"I—I never expected it to turn out like this," said the druid who could transform into a golden eagle, overcome with shame. "It's just that I came across a hazelnut grouse—a very plump one… You see, when druids shift forms, our minds tend to become a bit, um, similar to the creature we're transforming into."
The druid, returning with the seeds of the Tree of Life, unfortunately encountered a hazelnut grouse before reaching his destination. This courier, who had been diligent and focused throughout the journey, flew to the edge of the Angaso Forest, his stomach growling with hunger. For a moment, his instincts overpowered his reason. He dove down toward the plump hazel grouse, his talons spreading wide as he pounced, causing the Tree of Life seed to fall to the ground.
His remaining sense of reason ensured this happened just half a meter above the ground; logically, a fall from this height should have had no effect on the seed, and he would simply have to pick it up afterward. However, the seed of the Tree of Life was extraordinary—the moment it touched the ground, it began to burrow downward.
A seed from a wandering world, the instant it touched the soil of its homeland, it took root.
This was the edge of the Angaso Forest, where vegetation was sparse, consisting only of scattered herbaceous plants. In this flat, open area, people hundreds of meters away turned in astonishment toward the scene, where a massive sapling burst through the soil and shot upward, rising from the ground like a skyscraper emerging from the earth. Just like the magic bean in an Earthly fairy tale, the Tree of Life grew with such vigor and vitality that its roots plunged deep into the earth, causing the ground to rumble and tremble.
Soon, everyone in the vicinity gathered, gaping in astonishment at this sudden, towering tree. Though it had existed for only a few minutes, it seemed as if it had been growing there for centuries; people craned their necks until they ached, yet still could not see the top of the tree. Children playing nearby tilted their heads back so far they fell backward, crying "Ouch, ouch!" as they scrambled to their feet. Luckily, the soil was soft, so they didn't hit their heads.
Everyone looked around in bewilderment. The only person nearby was a Druid on the verge of tears, covering his naked lower body with a hazel grouse. He couldn't explain what was happening and was pacing frantically.
The towering tree continued to grow, its vigor rivaling that of a druid's sacred tree. In the days that followed, it stopped growing upward and began to spread outward instead. Its canopy resembled an unfurled canopy, expanding by a full circle each day. Eventually, the pace of expansion slowed, but one by one, fruits began to hang from the treetops. Even the most experienced druids who came to inspect them could not identify what kind of fruit they were.
This was the scene Tasa witnessed upon her return.
Everyone stood around the tree, pointing and exclaiming in wonder. There were so many fruits—each sturdy branch bore a cluster, and though the spacing between them was quite generous, the sheer vastness of the tree's canopy made the sight overwhelming. Looking up, the tree was covered in fruit. If they gave off a sweet scent, the air for miles around would likely be filled with fragrance. The fruits were enormous—a stark contrast to the Druid climbing the tree. What looked delicate and dainty from the ground was, in fact, as big as a pumpkin.
"If one of those fell on someone, wouldn't they be knocked unconscious?" someone muttered.
"That's exactly why you shouldn't just stand under the tree gawking. Don't you have anything else to do?" the druid said helplessly, having answered countless questions these past few days. "Come on, come on! These fruits are not edible!"
The rabbit-eared orc smacked his lips, looking quite disappointed.
Huge fruits hung from the massive tree. Tasa looked up and was reminded of those wishing trees found in tourist attractions, their branches laden with countless bells that jingled in the breeze. She spread her wings and flew up to get a closer look. From this vantage point, these enormous fruits didn't seem like they'd hurt if they fell on someone.
They were fuzzy.
Like the fluffy heads of dandelions, only denser; like the white fuzz on silver-leaf chrysanthemum petals, only longer and seemingly softer. It was as if a fine layer of white frost had settled on some plant, or like a giant cat curled up into a ball, its head and tail indistinguishable. The fruit before her had a thick stem, its surface covered in a thick layer of fuzz, looking incredibly soft.
Tasha reached out to touch them and was startled by the sensation.
Temperature.
They weren't the cool, room-temperature feel of a plant's surface, but a warmth close to body temperature. The fruit didn't feel spongy; instead, it was firm, as if she were stroking a mother's rounded belly. These strange fruits were clearly alive.
"They can't be spirits," said a mage who studied paleontology. " "In every existing record and ballad about the Tree of Life—even the shortest versions—it takes at least ten years for the Tree of Life to hatch an elf. And look at these fruits: their outer fur, their warm touch, their surface temperature reaching XX degrees, while the legendary body temperature of elves is XX degrees, blah, blah, blah… If we could cut open the fruit for examination, the results would be more conclusive."
The druid standing nearby turned pale.
"Master," his apprentice said timidly, "I don't think when the ballads say elves have 'skin as smooth as cream,' they mean their body temperature is like cream…"
Amidst all the speculation and debate, time slipped by, and the fruits gradually ripened.
They grew larger, riper, and plumper. The stems bearing the fruits grew sturdier and more robust, strong enough to support their weight. By now, the fruits had gradually divided into two varieties: one remained pure white, while the other began to turn yellow.
It was not the withered yellow of autumn leaves, but a lovely golden-brown, like dough rising in an oven—the body becoming fluffier, the crust baking to a golden hue. The fine downy hairs covering the fruit's surface have grown coarser and thicker, like a fledgling bird molting into a new coat of feathers—so thick you could slip your hand inside to keep warm. Tasa couldn't resist trying it once; it was exceptionally warm beneath that layer of fuzz. The fruit she touched shivered slightly, as if someone had slipped a cold hand into its collar on a bitter winter's day.
When the edges of the fuzz turned brown, the first fruit ripened.
It was early morning, and the first rays of the rising sun fell upon the forest's edge, gilding the edges of every leaf with a golden glow. The largest fruit began to tremble, its thick down quivering like ripples on water. The entire fruit swayed back and forth until its incredibly sturdy stem suddenly snapped, and the fruit fell to the ground.
The druids on duty gasped, and the protective blanket of vegetation on the ground sprang into action. A thick layer of lichen had long been planted beneath the tree, but who would ever complain about too much protection? Their eyes were fixed on the direction of the falling fruit, watching it get closer and closer to the ground—and then suddenly pull away.
It took flight.
Fuzzy brown fur unfurled in an instant; wings several meters wide flapped through the air, the resulting gusts slamming against the ground like crashing waves, sending a vast swath of grass and leaves flying. The fuzzy fruit had ripened to perfection, bursting open into a furry creature. Its head resembled a sea eagle with ruffled feathers, while its body looked like a golden lion; the two parts joined harmoniously, with feathers and fur blending seamlessly. Just before touching down, it suddenly took flight. At first it wobbled, but within seconds it regained control, circling proudly over the people before soaring skyward.
It was a griffin.
It had already flown past the branch where it was born, brushing past it without a second glance. Its eagle-like brown wings beat heavily, leaving both the ground and the treetops far behind. The griffin navigated the branches with innate skill, bursting through the canopy to bathe in the sunlight. Its blue eyes surveyed this unfamiliar land—what was it thinking?
The second fruit, the third, the fourth… fell one after another.
They possessed feathers and fur the color of sunlight, while their eyes held the hues of ice crystals and the sky. This flock of newborn griffins circled beneath the Tree of Life, soaring through the canopy, emitting clear, piercing cries as they tested one another and called to their companions. Though their bodies were a size smaller than the pseudo-dragons ridden by the dragon cavalry, the thunderous presence they created in flight was no less imposing. These peculiar creatures frolicked in the sky, seemingly never tiring of their play.
By noon, every single yellow fruit had fallen to the ground.
Or rather, they had all "vanished into thin air." Hundreds of griffins left the branches and began circling in the sky. It was a scene one might expect to see only in a fantasy film: they flew in rings of varying sizes, with the closer ones revealing feathers that glinted gold in the sunlight, while the distant ones appeared as nothing more than tiny black dots. After the last griffin took to the air, the vast flock scattered, departing in small groups of three or five.
The last recorded griffin died of illness 175 years ago, and the final griffin regiment fought to the last man in the war against the orcs. After all these years, these wondrous creatures—part magic, part nature—have reappeared in Eryan.
"Do big birds grow on trees?" asked a child, stunned after waiting so long for the fruit to ripen. His parents, speechless and at a loss for words at the sight of the massive creature perched on the chimney, couldn't correct him in that moment.
The appearance of hundreds of griffins is no small matter.
In just the first week, the Tasmalin State Police received over a hundred reports involving griffins—ranging from petty theft to horses being devoured. Thankfully, there have been no casualties so far. Griffins are intelligent, mischievous beasts with a voracious appetite; they're clever enough to open horse stalls, but not clever enough to negotiate with their owners. The druids have been working overtime, rushing from place to place to reason with these massive troublemakers—creatures with the intelligence of mischievous children and the strength of brown bears.
The Dragon Rider Enforcement Squad is running from one crisis to the next, rushing to reported locations to stop griffins from wreaking havoc or accompanying druids on their difficult persuasion missions. Dragon Rider Douglas's enforcement efforts are far more efficient—wherever the dragon goes, the griffins scatter like birds. Drones were deployed to assist with law enforcement, but the use of small-scale electric shocks quickly proved to be a bad idea—it only enraged the griffins, making them twice as violent. Mages were racing against time to develop griffin-repelling spells. Areas infested with griffins were temporarily sealed off, and factories and schools within those zones were closed for a few days. The students who got the unexpected break seemed quite happy, finding the griffins rather cool.
Of course, the griffins brought more than just farce.
The number of pseudo-dragons the Dungeon could produce was, after all, limited. Those reserve cavalrymen who had mastered their skills but were forced to sit on the sidelines due to a lack of dragons grinned from ear to ear upon seeing another sufficiently large, flying creature, already envisioning themselves soaring through the skies on griffins. Over on the Imperial side, quite a crowd was also in high spirits. Knights roared that flight was the romance of knighthood—Dragon Knights weren't the real deal! The Griffin Corps was the Empire's true pride!
The cooperation between Tasmalin State and the Empire had unexpectedly taken a significant leap forward; Tasmalin hadn't expected the Empire to harbor such strong feelings for griffins. Perhaps it was because the Griffin Corps had a long and storied history, the griffins themselves were majestic and imposing (if you look closely, there's even a griffin on the Empire's coat of arms), and they had died with such heroic fervor that they hadn't been tarnished by scandal. Instead, they had become the nation's beloved symbol, held in the same esteem as the white horse of a prince.
In the next round of negotiations, the Empire sincerely requested the transfer of several griffins, offering terms so generous they were surprising. Compared to the headache-inducing topic of the impending war, the arrival of the griffins was a breath of fresh air, almost like engaging in "panda diplomacy." Those on the Imperial side who possessed the training manuals for the griffin corps collaborated with the druids, pondering how to rebuild a griffin legion.
"Griffins this large will likely be quite difficult to train," the Imperial representative expressed his concern. "I know griffins cannot be traded. To ride them… no, to fight alongside them, you must earn their acceptance."
"Fortunately, these griffins are all in excellent health," the druid said with relief. "Right now is their breeding season. With a bit of luck…"
Can griffins that grow from trees reproduce normally? Just over a month later, Tasa had her answer.
The griffins built their nests high in the mountains. Their eggs were larger than ostrich eggs, adorned with beautiful patterns that made them look like pebbles painted with fiery sunset clouds. The cadet dragon riders, their minds filled with wild imaginings, climbed the mountains every day. The paladins, their hearts swelling with excitement, had traveled from distant parts of the empire to gaze lovingly at those bird eggs—unwavering in their devotion even as they were soundly beaten by the adult griffins. They were like cat lovers who remained utterly enchanted even as their cats delivered a barrage of slaps, and as they were beaten by the furious griffin parents, a precious revolutionary friendship blossomed between them.
Mages are equally drooling with desire, though their gaze isn't as pathetic as that of the first two groups. Mages stare at the griffin eggs, occasionally fixing their eyes on the adult griffins as well, their gaze brimming with a spine-chilling thirst for knowledge—"they're clearly up to no good" (says the knight). Whenever these research fanatics appeared in the vicinity, the reserve dragon riders, paladins, and patrolling druids would band together, shifting their focus from the eggs to the mages, each treating them as if facing a formidable enemy.
"You're allowed to look, but we're not? That's professional discrimination!" the mages protested.
No one paid any heed to this protest. The three groups of griffin protectors continued to keep a close watch, and as a result, their friendship deepened—a cause for celebration.
A month later, the baby griffins hatched. Their white down resembled the fruit that had just ripened on the Tree of Life a few months prior. In the days that followed, these little snowballs swelled like inflatable balls, transforming from fluffy bundles that could only blink adorably into energetic little pups.
By three months old, the young griffins were the size of large dogs. Though their wings were not yet capable of flight, their lion-like bodies could already climb up and down rocks and leap nimbly in and out of the nest. Their parents began teaching them the art of pouncing, followed by lessons on how to fly and hunt in a dive. In a few more months, those wings—which now looked as flabby as chicken wings—would be covered in stiff, brown feathers, and they would take flight, growing sharp, sturdy claws.
Those who long for griffins set out with all their might for the griffin habitats, offering their utmost sincerity in the hope of winning over these clever and untamed creatures. The griffin's juvenile stage is fleeting; whether they will be chosen will become clear very soon. Unlike the pseudo-dragons created in dungeons, griffins are living creatures. They require food, grooming, rest, and care, and each possesses its own unique personality and preferences. Gaining their acceptance is difficult, and maintaining the relationship is no easy task. Yet griffins live for a century, are smarter and more loyal than pseudo-dragons, and if they so choose, they will remain with their riders for life.
The state of Tasmalin has established the "Magical Creatures Protection Agency" to handle the troubles brought by new species and mediate the relationship between humans and them. People will eventually get used to their new neighbors; the impact of the griffins will likely become nothing more than a nuisance on the level of "a raccoon rummaging through my mailbox."
The Magical Creatures Protection Agency deals with more than just griffins.
There is another batch of fruits on the Tree of Life.
One type grows increasingly fuzzy and sallow, eventually maturing into griffins. The other remains pure white, translucent in its whiteness, with fur as fine as woodcarvings. When Tasha reached out to touch them, they remained still and aloof.
The pure white fruits ripened half a month later than the griffin fruits, and they fell on the night of a full moon. The silver moonlight bathed the earth, casting dancing shadows, and all was silent. Amidst this stillness, the fruits, the same color as the moonlight, fell to the ground.
It did not soar through the air, but simply landed lightly, without any grand fanfare; its footsteps were as quiet as the moonlight itself. A white horse approached, its hooves treading the moonlight, its mane billowing in the night sky like a veil of gauze.
Above the white horse's head grew a single, spiral-shaped horn.
If Marion were here, she would likely gasp, "Ah!" and exclaim, "I've seen this before!"—this extraordinary white horse was just like the one she had seen at the ancient Druid sanctuary: both were so light and graceful, and the difference between them and ordinary horses was as stark as that between elves and humans.
This was a unicorn, possessing an elfin beauty—slender, noble, pure, and ethereal. Its coat, devoid of any mottled patches, was like the embodiment of moonlight; when it ran, it resembled a streak of colored wind. The unicorn's limbs were so slender they seemed to have been drawn with a brush. Tasa had a vague feeling that such proportions and musculature would be unhealthy on a horse—too delicate to run.
But a unicorn is no ordinary horse; magical power forms its very flesh and blood, and its speed surpasses that of any horse. It glanced around, its hoof lightly tapping the ground, and vanished like a phantom into the forest.
"Unicorns are shy little darlings, but they also love the company of other creatures and will actively seek out companions," " Mavis said, a nostalgic smile spreading across her face. "My mother told me she once kept one when she was little—or rather, a unicorn tried to take care of her, since my grandparents were busy fighting in the war and kept leaving her at home."
Compared to griffins, which lean more toward beasts, unicorns are closer to magical creatures. These shy magical creatures go about their business alone, hurrying away the moment a white fruit hits the ground, as if too shy to even meet their companions' gaze. They run so fast that even Tasa, whose eyes are everywhere, loses track of them. She isn't worried; judging by the personality Mavis described, the unicorns will surely show up eventually.
Reports on unicorns have become commonplace; they're far less troublesome than griffins. Columns no longer need to fill pages with articles like "How to Avoid Griffin Harassment" or "What to Do If You Encounter a Griffin at a Barbecue Party"—a brief introduction to their habits is all that's needed. Unicorns were powerful yet kind and harmless, and possessed the ability to distinguish between good and evil, so there was no need to worry about them being harmed by others. More people were interested in how to attract unicorns, and countless readers—especially girls—fell in love at first sight with those ethereal, otherworldly images.
Soon after, the first lucky person appeared.
Elsa, a nineteen-year-old farmer's daughter, had been out late and decided to take a shortcut home. Unfortunately, she got caught in a downpour and lost her way in the forest. On that pitch-black night, a silvery-white unicorn descended from the sky and escorted her home.
"What should I do?" she asked nervously when she came to the Magical Creatures Protection Agency to register. "Why did it come to me? There were plenty of other people caught in the rain that day. "I've always been popular with animals, but those were just cats, dogs, cows, sheep, and horses…"
"You don't have to do anything," the staff member smiled at her. "It just likes you. By the way, have you ever thought about taking a career aptitude test?"
It was later confirmed that the girl possessed the talent of a Beastmaster.
After that, more people began to spot unicorns.
Pure-hearted unicorns are drawn to pure-hearted people; they are always attracted to gentle souls. Most of those coming to the Magical Creatures Protection Agency to register were young girls, but that wasn't the only group.
A twelve-year-old boy named Gabriel, his face flushed, kept insisting that there must be some mistake. "They say only girls who've never had a boyfriend encounter unicorns. I've never had a boyfriend, but I'm not a girl, am I?" " he stammered, "I don't know how to talk to a horse. Hey, could you guys talk to it for me? I was this close to taking off my pants to show it, but I thought that would be really rude…"
The staff were struggling to hold back their laughter, while the old man next to them—who'd just had three bottles of wine snatched by a griffin—was laughing so hard he was slapping his thighs, not holding back at all. The boy's face turned even redder, like a ripe tomato. "Stop laughing for a second—please help me!" he pleaded. "If it's picked the wrong person, won't the girl it was supposed to find end up without her unicorn?"
The roaring laughter turned into kind smiles, and the staff member said, "It didn't pick the wrong person—it's you." The old man standing nearby ruffled Gabriel's curly hair and added, "Who told you only girls are allowed? Don't listen to their nonsense!"
After all, a unicorn's criteria for finding a partner aren't age, race, or gender; they're simply drawn to hearts filled with tenderness and love.
Shortly after the unicorns dispersed across Tasmanian State, the Magical Creatures Protection Agency welcomed yet another species under its protection.