Chapter 404: The World Tree (2)
Lindarion stood alone, Ashwing curled around his neck like a scarf of scales. His gaze drifted across the forest, the endless sweep of green. For a moment, it seemed nothing stirred but the wind.
Then, light.
Not the dying sun, nor lantern-flame, nor the glow of resin. This light was different, golden, pure, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat. It flickered at the edge of his vision, threading between branches, sinking toward the heart of Lorienya.
Ashwing lifted his head, slit-pupiled eyes narrowing. ’You see it too?’
"Yes."
The golden shimmer tugged at him, gentle yet insistent. It was not a call with sound, but with memory, like a half-forgotten melody slipping back into his ears.
Ever since childhood, mana had clung to him. It filled him, blessed him, marked him. Others trained years to sense its flow; for him, it had been as natural as breath. Eldrin had called it a gift. Others had whispered it was a curse.
Now, standing beneath the twilight sky, he felt that same current stir, alive, aware, answering him.
"Toward the tree," he murmured.
Ashwing flicked his tail nervously. ’That’s... the World Tree, Lindarion. The one the council warned you not to approach without leave.’
The light shimmered again, stronger, and with it came a surge through his core, warm, steady, undeniably familiar.
"They did not forbid me," Lindarion said. His tone was cold, but his grip on the balcony rail tightened. "And even if they had, this was never theirs to command."
Ashwing hesitated. ’If we go, we go alone.’
Lindarion’s eyes sharpened. "We always have."
The paths of Lorienya were silent as he moved, descending deeper into the roots of the city. The golden light wove between platforms and branches, visible only to him, an endless ribbon tugging his steps. No sentries barred his way; no elves stirred from their dwellings. It was as if the forest itself conspired to clear his passage.
The deeper he went, the stronger the hum grew. It thrummed not in the air, but in his bones, through the veins of mana that had marked him since boyhood. Each pulse was like recognition, an old friend, a forgotten oath.
Ashwing whispered nervously in his mind. ’It feels... huge. Like the ground itself is breathing.’
"It is." Lindarion’s voice dropped low. "The roots of the world."
At last the trees opened into a vast clearing. The World Tree rose before him, so vast it seemed to pierce not only the sky but the stars themselves.
Its trunk stretched wider than any city, bark gleaming faintly with veins of silver and green. High above, branches wove into a canopy that blotted out the heavens, yet still let golden motes drift like falling fireflies.
And there, at the base of the trunk, the light gathered.
It pulsed against the bark in a single point, like a door waiting to be touched.
Ashwing clung tighter to his shoulder. ’I don’t like this. It’s watching us.’
Lindarion’s hand hovered over the hilt of his sword, then dropped to his side. Slowly, he stepped forward, boots crunching against the moss. The air thickened, sweet and heavy, filled with the scent of sap and ozone.
When he reached the trunk, the light brightened, as if sensing his presence. His chest tightened, the mana in his veins surging in answer.
He pressed his palm against the bark.
The world shuddered.
Mana roared through him like a flood, every affinity sparking at once, fire kindling in his chest, lightning crawling along his veins, shadow coiling behind his eyes, water rushing in his blood. The golden light surged inward, wrapping his core in warmth so sharp it was almost pain.
[System notice: Synchronization detected.]
[Unique compatibility confirmed: Eldorathian lineage + World Tree blessing.]
[Initiating resonance...]
Ashwing hissed aloud, scales flaring. ’Lindarion! You’re glowing!’
Golden light spilled from his skin, burning brighter than torch or star. His knees buckled, but he did not fall. He held his palm firm against the bark as the World Tree’s pulse joined his own.
And then, silence.
The light dimmed, fading back into the bark. His body steadied, though his core now thrummed with a deeper strength, a deeper bond.
Ashwing’s voice was hushed. ’It accepted you.’
Lindarion exhaled, pulling his hand back. His palm bore no mark, but the air around him seemed to bow, heavy with recognition.
He looked up at the trunk, towering infinite. His voice was barely a whisper.
"This is only the beginning."
The bark where Lindarion had placed his palm rippled. Not like wood, not like stone, but as though water itself had been turned solid. Golden light seeped along the grooves, unfurling in quiet patterns until an archway appeared, tall, narrow, alive.
Ashwing’s claws dug into his collar. ’That’s not normal. Trees don’t make doors.’
"This isn’t a tree," Lindarion murmured, eyes narrowing. "It’s a heart."
The arch pulsed once, expectant.
He stepped through.
The air changed instantly. The scent of moss and pine vanished, replaced by a crisp sweetness, sharp like mountain wind. Golden light swam across walls of wood so vast and smooth they seemed carved by no hand. The chamber stretched upward endlessly, spiraling like the hollowed inside of a cathedral, except it lived. Roots curled like veins above him, pulsing faintly with mana.
Ashwing’s voice cracked in his head, hushed, childlike. ’It’s... it’s alive. All of it.’
Lindarion said nothing, but his chest tightened. The energy pressed down on him, not hostile, but immense, as though he had stepped inside the lungs of the world.
[System notice: Ancestral resonance field detected.]
[Warning: Prolonged exposure may alter core stability.]
He ignored it.
At the far end of the chamber, a stair of roots coiled downward, each step wide as a road. Golden motes drifted along the spiral, beckoning.
Lindarion descended.
The deeper he went, the thicker the air became. Not heavy like smoke, but dense with mana, so dense his skin prickled, so dense his affinities stirred without command. Flames licked along his fingertips before he smothered them; shadows curled behind his boots though no torch burned.
Ashwing whimpered softly. ’Lindarion... it feels like it wants something from you.’
"I know." His voice was steady, but every word cost him. The resonance gnawed at his veins, pushing, pulling, demanding.
The stair ended in another chamber, smaller, circular, walls lined with carvings.
He stopped.
The carvings weren’t elven.
Scaled figures stretched across the wood, humanoid but winged, tails curling, claws extended.
Their eyes had been set with faintly glowing crystals, golden and red. Each scene told fragments, figures kneeling before the World Tree, their wings folded in reverence; others wielding weapons of fire and storm; others standing against shadows so vast they seemed to swallow stars.
Ashwing leaned forward, eyes wide. ’They look like... me. Just... bigger.’
"Half-dragons," Lindarion muttered. His hand brushed the carving of one kneeling before the Tree. "The ancestors."
The crystals flared faintly at his touch.
[System notice: Draconic resonance triggered.]
[Warning: Latent bloodline affinity detected.]
[Compatibility... 43%.]
His jaw tightened. Not enough to claim it, but enough to tempt.
Ashwing tilted his head, voice trembling. ’Does that mean you’re... like them?’
"No," Lindarion said coldly, though the weight in his chest betrayed doubt. "I am Eldrin’s son. My blood is my own."
But the carvings glowed on, silent, as if disagreeing.