My world-tree system-Chapter 57 - 56: Experimental link

Training began at dawn, under the still pale light of the rising sun. Foster watched the elves gather, their features tense, their bodies already marked by the accumulated fatigue of the last few days.

They all knew that time was against them.

He took a deep breath and motioned for them to take their places.

- Today, we must perfect every movement. I don’t want to see any more hesitation. This ritual will forgive no mistakes."

Silence was his only response. They understood what was at stake.

So he began to show them the gestures, again and again. The corrections were severe, precise. He rectified positions, firmed up postures, insisted on fluidity.

But for all their goodwill, they were far from ready.

Köflik mastered the power of his movements, but lacked finesse. Giovanni was fluid but too hesitant. Others, younger, were still struggling to coordinate their steps.

And Foster could see it.

The urgency of the moment, the fear of failing, all weighed on them. They trained hard, but stress robbed them of their naturalness. Every movement became mechanical, constrained, without the instinctive harmony demanded by ritual.

As night fell on Vollua, the elves were exhausted. Their bodies were heavy, their spirits tense, and despite all their efforts, they were still not up to the task.

Foster, arms folded, watched their progress. They had improved, that was undeniable. But he could feel it in his heart: it wasn’t enough yet.

They weren’t ready.

The dance had to be fluid, instinctive, ingrained in each of them like second nature. And yet, he still saw too many doubts, too much awkwardness.

He closed his eyes, feeling the bond between them vibrate faintly. Maybe he was doing it wrong. Maybe they needed more than a simple demonstration.

They needed to feel the dance.

- "We need to try something else."

The elves looked up, curious.

Köflik, beside him, frowned.

- "What do you mean by that?"

Foster took a deep breath, searching for words. Then he turned to Köflik.

- "When we fight, we sometimes communicate through the link, don’t we? We sense each other’s intentions, we coordinate instinctively."

Köflik nodded slowly.

- "Yes... but?"

- "What if I showed you the dance through the link? Not just the movements, but their essence."

A silence fell over the group.

It was risky.

This kind of experimentation had never been attempted before. Transmitting physical knowledge through the link was a whole new level of connection.

But they had no choice.

- It could work," Köflik breathed. "But you need a sender and receivers.

- "Then I’ll be the transmitter."

He closed his eyes.

And plunged into the link.

At first, all he perceived was silence.

A deep, dark space, where the souls of the elves floated like fireflies suspended in the ether.

He moved forward mentally, trying to tune in to this collective presence.

A pulse.

A beat.

Slowly, he expanded his consciousness.

The link was there. He felt it flow between them like a peaceful river. He immersed himself further in the current, until he was one with it.

Then he called to Köflik.

- Come with me."

Köflik was the nearest presence. Foster sensed his hesitation, his mind floating on the edge of the bond. He held out his hand-not physically, but in thought.

Köflik held on.

And immediately, he shifted into sensation.

Memories of Foster’s body became his own.

The tension of a muscle. The weight of movement.

The precise sway of the hips. The thrust of the heel.

All transmitted to him without a single word.

Köflik shuddered. He hadn’t learned the dance.

He’d lived it.

His body knew. He moved, barely, but the gestures came with supernatural ease.

- "By the Tree..." he breathed, opening his eyes again, dumbfounded.

Foster, panting, gave him a knowing look.

- "Share with the others."

Köflik obeyed.

And it was a cascade.

The spirits of the elves intertwined with the link, one by one.

A dizziness swept through them.

Foster’s knowledge poured into them.

No more barriers. No more separate individuals.

Their consciousness merged for a moment.

And in that fusion, they danced.

Not with their bodies. Not yet.

But their souls were already dancing.

They felt the thrust of each movement, the swing of a leg, the balance of a body tilting with fluidity.

They knew.

Then Foster abruptly broke contact, gasping for breath.

The elves opened their eyes in shock.

Some were still shaking. Others looked at their hands, their legs, as if they’d woken up with a new body.

A stunned silence stretched across the clearing.

Then Köflik whispered, his voice broken with emotion:

- "We’re ready."

Foster watched his people.

They knew it now.

Then he breathed in a firm tone:

- "Dance."

And this time, they danced.

Dawn broke over Vollua in a strange silence, as if the city were holding its breath. That morning was unlike any other.

Elves were busy everywhere, but not with the haphazard effervescence of days of war or emergency. No, this was a different kind of bustle - more measured, more feverish. Loaded with a muted tension, a mixture of anticipation and nervousness.

Today, their people would attempt the impossible.

Today, under the light of the full moon, they would give birth to a new future.

There were whispers in the city streets. No one knew what was really going to happen.

Some were murmuring prayers, begging to be watched over.

Others were preparing the site of the ritual: a vast clearing at the foot of the great Mother Tree, where the magic was densest. They cleared the ground, checked the tracings of ancient patterns in the earth, laid out torches that would burn until dawn.

In the air floated the scent of incense, resins and crushed plants, whose smoke rose in fragrant wisps.

Everything was ready.

All that remained was to wait for nightfall.

Foster watched all this in silence.

He could feel the excitement and anguish of his people pulsating through the bond.

Three days.

Three days of hard work, doubts and adjustments. Three days of correcting the slightest error, fine-tuning every move.

And now, the time had come.

He let out a long sigh, looking up at the sky.

The moon was still hidden, invisible in the blue of the day...

- The end of hope is the beginning of death. Today is a crucial day. Foster sighed.

As the sun slipped below the horizon, a strange atmosphere settled over Vollua.

The sky, at first tinged gold and crimson, slowly shifted to a darker, deeper hue, heralding the imminent arrival of the full moon.

One by one, torches were lit in the sacred clearing, casting a flickering glow over the tense faces of the gathered elves. The light danced on tree bark, on garments adorned with ancestral symbols, on nervous bodies preparing to do something none of them had ever done before.

In the air floated an intoxicating woody scent, a blend of burnt resins and sacred herbs that the mages had carefully selected. The scent rose in silvery wisps, mingling with the night breeze that made the leaves of the Mother Tree sing.

Silence reigned.

A dense, almost solemn silence.

All eyes were on the sky.

They were waiting.

Preparations were drawing to a close.

The elves had dressed in flowing outfits in the colors of nature: fabrics in shades of brown, green, ochre and gold, carefully woven so as not to impede their movements.

Some whispered prayers, others breathed deeply, concentrating on the bond that united them all.

Foster walked among them, observing every detail, every face.

He could see the tension in their features, but also the burning excitement in their eyes. They were scared. But they were ready.

In a corner of the clearing, Köflik and Giovanni murmured words of encouragement. Farther on, elves were adjusting the circle of inscriptions in the ground, making sure each symbol was perfectly drawn.

As for the Mother Tree, it seemed alive with a new energy.

Its branches, usually motionless under the night, quivered slightly as if animated by an invisible force. The bark itself seemed to vibrate with a discreet light, pulsing to the rhythm of the bond it shared with the elves.

Everything was in place.

All that remained was to wait for the moon to take its place in the sky.

Foster placed himself in the center of the circle.

He inhaled deeply, placing a hand on his chest where he felt the seed of the World Tree beating inside him, much more than his own heart.

In a few moments, he would be dancing.

In a few moments, they would all be dancing.

A shiver ran down her spine.

It was no longer doubt.

It was no longer hesitation.

It was impatience.

When the first light of the full moon peeked through the foliage, a shiver ran through the assembly.

A dull roar.

From nowhere.

From everywhere.

The beat of a drum echoed in the darkness, deep, telluric, vibrating to the marrow of the bones.

Foster opened his eyes.

His whole body burned with energy.

His tattoos lit up in the darkness like golden roots snaking across his skin, pulsing to the rhythm of a force that was no longer his alone.

He plunged into the bond.

A silent crash shook their souls.

The elves’ breath harmonized, their spirits fused into a single unity, a single beat.

Then he raised his arms, and the others followed.

The dance began.

One step.

The drums thundered.

A second.

The ground trembled beneath their feet.

A third.

They lunged, synchronized, their bodies following the perfect pattern they’d learned over the last three days.

The first movement split the air like a blade.

The second turned on itself, fluid and sharp.

The third rose like a wave, breaking into a multitude of precise gestures.

The feet struck the ground with force, sending vibrations through the earth, as if the Mother Tree itself were dancing with them.

The drumbeats quickened.

So did their steps.

Faster.

Faster still. 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

The circle of dancers widened and tightened, spinning, banging, jumping, falling, rising.

The light from the tattoos spread from one elf to the next, like a wave of living magic running through their bodies.

Energy accumulated.

Every movement became an offering.

Every impact a call.

The earth itself vibrated beneath them.

The bond united them in perfect symbiosis, a single consciousness, a single being with multiple bodies.

Foster, Father of the Elves, was at the center of this storm.

His magic inundated his fellow Elves, weaving between them a connection so powerful that their spirits intertwined like branches of the same forest.

They were no longer mere elves.

They were the World Tree, and the World Tree had the power to give life.

But suddenly, the fruit on the highest branch of the Mother Tree fell and exploded in a spray of light, in the center of their circle, only a few steps away from Foster.