My world-tree system-Chapter 37 - 36: Message

The crackling of the flames still echoed in the central hall of Vollua.

Foster leaned against a wall, breathless. He had just stepped out of his inner world.

His whole body vibrated with the resonance of his new power. He could feel the sap of his World Tree pulsing through his veins, an overwhelming and still unstable force, threatening to burst at any moment.

All around him, turmoil reigned.

The elves were rebuilding. Wooden houses stood proud under their skilful hands. Roads were being dug through the beaten earth by determined hands. The smell of fresh resin and hewn wood filled the air. Vollua was being reborn, but an uneasy feeling lingered in the shadows of the new foundations.

A dull tension hung in the air.

Foster could feel it, a shiver of alarm running down his spine like an invisible threat, something was wrong.

It was then that a chilling howl shattered the fragile harmony of the reconstruction.

- ’An obscurus!’

The warning cracked like a whip, instantly freezing the elves in their labour.

Foster turned his head towards the massive gates of the city.

There stood an abominable being, hooded under a dark veil. He advanced slowly, his skeletal figure undulating beneath a frayed cloak. His aura reeked of corruption, a blackish miasma that seemed to crawl over the cobblestones, seeping into the shadows.

The obscurus stopped just outside the entrance to the city.

A heavy silence fell over Vollua.

Then he smiled.

His thin, chapped lips stretched to reveal overly long, razor-sharp teeth.

- O great chief of the Elves of the World Tree..." he whispered, his voice oozing with malicious delight. "I bring a gift. A tribute... an offering."

Foster didn’t reply.

He advanced slowly, each of his steps sounding like a drumbeat in the hearts of the gathered elves.

The obscurus held out a black chest, carved with twisted spiral patterns, oozing sinister magic.

Foster stopped a few steps away.

Something was wrong.

His blood pounded in his temples, pulsing with unheard-of violence. His body, still unstable from its recent surge of power, was overheating inside.

But he reached out and took the trunk.

In the same movement, he killed the obscurus.

With a fluid, efficient gesture of clinical brutality, he stretched out his arm and his hand pierced the creature’s chest.

The elves didn’t even have time to react.

The body crumbled to dust, disintegrated by the raw power of the impact.

A mana-laden wind blew across the city, kicking up dust, leaves and ashes.

A long silence followed.

Everyone held their breath.

Foster couldn’t take his eyes off the chest.

He could smell something terribly wrong inside.

- Gather round." His voice cracked in the air, cold and sharp.

The elves obeyed immediately.

The circle closed around the black chest.

Giovanni, in the lead, stepped forward. His gaze fell on the object, then looked up at Foster.

- It could be booby-trapped," he said.

Foster shook his head.

- I don’t see any mechanism or power hidden inside. he replied, opening the chest.

An absolute shock struck the assembly.

Some gasped.

Others screamed.

Still others stumbled, staggering under the weight of their horror.

Inside...

... the decapitated head of the Queen of the Wood Elves.

Her silver hair stained with blood.

Her glassy eyes, frozen in terror.

Her face frozen in final, silent distress.

A parchment was rolled up in her wide-open mouth.

Foster felt something give way inside him.

A wave of pure rage burst from deep within him.

His heart beat too fast.

His blood pulsed too violently.

His power broke through his limits.

His skin lit up.

The golden tattoos awoke, radiating an intense light, casting moving shadows on the horrified faces of the gathered elves.

His eyes became lakes of pure light, burning with a transcendent glow.

The ground beneath him shook.

The air around him distorted.

The elves felt their breath catch under the pressure.

A terrified murmur ran through the crowd.

- ’The King...’

Giovanni took a step backwards, his eyes wide.

- Foster... control yourself!"

But Foster could no longer hear.

He could see.

He felt.

His link with all his elves vibrated in unison. He felt their pain, their rage, their powerlessness.

The Queen’s abject death screamed through him, echoing in his flesh.

He trembled.

The world around him became blurred, distorted, threatening to be swallowed up by his uncontrolled power.

Then...

a hand came to rest on his shoulder.

Giovanni.

- "This isn’t the time, Foster."

His voice was firm. Not frightened. Strong.

A second hand came to rest on his shoulder, Yänn, a third, Köflik, and a wave of soothing passed through his body. Each of the elves present sent a wave of soothing through their bond.

Foster blinked.

The light in his pupils flickered. His tattoos slowly faded, losing their blinding intensity.

His breathing slowed.

He was coming to.

Around him, the elves waited.

Foster breathed in slowly.

- Even if she didn’t want to follow me in the end, she was still one of us and we’ll avenge her death.

Then he reached for the decapitated head.

With a gentle movement, he withdrew the parchment and unrolled it.

The words were written in blackish blood, imbued with a vile malevolence.

- Oh, Great Chief of the Elves of the World Tree. We offer you this gift as a token of our respect.

Your former subjects are dying under our fangs, the smell of their burnt flesh perfumes the air.

You are nothing, and you will never be anything. Prepare to die, we’re coming."

At the end of the message was a unique signature, a seal in the shape of claws clawing at a bloody moon.

Foster slowly closed his eyes.

The air was filled with the silence of death.

Foster stood motionless for a long time, his fingers clasped around the blood-stained parchment.

The elves gathered around him, waiting for an order, a word, a reaction. But there was only silence, an overwhelming silence, disturbed only by the crackling of torches and the rustling of leaves in the wind.

Then, with a slow movement, Foster rolled up the message with calculated care and stowed it in an inside pocket.

- ’Köflik, with me.’

Captain Köflik, who had hitherto remained slightly behind, stepped forward. His face was firm, his gaze as sharp as a newly forged blade.

The other elves stared at him expectantly and gravely.

Giovanni also approached, fists clenched, still shaken by the scene that had just unfolded.

- ’Foster, what do we do?’ His voice was tense, but above all contained a dull anger, an almost palpable need for revenge.

Foster didn’t answer immediately. He stared at the ground, where a drop of black blood had escaped from the soiled cloth bag containing the Queen’s head.

He looked away.

- ’Not here.’

Then, without another word, he turned on his heels and walked away, Köflik in tow.

The captain followed without question.

They walked in silence, leaving the main square and heading towards the strategic room. A wooden structure under construction, but already operational, where maps, plans and essential documents were stored.The place was dark, lit only by a few flickering torches fixed to the walls. The smell of new wood and fresh ink filled the air.

Foster closed the door behind him.

He turned and locked eyes with Köflik.

- This is an act of war.

The high elf nodded, arms folded.

- It always has been. But now they want us to know."

Foster abruptly put the parchment down on the table.

- "They want to provoke me and revenge is a dish best served cold.