My world-tree system-Chapter 97 - 96: Awakening

The sun had barely risen in Vollua’s pale sky. A golden veil still bathed the foliage of the giant trees, and the gentle stillness of the morning enveloped the sylvan village in a reassuring calm. In the training clearing, Foster and Orëlas faced each other with swords, their training blades clashing in a steady rhythm.

- Watch your hip, it’s too open," Foster corrected, pivoting to the side to dodge a telegraphed attack.

- I’m trying," breathed Orëlas, breathless. You’re going too fast.

Foster smirked, ready to retaliate, when suddenly...

The ground shook.

Not just a vibration.

A deep rumble, as if Lyréanor’s very heart had just beaten.

The trees shuddered. The leaves froze. The air became thick, almost tangible. Birds stopped singing, insects stopped buzzing. A dense, heavy silence pervaded Vollua.

Then, a heavy sound. A slow... breathing.

Like a living mountain.

Fwooooohhh...

The mana particles suspended in the air seemed to quiver and slow down. Orëlas froze, his hand clutching the handle of his weapon. His eyes widened, suddenly seized by an instinctive shiver. Foster sat up slowly, muscles taut, sword still in hand.

- What was that...? whispered Orëlas, his voice strangled.

All around them, elves emerged from their suspended dwellings, worry painted on their faces. Shouts, orders and anxious murmurs ran through the vine bridges and balconies. Köflik leapt from an upper platform, his bow already in hand.

- Foster! What the hell is going on?! It’s like the earth is breathing!

The usually calm Foster didn’t reply. He stared at the horizon, eyebrows furrowed. Energy... powerful... too powerful. His instinct was to run.

And suddenly, between the monumental roots of the Mother Tree, a silhouette sprang up.

- FOSTER!

Lïanna. Her dress floated behind her like a trail of light. She ran up, her face grave, almost pale.

- I... I feel something..." she began, stopping short of him. A magical signature. Here. IN VOLLUA.

- What?! choked Foster. Here?!

She nodded slowly, her voice tense with a fear he didn’t know she had.

- I’ve never felt like this. It’s... it’s like magic itself is bowing. Titanic magical density...it’s coming from the southeast.

Foster waited no longer.

He began to run, his boots hitting the wood of the suspended platforms at full speed. He raced towards the source, Orëlas and a few other elves at his heels, while panic slowly spread through the village. Bows were drawn. Mothers hugged their children. The last warriors gathered around the Mother Tree.

But Foster stopped dead in his tracks.

He no longer needed to run.

He could see it.

Even through the trees.

Even in the distance.

A colossal figure, deep green, almost black, stood proudly above the canopy.

His dragon.

His dragon had awakened.

And he was nothing like the little companion just out of the egg.

He towered above the trees, as tall as a stone building. His wings, now fully developed, had spread with a deafening crack, shaking the entire forest in a gust of pure mana. And around those wings... flames. Emerald flames, brilliant, alive. They licked the air with grace and menace, dancing on the membrane of the wings as if fueled by magic itself.

His dragon’s scales had changed. They were no longer smooth and clear, but thick, engraved with almost runic lines, as if the flesh itself had been sculpted by an ancestral force. And her eyes...

Foster met her gaze, even from this distance.

Ancient golden prunes, deep, immense, and full of awareness.

And in that instant, he understood.

This was no longer simply his dragon.

This was a mythical creature. A living being that had regained its forgotten greatness.

He felt intense heat, even from several hundred meters away. His skin tingled. The air burned slightly in his nostrils. His grimoire vibrated on his belt, as if acknowledging a higher power.

Köflik came up behind him, panting.

- By... all spirits... what... what is this thing?!

Orëlas, wide-eyed, murmured:

- Is that him...? Is that... your dragon?

Foster didn’t answer immediately. He was still watching.

Up there, on a natural promontory, his dragon had straightened up completely, wings still open, and was letting out a slow, heavy breath, charged with terrifying power. Every breath made the vegetation quiver. The trees themselves seemed to bow around him.

Foster felt his heart pounding in his chest.

And in his mind, a voice echoed. A deep voice. Deeper than ever.

- You called me, Foster. Here I am.

Foster remained on his knees, gazing up at the colossal creature draped in green flames. Around him, the elves had gathered in silence, stunned, some trembling, others simply frozen in amazement. Even Köflik, usually quick to throw in an ironic remark in any situation, was mute, wide-eyed and half-open-mouthed.

Foster inhaled slowly, the magic-laden air almost burning his lungs.

- Can you... can you hear me?" he asked aloud, his voice hoarse, as if he still couldn’t believe what he was experiencing.

The dragon slowly turned its gigantic head in his direction. Its ancient golden eyes rested on Foster with a disturbing intensity, as if scanning not only his appearance, but also his soul.

Then his voice again echoed in the minds of all those nearby. A voice that didn’t shout. It imposed itself, heavy and majestic like the fall of a meteor.

- Yes, I hear you. I’ve always heard you.

Foster swallowed, shuddering.

- Have you... found a name for yourself?" he asked, in a soft, almost solemn tone.

The dragon nodded slowly, its wings folding gently in a deafening rustle. The emerald flames didn’t go out, but began to dance more slowly, as if reacting to this simple question.

- Xor’venhaal.

- The one who crosses the memory of flames.

Silence fell over Vollua.

An ancient name. Strange. Magnificent. The elves looked at each other, some shivering simply at the way the name vibrated in the air. Even Lïanna, standing behind Foster, frowned slightly, touched by a deep impression she couldn’t explain.

Foster closed his eyes for a moment, letting the name imprint itself on him.

- Xor’venhaal... he murmured.

The dragon seemed to smile inwardly.

- That’s the name Xaar’thul gave me first. The Dark Master. The Guardian of our Memory.

Foster slowly raised his head.

- You... woke up so fast. And you’ve become... so huge. How so?

The breeze stopped.

An almost sacred silence fell.

And in that silence, Xor’venhaal answered, in his deep, calm voice, woven with ancient memories.

- I have slept long. But in that sleep, I was not alone. Xaar’thul was waiting for me. There, in that space between dreams. He spoke to me. He showed me everything. The history of our people. The birth of our species. Our rise... and our fall.

Images flashed through Foster’s mind.

Dragons by the hundreds flying over shining mountains. Titanic wars. The sea of fire and blood. Forgotten songs. The fall. Oblivion.

- He taught me flight. Fire. magic. The will. He made me a witness to all that was. For I am the last. The last bearer of the draconic legacy.

Xor’venhaal’s eyes lit up even more, his pupils seeming to contract under the emotion of his own words.

- And then... I understood. Your blood. Your magic. Your will. All that you gave me, Foster... all that allowed me to accelerate what other dragons took centuries to master.

He rose to his feet, spreading his wings with a roar of flame. The elves recoiled instinctively.

- I’m not just born. I’m... awake. My body has matured. My mind has expanded. My fire... is ancient. And thanks to you, I’ve found what we thought was lost.

Foster felt his throat knot. He placed a hand on his heart, trying to control the emotion that clutched his chest.

- You are... more than I could ever have imagined...

Xor’venhaal bowed his head slightly.

- And you allowed me to exist. To become this.

A silence followed.

Then the dragon’s voice resumed, lower, more intimate, like a whisper between two linked souls.

- But what I am... is only the beginning. My fire is yours now. And it will grow. With you. With Orëlas. With Vollua.

Foster nodded slowly, his eyes shining. Behind him, Orëlas stared at the dragon like a legend incarnate.

- Xor’venhaal... You are proof that hope still exists.

And in his mind, one last sentence rang out. An ancient promise.

- As long as you stand tall, Foster... I’ll fly beside you.

clearing... before being broken by an overexcited voice.

- IT WAS INCREDIBLE!!!

Orëlas.

He leapt from the crowd, his eyes wide, his smile so wide it seemed to split his face in two. His hair twirled around him as he ran towards Xor’venhaal at full speed, arms raised like a kid running towards a live firework display.

- IT WAS GREEN FIRE! REAL GREEN FIRE! Did you see Foster?! Did you see how it blazed?! It was HUGE !!!!

- Orëlas, wait!" exclaimed Foster, stretching out an arm towards him, a little worried that he’d run headlong into a dragon that shook the whole forest just by breathing.

But the young elf was already no longer listening. He was less than ten meters from the gigantic dragon, and showed no fear whatsoever. On the contrary, he slowed down and looked up, out of breath, short of breath but with his mind on fire.

Xor’venhaal lowered his head slightly to observe the child. His golden eyes rested on him with a strange gleam, somewhere between amusement and curiosity.

Orëlas raised a trembling finger... not from fear, but from pure excitement.

- Can... can you teach me how to do that? The great green flames! It was magnificent! And they burned the air, but they didn’t look... mean. What’s that fire? Is it magic? Is it alive? What’s its secret?!

Foster joined him at last, panting, putting a hand on Orëlas’s shoulder to stop him getting any closer.

- Calm down, little volcano. Breathe, already.

But Orëlas was literally stamping his feet, his eyes fixed on the immense wings still ablaze with shimmering flames.

Xor’venhaal contemplated him for a long, silent moment.

Then he answered, his voice echoing directly in the young elf’s mind:

- Do you want to learn to dance with fire, little tree child?

Orëlas nodded frantically.

- Yes! I want to understand this flame! It’s... it’s different! It’s beautiful!

- So come. When the time comes, I’ll teach you the fire that doesn’t destroy. The fire that enlightens. The fire of the ancients.

Orëlas stood speechless, his arms hanging to either side, his eyes shining with emotion.

Foster looked up with a smile.

- There. Now he won’t sleep for a week.

- I’m serious!" exclaimed Orëlas. I’m going to train every day until I’m spitting green fire too!

Xor’venhaal let out a warm breath that blew Orëlas’s hair like an affectionate gust.