My world-tree system-Chapter 85 - 84: Fruit

The flight continued over the ancestral forest, but this time the excitement of discovery was replaced by calm concentration. Foster, perched on the back of his dragon - now an imposing, majestic, almost unreal creature - observed the landscape below with a watchful eye.

- Can you smell them?" he murmured, his fingers brushing against his companion’s warm green scales.

- No. They’re hiding.

Foster nodded. He’d expected that. Mana fruits emitted very little magical aura. They had evolved this way to escape magical predators, including the Obscurus. Their energy remained deeply buried, as if asleep, until a particular force awakened them.

- Then we’ll have to do it another way.

He closed his eyes, searching his memories of his past life.

"Fruit feeds on memory. Where magic has bled, they can be reborn."

- Battles.

He opened his eyes abruptly.

- Look for the scars of the earth. The ancient fields of war. Places where magic was poured out in abundance. There, they will have sprouted.

The dragon gave a growl of agreement, abruptly changing course. He plunged towards the foothills of a wooded hill to the east of Vollua, where elves had once repelled a demonic incursion.

The trees there were different. Blacker, as if scarred by an ancient burn.

The ground was covered with dark moss, and the wind seemed to whisper the names of those who had fallen.

Foster descended cautiously, his dragon hovering gently before landing softly.

They walked together through the ruins of an old elven war camp.

That’s when he saw them.

Fireflies.

Not insects. Little points of light floating low to the ground, moving slowly, as if attracted by something. Foster followed them, silently, concentrated.

The fireflies swirled around an old mound, partially collapsed. He knelt down slowly, placed a hand on the earth... and felt the faint pulse. Very faint. Like a muffled heartbeat.

The earth opened up.

The roots gave way gently, as if parting for an old friend. Four fruits emerged from the ground with a fluid rustle, as if the forest had recognized them. They were ovoid, covered with a thin membrane of iridescent light. They pulsed slowly, radiating dense energy saturated with pure mana.

- By the Mother Tree...

- They’re perfect," replied the dragon telepathically. The child will be fed.

Foster was about to harvest them when the wind changed.

He turned abruptly.

Silence broke.

Rustling. Hoarse whispers.

Then, silhouettes sprang up between the trees.

Obscurus.

Again.

But these were different. More numerous. More organized. Their shadowy flesh seemed denser, their shapes more defined. They had sensed the fruit’s magic.

- They track mana.

- Then they’ll find us, always. replied the dragon, his eyes flashing with a dangerous glint.

Foster slowly drew his katana, positioning himself in front of the fruit, protective and ready.

The Obscurus howled in a guttural, inhuman voice and charged en masse.

But the dragon wouldn’t let them get any closer.

With a thunderous roar, he leapt into the air, his wings pulverizing the first line of enemies with a concentrated blast of wind. Then he fell back into the fray like a living meteorite.

He unleashed his fury.

Fangs, claws, flames.

A ballet of destruction.

Each blow tore a shadow from the earth.

Each Obscurus devoured made the dragon grow even larger.

Foster, for his part, sliced cleanly, swiftly and precisely. His blade, strengthened by the draconic bond, cleaved through creatures with almost uncanny ease. He moved with his dragon, in perfect harmony, their magic resonating in the air like two taut strings in unison.

- Twenty.

- Forty.

- Sixty.

The horde fell.

And still the dragon grew.

His wings lengthened, his chest muscled, his fangs became blades. With every leap, every bite, he became a little more himself.

- It’s madness..." Foster murmured between assaults.

But it was also... magnificent.

When the last Obscurus fell with a hoarse death rattle, silence returned.

Only the flames remained, crackling softly where the shadow bodies had dissolved. A smell of ozone and ash filled the air.

The dragon turned to Foster, his breath ragged, his muzzle still glistening with absorbed black energy.

- They’ll always come," he said.

Foster nodded slowly.

- And we’ll fight them off. Always.

He bent down and picked up the four fruits, slipping them delicately into an enchanted satchel.

- Let’s feed Orëlas.

With a rustle of wings, they left the clearing. The forest, silent, kept the traces of their passage. And the echo of an inescapable truth: Foster’s dragon was growing in fire and blood.

- How long are you going to grow like that? asked Foster.

- I don’t know myself..." replied the dragon.

- Let’s hope it stops one day. I don’t want to have a mountain for a companion.

- You’re just jealous.

- Jealous, me? nonsense. What you really need is a name.

- I’ll know my name in due course, just be patient, will you?

- Yes, yes, but it’s just weird to call you dragon.

- You’ll get used to it

The return journey to Vollua was made under a hazy sky, the first light of evening filtering through the dense foliage of the forest. Foster, perched on the back of his majestically-winged dragon, flew over the peaks with a newfound ease. The wind carried their passage, and with each beat of his wings, he felt the bond between them grow stronger.

The bag slung over his shoulder fluttered against his hip, laden with what he had come for: the mana fruits. Their soft glow emanated even through the fabric, like a heartbeat pulsing with living energy.

Below him, the forest stretched as far as the eye could see - familiar, protective, yet full of secrets. As they neared Vollua, Foster felt a diffuse warmth creep over him. The forest recognized them.

As they approached the city’s magical borders, the dragon naturally slowed down. Foster placed his hand gently on its neck:

- We’ve arrived.

The giant roots of the Mother Tree, forming Vollua’s protective barrier, reacted to their presence. They quivered, vibrating like living strings... then slowly parted, revealing a luminous passageway at the heart of the intertwined vegetation. The magic surrounding them was ancient, reassuring, and welcomed Foster like a returning child.

The dragon passed noiselessly through the opening, landing softly inside the city. No sooner had their feet touched the soft moss floor than the roots closed behind them with an almost maternal rustle.

Foster jumped to the ground with fluidity, the bag of fruit still warm against his hip. He distractedly stroked the dragon’s scales, which sniffed the city air with curiosity, then headed straight for the sanctuary, where Lïanna had installed the child.

Orëlas sat cross-legged on the grass, his emerald eyes fixed on the orange evening sky. He had grown again: now he looked like a five-year-old, although only a few days had passed since his birth. His gaze was calm, intense, and shone with a disarming lucidity. He turned his head just as Foster arrived.

- You’ve come back," he said calmly, as if he’d known all along.

Foster smiled, both fascinated and moved. He took out the bag and knelt down in front of him.

- And I didn’t come back empty-handed.

Lïanna approached with hushed steps, a soft light in her eyes. She greeted the dragon with a respectful nod, then bent down to look in the bag.

- Mana fruits..." she murmured. By the Mother Tree, you’ve found them.

Foster nodded.

- Four, very mature. Their energy is still dense. We mustn’t delay.

Orëlas was already reaching out eagerly. Foster slowly took out the first fruit and held it out to him.

The young elf took it delicately, as if instinctively recognizing its value. Then, without ceremony, he devoured it in a single bite, his tiny teeth crunching the luminous flesh with almost animal-like ease.

The effect was immediate: his skin began to glow slightly, as if the fruit’s inner light were infusing itself directly into his veins.

- One..." Foster murmured, slightly hallucinating.

Orëlas grabbed the second fruit and consumed it just as quickly, his gaze fixed on Foster as if testing his reactions. Then the third. And finally, the last.

When he had finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve... then let out a sonorous burp.

Foster burst out laughing.

- By the roots... You never change, do you?

Lïanna laughed too, soft and crystalline.

- He’s barely born, and already as gluttonous as a dragon. Are you sure he’s an elf, Foster?

Orëlas shrugged.

- I eat when I’m hungry.

- And when aren’t you hungry?" Foster asked with a sneer.

The child stared at him for a moment, his serious expression a strange contrast to the previous scene.

- When I’m asleep. But for now... I still need to grow up.

Foster sighed and dropped onto his back, staring up at the sky between the high branches.

- We’ll have to find more fruit.

- A lot more," confirmed Lïanna, sitting down beside him.

The dragon lay down on the grass, resting his head close to Orëlas who, without hesitation, stroked it gently.

Foster watched them in silence.

Two living forces, born of hope, nourished by magic, growing faster than the world would have liked.

And both in his hands.

He clenched his fist and a smile spread across his face.