The dawn after the restoration of Sylvaranthe broke in hues of rose‑gold, filtering through the vast crystal dome of the Council Tree. Jareth stood at its heart, holy armor dimmed to bronze and leather, waiting as the newly revived elves filled the great hall once more.
Two figures stepped forward from the crowd—one radiant, one grim.
King Altheryon Leaf‑Crown, a High‑Elf of ageless poise, emerald eyes kind but resolute. His deep‑green mantle bore the silver sigil of a blooming oak—the royal seal of Sylvaranthe.
Commander Vaelis Nightthorn, a Dark‑Elf whose midnight skin seemed carved from obsidian. A scar cut from brow to cheek, but the silver in his iron‑gray eyes spoke of brilliance. Legend claimed that under his tactics a force of three thousand once routed an orc horde of thirty‑thousand.
They bowed—not out of formality, but genuine respect.
Altheryon: "Champion Jareth Dragonheart… Without you or the Goddess, our people would still slumber in oblivion. Name what you desire—Sylvaranthe is yours to command."Vaelis: "Speak, and we will move before your shadow touches the floor."
Jareth inclined his head. "Then hear my charge. Sylvaranthe must rise as a shield for all Eden. Altheryon—rebuild the city's arteries: granaries, forges, mana conduits, wards. Strength from stone and seed. Vaelis—forge an army. A legion able to march with Elaria and the Skybound Realm when the next demon tide comes."
The king placed a hand over his heart.
Altheryon: "I accept. Let the rootways bloom with light again; let the sky‑terraces bear fruit. In a month, our walls will sing."
Vaelis drew twin crescent knives and crossed them in salute.
Vaelis: "And I will mold every able elf—High, Dark, Mountain, or Sky—into a blade. Ten thousand spears within a season, or my name's a jest."
Yet a shadow passed across Altheryon's regal face. "Know this, Champion: we stand at one‑tenth of our old might." His gaze drifted to the towering glass trunk above. "For our strength flows from Yggdrasil‑the‑Elder, and its heart is gone."
A hush fell. Crystalline leaves above chimed softly, as if mourning.
Altheryon continued. "Beneath us lies a Forbidden Chamber—a vault of spirits where every crowned monarch of Sylvaranthe keeps watch. Only one who earns their blessing may retrieve the Seed of Yggdrasil and rekindle our glory. I failed that trial in life; so did my forebears. The sentinels test the soul, not the sword."
Vaelis folded his arms. "Our army without the Elder Tree is a body without blood. We will fight—but never at our zenith."
Jareth's answer was immediate. "Then I will face those spirits. But first I must return to Elaria and the Skybound Realm. They need to hear what is coming."
Bahamut's voice stirred in his mind, gruff but pleased. "If we can restore Yggdrasil, Elven magic will multiply our defenses a hundredfold. A risk worth taking."
Elaria – Hall of Healing
Lyra lay beneath white linen, bandages peppered with drying crimson. Nerina sat beside her, eyes rimmed red from exhaustion but glowing with relief. Holy glyphs on the stone floor siphoned gentle mana into Lyra's body, hastening what mortal medicine could not.
Lyra stirred. "S‑sister… we survived?"
Tears spilled from Nerina's lashes. "We did. He saved us—again." She squeezed Lyra's hand. "I thought I'd lost you all over."
They both turned as a healer announced Jareth's arrival. He entered without grandeur, weary but smiling. Nerina leapt up, half‑collapsing into his arms; Lyra tried to sit, forcing a grin through pain.
Lyra whispered, "We'll never leave your side, Champion. Not until the last Evil God falls."
Nerina nodded, eyes shining like sapphire waters. "Nor I. The Silent Death Duo fights for you—and for all Eden."
Jareth felt the weight of their loyalty settle like a mantle on his shoulders. "Rest now. I'll return soon with allies you've only dreamed of."
Skybound Realm – Council Balcony
Jareth's next stop was the floating archipelago. Captain Eryndor bowed deeply as the Champion relayed the victory over Romelo, the revival of Sylvaranthe, and the coming alliance. Gasps of marvel swept through the gathered officers.
Eryndor : "We will redouble the defenses, my lord. The skies are ours."
Back to Sylvaranthe – Edge of the Forbidden
Night fell as Jareth stepped beneath the glass dome once more. Ethereal torches lit a spiral stair descending around the Council Tree's massive roots. Altheryon and Vaelis waited at the top.
Altheryon: "Once you pass below, mortal defenses end. Only spirit and truth remain."Vaelis: "Return alive, Champion. The army will need a legend to follow."
Jareth nodded and began his descent.
The air cooled; roots twisted into archways of living wood. Somewhere deep below, he sensed ancient eyes opening—kings and queens who had judged centuries of aspirants. He adjusted his grip on the God‑sword, though he suspected steel would matter little.
Bahamut? he whispered inwardly.
"I am with you. But these trials test heart, not flame. Speak truth, wield courage, and their seed will bloom."
Torch‑light faded. A circular door of woven elder‑wood yawned before him, runes pulsing a heartbeat rhythm.
Jareth exhaled, set his palm to the door, and pushed.
It swung inward into silver‑lit darkness—where the shades of Sylvaranthe's lineage awaited their next challenger