Chapter 448: Effectiveness (4)
Midday burned away to afternoon. Sunlight dappled the floor in molten patches. Both sides were deep in their trials, sweat, dirt, laughter, frustration.
Then, a sudden stillness.
Lindarion’s eyes narrowed. "They’ve gone quiet."
Nysha frowned. "Too quiet."
Through his mana sense, he felt it, a ripple through the forest’s heart. The hunters had entered the Hollow. The defenders had prepared an ambush. And yet, something else was there... watching.
"Hold," Lindarion murmured. His power flared faintly, enough to feel the breath of the forest itself.
Then it came, a surge of raw mana from beneath the roots, not from spell or soldier, but from the land itself.
The ground trembled. The vines that had lain dormant began to move of their own accord, snapping, coiling, striking.
"What—?!" Halric barked, already reaching for his sword.
"It’s not an attack," Lindarion said sharply, raising his hand. "The forest is... testing them."
The World Tree’s influence pulsed faintly through the ground, and the vines, not wild, but guided, began striking only at carelessness. Soldiers who stood apart were tripped. Those who shouted too loud found their words stolen by silence. Those who worked together passed unharmed.
It was no longer Lindarion’s trial. It was Lorienya’s.
By dusk, both groups emerged from the Hollow, covered in dirt, leaves, and exhaustion, but grinning.
The hunters had not reached their goal. The defenders had not truly stopped them. And yet, none of them looked defeated.
When they gathered again in the clearing, Lindarion stood waiting. His eyes reflected the gold of the sinking sun.
"You learned more than combat today," he said quietly. "You learned that no one walks this forest alone. Its will binds all who touch its roots, elf, human, beast, or spirit."
He looked across their faces, tired, sweat-streaked, alive. "Remember this: if you fight for each other, the forest will fight with you. But if you fight for yourselves alone, it will devour you first."
Ashwing yawned loudly beside him. "That’s a poetic way of saying ’stop being idiots’."
A ripple of laughter broke through the ranks. The tension eased.
Lindarion’s lips twitched faintly. "He’s not wrong."
The soldiers bowed, the elves deeper, the humans awkwardly but sincerely. The respect was no longer bound by titles.
That night, Lorienya glowed faintly under starlight. Campfires crackled between roots that hummed with mana. The soldiers, both races, shared their food, their stories, even their songs.
Lindarion sat apart on a high branch, watching the mingled fires below.
Nysha joined him quietly, her crimson eyes reflecting the flicker of light. "You’ve turned a forest into a forge," she said softly.
"The world will demand steel soon," he murmured. "I’m only shaping it before it’s too late."
"You think Dythrael stirs?"
Lindarion didn’t answer immediately. He gazed up through the canopy, where the World Tree’s distant light shimmered like a star that had never fallen. "I don’t think. I feel it. The roots whisper his name again."
Nysha’s hand brushed her blade. "Then what will you do?"
"Prepare them," Lindarion said simply. "For what’s coming. And for what they’ll lose."
Ashwing, curled around his shoulder, opened one sleepy eye. "You mean what we’ll lose."
Lindarion’s golden gaze softened. "Perhaps."
The forest wind stirred again, whispering like a voice half-asleep. The branches above them glowed faintly gold, the World Tree listening, approving, mourning.
The prince closed his eyes, and for a moment, the hum of Lorienya pulsed through him, the breath of life before the storm.
The morning mist hung thick over Lorienya, veiling the bridges and terraces in a soft, shifting light. The first rays of dawn barely pierced the canopy, glimmering faintly against the dew that clung to every leaf. The city still slept, wrapped in its quiet rhythm, but Lindarion was already awake.
He stood at the edge of a high walkway, the scent of wet bark and moss surrounding him. His white hair caught the faint glow filtering through the trees, while his golden eyes traced the horizon beyond the endless green.
Something pulsed beneath the surface of the peace here, a subtle discordance, like a plucked string just slightly out of tune.
Ashwing perched nearby, still in his smaller form, tail flicking. "You’re doing that thing again," he muttered.
"What thing?"
"Standing like a statue. Looking like you’re about to punch the wind."
Lindarion didn’t answer immediately. He closed his eyes, extending his senses into the air. Mana moved through Lorienya like breath, calm, ancient, cyclical, but today, the flow rippled with faint distortions, little breaks that pulsed and vanished as quickly as they came.
"It’s not the wind," he said softly. "The forest is... humming wrong."
Ashwing tilted his head. "Maybe it’s hungry."
"Mana doesn’t starve," Lindarion replied, half distracted, half amused. "It either flows, or it dies."
He knelt, pressing a hand to the wooden walkway. The veins of the great trees that made up Lorienya’s structure glowed faintly in response, threads of greenish-gold light spiraling outward.
His connection to the World Tree allowed him to feel the whole forest breathe. Usually, it was a slow, steady rhythm, ancient, soothing. But now, something was skipping beats.
The sensation deepened the longer he listened: a tremor beneath the roots, faint but persistent, like distant footsteps.
Ashwing’s scales bristled. "Something’s moving, isn’t it?"
"Yes," Lindarion said. "But not above. Below."
He stood, gaze turning toward the far south where the canopy dipped into fog. That direction led toward the roots nearest the borders, the oldest, thickest tendrils of the World Tree. Few elves ever went there; the roots were sacred, and dangerous.
Behind him, footsteps approached. It was Thalan, the Lorienyan instructor, his usual calm replaced by unease. "Prince Lindarion. The forest wardens reported strange readings at dawn. Mana channels spiked and fell. The council fears a disturbance near the southern convergence."
Lindarion’s jaw tightened. "When?"
"Less than an hour ago."
He turned, already walking toward the path leading deeper into the forest. "Gather a small scouting party. I’ll lead it myself."
Thalan blinked. "You intend to go personally?"
"Yes. The World Tree’s mana flows through me as well. If something threatens its harmony, I’ll feel it more clearly than any of your scholars."
The older elf hesitated only a moment, then bowed. "As you command, my prince."
Ashwing fluttered onto Lindarion’s shoulder. "So much for a quiet morning."
"There are no quiet mornings anymore," Lindarion murmured.