"No, that’s not right! You are not! None of you are! You all..."
She suddenly stopped, lowering her voice as if talking to herself in confusion, "None of you are... you died... you died... You are not elves... I..."
"We indeed are not the elves you rember, Silantis."
A voice abruptly erged, interrupting Silantis’s confused thoughts.
Though not loud, it seed to resonate across the entire space, sounding aged yet seemingly carrying a comforting power.
On the deck of Holoss, an elderly figure, blurry and ethereal, slowly walked forward.
Rune turned his head, nodded slightly to Duncan in acknowledgnt, then calmly turned around, his expression serene as he gazed into the darkness at the massive tree.
That was the World Tree of elf legend, their ho, mother, myth, heritage— the origin of all their stories and the fountainhead of their brilliant civilization.
Now, it had long died, its remains gradually becoming uncontrollable and proliferative in death.
Rune had never seen such a colossal tree— being an elf, he had never even seen a forest, nor did he know how to survive in one. He hadn’t seen winding rivers cut through valleys, turning into streams in the forests, nor had he seen birds and beasts dwell in the forest or flowers bloom in clearings, nor had he heard the sounds of wind and the forest in the night.
It was said that elves were longer-lived then— their lifespans were nearly eternal, and they could rejuvenate under the protection of the World Tree, light and sturdy enough to run through the towering canopies...
But Rune had never seen that.
He was born after all that had been destroyed.
He moved to the end of the deck, aging had curved his back slightly, years of desk work and poor lifestyle had contributed to his now slightly portly figure, he lifted his head, wrinkles gathering across his forehead, deeply furrowed.
"We are quite different from those you rember," he said to the World Tree.
Silantis did not speak, the slight glow rely trembling in the mist, from deep within the pale, twisted remains of the World Tree, a soft rustling, like leaves shaking, could be heard.
After a long while, the delicate voice hesitantly spoke, "The grooves on your face... what are they?"
"They are wrinkles. When mortals age, their skin loosens and shrinks, turning into this," Rune slowly explained, "and on rainy days, I feel aches in my back and waist, because I am old now, and have always lived at sea... My digestion isn’t very good, my teeth have been fixed, and in a few years, I might die like other aged people, turning to ash in a stove, becoming fertilizer in a plantation... We will not return to the World Tree, nor will we be reborn from large seedpods..."
He stopped, lifting his head, gazing at the distant glow.
"Quite different from what you rember, right?" he said again.
From deep within the debris of the World Tree, a soft rustling sounded once more.
"... so none can return..."
"Yes, we can’t co back, none of us can co back, and even if we could, it might not be as you rember," Rune said slowly, "but... I have sothing I’d like to show you."
As he spoke, he reached into his chest and rummaged around, and after a mont, he pulled out a book.
The book was old and worn, as if it had been frequently read, with elegant lettering on the cover that differed from the common language used in most City-States.
He opened the aged book and found a passage, reading slowly, "...The first ray of sunlight appeared on the boulder, and the traveler packed his bags, intending to cross the Hill of Blooming Flowers and reach Roland Nam’s hillside before evening..."
"This is the ’Horo-Dazo Epic Poem’..."
"Yes, that poem. Long ago, explorers found a stone slab engraved with this poem on a dark island, along with many other records. It took us a thousand years to reclaim the aning of these words and thousands more to search for the Hill of Blooming Flowers and that hillside described in the poem... But we never found them, not even the dark islands that one day disappeared into the frontier’s mist..."
Rune’s voice was low as he put down the book and gazed towards the distant glimr.
"We have recovered much, of which half remains incomprehensible to us. But compared to humans and the Senkin People, the Elves’ historical heritage has remained the most intact. We at least still rember how the creator awoke in the darkness and planted the first tree in the primordial Dreamscape... Four hundred years ago, we replicated the ’Ringtail Lyre’ craft; its sound was crisp, just as described in the ancient scrolls. Seventy-six years ago, we restored the last Chapter of the ’Hydran Verses,’ a collection of many intriguing stories said to have been offered to the gods...
"But there’s much more that we do not and will never know, all lost in the Annihilation of All Things, vanished without a trace in the age of the deep seas, just like those dark islands that disappeared into the mist.
"Silantis, I’m sorry, we are not the Elves you rember; we’re rely picking up fragnts from a rapidly flowing river, trying our best to leave these traces in the world after the apocalypse... I don’t know if this brings you any comfort, but...
"Truly, this is all that’s left."
In the darkness, that faint light floated quietly, the pale, nebulous fog slowly contracting. Unbeknownst to Silantis, the edges with the twisted branches of death silently dissipated while the pale green flas quietly circled the giant tree, akin to... the forest that vanished long ago.
Duncan looked up at the imnse black mountain goat.
After a mont of silent communication, he gently nodded.
The black mountain goat took a step across the void and slowly approached the base of the giant tree.
"...You’ve grown so big," He raised his head and murmured softly.
In the darkness, the faint light trembled slightly, "I... did not complete the task you assigned."
"No, you did well," the black mountain goat lowered its head slowly, its horn gently touching the dry, cracked trunk. At the tip of the horn, a faint green fla quietly ignited, "Now, it’s ti for a good child to sleep, little sapling."
In the pale fog, that wisp of light gradually dimd, and the sounds of the wind and rustling leaves finally ceased. Specks of light gathered into a river, quietly encircling Silantis’s base—at the deepest part of the World Tree, finally, a loud cry erged.
The pale green Spiritual Body’s fire soared into the sky, instantly enveloping the entire tree, illuminating the entire darkness following the Annihilation of All Things.
(Off on a business trip again, still going for etings, the Light Breeze Harbor Chapter has also ended, it will still be single updates for a few days, and I’ll resu when I’m back.)
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