Long before the first fruit fell, mages and druids had already begun their study of the Tree of Life. While one group searched through ancient texts for theoretical support, the other collected data from living Trees of Life, eventually arriving at a relatively unified perspective.
Elves have no written histories; they pass down their past through inscriptions and ballads—if asking your mother about events from five hundred years ago yields answers based on firsthand experience, then the importance of a written history seems little different from that of a diary. The elves' inscriptions were long lost in the flames of war, while the ballads remain, though they inevitably lose some accuracy as they are passed down through the generations.
Setting aside versions that are clearly fabricated for dramatic effect, and stripping away the sensationalized elements forced into the tales by wandering bards to boost their popularity, the relatively reliable legend of the Tree of Life goes something like this: In years marked by catastrophic disasters—be it searing fireballs plummeting from the sky, the earth churning up waves of mud like the sea, or terrifying demons rampaging across the land—the Children of the Forest return to their homeland to seek refuge with the Elven King. The Elven King preserves the seeds of life, burying them deep in the earth. After enduring the harsh winter, they sprout anew in the following spring, giving rise to the Tree of Life. After a certain number of years—some say ten, some fifty, and others a hundred—the Tree of Life hatches forest elves. The light of life illuminates the land, and the Children of the Forest will eventually thrive once more on the post-disaster earth.
"I only realized today that 'preserving the seeds of life' is actually meant quite literally," a researcher muttered to himself.
In any case, most researchers believed that the Tree of Life would produce elves within a span of ten to one hundred years (a remarkably broad range), and consequently concluded that the fuzzy fruits that had grown over the past few months were merely another manifestation of the Light of Life—much like fairy lanterns, capable only of reflecting the vibrant vitality within the tree's shade. Once the first fruit—which had been dismissed as a mere ornament—fluttered away, all the golden-brown fruits flew past the researchers' windows in droves that very afternoon, throwing the research team into chaos.
After the chaos subsided, they regrouped and revised their hypothesis.
"Children of the Forest" does not refer to Wood Elves.
Wood-elves are the Children of the Forest, but the Children of the Forest are not limited to the wood-elf race; the term encompasses many other races, such as centaurs, forest fairies, and the like. Clues can be found in many legends and ballads: before griffins were tamed as knights' companions, wild griffins lived in the forest alongside the elves. Unicorns, who cherish pure hearts, often kept company with wood elves; as rare immortal beings, they could accompany one another until the end of their lives.
This is why the Tree of Life bears fruit other than wood elves.
In addition to archers, druids, and rangers, there is another common profession among the wood elves: the "Beastmaster." It was an elven Beastmaster that Marion encountered in that small fragment of the Dreaming Realm—a Beastmaster who had fused with a unicorn, fighting as one. This class is somewhat akin to a combination of a Druid's Beast Speaker and Shaper; they can merge with magical creatures to battle, and for the Wood Elves, griffins and unicorns are the most common choices for companions.
Four hundred years ago, the Elven King summoned all the Wood Elves of Eryan. They gathered from all directions at the Druids' sanctuary, driven by their trust in the King and their love for this world, to embark on an expedition to the Astral Plane. The Wood Elves arrived, and the companions of the Elven Beastmasters came with them. Those griffins and unicorns, who were the other halves of the Wood Elves, set out on the journey without hesitation.
And in the end, they remained there forever, alongside those Wood Elves.
Their king did not betray their trust; the ruler of the Wood Elves waited for four hundred years in the barren Astral Realm, until visitors from their homeland arrived. Within that seed of the Tree of Life, not only were his people nurtured, but also those close companions who had shared life and death with them. In the rebirth of life, the griffins and unicorns fell from the tree, gaining a second life.
The magical creatures left behind in Eryan had gone extinct, yet the seeds were preserved in the astral realm; the quarter of the continent that ultimately crashed became a veritable Ark of Noah. Though their "journey" failed, it was by no means in vain.
On the lush branches of the Tree of Life, new fruits are growing.
These fruits are very small, no larger than a thumb. They possess a rounded, charming greenish hue, resembling both carved jade beads and naturally formed crystals from a mine. Unlike the fuzzy fruits of the past, these fruits have smooth exteriors and grow very slowly. Even after several months, no visible changes can be detected; only the Druids who have been observing and recording them can discern the slightest differences.
They appear delicate and fragile, making one anxious, fearing that a single gust of wind or a shower of rain might knock them from the tree. But in reality, the fruits on the tree dance joyfully in the midst of raging storms and remain unscathed by frost and heavy snow—far more resilient than they appear. The tree-born elves grow quietly on the branches; perhaps, just as the legends say, it takes at least ten years before one can glimpse the true form of the pointed-eared beauty described in poetry.
News of the elves spread, stirring up yet another uproar among the people, with a response even greater than that of the griffins and unicorns. This was yet another legendary race long gone; their story had frozen in time four hundred years ago, when the coalition under the Eryan Declaration had just driven out the Celestial Realm and the Abyss, and the wine of victory and glory was shared among all the races. The Wood Elves were like a microcosm of a legendary tale—a story that ended at its finest moment, with no heroes growing old, no decay, betrayal, or the turmoil of renewed warfare. Time had carved out a vast realm of imagination, and people yearned for them for all sorts of reasons, just as they yearned for that legendary era.
Besides, the Wood Elves are so beautiful, aren't they?
"It'll be at least a decade…" someone sighed, shaking their head at the picture in the newspaper, as if they wanted to fertilize the Tree of Life.
"Only a decade!" said an optimist. "Ten years isn't long. I can wait fifty years. In fifty years, we'll see people we haven't seen in nearly five hundred years. Our generation is truly lucky!"
"Anyway, that's all after we've driven the Abyss back to its home." Another person said, "It's for the best. Otherwise, if someone closed their eyes just as we drove the Abyss away, only to open them and see it reappearing, they'd surely think we're good-for-nothings and a disgrace."
These words carried the spirit of a host who cleanses the house before inviting guests. In this era when one could learn about world events from newspapers and radio while sitting at home, even those who had never left a small town could feel a sense of belonging to Eryan and take pride in the fact that Eryan belonged to them as well.
"We absolutely cannot lose," they joked. "If we lose to the Abyss, we won't get to see the elves."
As trade became more frequent and productivity increased, the dissemination of information grew ever more convenient and rapid. With such a vast volume of information, each piece lingered for a shorter time. As news of the griffins, unicorns, and wood elves' arrival spread, the terror brought by the Abyss was diluted further.
Those preparing for battle stepped up their efforts; the years-long preparations gradually became part of their daily lives, and once accustomed to them, they no longer felt overly anxious. For most people, however, the threat of the Abyss felt both near and far—much like a dentist appointment six months down the line. It certainly made them frown, but it was something they had to face, and they were sure to get through it.
Then, Tasa discovered that "the light of life shines upon the earth" was more than just a poetic phrase.
The druids observed that the vegetation in Angaso Forest had entered another growth spurt; many plants were thriving with such vigor it seemed as though they'd been enchanted with a growth spell. Numerous trails near the forest were swallowed up after a single rainy season, left desolate and overgrown, as if abandoned for years. Spontaneously organized patrol teams cleared paths in the vicinity, and it was then that the anomaly was discovered.
"The trees have been growing so fast these past few days—we're really happy about that. The more they grow, the more we can cut down, right? You know, with all those forest protection regulations over the years? And those guys with their walking sticks, keeping such a close eye on us… Hey, cut that part out and don't air it," " the logger told the radio station that had come to interview him. "We started work as usual that day. When we got to that part of the road blocked by trees, Kendi had just found a good tree. He hadn't even started cutting yet—he'd just tapped the back of his axe against the tree twice to mark it—and guess what? That tree suddenly stood up and ran off with a howl!"
"The tree actually 'howled'?" the host asked in astonishment.
"Not exactly—it was Kendi who howled. Imagine you're pulling up a radish, and the radish breaks free from the ground and runs off—wouldn't you howl too?" "The lumberjack laughed heartily, "It was a massive pine tree—as thick as a man's waist and as tall as a building. It ran off thumping and stomping, leaving two muddy footprints behind. I'm naturally bold, so I chased after it. When I caught up, wow! That pine tree had a nose and eyes, and a huge face hanging down!"
This lumberjack and his partner Kendi were lucky—the pine tree they encountered wasn't too bad-tempered; it turned and ran after just a couple of whacks. Another lumberjack, Felik, wasn't so lucky. He was a renowned expert with the axe, quick and precise. With two swift swings, he chopped off half the tree's trunk. The tree flew into a rage and chased him for three hundred meters.
Poor Felik is now in the hospital being treated for multiple fractures. Getting brushed by a tree several meters tall is bad enough, let alone one that's chasing you in a rage. We also have to thank a ranger who was nearby at the time; thanks to his quick intervention, a tragedy was averted.
"Yes, I was the one who saved that lumberjack," said Franklin, a member of the said Franklin, a member of the "Rangers' Exchange Association." "We were conducting training for new members in the Angaso Forest that day when we suddenly heard someone calling for help, so I ran over. Although we aren't as skilled as druids at communicating with nature, we're still close to it. After leading that tree around for a few hundred meters, I finally managed to calm it down."
"Were you afraid when you acted heroically?" " the host asked.
"Before becoming a Ranger, I was a soldier. I fought in many battles under General Halit and have seen plenty of things," Franklin, the veteran, laughed.
"Your years of combat experience have broadened your horizons and strengthened your courage," the host praised without missing a beat, "which allowed you to remain calm and composed even when encountering a tree spirit…"
"I wasn't particularly calm and composed—I was actually quite excited," Franklin laughed aloud. "I remember way back when our unit had just celebrated New Year's with the Amazons. I got drunk in the woods and shouted 'Happy New Year' at a tree. That old oak tree opened its eyes and said to me, 'Happy New Year to you too'—that's exactly what it said, and I still remember it all these years later. "The old man's been gone for over a decade. I never thought I'd see another tree so full of life."
Time flies. The rookie who once grinned foolishly at the old tree has since retired and become a reliable ranger. More than a decade after the Old Oak's passing, the tree spirit has reappeared in Eryan.
Was it the interplay between the Tree of Life and the Heart of Nature, or had the subtle influence of the magical environment reached another tipping point? In a forest that had lain dormant as ordinary timber for centuries, one day, trees opened their eyes once more. The furrows in their bark formed elongated faces; these magical creatures seemed to have aged the moment they opened their eyes, each bearing a face that looked weathered from birth.
The Bureau of Magical Creatures was torn over whether to classify them as protected species. Many held deep affection for the Old Man of the Oak, viewing him as a wise elder rather than a "magical creature" in need of protection. Opponents argued that if you classified a witch as a magical creature, you'd be beaten so badly your own parents wouldn't recognize you—though, of course, that's a different story if you're a powerful wizard. In the end, the druids communicated with the tree spirit discovered by Number One, and the conclusion was that it should indeed be classified as a magical creature.
Old Oak is the guardian of the oak trees and a member of the Sacred Oak Grove. He safeguards the Heart of Nature and serves as the custodian of druidic knowledge—much like a professional among tree spirits—and cannot be compared to his ordinary kin. Ordinary treants appear dull and ignorant, lacking social structure or the transmission of knowledge; their intelligence is comparable to that of a griffin. These massive semi-magical creatures live more like plants, with an attitude akin to that of a sloth. A treant can stand in the same spot, in the same posture, for a hundred years, remaining motionless unless threatened.
Patrols composed of druids and rangers register every treant, marking them with signs and fencing them off as if protecting ancient monuments. The signs roughly read: "This is the site of Treant XXX. Do not harm it, or face the consequences."
The treants' strength in close combat is truly astonishing—imagine an elephant three stories tall. Luring enemies into their territory and getting them to attack isn't difficult—the thought made Tassada chuckle; it was so very Victor-esque. If the Book of Dungeons were still here, his enthusiastic suggestions would surely be ringing out already; Tassada could practically picture his tone and choice of words.
Let's just hope the guy doesn't wake up as late as an elf.
Because the interview with the Treant was simply too undramatic, this episode wasn't aired on *Inside Eryan* but was instead selected for the new show *Exploration and Discovery*. The program had been growing in popularity due to the steady emergence of new creatures, and the public's demand for new forms of media was rising.
"We need something with lots of pictures—the pace of a radio show, the volume of images in a magazine, and ideally, moving pictures," said a representative from the audience survey. "If there were a show like that, just filming griffins would be enough—baby griffins climbing mountains, baby griffins eating meat, baby griffins sleeping… no narration needed. I could watch it all day."
The latter part of this statement received widespread approval.
Currently, all of Eryan's resources are being directed toward war preparations. The Archmage's Tower, which focuses on magic and theory, is busy researching the Abyss and the Astral Plane, while the Dwarven Artisans' Workshop and the Imperial Military Academy, which specialize in magical technology, are occupied with military research. For the time being, they have no time to deal with new media. But once the Abyss is defeated, it's quite possible that within many people's lifetimes, televisions will become as common as radio is today.
Tasha has plenty of time; as long as she isn't defeated, she's bound to see this happen.
What about computers? Game consoles? Smartphones? On Earth, it took less than a century to transition from the television age to the computer age.
A hundred years—it'll be here before we know it.
Just as the Dwarf Artisans' Workshop developed the "Gryphon Repeller," a long-running negotiation between the State of Tasmalin and the Empire finally reached a conclusion.
Regarding the dismantling of the Nightfall Line.
"Citizens, the night has fallen in the southeast," " The previous Leader declared, "But the night is always temporary; when the sun rises, it is destined to be driven away without a trace. For the sake of a better world, let us endure for now."
Many years ago, the desperate struggle of the Dungeon's residents finally allowed them to gain a foothold in Eryan, and Tasha's daring solo mission destroyed the Empire's source of magic, granting them the opportunity to stand on equal footing with the Empire. The previous leader delivered the "Nightfall Address," and with it as a prelude, the "Declaration of Peace" officially ushered in the era of a silent standoff between the Dungeon and the Eryan Empire. Over the course of more than a decade of standoff, the Nightfall Line evolved from a few trenches and outposts into a massive buffer zone comprising watchtowers, high walls, barbed wire, trenches, soldiers, and magical weapons.
This massive barrier has severed the state of Tasmalin from the Empire, creating two nations and two camps on either side of the wall. The border stands not only on the land but also in the hearts of the people. As time passes, the "non-existent" trade route has evolved from being opened to being tacitly accepted, and then expanded and made public; mechanical birds and drones shuttled back and forth, while journalists on both sides reported on the other's stories with a delay; a massive gap opened in the middle of the high wall, and customs checkpoints processed vast numbers of people daily… Even so, the high wall still stood here, drawing a clear line of demarcation.
This high wall, which had drawn so many gazes and witnessed countless instances of friction and cooperation, was finally about to fall.
On one hand, this is the result of both sides' sincere efforts to advance negotiations; on the other, since the Tree of Life took root on Tasha's territory, the improvement in the magical environment on this side has become almost visibly apparent. On the Tasmalin side, the trees have been so imbued with magic that they've grown legs and can run; over the past few months, the number of Beastmasters—a relatively obscure profession—has skyrocketed, as if spurred into existence by the presence of griffins and unicorns. Every day spent restricting the flow of goods is a massive waste; whoever puts up barriers is a fool.
The customs posts, established only a few years ago, will be dismantled. This is no loss, for in the future, every section of the high wall will allow free passage. Imperial currency and Dwarf coins continue to exist independently, with their exchange rate stabilizing at a relatively fixed value. Tasmalin State and the Empire still maintain separate systems for household registration and identity records, but they share information. As populations flow freely between the two, measures have been put in place to address cross-border crime. After lengthy negotiations, preliminary consensus has been reached on various adjustments. Both parties have signed the agreement, confident that any turmoil will be kept to a minimum.
On the day the Nightfall Barrier was dismantled, crowds gathered on both sides of the line.
Soldiers maintaining order kept the onlookers at a safe distance, and traffic in the surrounding area had been restricted in advance. Even so, the crowd behind the cordon remained a teeming mass. The onlookers, having passed through rigorous security checks, craned their necks from behind the barrier, watching as soldiers marched back and forth at a brisk pace, like a swarm of worker ants dismantling the vast defensive line.
The impregnable bunkers were blown up from the inside, and the watchtowers met the same fate. The troops removed the barbed-wire fences and filled the deep trenches with earth and stone. Engineering vehicles carrying earth and stone shuttled back and forth; the entire process was tense yet orderly, with the main demolition work completed within a single day. When the time finally came to tear down the more symbolic high wall, onlookers on both sides of the wall—including reporters from various newspapers and radio stations who had come to cover the event—all fell silent, even holding their breath.
Along the lengthy defensive line, that seemingly endless wall collapsed simultaneously.
Half shattered under the caster's power, half crumbled as the magic bombs detonated—the spectacle was truly dazzling, like a grand fireworks display. The towering wall of darkness, erected during the Cold War between the two sides, fell as a result of their cooperation. Flashbulbs popped incessantly, and the crowd roared with excitement. As the wall that had captured everyone's attention vanished without a trace and the dust settled, spectators on both sides could finally see the faces of the people across the divide.
The scene fell silent for a moment, then erupted into cheers.
From now on, people could travel between the two places without strict permits; they could come and go without being suspected of treason. Relatives separated on opposite sides—though not by blood—could reunite; mentors and apprentices could meet; neighbors could greet one another. A railway cut through where the wall once stood, connecting the two sides like a blood vessel. No longer would one have to trudge on foot or endure the jolting ride of a horse-drawn carriage; the magic-powered train once again traversed this land, though this time, it carried no cargo of war.
In the end, the customs post was not dismantled.
Ms. Quintina, president of the Valke Artists' Association, proposed a better solution: the customs post and a portion of the nearby defenses were preserved as the "Nightfall Defense Memorial Park." The nearby guard posts still stand, though the sentries no longer watch over people; instead, they guard the high wall itself, much like the caretakers of any memorial. Barbed wire is entwined with silk flowers, commemorative plaques line the trenches, and the customs house preserves the history of over a decade of standoff. As for the remaining high walls, they serve as excellent galleries.
The Valke Artists' Association held a painting competition here on the very first day of the second month following the demolition of the walls and the opening of the defense line. Over two hundred painters from the Empire and Tasmalin were invited to paint here. There was no set theme; the paintings were free-form, with "freedom of expression" itself serving as the theme. Just as inviting painters from both sides—of different professions and ethnicities—to paint on the Nightfall Walls was, in itself, an intriguing act of performance art.