With a round belly, satisfied by a meal whose memory lingered sweetly on his tongue, Ashva turned to his mother. He looked up at the towering, ancient tree, her form now, unmoving yet profoundly alive and asked, "Mother, will you teach me magic now?"
A soft, resonant whisper, like the rustling of a million leaves, caressed his ear. "Okay, son, come sit near me. Let the earth be your cushion and the sky your ceiling."
Ashva settled down at the base of her immense trunk, the air around them thick with the scent of pine and rich, moist soil. The tree began her lesson, a history spanning millennia. "In this world, life is woven from six fundamental threads, six elements that define the unique abilities of every race: Fire, Water, Earth, Air, Space, and Mind. These are the universal powers, the cornerstones of all existence."
She paused, a gentle shudder running through her branches, shaking loose a single, perfect leaf that drifted into Ashva's lap. "But you, my son, are different. You are an anomaly, a convergence of fate and immense sacrifice. You are the only one, perhaps in all creation, who possesses the power of the Tree. You can not only command plants but also modify them, accelerate their growth, or twist them into forms that defy nature. You are the miracle, Ashva, the single, precious life our entire tribe worked to create." A chuckle, deep and full of ancient sorrow and pride, echoed from her bark. "You are, in every true sense of the word, the chosen child."
To begin his training, the Tree Mother extended a low branch, strong and smooth, and instructed him to take hold. "Sit cross-legged, Ashva. Empty your mind of everything but the rhythm of your own breath. Let your imagination soar, unrestrained by the laws you think you know. Because here, under my boughs, everything you think, you can create."
Ashva, full of the boundless confidence of youth, settled into the position, the branch feeling like a living extension of his arm. He closed his eyes and vividly recalled the perfect image of a shimmering, blue-winged dragonfly he had seen flitting over a nearby pond earlier that day. He focused, visualising the delicate veins in its wings, the segmented body, the large, complex eyes.
When he opened his eyes, a magnificent, utterly still dragonfly hovered before him. It was a perfect, crystalline construct of pure, focused energy, but lifeless.
The tree then let fall a small, vibrant seed, pulsing with a faint, green light. "Now, Ashva, with the purest intention of life, push this seed into your creation."
As Ashva carefully pressed the seed into the dragonfly's ethereal form, the creature shivered. A flash of green light enveloped it, and with a sudden, jerky movement, it burst into vibrant life. Its blue wings began to beat, and it darted away.
Excitement bubbling over, Ashva scrambled to his feet and chased the dragonfly as it looped and soared among the low-hanging leaves. He laughed, the sound echoing through the quiet forest. But the joy was short-lived. Just as suddenly as it had come to life, the dragonfly sputtered, its flight becoming erratic before it fell lifelessly onto the soft moss.
Saddened and confused, Ashva carried the still, exquisite creature back to his mother. "Mom, what happened? Why did it stop?"The Energy of the Tribe
"This is the unique ability of our Tribe, Ashva," she explained, her voice now tinged with a deeper, more sombre tone. "It is not a gift of creation, but a gift of imbuement. We possess the unparalleled skill to take raw, concentrated life energy like the essence contained within that seed, or a fraction of my own being, and infuse it into an object.
We can bring it to life, controlling its movements and granting it sentience for a short time, but that life is only a temporary shell. It lasts only as long as the infused energy holds, and when that energy finally dissipates, the object returns to its inert state."
Understanding, heavy with the weight of this powerful yet temporary magic, dawned on the boy. His mind, now grappling with creation, sacrifice, and unique power, instantly leapt to the one mystery he hadn't yet been told. He looked up at the immense, sheltering trunk of his mother.
"Mom," he exclaimed, the question raw with sudden emotion, "What happened to our tribe? Why are you the only one here?"
The Tree Mother sighed, a sound that felt like the wind weeping through her countless leaves. "Thousands of years ago, Ashva, a vast and glorious kingdom of our tribe, flourished right here, where you stand. We were the guardians of life, the masters of the living world." Her voice cracked with the memory. "But a terrible, devastating war broke out, a conflict that scarred the planet and brought the world to the very brink of utter destruction."
"We knew we could not win, and that all life was about to be extinguished. To preserve at least one life, the seed of our lineage, the core of our power all the surviving members of our tribe performed the ultimate act of unity. They poured their strength, their magic, their very selves into nurturing you, Ashva, as a dormant seed."
"And I," she whispered, her voice an ancient vow, "I used a secret, forbidden technique. I sacrificed my human form, entwining my consciousness with the earth and the roots, to become this tree, immovable, indestructible except by my own will. And here, I have waited. For thousands of years, I have shielded you, nurtured you, and waited patiently for the day you would awaken."
Ashva, overwhelmed by the magnitude of their sacrifice, rose and wrapped his small arms around the immense circumference of his mother's trunk. He held her tight, offering the only comfort he could, his cheek pressed against her rough, nurturing bark.
He consoled her in the silence of the forest, the weight of a thousand years settling softly upon his young shoulders, until, finally exhausted by the day's revelations, he drifted peacefully to sleep in her silent, embracing shadow.