The herbivorous demihumans climbed the mountain as a delegation.
The choices were simple: form an alliance… or declare war. There were no other options.
Mukhar led at the front. His size dwarfed the rest; his trunk and large ears, as well as his tusks, commanded respect. His staff set the pace.
The others followed with deference. Behind him, the tribal leaders walked stiffly, restrained. As they advanced, they studied the mountain and the mana-wreathed plants; their mouths watered.
Lusian was waiting at the entrance of the settlement, where a reception post had been set up.
Although he carried no weapons, everyone remained alert, ready for battle. Kara and Adela stood closest to Lusian's position and would be the first to react.
—We are not here to seek asylum —Mukhar said. His voice echoed strongly, commanding respect—. We are here to speak plainly. The Lithaar have asked us to join them, but if you allow us to feed near the mountain, we will not take part in that battle.
"Those strange beings… are to be treated with caution."
Lusian did not respond immediately.
He looked out over the valley; in the distance, on the plain, dust and wind mixed in that wild land where life and death were the daily bread.
It was irritating.
—Alliances born of necessity don't last long —he said at last—. Today you come to negotiate; tomorrow you could be on the other side. Why should I trust you?
He raised his gaze toward the giant Mukhar.
—What guarantees do I have that, when this is over, you won't decide this mountain belongs to you?
Mukhar did not hesitate.
—We are not like the carnivores. We can coexist: we will not harm humans, and we will protect the lower slopes of the mountain. It is a fair exchange.
A faint movement passed through those behind him.
The subtle shift behind Mukhar did not go unnoticed. Lusian narrowed his eyes.
—Not all of yours agree —he said.
Silence tightened.
—You may feed in the mountain —Lusian said—, but only up to the third line of rock. Beyond that, you do not enter.
He paused, never taking his eyes off Mukhar.
—I promise —Mukhar added—. I bring what there is.
He planted his staff firmly.
He raised his gaze and looked at the other tribal leaders of the demihuman clans.
—If anyone crosses the boundary, we will have the right to hunt them down and… eat them.
A female buffalo stepped forward.
—The young may be reckless —she said—. But crossing a boundary should not cost them their lives.
Silence.
—We accept the principle —Mukhar declared, drowning out any murmurs with the final weight of his voice—. The law of the mountain will be respected. Whoever breaks it will face the consequences. That is more mercy than the carnivores would ever grant.
Lusian glanced briefly at his own people and nodded.
—As for the Lithaar… they will not stop.
He paused.
—A war is inevitable. Will you help us?
—And the carnivores? —Lusian asked—. We have no intention of being drawn into that age-old dispute.
Mukhar pressed his staff more firmly into the ground.
—It is not a dispute we can choose to avoid —he said—. Carnivores do not understand agreements.
A brief pause.
—Wherever we go… they will follow.
Mukhar made a subtle gesture with his trunk, and one of the leaders stepped forward without a word. It was a demihuman stag, its antlers tangled with dry vines, carrying a bundle tied with natural fibers. He placed it carefully at Lusian's feet, as if he knew exactly what it represented. Inside were thick tubers with tense skin and an irregular glow, infused with deep plains mana. No explanation was needed: it was a gesture of goodwill, a first payment, something tangible to support their words.
The delegation did not wait for a reaction. They turned almost in unison and began their descent without ceremony. They were not allies, but neither were they immediate enemies. They had drawn a line, and for now, that was enough. If it worked, they would contain the Lithaar. If not… the mountain would be the next battlefield.
Selvryn emerged among the young sprouts without making a sound, stopping a few steps from Lusian. He was sitting by the stream, carving a piece of wood with the same calm he had shown throughout the negotiation, as if the outcome had already been decided long before. She did not share that calm.
—They're gone —she said, looking toward the slope they had descended—. I counted their tracks. They'll devour everything they find if they aren't controlled.
Lusian did not look up from his hands.
—Selvryn.
—Not now —she cut in, crossing her arms with a rigidity she made no effort to hide—. Those herbivores will strip every new sprout bare. At this rate, the forest won't develop as it should, and the Tree will remain exposed.
Lusian finished the cut he was making before answering. Only then did he set the wood aside.
—I know.
Selvryn stepped closer, clearly unconvinced.
—It doesn't look like it. You are its guardian as much as I am, and yet you choose to let them in.
Lusian stood slowly and looked toward the valley, as if the answer lay there.
—They would come anyway, with or without permission. The valley isn't enough for them, and the mountain is all they have within reach.
He pointed toward the nearby sprouts, still fragile.
—If we reject them, this doesn't grow. It becomes a battlefield. And not only they would lose.
Selvryn clenched her jaw, looking away toward the peak where the Tree dominated everything. She understood the reasoning. That was what bothered her most.
—A deal —she finally said, her tone unchanged—. You let them feed on the edges in exchange for them not touching the core, and you decide to trust they'll respect it.
—I don't trust them —Lusian corrected, turning toward her—. I'm buying time.
He stepped closer, enough to make his intent clear.
—The forest will grow slower, yes, but it will grow. And in the meantime, we remain here to sustain it.
Selvryn held his gaze for a few seconds, weighing him.
—A careless father —she murmured at last, though the sharpness had faded—. You prefer a fragile solution over full protection.
Lusian gestured toward a vine beginning to climb a young oak, barely noticeable among the rest.
—If we close everything off, we end up alone. And alone, we won't withstand what's coming.
Selvryn did not respond immediately. She looked east, where the herbivores had already disappeared, then toward the Tree. The tension did not vanish, but it eased enough not to break the balance they had just established.