My world-tree system-Chapter 88 - 87: Continuing to train Orëlas

The first light of morning was already filtering through the thick foliage of Vollua as Foster slowly emerged from Lïanna’s sanctuary. He stretched slowly, still enjoying the sweet fatigue left over from the night spent by her side. This strange sensation of having been, if only for a moment, simply himself - without duty or burden.

But the weight of his responsibilities soon returned. He immediately felt the need to resume his role, the silent authority that all Vollua expected of him.

He quickly crossed the elven city in the direction of the World Tree survivors’ quarters. Arriving at Köflik’s home, he knocked firmly three times on the door.

Seconds later, the door creaked open. Köflik appeared, his hair in disarray, a thick, unkempt beard giving him the air of one of our own awakened too soon. He grew at the sight of Foster:

- Up and about already? Don’t you ever sleep?

Foster had a half-sister:

- Very little. Listen to me, Köflik. The next full moon is in seven nights’ time. Lïanna was very clear: it’s time for the ritual. The elves of the World Tree must be ready.

Köflik grunted again, this time in approval, rubbing his beard with a sigh.

- Will we have to start the sacred dance all over again too?

- Yes," Foster confirmed with a serious nod. And given how little we’ve become, every detail counts. You’re the best among us at coordinating it all. You’re in charge of the rehearsals. I want everything to be perfect.

Köflik frowned:

- How many of us are there now?

- Twenty-five.

Köflik massaged his forehead thoughtfully.

- Twenty-five dancers for a ceremony that once required many more... I’ll do what I can, Foster.

Foster put a firm hand on his shoulder:

- You’ll do better than that, Köflik. You’ll succeed. You always do.

Köflik smiled at last, confidence returning to his eyes.

- I’ll let the others know right away. By tonight, we’ll be back in training.

Foster nodded slowly, satisfied:

- Thank you, Köflik. I have every confidence in you.

He turned away, leaving Köflik to awaken the still-sleeping elves, and made his way back to the training clearing where he knew he would find Orëlas.

The child was already there, straight as an arrow in the center of the sacred space, concentrating on a perfect fireball levitating between his open palms. Foster watched in silence, impressed by the boy’s growing mastery.

When Orëlas sends his presence, he slowly turns around:

- Hello, Foster.

- Hello, Orëlas. Your progress is remarkable. You’re getting very good with fire.

The boy slowly extinguishes his flame, his eyes shining with sober satisfaction:

- I can feel him listening to me better and better. He’s beginning to understand me.

Foster approaches him, kneels down in front of him:

- Good. Today, I’d like to teach you something else: the roots of the World Tree. It’s a different kind of magic, calmer. Less aggressive. It will help you balance your power.

Orëlas nodded seriously:

- I’m ready.

Foster slowly demonstrated the gestures, placing his hands on the earth and softly murmuring the formula. Almost immediately, thick silvery roots emerged from the ground and danced around him with natural grace.

- It’s your turn," he said, making himself relevant to the observer.

Orëlas places his hands on the ground, faithfully imitating Foster. But nothing happened. He frowns, tries again. A few weak roots clumsily emerge before immediately falling back, dead and dry. The child gritted his teeth in frustration.

- I can’t do it..." he murmured, despite himself.

Welcome, surprise, observe the child attentively. He quickly understood.

- It’s not a question of failure, Orëlas. This magical rest is about balance and patience. Your power seems naturally directed towards more destructive, unstable elements. Like fire.

Orëlas lowered his head slightly, annoyed:

- So... I’ll never be able to master roots?

- Maybe later, but not today. Your core resonates with something else, a different force. You need to learn to use it to the full before trying other avenues.

Suddenly, the ground vibrated slightly beneath their feet. Foster turned sharply to see his dragon emerge from between the trees, its scales gleaming in the emerging light, its eyes full of intelligence and mischief.

The dragon approached, his imposing silhouette casting a reassuring shadow over them. His deep voice echoed in Foster’s mind, clear and precise:

- The child has mastered fire. I know it too. Let me guide him. I know instability better than you, Foster. I can show him how to tame this power without getting burned.

Orëlas looked up at the great creature with restrained admiration:

- I’m willing to learn from him, Foster. If you’ll let me.

Foster met the dragon’s gaze, and detected a sincere determination and wisdom far older than his own. He nodded slowly:

- Very well. I’ll leave you two together. But be careful: the fire that burns within you can destroy as well as build. Always keep this in mind.

The dragon gave an approving growl, tilting his massive head slightly in Foster’s direction. Orëlas stood beside him, attentive and ready.

Another vantage point:

Joker contemplated the chaos around him with childlike delight, his laughter echoing lugubriously against the stone walls splattered with fresh blood. The great hall of Eldorim, once majestic and proud, had become a theater of nightmare.

The ground was littered with debris, with torn, mutilated and sometimes unrecognizable bodies. The walls were stained with dark red marks, and the dim light from the torches brought out the pain-twisted faces of the last survivors.

The dwarf prisoners were lined up on their knees, their chains pressed into their chairs, heavy limbs trembling with fatigue and terror. Joker slowly approached one of them, crouching before him with an unhealthy joy sparkling in his purple eyes.

- You’re so resilient, my dear little dwarfs," he says in an almost affectionate tone. I must admit, I’m enjoying finding out just how far you can go before I break you completely.

The prisoner looked up slowly, his face covered in cuts, his beard soaked with blood and sweat.

- Kill me... he begged in an almost inaudible whisper. Please...

Joker burst into a clear, mad laugh and laid an almost tender hand on the dwarf’s cheek.

- Oh, no, no, no, I don’t think so. You see, killing is so banal, so definitive. No, me, I’d rather stretch you slowly, hear you supplier, feel your heart beating harder with every little bit I take out of you...

Without warning, Joker brutally thrust a dark blade into the dwarf’s shoulder, who screamed in pain as he crunched violently, sweat dripping down his face deformed by suffering.

- That’s it! That’s exactly what I like to hear," Joker murmured ecstatically, his eyes shining with dementia.

He withdrew the blade slowly, enjoying every spasm of pain on the dwarf’s face, every drop of blood slowly trickling down his pale skin. Then he turned his head towards the terrified group, savoring their silent horror with a perverse smile.

Suddenly, an icy silence filled the room, muffling even the moans of pain.

A figure appeared slowly from the main entrance to the devastated hall, his silent footsteps striking the broken stones with natural authority. Joker immediately sensed the change in atmosphere and raised his head, his eyes instantly losing their crazed gleam to display a subtle mixture of awe and respect.

- Still playing, Joker?

The voice, deep and calm, reverberated against the walls of the room like a distant thunderclap, charged with ruthless gravity. 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

The newcomer was tall, imposing, dressed in a long, dark cape that seemed to absorb all the light. His deep-black hair was pulled back in a strict ponytail, revealing a fine, hard face with features as sharp as blades. His pale skin was lightly scarred, a reminder of ancient battles. His steel-gray eyes, as cold as a frozen lake in winter, scanned the scene without compassion.

He exuded a terrifying aura of quiet power, of total mastery, infinitely more dangerous than Joker’s raw insanity.

- Lord... Vorath," Joker breathed, bowing his head slightly, his voice losing all trace of its usual arrogance.

Vorath advanced towards him, slowly, his measured steps clattering on the ground with almost military precision. He stopped in front of Joker, his cold eyes looking into his own.

- We’re not here for your personal amusement," he said in a calm, sword-sharp voice. We’re here on a mission. Or have you forgotten that in your madness?

Joker lowered his eyes slightly, flashing a nervous smile:

- Of course not, Lord Vorath. I was merely... passing the time, awaiting your arrival.

Vorath raised a hand, cutting short his subordinate’s ridiculous excuses.

- Enough of this. It’s time to send a clear message to King Thorgrim and Foster. Their little escape to Vollua won’t protect them forever. We must remind them of the cost of standing up to the Lords of the Apocalypse.

He slowly turns his head towards the terrified prisoners, his gaze falling on the dwarf already wounded by Joker. Without hesitation, Vorath reached out and grabbed the prisoner by the beard, pulling his head back brutally. The dwarf screamed, vainly trying to free himself.

- Please don’t! No!" he pleaded desperately, his voice broken with fear.

But Vorath remained impassive. With a swift, precise movement, he drew a thin, black-bladed dagger and sliced clean through the dwarf’s right ear. The cry of pain that followed echoed throughout the room, terrible and heart-rending, filled with unbearable suffering.

Vorath gazed at the bloody ear, an expression of cold detachment on his face, then handed it to Joker:

- Wrap it carefully. Accompany it with a clear letter. If the dwarf king and Foster don’t give themselves up voluntarily to us before the next full moon, all their people will suffer the consequences.

Joker takes the ear carefully, a gleam of macabre excitement immediately returning to his eyes.

- With pleasure, my Lord," he replied, smiling.

Vorath slowly turned his eyes away from the dying prisoners, addressing a final chilling word to Joker:

- I will tolerate no further useless games. If you’re going to inflict pain, do it with a purpose. The next time I catch you playing... it’ll be you who tastes this blade.

Without waiting for an answer, Vorath slowly left the room, leaving behind him a deathly silence, chilled by the absolute terror he had just imposed.

Joker watched the figure walk away with a mixture of respect and genuine awe. Then, quickly regaining his familial insanity, he slowly approached the remaining dwarves, still holding the freshly cut ear between his delicate fingers.

- Well, my little friends... he said cheerfully, a perverse smile returning to its place on his face. We have a message to send... and so much to do in the meantime.

Their cries of terror and pain echoed long into the depths of the Eldorim underground, macabre echoes of a despair that nothing could soothe.