic, blasting the deity through an array of ancient trees, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. The deity, taken abhorred by this aggression, recoiled from the wreckage, its eyes blazing a fiercer yellow. With a swift, fluid motion as if propelled by the very forces of nature, Wyldermyth zipped through the air, summoning forth tendrils of godly forest rune magic, aiming to ensnare Kael in its wrath.
"I am the wrath of the tribe! They manifested me from sheer desperation! And I will deliver them!"
At that critical juncture, Marshy, the shadowy figure of agility and resolve, sprung into action. Leaping from Kael's back, she gained momentum and height, drawing her shadow sword, Shadowrend, a blade as dark as twilight shadows and as sharp as the coldest night. With a fierce battle cry, she plunged the sword into Wyldermyth's chest, engaging the deity in a dance of combat that blurred the lines between shadow and nature.
"What?!" The deity exclaimed.
Marshy responded, "We need to talk."
Seeing Marshy engaged in her own fierce battle, Kael turned to face Thornebane and the rest of the Drýgri. In that moment, something primal awakened within him. A stone horn spiraled out from his forehead, and his skin began to harden, patches turning to stone imbued with the resilience of the ancient earth. From his hands, he conjured a massive stone hammer, etched with ancient, glowing red runes—the symbols pulsing with a potent mixture of his own energy and the enchanted essence of the land.
'Immortality. I just want to see my family again, but I want to get rid of the Divine Tree itself. I'm in a difficult spot. Keep the tree intact so I can stay and beat those who use the magic of it for evil, or use it to get rid of this regeneration? I want to see mom and dad again, to say something to them. But Marshy….she's been helping me, even training me…which makes me yearn to destroy the tree itself, if I can manifest a deity to do that, I'm good. But I know it won't be easy. If it was, people would've been able to conquer the world or destroy the tree itself. Does it have limitations?'
Thornbane spoke, "For the will of this tribe's history, as we are the ones who ensure peace, you have disturbed us. Our ancestors spent years embracing the essence of the Divine Tree, and summoned Wyldernyth, to keep the peace here."
As Thornebane observed, understanding the depth of Kael's powers and determination, the air around them crackled with the static of impending conflict, each figure poised for a confrontation that could reshape the very fabric of Skogrheimr. The stage was set, and the forest held its breath, waiting for the battle to begin.
Thornebane and the Drýgri encircled Kael, their silhouettes etched against the dense fog of the forest. The air grew heavy, saturated with the scent of damp earth and the impending ferocity of ancient woodland magic. Thornebane, with a solemn nod, initiated the ancestral rites. From the palms of his hands, symbols aglow with an eerie green light began to manifest, representing the deep and arcane magic passed down through generations of forest guardians. These were no mere symbols; they pulsated with the life force of Skogrheim, each rune imbued with the weight and wrath of nature itself.
Kael was too distracted in his thoughts, thinking, 'What if get there and it's all a waste?'
As Thornebane's deep voice chanted in an ancient tongue lost to all but his kin, the remaining Drýgri followed suit, their hands weaving through the air, crafting complex sigils that buzzed with untamed power. The ground beneath Kael's feet churned as roots, influenced by the potent magic, broke through the soil, wrapping around his ankles with a strength that belied their natural origin.
The first blow came from Thornebane himself, a punch that seemed to carry the weight of the forest. As his fist connected with Kael's jaw, a burst of green energy exploded from the point of impact, resonating with a sound like cracking wood. The force sent Kael staggering back, blood splattering from his lips, the taste of iron mingling with the moist air.
'What if Marshy dies and I'm alone again like 2 years ago?'
Not allowing Kael a moment to recover, another Drýgri stepped forward, her eyes fierce and focused. She delivered a kick driven by a surge of rune-enhanced momentum, her foot glowing with symbols that traced the lineage of her forebears. The kick landed on Kael's ribs, the sound of fracturing bone echoing through the trees as splinters of light erupted from her strike, illuminating the shadow-strewn battleground with flashes of violent emerald.
One by one, the Drýgri took their turns, each bringing forth their unique mastery of the woodland runes. A young warrior, no older than twenty summers, lunged with twin strikes to Kael's abdomen, his fists wrapped in vines that hardened like steel upon impact, the vines' thorns drawing scarlet lines across Kael's skin. Another, an elder whose face was hidden behind a mask of bark, extended his palms, releasing a stream of air that solidified into a gust sharp as blade edges, slashing at Kael with the ferocity of a winter storm. With each hit, Kael fell only to be lifted and struck again, his blood soaking into the sacred earth, a sacrifice to their relentless ritual. The forest around them seemed to pulse with an omnipresent power, feeding into the fury of the Drýgri as they summoned the full extent of their heritage, their blows not just physical but imbued with centuries of guarded magic.
Thornebane yelled, "See?! He is letting us defeat him as he has been convicted by the holiness of this forest!"
Kael thought, 'What if I turn into something I'm not..? If I become corrupt from killing, what if in the end, I don't want to do what I originally wanted to do? And if they say I'm not human, what the hell am I? Why are things so complicated? I'm holding so much in, I wanna talk but I don't know why I like to be silent. It's like I'm falling in my own abyss.'
Finally, as the relentless onslaught ceased, Kael lay dismembered, his limbs at unnatural angles, his breaths shallow and labored. The Drýgri stepped back, their breathing heavy, faces streaked with the sweat of exertion and the mystical luminescence of their magic.
Thronebane spoke, "It is done. We have defeated the demon who dare threaten us! SHELNA!!"
The rest of the tribe chanted, "SHELNA!"
"Now! We must kill the bitch who dares attack our king!"
"SHELNA!"
Then, against all the nature's laws they protected, Kael stirred. His severed limbs twitched, drawing towards his torso as if guided by a magnet. Sinews and muscles knit themselves together beneath the gruesome ballet of regenerating flesh. Bones realigned with soft clicks, and where there once were gaping wounds, only faint scars remained. He rose, his figure limp yet undeniably whole, a ghastly smile playing across his lips—a harbinger of the true conflict to begin.
"He's risen?! Is he immortal?!" Thornbane panicked.
'The king mentioned he wasn't human, but did he not know he was this much of a non human?! No, I can't doubt our god!'
As he stood in the dim light, his eyes alight with a fierce, almost demonic gleam, the forest itself seemed to hold its breath. The real battle was about to commence.
In the pulsing heart of Skogrheimr, amid towering trees and whispering winds, the battle commenced with a surge of primal energy. Kael, now a visage of ancient stone and rune-powered might, raised his massive stone hammer, glowing ominously with deep-red runes. With a ground-shattering roar, he slammed it down, unleashing a devastating explosion of red energy that rippled through the forest, tearing up the earth and setting the stage for the storm of combat about to unfold. As the dust settled, Thornebane, draped in his regal bone mask, leaped forward with preternatural speed, his twin blades glinting under the forest's canopy. Twirling in a dance of deadly precision, he aimed a slicing arc towards Kael. With a deft sidestep, Kael dodged, the blade kissing air, and retaliated with a swift uppercut swing of his hammer, catching Thornebane off-guard and sending him crashing against a nearby boulder, blood trickling from a gash across his chest.
Reacting to their leader's plight, two tribesmen, their faces obscured by skull masks, charged at Kael, swinging their vine-entwined staffs imbued with rune magic. Kael, reacting with instinctual brutality, spun his hammer in a wide arc, creating a whirlwind that knocked the attackers off their feet, their bodies thudding heavily against the damp forest floor.
'I'm not bothered by it anymore, I never was. The killing. This tribe, they seem to be good, but they're far from it. Which ignited my ambition to destroy the tree itself.'
Raising from the blow, one tribesman conjured a serpent-like whip of thorns from his hand, lashing it towards Kael with vicious speed. Kael caught the whip with one hand, pulling the tribesman forward into a brutal knee to the face, shattering the skull mask and splattering blood on the mossy earth.
Amidst the chaos, a Drýgri archer took position behind a gnarled tree, firing arrow after arrow, each arrow screaming through the air, coated in a luminescent green poison. Kael swung his hammer, each motion deflecting an arrow, until, with a calculated throw, his hammer soared through the air, smashing the tree base and pinning the archer beneath its ancient weight. As Thornebane regained his bearings, he surged with a roar, his form blurring, moving with the enhanced speed of his woodland magic. He appeared behind Kael, swords poised to strike. Kael, sensing the displacement of air, turned and caught Thornebane's wrist, twisting it until bones snapped, forcing him to kneel with a pained grunt. Kael kept the malicious smile on his face the entire time.
More tribesmen emerged, forming a circle around Kael. With coordinated effort, they attacked simultaneously from all sides. Kael's aura flared as he spun like a cyclone, his hammer extending his reach, each impact sending bodies flying, bones breaking audibly upon each thunderous connection with the stone hammer.
A Drýgri healer, hands glowing with soft, verdant light, rushed towards Thornebane, attempting a healing spell. Kael noticed and with a quick jab of his hammer's handle sent a shockwave through the ground, disrupting the spell and knocking the healer unconscious in a heap of tangled robes, making them explode while standing in a gruesome spectacle of a display.
Thornbane exclaimed, "No!"
Seizing the moment of distraction, a warrior imbued his twin daggers with dark forest magic, aiming for Kael's exposed back. Kael's stone-like skin reacted instinctively, hardening at the point of impact, the daggers shattering upon contact as Kael elbow-struck the warrior's face, splintering bone under his powerful blow.
As the battle wore on, Kael stood amidst a scene of devastation, his enemies lying wounded or still around him. Thornebane, barely standing, summoned his last reserve of strength, channeling the ancient spirits of the forest, vines erupting from the ground to entangle Kael's legs.
Thornbane said, "I won't let you win!" He put his fists up.
Kael smiled, "Okay." Kael threw his hammer to the side, and clenched his fists.
"If magic can't beat you, what about raw skill and strength?!"
Without hesitation, Thornbane charged, his eyes a mirror of fury. His fist, swathed in crackling woodland energy, aimed straight for Kael's jaw. Kael parried with an iron forearm, sparking upon impact, and retaliated with a swift jab to Thornbane's abdomen, each strike punctuated by the audible crunch of cracking ribs. Thornbane, recoiling from the blow, spat blood and weaved an intricate series of strikes aiming high and low in rapid succession. His fists, now blurring in their speed, found their mark on Kael's chest and face. Kael, stung by the onslaught, stepped back, then lunged forward with a ferocious uppercut, catching Thornbane off-guard and sending him skyward.
Not missing a beat, as Thornbane descended, Kael leaped, meeting him in mid-air with a collision that sent shockwaves through the forest. They crashed to the ground, Kael pinning Thornbane momentarily before the latter wriggled free, elbowing Kael's throat, forcing him back with gurgling breath.
Both warriors circled each other, their breathing heavy but determined. Thornbane attempted a grapple, aiming to use his woodland magic to sprout roots that would bind Kael. Sensing his intent, Kael delivered a bone-jarring knee to Thornbane's midsection, breaking his concentration and his spell. Thornbane doubled over, and Kael seized the moment with grim resolve. He launched a relentless assault, a barrage of punches and elbows, each blow a brutal symphony of power that drummed against Thornbane's weakening defenses.
Thornbane, each hit pushing him further to his limits, managed one desperate counter, a sweeping kick that caught Kael off balance. He capitalized with a series of punches that drove Kael back, his fists soaked in blood, both his and Kael's. As the fight drew on, the air thick with the ferocity of their battle, Kael began to dominate. His strikes grew more forceful, more precise, each one a testament to his raw, elemental power. Thornbane, staggering under the weight of the assault, threw a wild punch, which Kael caught, twisting his arm back viciously until there was a sickening snap.
Thornbane, now severely impaired, gritted his teeth against the pain. Kael, seeing his adversary weakened yet still standing, nodded slightly, acknowledging the warrior spirit before him. Then, with a surge of finality, he drove his fist directly through Thornbane's chest.
The impact was cataclysmic. The force of the blow caused the very trees around them to upheave, roots springing from the ground, creating a macabre arena of wood and leaf. Thornbane, his eyes wide with shock, looked down at the gaping wound, then up at Kael, his expression one of disbelief and begrudging respect as he collapsed.
Thornebane said, "How…?! The Dark Trio will judge you eventually! The Judge, Jury, and Executioner…they will eventually catch you.."
As Kael withdrew his blood-soaked hand, the forest seemed to hold its breath, the silence profound but for the slow, heavy falls of blood dripping from his knuckles to the forest floor. The battle was brutal, a visceral testament to the savage ballet of combat. Kael stood victorious, yet the air hung heavy with the cost of such violence, the grove bearing witness to the ferocity and the fragility of life and dominion.
From the top of a cliff, Marshy was holding Wyldermyth down with her sword, pinning him to the cliff itself.
"Let me go! Do you know who I am?!"
"Don't care. Let the sword do it's thing and stop squirming."
"What's it doing?"
"All deities who come from the Divine Tree have a Soul of Essence. This sword is stealing that from you."
"Why..?"
"Only way to forge a key to get to hell. Blame The Dark Trio."
"You're pure evil.."
"Maybe. But you and this tribe aren't all dandelions either. Want to hear a story I heard?"
"You know nothing!"
"Here's the story: The Divine Tree is not merely a plant but a beacon of creation and protector of life's intricate balance. Its essence is so potent that it holds the power to manifest deities, entities intertwined with the very cadre of nature's nomos. However, grasping this essence is no trifling matter; many have tried and failed, for the process requires not just a physical touch but an intense spiritual communion which most beings simply cannot withstand. Years ago, Thornebane and his tribe, the Drýgri, a clandestine sect deeply in tune with the forest's whispered secrets, recognized a growing disturbance within their realm. Hunters and guilds, drawn by legends of mythic beasts, ventured greedily into Skogrheimr, disrupting the sacred silence and slaughtering the guardians of the land. In response, Thornebane, driven by a desperate need to safeguard their home, approached the Divine Tree. After prolonged exposure and a deep, almost unbearable absorption of its essence, Thornebane succeeded where many others had succumbed to madness or despair. From his profound embrace with the Divine Tree, Wyldermyth was birthed—a deity of formidable power, birthed specifically to shield the forest and its denizens by luring these hunters into the depths, not for bloodshed but to teach respect and fear for the sacred laws of nature. Wyldermyth's presence had a profound effect on the ecosystem. The mythic beasts, long-standing inhabitants of the forest, found themselves woven deeper into the lore of Skogrheim touch and gained an almost reverential status among the forest's creatures. Regular animals, influenced by the deity's power, exhibited unusual behaviors, often leading intrusive hunters away or deeper into entanglements from which few emerged unchanged—if at all. This balance, delicately maintained by Wyldermyth's influence, ensured that only those who truly understood the gravity of their actions would dare tread deeper into the forest."
"Tch!! It's for the greater good of the tribe!"
"You even killed those who weren't even hostile. I found you by the quest board inside of the capital of Gloomreach kingdom. Many hunters and guilds want your head, but I took the quest first."
"What are you? God hunters? Slaying gods for their Soul Essence?"
"Yes. I need enough for the key. Now sleep."
"Damn you…"
Slowly, the deity died, and Marshy's sword swirled with bright white and black energy, then was dragged into the blade. Marshy bled from her mouth, then saw Kael walking towards her.
Kael said, "Marshy. Sorry."
"Sorry? For what?"
"A mess."
"Doesn't matter, we got the essence of a god. You did good I guess, brat."
"Mhm."
"What's the matter? You're hungry again?"
"Yes."
"We'll go back home and eat something, always hungry."
"Marshy."
"Hm?"
"What am I?"
"…A boy named Kael."
"But that deity said—."
Suddenly, they heard the sounds of hooves and rustling, feeling the vibration of the ground. They realized it was horses, a whole lot of them arriving.
From the mist-shrouded path, a procession emerged, bearing the regal insignia of Gloomreach Kingdom. Led by a vanguard of horsemen clad in armor that shimmered with a lustrous, dark patina, the detailing intricate as the veins of a leaf, the Kingdom was known for its reverence of the natural world reflected in their attire.
At the head of the procession rode King Aldren and Queen Seraphine, their presence commanding immediate awe. King Aldren, with his stern but wise features, wore a mantle of deep emerald green trimmed with gold thread that caught the light with each move. His cloak billowed, embroidered with the sigil of Gloomreach—a towering oak tree whose roots and branches intertwined in an endless loop, symbolizing the cycle of life and death, growth and decay. He had brown eyes with white and brown hair, with a white beard.
Beside him, Queen Seraphine, formidable in her elegance, donned a gown of midnight blue, adorned with silver filigree mimicking the moonlit path through a dark forest. Her crown mirrored the limbs of the trees, crafted from silver and dotted with stones that sparkled like dewdrops under the canopy. She had long dark orange hair with freckles and bluish white eyes.
Following closely was their daughter, Princess Elara, astride a sleek mare that moved with the grace of a shadow in the twilight. At the tender age of fourteen, Elahantra Elara had the ethereal hair of a forest sprite. Her hair, long and silvery like the first frost of winter, cascaded over her shoulders, partly braided with tiny flowers that whispered of spring's embrace. Her dress, a delicate fabric the color of soft moss, flowed around her like a gentle brook, with sleeves that fluttered like butterfly wings. Around her neck, a modest necklace with a single gemstone that glimmered like morning dew. Despite her youth, she carried the aura of burgeoning grace, her wide-eyed innocence not yet touched by the burdens of her royal blood.
As the royal family neared the clearing, their expressions morphed from regal composure to shocked disbelief at the devastation laid before them. "It actually happened…" King Aldren spoke.
Queen Seraphine's hand fluttered to her chest, her eyes scanning the broken landscape, "It's been done…"
Elara sighed, "Okay we've seen it, can we go home?"
Aldren responded, "This to show you the dangers of what's out here. You are always sneaking out …this is a good lesson."
"Because the palace is boring."
Seraphine added, "Listen to your father, we only want what's best. Seems as if someone dealt with the tribe issue we needed dealt with. I wonder what guild took care of this."
A knight said, "Your highnesses! Over there!"
Kael and Elara, The two glanced at each other, a silent communication passing between.
Silence hung heavy as the royal pair approached the warriors, their steps deliberate, measuring the full weight of the situation. The air was thick with the scent of pine and impending rain, a reminder of nature's power to both create and destroy.
Kael, catching Princess Elara's gaze, felt a jolt like lightning through his veins. To him, her beauty, so out of place in this disaster, was like a lone flower on a battle-scarred field.
Elara asked Kael, "What are you staring at?"