After his conversation with D3, Chiron changed his clothes, trading blood-stained robes for sothing clean and unassuming. With a flick of his wrist, a portal unfolded before him—thin, precise, and familiar.
He stepped through.
The world shifted, and he erged back within the Elven Kingdom.
This was only possible because he had been here before.
The land rembered him because he left a spiritual prressure mark here.
As Chiron stabilized his footing, his gaze imdiately found Prince Silmarien—no, King Silmarien now—seated comfortably in a high-backed chair.
A porcelain cup of tea rested between slender fingers, steam curling lazily upward. He looked entirely at ease, as if he had been waiting for this mont all along.
Chiron walked in without ceremony.
One look at Silmarien's expression made him chuckle. "What's that face?" Chiron said lightly. "Did you miss ?"
Silmarien laughed softly, adjusting his glasses. "You disappeared for almost a week," he replied. "I was beginning to think you'd abandoned with this unbearably dull position called king."
Chiron gave him a sideways smile. "Urgent matters," he said calmly. "But they're settled now."
He stepped closer, his voice lowering just a fraction. "So tell —are you ready for the next stage of the plan?"
Silmarien's smile widened, sharp and eager. "That," he said, rising from his seat, "is exactly what I've been waiting for. After all, we still have threats to eliminate."
Chiron nodded, "good, because I just got a gift that will make the next phase extra believable."
"Oh,I look forward to it." Silmarien added.
.....
The following day, within the sacred heart of the kingdom, a group of elven won—the sa attendants who tended the Great Mother Tree—noticed sothing deeply wrong.
One of them froze mid-step.
"The leaves…" she whispered.
Her breath caught as she looked up.
A vast portion of the Mother Tree's canopy had begun to wither. Leaves once vibrant and glowing with life had turned brittle and brown, drifting down like dying embers.
She scread.
Panic surged through her as she spun and ran, clutching her robes, desperate to report the on.
Sothing was happening to the Mother Tree.
Imdiately, an ergency eting was convened.
The elders gathered in the inner council chamber, the ancient hall carved from living wood and crystal, its walls humming faintly with the presence of the Mother Tree herself.
At the head of the long table sat King Silmarien, his posture composed, his expression unreadable beneath the soft gleam of the crown resting on his brow.
The mont the doors closed, the argunts began.
"This is a bad on," one elder declared, his voice tight with unease. "Even in the harshest winters, the Mother Tree has never shed her leaves. Never."
Another elder slamd a palm against the table. "It is a warning! A sign from the ancestors that we must not march against the outside world."
"Or perhaps," a third snapped back, "it is punishnt—for our cowardice. For hiding in the Cardinal Forbidden Zone for a thousand years instead of reclaiming what was stolen from us!"
Voices rose. Accusations flew. Fear and fervor tangled together until the chamber rang with shouting.
Through it all, Silmarien said nothing.
He rely watched.
One slender finger idly traced the edge of his crown, tilting it slightly, then straightening it again. The polished wood caught the light as he played with it, his eyes calm, almost amused.
In truth, he savored the chaos—the way conviction and doubt tore at one another, the way power revealed itself through noise.
Then, amid the rising clamor, soone noticed it.
Sobbing.
The sound was faint at first, barely audible beneath the arguing voices. But once heard, it could not be ignored.
The room slowly fell silent.
All eyes turned toward the head of the table.
Silmarien's shoulders trembled ever so slightly. His head was bowed, one hand covering his eyes.
"Your Majesty?" an elder asked cautiously. "What troubles you?"
Another spoke, concern creeping into his tone. "If you know sothing, King Silmarien, you must tell us."
Silmarien let the silence stretch, just long enough for unease to settle deep into their bones.
Then he spoke, his voice low and heavy.
"I did not wish to burden you with this," he said. "I have held it back… but perhaps now is the ti."
He lifted his head.
His eyes were red.
"In a dream," Silmarien continued, "sent to through the bloodline of the Old King himself, I was shown the truth."
The elders leaned forward unconsciously.
"The Mother Tree," he said slowly, deliberately, "is dying."
Shock rippled through the chamber.
Eyes widened. Faces paled. So elders staggered back in their seats as if struck.
"Impossible…"
"That cannot be…"
"A dream… from the Old King?"
Fear, disbelief, and reverence crashed together, and the room fell into a stunned, trembling silence.
Just as panic began to spread—voices rising, breaths growing frantic—Silmarien finally spoke again.
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
"In that sa dream," he said, slowly lifting his gaze to et the eyes of the elders, "the Old King told there is a way to save the Mother Tree… and with it, stabilize the Forbidden Cardinal Zone."
The chamber went deathly still.
"To do so," Silmarien continued, "a sacrifice must be made."
A murmur rippled through the elders.
"Not just any life," he added. "It must be a worthy soul—one of true bravery and unquestionable virtue."
Several elders stiffened.
"And more than that," Silmarien said, his voice lowering, each word deliberate, "this soul must have already proven such bravery through an exemplary act."
Silmarien paused.
"The sacrifice must be willing," he finished. "They must offer their life of their own accord."
A collective gasp filled the chamber.
Faces drained of color. Hands clenched armrests and table edges. So elders looked away, others stared at Silmarien as though seeing him for the first ti.
Even the Old Regent—who had remained silent throughout the entire eting—finally reacted.
His eyes widened.
The realization struck him like a blade to the chest.
The room stood frozen in stunned horror.
And no one dared to speak.
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