Chapter 408: The World Tree (6)
The stairs gaped before him, an open wound in the earth, roots curling like ribs around a throat that dared him to step in. The golden orb hovered at the edge, its light spilling down the spiral as if coaxing him forward.
Lindarion’s hand flexed on the hilt of his sword, but he didn’t move yet. His breath was steady, but his core, his very blood, throbbed in time with the Tree’s pulse.
Ashwing fidgeted on his shoulder, tail lashing like a whip. ’I don’t like this. It feels like the whole tree is watching us.’
"It is," Lindarion said. His voice was calm, though a shadow flickered in his silver-gold eyes. "But so is everything else beneath the sun. At least this one speaks plainly."
Ashwing snorted. ’Plainly? It just told you to go down a creepy hole where people probably die. That’s not plain. That’s rude.’
The orb pulsed once. "Step forward."
The command thrummed through Lindarion’s bones. Not compulsion, but expectation, heavy as law.
He inhaled, then set his boot on the first stair.
The moment he descended, the passage sealed behind them. Roots knitted shut like a scar healing over, cutting off all retreat.
Ashwing squeaked. ’Oh, great. Now it’s really rude.’
The air thickened as they descended. It wasn’t oppressive, but alive, mana so dense it brushed against Lindarion’s skin like invisible hands, testing, weighing. His system ticked faintly in his mind.
[System notice: Mana concentration exceeds safe thresholds.]
[Adapting core to stabilize...]
[Stabilization complete.]
His core pulsed once, resonating with the tree, sharper than before. He ignored the surge of warmth in his veins, keeping his pace steady.
The staircase spiraled down, down, until the walls opened into a vast chamber.
Lindarion stopped at the threshold.
The space stretched so wide the roots bent like cathedral arches, their surfaces etched with glowing marks. Pools of liquid mana rippled in the floor, glowing silver-blue.
Platforms of woven roots rose from the pools, each one bearing statues, stone figures with wings folded at their backs, their faces hidden by masks of dragon-scale patterns.
Ashwing’s little jaw dropped. ’Who... who are they?’
The orb floated past Lindarion, drifting toward the center.
"The Draconic Children. Half-blooded, born of dragon and elf, long before your kingdoms learned to name themselves. They were guardians once. Now they are memory."
The statues’ eyes glimmered faintly as if they still lived.
Lindarion stepped onto the first platform. The mana beneath it rippled, answering his presence. His system reacted again.
[System notice: Ancient resonance detected.]
[Warning: Unknown synchronization in progress.]
The orb turned toward him, its golden glow casting his shadow long across the chamber.
"Each step forward will test you. Body, soul, and the truth of the blood you carry. Fail, and the Tree will devour you as it devoured those before."
Ashwing puffed up, wings twitching nervously. ’See?! Creepy hole of death! I told you!’
Lindarion said nothing. His gaze swept the chamber, noting the bridges of root connecting one platform to the next. Each statue’s presence was sharp, heavy with lingering power.
The orb pulsed. "Choose your path, Lindarion Sunblade. Each statue bears a trial. Only by passing will the way open."
Lindarion’s jaw tightened. He could feel the eyes of the carved half-dragons even in their stillness, as if they judged silently. His fingers brushed the hilt of his blade.
"I will walk them all," he said.
Ashwing made a strangled noise. ’All?! No, no, no, no, you’re supposed to pick the easiest one, then we go home alive!’
The orb’s patterns shimmered faintly, like amusement.
"So spoke many. Few endured."
Lindarion stepped forward, the silver-blue glow rippling beneath him like liquid fire. His voice was quiet, but unyielding.
"I am not many."
The chamber darkened, the statues looming taller, their shadows twisting like living wings.
The first trial stirred.
The glow of the chamber shifted. The orb stilled, hovering above the mana pool at its center, its voice fading until only the hum of the Tree remained.
The statues, silent guardians of a world long gone, dimmed, their watchful eyes closing as if bowing to something greater.
From the silver-blue pool, light stirred. Not harsh, not blinding, but soft, like the shimmer of moonlight against water. It swirled upward, threads weaving together until a figure stepped forth.
Lindarion’s breath caught.
It was a girl.
She looked no older than him, perhaps even younger, with hair the color of pale birch bark flowing to her waist, threaded through with faint strands of gold.
Her skin held the faint glow of living mana, and her eyes, green as the first spring leaves, held a depth that made time itself feel fragile. She was barefoot, her simple white robes patterned faintly with sigils that moved like breathing.
Ashwing clutched Lindarion’s collar, eyes wide. ’She smells like... the whole forest.’
The girl raised her gaze to Lindarion, and when she spoke, her voice was not an echo, nor a command, but a gentle lilt that seemed to carry both warmth and sorrow.
"You came."
Lindarion steadied his breath, keeping his hand on the sword though he did not raise it. "Who are you?"
Her lips curved faintly, almost amused. "I am no longer what I was. But once, before the roots wound across the sky and the soil drank my blood, I was called Elyndra."
The name seemed to ripple through the chamber itself. The orb dimmed, as though bowing to her presence.
Lindarion’s eyes narrowed. "...You made this Tree."
Elyndra’s head tilted, a child’s gesture burdened with endless age. "Not made. Planted. With my life. With my death. With all that I was, I gave it shape. And so it grew, until even gods remembered to fear it."
Ashwing’s claws dug into Lindarion’s shoulder. ’She’s the Tree? Like... all of it?’
The girl smiled faintly, though her gaze never left Lindarion. "Your companion is quick."
For the first time, Lindarion’s composure faltered. His chest tightened, not with fear, but with the weight of standing before something both impossibly old and heartbreakingly young.
"Why show yourself to me?" he asked. His voice was low, edged. "You’ve hidden for centuries. Why now?"
Elyndra stepped closer, bare feet touching the mana pool without disturbing its surface. Her hand lifted, delicate, stopping just short of his chest.
"Because," she whispered, "you carry what was never meant to be carried."
Her eyes, green, endless, flicked down to the core pulsing faintly within him, where blood and void, time and storm all warred for dominance. "The weight of too many paths. The chains of a system fractured. The stain of another life not your own."
Lindarion’s jaw clenched. His hand twitched on the hilt. "...You know."
Her smile was faint, but not unkind. "I see. Not as the system sees. Not as gods would see. But as the Tree sees, through roots that dig into every soul that walks its shade."
Ashwing’s tail lashed nervously. ’I don’t like this. She knows too much. It’s creepy.’
Elyndra lowered her hand, folding it into the other at her waist. Her voice softened further.
"You came because the light led you. Not the humans. Not the shadows at your side. You. The Tree called, and you obeyed."
"Not obedience," Lindarion said sharply. His silver-gold eyes hardened. "I came because I seek answers."
At that, Elyndra’s faint smile grew, tinged with melancholy.
"Then you shall have them."
The chamber shifted again. Roots trembled, light swelling brighter, and the air thickened until even Ashwing whimpered softly in Lindarion’s ear.
Elyndra turned, motioning with one hand. "Walk with me, Prince of Eldorath. And I will show you why this world bleeds."
The air thickened as if the roots themselves listened. Lindarion followed her, steps slow, hand still tight around his blade.
Ashwing clung to his shoulder, small body tense, golden eyes darting across the walls that shimmered faintly with flowing light.
Elyndra walked without sound, her bare feet leaving no trace on the water-like floor. Her presence was strange, fragile and immense at once, like a candle flame that could outshine the sun.
"You carry too much weight, Lindarion of Eldorath," she said, her voice low, each word deliberate. "Not only of your crown, nor your war, but of lifetimes."
Lindarion’s jaw clenched. He hated the way her words sank past his armor. "What do you mean?"
Elyndra glanced back, her green eyes shimmering like dew on leaves. "You died once. And yet here you stand. Two lives tangled into one thread. Do you deny it?"
His chest tightened. His grip on the sword flexed, knuckles pale. "...I don’t deny it."
Ashwing shifted, flicking his tail nervously. ’She’s saying too much, Lin. How can she know that?’
Elyndra’s smile was faint, almost tender. "Because I felt it the moment you stepped beneath my branches. The Tree drinks all truths, even those that should never have been. It cannot be lied to, nor can it forget."
Lindarion’s silver-gold eyes narrowed. "And what does that make me to you? An error? A trespasser?"
The girl shook her head slowly. Her pale-gold hair caught the light like woven fire. "No. You are... possibility."
Her gaze softened, almost wistful. "In you, I see a blade sharpened by two worlds. In you, I see the broken fragments of a system that should have died with its maker. And in you, I see the shadow of something far greater... something even I cannot name."
Lindarion’s pulse pounded, heat flaring in his chest. "...If you know so much, then tell me. What am I meant to do with it? With all of this?" His voice dropped, raw, harsher than he meant. "Because every step I take, I feel the cracks spreading deeper."
Elyndra studied him for a long moment. Then she stepped closer again, her small hand lifting once more, this time brushing faintly against his arm. It was warm, impossibly warm, like sunlight drawn into flesh.