The destination pointed to by the path in his mind was not a wasteland.
Before truly arriving, the boundless oak forest always lingered at the center of his thoughts. Even knowing the Sacred Tree had long since moved on, and the oak forest should no longer exist, Tasha subconsciously expected to see a barren, deep mountain range. The endpoint would lie amidst the profound forests, where traces of the Druids of old still remained. Countless secrets lay hidden within the mountains, slumbering for centuries, awaiting discovery by those who came after.
But in truth, it was not a deep, ancient forest.
Tasha had expected them to dismount the carriage somewhere and continue on foot, but the carriage kept moving forward, though the ride grew increasingly bumpy. Scattered passersby walked by, curiously observing the jostled strangers on the narrow path. Not long after leaving the last town, their location matched the mental map.
The carriage stopped. They disembarked. Marion leaped down, surveying the surroundings with obvious disappointment. Trees were sparse here, vegetation thin. Bare red earth peeked through the wild grass. In the distance, human settlements lay not far off. Turning the other way, the hillside appeared as if sliced open, its red rock layers laid bare. Should heavy rain fall, the mountain's soil would transform trickles into a torrent of muddy slurry, cascading down the unnatural cliff face.
Natural ruins are not barren, just as the flip side of greatness is not destruction. Destruction can bring heartrending grandeur, yet more tragic than ruin is fading into obscurity—like a radiant hero becoming a weary middle-aged man, hunched over and burdened by the daily grind of nine-to-five existence. What was once a sacred site now lies as the backyard of a village. Druids, elves, orcs, and those bound by the pact with the Heart of Nature stand here, feeling nothing.
"Time is a terrifying thing, isn't it? How the world changes," Martin the guide chuckled dryly, looking somewhat awkward. "The administrators of Tylintan Province once tried to develop this place, but... the fields they dug here never yielded much. Maintaining them in the mountains required too much capital—it just wasn't worth it. They even brought in magical weapons to blast through the mountains, but the rock proved too brittle after being split open. Landslides happened constantly, claiming lives, and the roads fell into disrepair. Since then, trees haven't taken root properly on that side of the mountains. Soil erosion is severe. Even after tourism boomed, no one came here..."
And so it remains in its current half-finished state.
With locals barely scraping by themselves, they naturally have no spare energy to care for the surrounding mountains and waters. Nature has been damaged, yet the light of human civilization has yet to be kindled. This awkward scene persists to this day, quiet and still, its past glory forgotten by all.
Druid Eugenson's disappointment wasn't as palpable as Marion's. He merely gazed around in a daze, sighed, and soon regained his composure. "The cycle of decay and renewal is nature's way," he remarked, though it was unclear if the words held self-comfort. "In time, the earth's wounds will heal."
They arrived at dusk, and within moments, the last rays of sunset vanished below the horizon. Both warmth and light faded rapidly. Finding lodging at this hour would be difficult, and if they wished to sleep soundly tonight—let alone explore further—it was best to set up camp early.
Their carriage carried camping gear, and they'd already spent a night or two in the wild during this journey—this wasn't their first time setting up camp. With five hands working together, they soon had a campfire blazing and a tent pitched beside it. They warmed their dry rations over the flames, while smoke began rising from a nearby village. The proximity of domestic warmth made their campsite resemble a family picnic rather than a wilderness retreat.
Dinner that evening was subdued; none felt much inclination to converse.
Tasha took the first watch.
The others had already crawled into their tents. The night near the small village was very quiet, broken only occasionally by bird calls and dog barks. The sky had grown completely dark, with only the campfire illuminating the nearby ground. Tasha stared at the bare earth not far away, sifting through the information in her mind.
Was this the land she had seen in the illusion? She couldn't quite recall—perhaps because the oak groves in the illusion had been covered in lush green grass. Tasha felt that soil fertile enough to grow an oak grove shouldn't have become such barren mountains. The Tylintan Province Martin had mentioned sounded like a place where the soil was perpetually poor.
Could it be connected to what the forest elves and the Great Druid had done back then? Was the answer hidden in the part of the illusion that had been severed?
A massive shadow fell over Tasha, engulfing her in an instant. Warm breath washed over her back as the thing paused, seemingly waiting for something.
Tasha shifted her sitting position, patted her thigh, and the beast approached, resting its massive head on her lap.
This area was too close to the village, the forest too sparse for large animals to thrive. Foxes were the largest predators in these parts. A shadow large enough to swallow Tasha whole could only belong to one other creature besides Marion in her giant wolf form.
Oh, not a beast—half-domesticated.
Its silvery-white fur was warm and plush, deep enough to sink fingers into. Marion rolled halfway across the ground, pressing her head against Tasha's body. After a moment of stroking, the wolf-girl murmured and rolled again, tucking Tasha into the fur of her belly—probably worried she'd be cold.
The nights here were quite cool, but Tasha's body could endure fire and ice alike—neither needing sleep nor feeling the chill. Even so, being wrapped in this enormous furry blanket felt comforting, easing the frustration of her fruitless search.
In this atmosphere, Tasha closed her eyes.
An image flashed across her pitch-black vision.
It was that scene again—a raven-gray sky, a pitch-black silhouette—all fading before she could make it out. Tashan opened her eyes. The sky before her seemed to overlap with the image from moments ago, appearing identical.
Different.
In this expanse of sky before her, there was no pale yellow full moon.
It wasn't yet the middle of the month; seeing a full moon would be normal. Yet this was clear weather. Before reaching their destination, Tasha had parted the curtains and glimpsed a pale crescent moon in the southern sky. It had been there even before the sun's light faded completely. If the moon was visible at dusk, why couldn't it be seen at night?
Tasha tilted her head back, squinting into the night sky above her. This stretch of sky held neither moon nor stars, the darkness thick and heavy, like a vast canopy.
"Marion," Tasha said, "do you see the moon?"
The silver wolf lifted her head, her pointed muzzle pointing toward the sky. Her nostrils flared, as if puzzled. Tasha stood up, and the silver wolf scrambled to her feet.
"Call it out," Tasha said, stroking the wolf's head.
Call the moon out.
It sounded absurdly unreasonable, but the command came from Tasha, and Marion obeyed without hesitation, finding nothing irrational in the order. The wolf's muzzle pointed straight at the night sky, and a howl pierced the heavens.
The canopy seemed to tremble.
In those character cards that had already vanished, there had once been such a record.
—The mighty silver wolf was regarded by primitive tribes as either a deity or a demon. It could complete its transformation without the light of the sun or moon. A druid scholar who studied this mysterious creature once said: "It is not the full moon that calls the silver wolf, but the silver wolf that calls the full moon."
Indeed.
The sky trembled—no, it flowed. As if a frozen black curtain had liquefied into ink, subtle gradations of raven-black, indigo, and navy blue rippled through it, breathing life into the night sky.
If you've ever gazed upon the night sky, you know it isn't a uniform, lifeless black. Starlight, moonlight, and the city lights beneath the night veil create subtle color variations across the heavens—natural, wondrous hues that defy description and are hard to distinguish. Yet compare it to a genuine night, and the difference between the fake and the real becomes starkly obvious. The lifeless, false sky dispersed, but was the new canopy above genuine? Directly overhead, where the Druid sanctuary once stood, a pale yellow full moon shone brilliantly.
It was the first half of the month, not yet the full moon. Before nightfall, Tasha had seen the crescent moon.
Within the few seconds she gazed at the moon, the silver wolf crouched at her feet vanished. For Marion, it was Tasha who disappeared beside her. The half-elf Mavis, fast asleep, suddenly awoke. She threw on her cloak and stepped out of the tent to find the full moon hanging high above the empty camp. The restless druid Eugenson, stirred by a premonition, rose and exited his tent to find the ground bare and the moonlight bright.
Under this peculiar moonlight, four people had vanished without a trace. The human guide Martin slept soundly, just like the villagers around him. The Empire's mechanical bird perched quietly on a tree. The records it sent back showed nothing unusual—no one was missing, and there was no untimely full moon in the sky. The small creatures in the forest seemed to sense something. An owl flapped its wings and soon flew far away.
The invited had departed; the uninvited gained nothing.
...
Eugenson gripped his oak staff cautiously.
The campfire flames froze, like crimson flowers frozen in ice. His gaze had just lifted from the full moon overhead when he suddenly saw the figure before him. A faint glow emanated from the being, making it stand out brilliantly against the dark backdrop.
The tall, pointed-eared creature was smiling at him.
"You need not know my name, just as I need not know yours," said the moon-bright elf. "Friend, why have you come?"
The scene was utterly bizarre—a strange guest in frozen space. Eugene nearly doubted he'd left his tent in the middle of the night, suspecting he'd fallen asleep without realizing it. The elf before him carried no hint of malice, only a familiar warmth.
"If I may ask," Eugene said, "are you also a druid?"
"No, I am a warrior," the elf chuckled, "but I am also a wood elf. It seems that no matter how many years pass, some things never change."
It was the scent of nature. Even if he couldn't be certain the figure before him wasn't a phantom, that scent felt as comforting as the forest itself. The friendship between wood elves and druids ran deep and natural; it was only fitting that two kindred spirits of nature shared an innate closeness born of the same source.
There were so many questions to ask, yet Eugene chose to answer first.
"I wish to see the last node," he said. "I wish to witness the fractured tale, like a trout raised in the sea that must return to the river. Ever since I knew this place existed, I longed to come back—even without knowing what lay here."
"You didn't know?" The elf looked surprised, then grew serious. "What of the druid chroniclers?"
"I am the chronicler among the druids," Yugensson replied with a bitter smile. "But calamities and upheavals scattered us far and wide, even separating us from the Heart of Nature. Too much of the druidic legacy has been lost."
"Has it truly come to this?" the elf said, genuine sorrow spreading across his face. "I never imagined the Druids would face such calamity. You worship Nature with devotion rivaling any priest's devotion to a god. Nature's followers span every race, outnumbering the elves by far, united more than the mages, with traditions deeper than the witches. How did it come to this?"
Yet the priests of all gods had vanished, the races later driven to the world's edges, mages slaughtered, witches' bloodlines nearing extinction. As one among them, the druids certainly held no privilege of exemption.
Eugenson shook his head, refraining from saying so.
"The darkness before dawn has passed," he said. "We finally recovered the Heart of Nature. I rose from apprentice to become a true druid, just as I'd dreamed of in my youth. Many others advanced from apprenticeship, and many joined as new apprentices. I am fortunate to witness such a glorious era."
The elf watched him silently, simply listening.
"I'm just a clumsy chronicler," Eugenson chuckled, "but I've seen those who mastered their gifts. Alfred the Tree-Speaker was born for this—not yet thirty, and the entire forest sings for him. Prima the Beast-Speaker keeps as many spirit beasts as legendary heroes; her animal companions love her and obey her will. She commands an army single-handedly. The Shapeshifter Rubia possesses boundless strength—he races cheetahs and wrestles grizzly bears. And those who command the heavens... ah, there are too many to count. Compared to your era, this may seem a dark age. But for us, it is the best of times. Everything will be alright."
"Hope," the elf smiled in agreement, "is the finest thing."
"One person aided us, and it was this person who brought me here," Eugene said. "I know not where she came from, nor what she sought in coming here, but I trust her. She replanted seeds in barren lands, sheltered fragile seedlings from the rain. Druids, and countless other tribes beyond the Druids, have flourished under her protection, rising from near extinction to where we stand today... If we cannot trust someone like her, then who can we trust?"
"You've convinced me," the elf nodded. "But you still need an acknowledgment."
The forest rustled.
When did this happen? The sparse clearing suddenly burst with every kind of plant imaginable. Flowers, grasses, and trees crowded every visible space, erasing the red earth, the cliffs, and the village of the courtyard. Eugene felt as if he'd been cast into an endless primeval forest. He turned back—the camp, the bonfire, the elf—all vanished.
Only the full moon hung high in the sky, its brilliant light illuminating the night.
"Call upon the forest, Tree-Speaker!" came the elf's clear voice from the moon. "As a druid, prove your worth."
"This entire forest?" Yujinsen asked in astonishment.
"Forgive me," the elf teased, "my powers are limited. I cannot conjure more environment."
"But my strength is very weak," Yujinsen said, tilting his head back toward the sky with a bitter smile. "My talents have never been great. The time I should have spent connecting was spent organizing old pages. Asking me to do so much... I fear I am not up to the task."
Like every profession, druids naturally varied in strength.
The threshold for spellcasters was inherently high, where power and talent hinged on diligence. Eugene's advancement had been halting; he'd long known he couldn't journey far along the path of extraordinary power. His own interests lay neither in combat nor magic. As a chronicler, he was more passionate about organizing and writing, pouring his energy into documents, leaving little left for practice.
Among the Tree-speakers, the most accomplished ones—like Alfred—might have had a chance if they'd been asked. But expecting Yuginsen, the librarian, to take action? That was truly asking too much.
"But this isn't reality," the elf said with a hint of amusement. "My hints end here, friend. Good luck!"
Eugenson scanned his surroundings once more and suddenly understood.
The plants here were of every conceivable variety, gathered from every corner of the world, growing in every season and era. The composition of this forest was so complex that only the most erudite of druids could name each species.
"I see," Eugene sighed in relief.
"When it comes to natural gifts and talent, I admit I have no confidence," he murmured to himself. "But in knowledge and love for nature, I won't be outdone by any druid."
...
Marion spun around abruptly, her gaze fixed warily on the sudden apparition.
The same jet-black hair, the same ethereal beauty—where Tasha had stood moments before, another woman now stood. Her pointed ears glowed almost translucent in the moonlight, her face shimmering like carved jade. The elven maiden looked at Marion and curtsied.
But this was not her mistress.
Marion called out through their mental link, but no response came. Was her voice failing to reach the other side? Or were the answers simply not getting through? Either way, it was enough to make her anxious. The wolf girl was now on high alert, her ears flattened back. Facing the moonlit fairy-like elf girl before her, she stood as resolute as she had against the iron golem in the past.
"I expected the druid to come," the elf girl remarked wistfully. "It's been so long since I've seen a silver wolf."
She held out her hands toward Marion, hands that felt strangely familiar to the wolf girl. Marion wanted to approach, but her guard rose. What have you done to me? She lowered her head, baring fangs, a low growl rising in her throat.
"I mean you no harm," the elf girl said. She seemed to want to say more, but abandoned the thought upon meeting Marion's defiant gaze.
She took a small step back and clapped her hands softly.
Marion didn't see where it came from.
One moment the space was empty; the next, the undeniable creature appeared, striding with grace as if it had been concealed within the moonlight all along. Its coat shone as pure as moonlight, snow-white mane flowing smoothly over its neck, both fluffy and silky. Its eyes held childlike innocence, long lashes fluttering. Above them, on its forehead, grew a spiral-shaped horn.
This was a unicorn—a legendary creature vanished from sight for centuries, existing only in tales.
Like snow placed upon a match, the restlessness in Marion's heart dissolved by half. The silver wolf's gaze shifted between the unicorn and the elven girl, still unwilling to shift back into human form for conversation.
"Why have you come?" the elven girl asked.
I have come for "her."
Marion did not know the name "Tasha."
She knew the name used when Tasha signed contracts, knew the alias "Natasha"; she knew some called "her" "Your Excellency," others referred to "her" as "that person," and enemies, filled with hatred and fear, called 'her' "that monstrous woman"... The wolf girl knew her contract holder bore many names, many titles. She wouldn't know them all, but that mattered little—just as the nature of the vessel itself was irrelevant.
"She" could be a faceless specter, "she" could wear wolf skulls for a head, 'she' could sprout dragon wings, "she" could be as pure and ethereal as an elf or as wickedly alluring as a demon—none of it mattered. She was Marion's contract holder, owner, and master; she was Marion's nurturer, savior, kin, and friend. How she was defined mattered not. Whatever name, whatever form, whatever explanation—the bond between them remained unshaken. Her existence would not change, nor would Marion's loyalty.
Marion came for "her." Wherever "she" pointed, Marion would follow. She needed no other reason—this was reason enough.
The wolf girl did not answer.
But when she thought of Tasha, Tasha's image appeared—from ghostly form to wolf-headed body, from dragon-winged form to demonic form. The images shifted, yet the radiance enveloping her remained unchanged. The Tashar in Marion's heart always shone brightly, like a warm, brilliant star.
"A shapeshifter?" the elf girl said, confused.
Only now did Marion notice the image. The moment she realized it, fury erupted within her. Her thoughts had been stolen! Her image had been spied upon by this stranger! How dare these creatures! The silver wolf let out a bloodcurdling roar, her fur bristling, ears flattened back as she lunged at the shameful thief.
"Wait! This is a special space where our truest thoughts manifest directly. I didn't mean to peek!" " The elf awkwardly dodged and leaped onto the unicorn. Marion's thoughts were already a straight line in Silver Wolf form, let alone now that her eyes were red with rage—there was no way she'd listen to explanations. The elf dodged several more times before sighing.
"Forget it. This is for the best." She smiled bitterly.
The fairy and unicorn simultaneously erupted in fluorescent light so bright the silver wolf had to close her eyes. When she opened them again, the fairy riding the unicorn was gone. In her place stood a centaur girl with a single horn, head held high, a longbow in hand.
"Come on, let's fight!" the girl challenged. "Defeat me and prove your worth!"