The journey to the capital was not a march; it was an ascension.
They followed the Elven Captain, whose name was Thalor, up a winding path that didn't just lead through the forest, it led up into it. The World Tree, Yggdrasil, wasn't just a landmark. It was the continent itself.
As they climbed the massive, spiraling roots that were wide enough to march an army across, the canopy broke open.
"By the stars," Lyra whispered, her voice trembling.
Nestled within the gargantuan branches of the World Tree was a city that defied every law of architecture the Human Empire held dear.
The Human Capital was a monument to stone and steel, blocky, defensive, and imposing. It was built to keep things out.
The Elven Capital, Sylaphu, was built to let things in.
There were no walls. There were no iron gates. The buildings were grown from living crystal and woven wood, spiraling upward like glass flowers seeking the sun. Bridges made of shimmering hard-light connected the branches, and waterfalls cascaded from the upper leaves, turning into mist that watered the hanging gardens below.
"It's... beautiful," Briar murmured, her hand hovering over her sword hilt, confused by the lack of fortifications. " But where are the walls? Where are the guard towers? If a dragon attacked, they'd be defenseless."
"They don't need walls," Nyx said in a sudden understanding, his eyes scanning the flow of mana in the air. "The tree protects them. The air here is saturated with a barrier density ten times higher than the Imperial Palace. If an enemy tried to fly in, the atmosphere itself would crush them."
"Correct, Great One," Captain Thalor nodded respectfully. "We do not build cages. We build sanctuaries."
They stepped off the root-road and into the city proper.
The streets were paved with polished river stones that glowed softly under their feet. The air smelled of sweet nectar and rain. But what struck the trio most wasn't the magic; it was the people.
In the Human Empire, the streets were segregated. Nobles walked on the raised platforms, commoners walked in the mud. Eye contact was dangerous. Shoulders were hunched in perpetual defense.
Here, Elves of all kinds walked together. High Elves in silk robes chatted with Wood Elves covered in moss. Children played with spirits of wind and water in the open plazas. There was no shouting. No begging. No fear.
"Look at that," Lyra pointed to a market stall. It wasn't guarded by mercenaries. It was just a wooden table piled high with fruit that glowed like molten gold.
"Sun Pears," Lyra gasped, rushing over. She hovered her hands over the fruit, afraid to touch. "Briar, look! In the Empire, a single Sun-Pear costs five hundred gold pieces. It's a Class-A mana restorative. Only the Generals get to eat these before battle. And here... they're just sitting in a basket?"
An elderly Elf woman behind the stall smiled. Her skin was like bark, and flowers grew from her hair, making her look like a flower fairy.
"You look hungry, child," the woman said kindly. She picked up two Sun-Pears and handed them to Lyra.
"I... I don't have currency," Lyra stammered, patting her empty pockets. "We spent our gold in Rustwater."
"Currency?" The woman laughed, a sound like rustling leaves. "We trade in kindness here. Or songs. Or simply need. Take them. You look like you haven't eaten a pure meal in years."
Lyra took the fruit, stunned. She took a bite, and her eyes widened. The mana rushed into her system, flushing her pale cheeks with color.
"It's pure," Lyra whispered to Briar. "No alchemical aftertaste. No toxicity. It's perfect."
Briar looked around, her warrior's paranoia slowly unraveling.
She saw a blacksmith shop. But instead of the harsh clang of metal and the smell of soot, she heard singing. The smith was shaping a sword made of blue glass, humming a tune that seemed to mold the material without heat.
She walked over. The swords on display weren't jagged or cruel. They were elegant, curved like leaves.
"These are Moon-Glass," Briar realized, running a finger over a blade. "Indestructible. Lighter than a feather. If I brought one of these back to the Empire, knights would kill each other just to hold it."
"Why do they have so much?" Briar asked Nyx, her voice hushed. "Elixirs that could heal plagues. Weapons that could win wars. Food that could end famine. If the Empire knew the extent of this wealth..."
"They would burn it all down to take it...right?" Nyx finished the sentence looking at her.
Briar nodded her head with a bitter smile.
He walked through the market, the crowd parting for him not out of fear, but out of an instinctual magnetism. Elves stopped their conversations to watch him pass. They bowed their heads, not the deep, terrified bows of human subjects, but slight, respectful nods.
Nyx felt a heaviness in his chest.
This place... it felt like a memory he couldn't quite reach.
In his dream, before he was bound in chains, there had been places like this, he remembered those fragments of memories . Worlds he had nurtured where life wasn't a struggle for survival, but a celebration of existence. The kindness of the Elves, the harmony of their city, it was an echo of the universe he had tried to build.
But beneath the beauty, Nyx felt the Rot.
It was faint, masked by the scent of flowers, but to him, it stank. It was a cold, oily sensation vibrating in the roots of the massive tree.
It felt like the beings in his dream. The ones who had sneered at him while he was chained. The ones who stole his powers.
They are here, Nyx thought, his hand tightening on the strap of Requiem. Or at least their ugliness is.
"Great One," Captain Thalor stopped before a massive spiraling staircase made of living water that flowed upward without spilling. "The Crown of the Tree. King Aerion awaits you."
"Water stairs?" Briar blinked. "How do we-"
"Just step," Nyx said.
He stepped onto the flowing water. It solidified under his weight, carrying him upward like a gentle escalator. Briar and Lyra followed, yelping slightly as the water caught them.
They rose through the canopy, passing levels of the city that housed libraries filled with glowing scrolls and observatories aimed at the fake stars.
Finally, they reached the summit.
The Throne Room of the Elf King was not a room. It was an open platform at the very top of the World Tree, surrounded by clouds. The floor was a mosaic of living petals.
In the center sat a throne made of woven roots. And on it sat king Aerion.
He was beautiful in a way that made the Human Emperors look crude. His skin was flawless alabaster, his hair a cascade of silver and green. He wore no crown of gold, instead, faint fireflies orbited his head like a halo.
But he looked tired. There were dark circles under his emerald eyes, and his aura flickered with exhaustion.
This is something he has hidden for centuries from the outsiders...but now he cannot hold it back anymore,
Beside him stood the source of the rot.
Or rather, the victim of it.
Ancestor Gaia
The woman who had appeared in the arena was there. But she didn't look like the powerful Demigod who had threatened Seraphina. She was seated in a wheelchair made of vines. Her skin, which should have been like polished wood, was gray and cracking. Black veins pulsed beneath her bark-like flesh.
"Welcome," King Aerion said. His voice was soft, carried by the wind. He didn't stand. He looked too weary to stand.
"You have come," Aerion looked at Nyx. "The Gardener returns."
Nyx walked forward. Briar and Lyra stayed back, sensing the gravity of the moment.
"You knew I was coming," Nyx said.
" The roots told us," Gaia rasped. She coughed, and a few dead leaves fell from her lips. "When you fell from the sky... the earth screamed in joy. And then... in fear."
She looked at Nyx's chest, seeing the invisible shackles.
"You are broken," Gaia noted sadly. "Just like us."
"This city," Nyx gestured around him. "It is a paradise. You have resources that could rule the world. Why do you look like you are dying?"
Aerion let out a bitter laugh.
"A paradise?" Aerion looked at his city below. "It is a garden, yes. But a garden needs a source. For thousands of years, we drew our power from the World Tree. It gave us the fruits, the glass, the peace, even our current powers"
He looked at Gaia.
"But the Tree is sick. Fifty years ago... something attached itself to the roots. Something deep underground. It began to drink."
"We tried to fight it," Gaia whispered. "I went down into the roots myself. But it... it wasn't a beast. It was a concept. It felt like... Order. Cold, sterile Order."
Nyx froze. Order, The exact opposite of his chaotic, life-giving nature.
"It drained the Tree," Aerion continued. "To keep the city alive, to keep the barriers up and the fruits growing... Gaia has been feeding the Tree her own life force. She is the battery that keeps this paradise from withering."
Aerion stood up, his legs shaking. He walked down the steps of the dais and knelt before Nyx.
A King kneeling to a stranger.
"Humanity fears you," Aerion said. "They say you are a Void. A devourer. But we know the truth. You are the Source. You are the only one who can descend into the roots and survive the sickness."
"Please," Gaia whispered, reaching out a trembling, gray hand. "Save our home. Save my children. The rot... it tastes like the stars that shouldn't be there."
Nyx looked at them.
He looked at the beautiful city below, a place of kindness and plenty. He realized now why it was so perfect. It was being bought with the blood of an Ancestor. It was a fragile dream held together by a dying woman.
He looked at Briar and Lyra. They were watching him, waiting.
He remembered the sneering faces in his dream. The beings who stole his light. This "sickness" was their work. He was sure of it.
Nyx reached out and took Gaia's hand. The Second Shackle in his chest roared to life, hungry for the battle.
"I will go," Nyx said.
He looked at Aerion.
"Show me the roots. I have a weed to pull."