“My knowledge, the greatest treasure on Mogar, might end up lost forever if I die.” The World Tree said. “Even worse, it might be passed down to an unworthy Sapling!”
“Think about what might happen if a deranged Sapling like the one you fought in Laruel might do with such power. You are putting entire Fae cities if not continents at risk just to pursue your revenge, Verhen.
“Give me a few days to pick a successor. After that, I don’t care what you do to me. I’m not afraid of death but the thought of squandering the legacy of my entire bloodline, of all the bloodlines stored in my archives, terrifies me.
“Please, have mercy. If not for me, for the elven race. Without a World Tree, they will be bereft of a place to call home.”
The upper lips of the hybrid, Lith’s lips, curled up in a smile.
During the twenty years Lith had spent on Mogar, he had worked hard and received accolades for his achievements.
First as a Healer, then a soldier, and now a Magus.
Linjos first and then the Kingdom had asked Lith’s help many times, trying to reward him with noble titles in the hope of turning him into someone they could use. Someone he was not.
As time passed, Lith had donned the mantles and worn the masks necessary to fit the roles he had to play. Yet they were just means to his ends, something he discarded the moment they outlived their usefulness.
Under his lies and manipulations, he was still the same man who had been born on Earth. A man who had lived and died on his terms.
His reincarnation on Mogar had turned him from a broken man into a beloved son, and now into a loving father. Each step of his journey had changed him, allowing him to meet good people who had given him a reason to heal from his wounds and the will to do it.
Yet he was still the same man. A man who would do anything, become anyone to protect the people he loved. There was no price he wasn’t willing to pay to keep his small, personal world safe.
Putting his own life at risk to save Phloria, Solus, and Raaz was something he had done without a second thought. Shortening his life span to save Protector was a decision he had not regretted once.
He knew that in life nothing worth having comes easy and he wasn’t afraid to put himself in a hard spot. If the price were to be paid by someone else, all the better. Everything and everyone outside his small, personal world could burn for all he cared.
If the price were to be forced upon someone who had wronged him, Lith was willing to overpay a thousand times over to get what he wanted.
The Annihilation seeped inside every fiber, pit, and vessel inside the World Tree until the mana built up beyond what even the Yggdrasill wood could withstand. Cracks formed on the charred bark, letting a blinding light out.
The fissures spread along the trunk in every direction, running up toward the treetop and down along the roots until they reached the tips extending as far as the old Fringe did.
The World Tree had no mouth and no focus to use air magic to speak anymore but they still screamed. The massive body of the Yggdrasill shook with so much pain and desperation that the ground quaked.
Every part of the World Tree snapped in a slow agony, producing a guttural sound akin to the rumble of an avalanche. The Heir of the First Awakened refused to give up and used their breathing technique, Root Cause, to further their evolution.
The regeneration speed increased and new limbs appeared as the Yggdrasill approached the apex form that their bloodline could ever reach.
Then, the Annihilation burned its way out of the World Tree, erupting in a flash of light that put an end to their struggles.
The explosion blinded Divine Beasts and Eldritches alike, giving Lith the cover he needed to break the fusion and Warp the stone ring into Menadion’s hands. The rumbling of collapsing earth replaced the Yggdrasill’s wails, keeping Lith’s allies deaf to his actions as well.
The disappearance of the World Tree had left a giant hole in the mound they had formerly occupied and countless empty tunnels running throughout the Fringe. Without the robust Yggdrasill wood to sustain the weight of tons of dirt, gravity demanded its due.
When the light faded and silence befell the battlefield, the hybrid was gone.
The Tiamat had taken its place but there was nothing majestic left in him. Lith wheezed like a bellows, his equipment had barely enough mana to keep its enchantments from fading and was covered with more cracks than a broken mirror.
The fight for the Fringe resumed and ended in the span of a few seconds.
In their frenzy, the Divine Beasts slashed a few times before realizing that the Wood Golems had stopped fighting back. The Puppets had died with the World Tree and without someone to control the constructs, they just stood idly.
“Stop it you idiot!” Quashol stopped one of his juniors who had fallen in a berserker rage. “You are ruining our loot!”
That last word echoed throughout the Fringe without the need of any spell, snapping every single Wyrm out of their thirst for revenge and awakening their greed for treasures.
Wood Golems were peerless constructs, carved from Yggdrasill wood and enchanted with spells known only to the World Tree’s bloodline. Just the value of the materials comprising one of them was incalculable.
As imprintless artifacts that could be studied and replicated, however, they were enough to be the cornerstone treasure of a Dragon’s hoard.
“Grab everything, Hatchlings!” Ananta roared as another kind of battle started among the Dragon clans and with the undead.
It was pettier and without bloodlust but in no way less intense than the previous one.
Too many Dragons had died for even the greediest member of the Brood to wish spilling one more drop of blood of their brethren but they still coveted treasures above everything else.
The Wyrms fought with the Liches over many spoils, quarrelling with a madness and determination that rivalled the undead’s.
“Take what we deserve and not one piece of loot less!” Irslak the Father of All Storm Dragons said. “Call me only if a dispute turns into a fight. There’s something I can’t delay any longer.”
The patriarchs of the different Dragon clans flew over to Valtak’s corpse, ignoring the treasures on their way. Such was the Elder Wyrms’ grief that they didn’t even use mind links to point the precious artifacts they spotted to their seconds in command.
The patriarchs landed with the grace of birds of prey, forming a circle around the fallen form of the Father of Fire.
“I’m willing to bet you died on purpose to force our hand, you bastard.” Quashol’s sad voice didn’t match his words, his ancient eyes misted with tears. “Look at his smug snout. Even in death he is mocking us.”
“At least he died happy. It’s more than most of our kind can say.” Ananta sniffled. “I shouldn’t have ignored your request for help, old friend. You would be still alive if I had accompanied you.”
