Chapter 123 : The Roots of the Conflict
[Demon Realm]
Absolute silence enveloped the entire place, as if even the slightest sound could disturb the vast hall.
Before the throne carved from black obsidian and dark bones, a demon lay prostrate, trembling, his forehead pressed against the cold floor. His entire body shook, not from fear, but from a feverish mixture of devotion and euphoria.
"My king..." His voice was a whisper full of affection. "The plan has begun." The World Tree will soon fall... .
A crackling sound echoed, as if reality itself resented those words. The figure on the throne did not respond immediately. He remained motionless, as if the fact did not really matter to him. But deep in his eyes, a glimmer of longing shone, staring intently at a distant point beyond all that was visible.
The atmosphere became unbearable. An invisible pressure weighed down on the prostrate demon's chest, making it difficult for him to even breathe. But his face... his face was a mask of ecstasy, as if suffering were a privilege in the presence of his master.
Finally, a voice boomed through the hall. Deep. Hollow. Infinite.
"You may leave..."
The demon rose quickly, without making the slightest noise, not daring to. He even avoided staring at the figure on the throne. Not out of fear, but out of devotion, as if that being on the throne were a god.
With slightly erratic movements, he crawled towards the exit, and only when the shadows devoured him did the King speak again. This time, to himself.
"The Tree will fall... and with it, the balance that has sustained this world will finally be destroyed."
Then, a crack opened beneath the throne, exhaling a dense, black mist that snaked like a living tongue, enveloping the monarch in its embrace.
And silence returned, heavier than ever.
***
Thousands of kilometres away on the other side of the world, the scene was no less disturbing.
From a distance, the world tree stretched out into the void, colossal and majestic, as if its branches could hold up the sky. No one could ignore it. Not only because of its enormous size, but also because of the overwhelming feeling it gave off... as if the whole world was beating through its trunk.
At its feet, a white wall rose like a protective barrier. Only one entrance was visible: a huge door, carved with runic symbols that glowed faintly in the light of the mana.
This was Alucrafh. The kingdom of the elves. And also the very heart of the World Tree.
But it was no longer the paradise it once was.
At this moment, Alucrafh was divided. Broken. Engulfed in a civil war that was eating away at its foundations from within.
The elven clans had split into two irreconcilable factions. On one side were those who supported the First Prince, Aerandir, the legitimate heir, who shared his father's vision: an Alucrafh open to the world, willing to collaborate with other races, and prepare for the future. On the other, those loyal to the Second Prince, Thalion: conservative, proud, and deeply attached to ancient traditions. He represented the old blood, which looked with contempt on everything that came from outside.
It was not a simple struggle for power or a war of ideals; it was a deep wound that had been brewing for years. And it was no coincidence that everything erupted just as the Elf King, Thelior, fell seriously ill.
All of this had been carefully planned from the shadows... because once the world tree fell, the demonic invasion would begin.
Thalion's supporters wasted no time. They mobilised the most orthodox clans, those who had always viewed with suspicion the alliances forged by the king with humans, dwarves, and other "inferior" races, as they called them. In their eyes, the trade and diplomatic treaties were a threat to the purity of the elven lineage and the sovereignty of their culture that they had maintained for centuries.
"The king has betrayed our roots!" shouted the elders in the deliberation circles. "He has allowed outsiders to defile our sacred forests, pollute our air... and mix their blood with ours!"
Thalion, astute and charismatic, knew how to channel that discontent. He promised to restore the glory of the ancient elves, close the barriers that once protected their borders, and restore to the people the dignity lost through generations of "humiliating" diplomacy. Many followed him, some out of conviction, others out of fear, because the world was changing, and not everyone was willing to change with it.
Aerandir, however, did not give up. He fought to uphold his father's ideals, knowing that the future of the kingdom depended on unity. That isolation would lead to ruin. He had seen the signs. The world tree had shown him.
Its highest branches were beginning to lose their colour. The leaves, once bright, were turning grey. The roots, once firm, were showing cracks. For Aerandir, it was clear: the corruption did not come from outside... but from within. It was hatred, pride, division. The Tree reflected the soul of his people. And their soul was poisoned.
The conservatives misinterpreted those signs. They blamed humans. They said that their presence had corrupted the land. That because of the actions of a foolish king, the world tree was dying.
But Aerandir knew the truth.
He tried by every means possible to talk to his brother. To reveal the visions he had had before it was too late. But Thaelion no longer listened. The innocence in his eyes had long since been lost, now there was only a burning greed, an excessive ambition that consumed him from within.
Neither of them was aware, but while the princes fought for the throne, and the entire people suffered from the decisions of those above... someone else was watching them. Something else. Silent. Patient. Distant.
It waited like a predator for the right moment to finish off its prey.
Waiting with its army for the destruction of the World Tree.
Because once it was gone, it would be its turn to rise up and seize what was rightfully its.