“We neither ascend, nor descend. It is our skill that must be polished, otherwise our ability is as constant as the forest is vast. You will find no Wood Elven ‘Mages’ as you may be aware of them. Within the bounds of all the lands that make up our forest, the Fire Soul is the only one of such title and caliber.”
There wasn’t a response from Ember, as much as Artorian was hoping for one. A Mage-ranked cultivator was handy to have around, but this was not how he’d expected them to act. He’d made the assumption that power also grew arrogance and self-importance. If she was a Mage, Ember was… the most deflated Mage he had ever heard of. “Fire Soul, not Fire Spirit? I recall that’s what my classification was.”
Mahogany paused for a long look at Ember, but when no response was forthcoming, decided to simply tell him. “Your progress in cultivation, the growth into a higher existence, is at the ‘unformed spirit’ stage. When you reach your ‘C’ rank, you will become a ‘formed spirit’. Usually just referred to as ‘spirit’. You have currently been allotted that designation, as you have performed some kind of trick to make your method—however impossible to understand it may be—physically present without solidity.”
“We would ask you explain this to Mahogany and others when there is a chance. We have been speaking on the topic during the few moons of your travels, with Birch facilitating. Now is not the best time; let me finish the prior answer.”
Artorian smiled, and gave a very appreciative nod. He did so enjoy a proper explanation that didn’t wildly veer off target; though he was horribly guilty of doing just that. The answer also explained Birch’s questionable silence on the way here, they had been speaking elsewhere.
“The Ascendant of Flame has reached the highest grade of purity in spirit. Was she able, she would have ascended into the Soul stage of spirit-hood. We will speak of that no further; the color of her flame has darkened, and we shall not upset the Fire Soul by overstepping the boundaries of her comfort.”
Glancing over, the grip on his beard tightened as he found that the previously warm orange and red flame had altered to a combination cyan, purple, and black flare that overpowered the original flame in length by at least a full hand. He found it prudent not to press the current topic further. “I understand, please do excuse my question. Could you continue to tell me more on why you’ve invited me? While I have some guesses as to your problem, I can’t say with certainty I have a grasp on everything.”
Mahogany motioned for another group of Elves to step in. Alder, the group of Elves Mahogany had been silently conferring with earlier, stepped into the light created by the Mage’s finger fire. Had Artorian not been used to battlefield injuries, he would have recoiled at the sight as only two grievously scarred Elves came before him. Their voices were cracked and hasty, lacking the sonorous calm Mahogany exuded in spades.
“The Phantoms of the forest haunt us and devour our kin. We can’t kill them, merely keep them at bay with the Fire Soul’s tireless help.” In unison, they pointed their fingers at him.
“But you, Starlight Spirit. You can kill them.”
Chapter Six
“I can do what now?” The old man was furious. He did not intend to fight a war for a people he didn’t know, especially when he had personal issues that needed to be taken care of. They had a Mage here! They couldn’t possibly need his help when the living embodiment of fire was traipsing around their forest! He turned red in the face, fuming as he formulated what was going to be a long tirade. “You have a Mage-”
“I can’t kill them,” the tired voice mumbled from behind the full-plate helmet that remained pressed to its matching gauntlet. Artorian deflated, as that was just… such a defeating thing to hear. Her, a Mage, higher in power and rank than even a C-rank cultivator, which he was certainly not… was unable to handle the threat this forest was facing?
Artorian was going to press for details, but it dawned on him just how much somber emptiness those words contained. Age and defeat lay heavy on the tone, and it was a feeling that he certainly did not miss. He would also rather not be reminded of constant failure day in and day out, in this case the secret that she was unable to ascend.
He chalked that up to two reminders of a challenge that even someone like her was unable to overcome. What was he supposed to do? He didn’t match Ember’s power, and he certainly didn’t possess the combined knowledge and intellect of Wood Elves that lived who knows how long. Having risen to commence a tirade, he instead fell back on the log. His pose copied that of Ember’s, head resting upon his pressed together thumbs.
“I really don’t see how an old man that’s barely a novice cultivator is going to be of any help here.” His tone was equally as unenthusiastic as Ember’s, and it unsettled the Wood Elves. They looked to one another and conferred with other groups present.
An undeterred shuffling waltzed up from behind him. Branches cracked underfoot as a group of Wood Elves approached, clearly not intent on being gentle to their environment. It made other groups wince in agitated dissatisfaction. Pine commented with brazen dislike, “Hawthorn, could you not…”
“Shut up.” Pine was taken aback by Hawthorn’s stern and volatile words. This group of Wood Elves was biting back rage, and it showed in their speech as the trees around them wavered. Plants bent and grass furled from the energy released as the upset hunters spoke their piece. “You didn’t see. You’re not out there on the border keeping track of things as more and more unwelcome visitors dance through our lands like it’s another logging site to chop more of our sisters down.”
“I saw him, Pine. I saw him lying under an Oak, of all things. Surrounded on all sides by masses of…” Hawthorn was snapping fingers to recall what the man had said, having preferred the name to what they had termed the creatures. “Sugar Gliders. Whole families of them bundled together as this human’s Blooming Spirit fended off the dark. His Blooming Spirit outright blocked the phantoms from approaching. When he focused inwards, it seared the landscape of their Presence.”
Artorian wanted to get a word in edgewise, but was all sorts of lost in this shouting match. Aware that he wasn’t going to get a translation fast enough as things got worse, Ember mumbled the words under her breath. “‘Blooming Spirit’ means ‘Aura’.”
She was present in the conversation… sort of. Hawthorn’s statement settled her in a state of minor waking. If what they said was true… then it was possible there was something about fire she didn’t yet know… as unlikely as that may be.
Haw’s specific mention that the old man’s Aura had successfully ‘seared’ away an enemy that had been dragging her through the mud for the last few decades, made her heat up as a whole. Parts of her full-plate flickered, flaring a dim yellow fire that raced across her form. The flames were minor at most, but they signaled the waking of a volcano.
“My Aura?” Artorian was kneading thumbs into his temples. “All that does is store the Essence I can’t keep in my body. It doesn’t do anything else.”
The silence that surrounded him after that statement made him look up from his temporary disheartened stupor. Even the full-plated woman had her helmet up, and he could correctly guess her hidden eyebrows were equally raised. He’d probably just said something foolish, and was the only person present not aware of that fact.
“Does it… do something else? I’ve been figuring everything out by myself for the most part. I may have written a manual for what I’ve discovered, but I certainly did not have one for the learning process. I’m rather… stuck, in fact. All I’m able to do at this point is to increase the potency of my Core cultivation technique, since that determines the influx of energy I’m able to work with. As to what else this ‘Aura’ thing might be… I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.”
“You did all of that without help?” Ember was quick on the uptake once she pushed her weariness to the side. One of her gauntlets actually raised to point at his chest, so Artorian’s assumption was that she meant his cultivation gyro.
<
br /> “Well, I had help not dying when I did my Meridians, fairly certain doing that alone would have offed me. I also had frequent checkups to make sure nothing went awry as I was figuring out Essence cycling. I made a disastrous mistake in flooding my system with all my Essence shortly before I arrived here. So I don’t have any Essence to work with at the moment. It’s all going toward getting me up and running again. Otherwise… yes.” He made fingers motions from both hands at his chest, twirling them. “I did all of this by myself.”
The stunned silence continued a moment longer, but the old man was surrounded by a far more gleeful Hawthorn. Some of them had slung arms across his neck and shoulders, while others were patting him with enthusiasm. Artorian looked around at the elated faces, who praised him in return. “Fantastic! Well done, human! That’s amazing… all of that progress, look at how far you’ve come!”
The Hawthorn Elves only stopped being supportive so they could leer daggers at the others present. “We told you we had a good hunch. If none of you wants to make a trade with this human, then we certainly will. That is the way humans do things, is it not?”
Not having anticipated this concession, Artorian worried a moment if he would set a terrible precedent on a whole species if he answered this poorly. “Ah. Erm. Well. Hawthorn, was it? May I begin by thanking you for not applying bowstrings to me when we met? Even a single arrow would have been the end of me, and as your kindness is a large factor of why I can be up and standing today, I’m more than willing to just hear you out. Trading is… yes, it’s something humans do. However, that’s certainly not the only way to come to an agreement. I will admit It’s a common method, but on the whole I still don’t see how I could be of any help. I know nothing of this… Blooming Spirit.”
“True, you seemed to be all aquiver already, I saw no need to strive to make you a quiver.” The Hawthorn Elves were unperturbed, and didn’t give anyone else the chance to push into the conversation. “This is only a minor setback, Starlight Spirit! If you would be willing to use your bloom to cleanse my home tree of blight, we would gladly teach you the Essence techniques we know to aid you on your path.”
“I offer to teach you more of the bloom as well!” Birch cut in without further hesitation. This was not how they did things, but any more and Hawthorn would steal this boon away from them!
“As do I.” Groups of disbelieving Elves snapped their heads to stare at Mahogany. None had expected the sonorous sultan to join the clamor. The Mahogany Elves simply shrugged at the reaction.
“I was never planning to request something as heavy as our lives from the spirit without equally aiding his growth in turn. This is not the path I had wished we would need to take, but so be it. For the Starlight Spirit to aid us at all, given what we have learned… it is requisite that we provide him the proper tools; if only so he is able to perform the task we would ask of him. I believe Hawthorn when they say the spirit’s Bloom removes the phantom blight, and it did not escape me that the spirit does not desire to remain here.”
Mahogany placed their hands together, and made a gentle bow towards the old man, who still had Hawthorn’s multiple Elves hanging all over him like a cheerleading squad. “We are aware this is a large and sudden request. There is no group of Wood Elves within this forest that would not jump at the chance to have their Home-tree, also called a Core-tree, relieved of the lurking phantoms.”
“While we are one people as Wood Elves, we all have a collection of differing skills we refine and polish. As I can currently speak for the others, it is my hope that you would be willing to remain and provide aid in recompense for the knowledge we offer.” Mahogany nodded respectfully to Artorian.
Artorian was more comfortable now that he wasn’t being discounted or treated as a tool, but he didn’t know what to do about his cheerleaders who had turned the conversation into something fruitful. “Ah. Well, I do certainly appreciate…”
He stopped himself from declining. No, you old fool! You got your rear handed to you at full juice, and a single raider leader just about finished you off! You’re not helping your kids if you can’t survive getting through the front door. Take the silver plate, at worst it will eat a few years… it’s worth the few years.
“If I may be honest. I was going to decline. There are children I need to rescue, and that’s my life’s work. So that we are on an even slate, I have reasoned that in my current state this is simply not something I can achieve. Therefore, I would very much like to take you up on your offer to grow. I feel that I may be a freshly sprouted sapling in your midst, but you’re treating me with care. After thinking about it, I do very much like that you explained the Wood Elven conundrum to me. I wouldn’t recommend doing that with most other humans, but you’ve put me at ease with the trust that you have shown me.”
He turned to face one of the other groups. “Birch, I’m terribly sorry for the falling incident. I know I’ve apologized before, but now that it’s been explained I have a firmer understanding of what exactly I… *ahem*… grasped when I took hold of that tree. That Birch was your real body.”
He pointed to the specific Elf, who was pretending to be the most stoic of rocks. “If I understand, that body's what was left behind when your mind moved to the Core-tree, and those…”
He pointed up at the canopy, motioning at a congregation of silent birds that had just been observing. “...are other Wood Elves who are inhabiting a body that wasn’t their original one.”
A flurry of chirps and tweets called back down at him; a moment of congratulations for figuring that out so quickly. Artorian had a smile on his lips as he clapped his hands together. “Beautiful. Just beautiful.”
His head dipped low, his mirth fading. He was puzzling out the situation, and it was strange to consider that these were creatures more mental than physical. It meant that this predator they faced, the one they kept referring to as shadows, phantoms, and blights… must be a parasite that consumed the mind rather than the body.
How horrifying. Artorian recalled his odd nightmares that first night deep in the forest. How the smoky figures had a mind of their own and sought to destabilize and demoralize him for what must be their own ends. Glancing at Ember, it now wasn’t such a mystery what could be eating away at the willpower and well-being of an entire people. This forest was haunted, blighted, invaded. The myths of the forest he knew were either false… or incomplete. It wasn’t the forest itself performing horrors upon those who stumbled through, but the phantoms that hunted here.
“Here I thought that the phantoms of the forests were the Elves. Huh.” Artorian got himself out of the rut by slapping hands on his own cheeks. It was easy to fall into melancholy beneath the soft gloom of the canopy, and he needed to find structure in order to maintain his mental state. “Where do we start?”
Chapter Seven
Ember pulled herself upright, out from her perpetual slump. Celebration might have begun since the Starlight Spirit had accepted the task, which guaranteed he would be around for quite a while. Yet the rising presence of the flame-coated figure made many of the Elves take cautious steps back. “Come with me.”
Alder stepped forwards after the initial startle of seeing Ember move, but a glance from the Mage rooted them to the spot. Fear didn’t make them halt, the pressure of Ember’s Presence did. She locked Alder’s actions down, and it was clear that the Elves were deliberating about ditching their bodies and retreating from the Mage’s pressure. Luckily, they were released after a long moment. The message was clear enough: no interrupting.
Seeing that none of the Elves were going to risk getting another word in, Artorian cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Ember. Could you clarify what you mean?”
Her gauntlets rose to her helmet, pressing clasps that detached with the properly applied pressure. *Clink*. A mess of rough silver and grey hair fled the confines of its shape-molded protection. It fell along the back and sides of her torso, hanging easily to the length of her hips. What it was that surprised the c
rowd was up for debate. There was just so much to process.
Ember had thin, long ears, clearly marking her as one of the Elven races. Yet her face was thin, nearly gaunt. The wrinkles on her face put Artorian’s apparent age to utter shame. ‘Ancient’ may have been used to describe her civilization, but not even the Eldest of Wood Elves held a candle to the era that Ember must have been from. She was a silver grandmother in appearance, and large black circles hung under her gleaming, tired eyes.
The helmet disappeared into a pocket that shouldn’t have been large enough to hold an item of that size, but that was a detail ignored at this point. Artorian couldn’t discern what color her eyes were… not silver, but they appeared as such. A flush grew on his cheeks when he realized he was staring.
“Efficiency.” Short and to the point. Sounded like Ember’s modus operandi so far. “The residents here all have cute and clever tricks that work after you know what to do with an Aura. They practice control, skill, and finesse since their power is never in question. So long as there is a forest, the power of their cultivation is set. When it comes to your progression and growth, they’re overlooking several important aspects.”
She raised her hand up and counted on her gauntlet, speaking with the cold detachment of a logistician ordering wipes for a latrine. “One: Your Core itself is incomplete. Two: Your overall Essence density is insufficient. Three: You need knowledge and practice in basic Auric skills. Four: It doesn’t appear you actually know what you’re working with.”
“Five: I have the best control of any in the region, so the task of training you would fall to me regardless.” She dropped her hand, undoing latches on the gauntlet. That too vanished into her spatial bag. Her face promised him that any retort was going to fall on deaf ears, and questions would have to wait until her lessons had ended. “Lesson one: If you can’t, don’t. If you can, do.”
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