The head elf's voice resonated through the tension-filled air. His eyes never left Carlos as he spoke, his tone heavy with centuries of authority and wisdom.
"There are ancient elves who guard the Mother Tree," the head elf said, his words deliberate. "They will not care for your mortal concerns, or your god's blessing. This is not a battle for you. It is not ours to fight. It is theirs."
Carlos's gaze hardened, and his hand clenched into a fist, his fingers burning with the heat of the flame within. He understood. The ancient guardians of the Mother Tree would not stand aside simply because Carlos was here to seek the root. No. They would challenge him, just as they had challenged any who dared step too close to the heart of the elves.
The head elf gestured toward the path leading to the sacred grove, his face unreadable. "Go," he said with finality. "But know this: the Mother Tree is not so easily reached."
Carlos didn't respond. Instead, he turned to his soldiers, who had been watching the exchange with quiet vigilance. "Stay here," Carlos commanded, his voice cold and firm. "Do not move, or I will kill everything that tries to harm you."
He fixed his gaze on the head elf, then on Fenric, the elf who had already made an attempt on his life. "Especially you," Carlos added, pointing directly at Fenric.
The elves, silent, stood still, as Carlos began to walk toward the stream that would lead him to the Mother Tree. His footsteps were steady and purposeful, his body brimming with the power of the Outer God. But his heart was heavy, focused on his brother—Erevan. There was no time to waste.
As he approached the small boat that would take him across the stream, Carlos found no one willing to row him. The elves watched him, their eyes cold and calculating, but none stepped forward to offer assistance.
Carlos stood at the edge of the water, his jaw set. He knew this path—knew it well from his past life. But in this life, things had changed. He no longer had the luxury of time.
"Ole," Carlos said, his voice barely a whisper.
A golden box appeared before him, shimmering in the air. The words of the god echoed in his mind.
"As much as you can dream," Ole responded, the golden box pulsing with an ethereal light. "Think of your mortal can take."
Carlos stared at the box, and a realization struck him. The fire inside him, ever burning, had limits—he could only handle so much of its power before it consumed him. Two blessings, that was all. Any more, and his body would become nothing but ash.
"I need wind," Carlos said, his voice filled with determination. "To sail the boat straight to the Mother Tree."
The golden box opened, revealing the wind's blessing, and Carlos felt the power course through him. He could feel the breeze, light but sharp, pulling him toward his destination. The wind would carry him swiftly to the sacred grove, but he knew it wasn't just for speed. The wind was the key to navigating the dangerous waters that lay ahead—he had fought elves before, and their connection to water and earth was unmatched. He couldn't rely solely on fire or magic; he had learned that lesson in his past life.
He would need to finish this quickly, before the elves could surround him. The fire would take care of the fight when it came, and the wind would ensure his escape if things went wrong.
Carlos took up the sword at his side, the cold steel a reminder that he still had the will to fight, to defend. As he set his foot into the boat, the breeze picked up, guiding him toward the tree.
With every stroke of the wind, Carlos felt the distance between him and the Mother Tree shrink, but as the boat approached, his eyes locked onto a figure standing silently at the water's edge. An elf.
This elf stood tall and regal, their posture straight, as though rooted in the earth itself. They were dressed in flowing robes of pale green, the color of new leaves in spring. Their skin shimmered with an almost ethereal glow, their long hair cascading like silver streams down their back. The elf's eyes, a striking shade of amber, held an intensity that spoke of centuries of wisdom—and of pain.
The elf's features were sharp, defined, the embodiment of beauty and strength, but beneath the surface, there was a sense of danger. Their eyes locked onto Carlos's with an intensity that made it clear: they were here to protect the Mother Tree, and they would not allow anyone to pass without a fight.
Carlos did not speak to the elf. Words were unnecessary, and the time for diplomacy was long gone. Instead, he stood tall, his hand gripping the sword, his body radiating with the fire and wind. He could feel the tension building in the air, the magic of the forest pressing against him like a suffocating weight.
Without a word, the elf moved, swift and graceful. In the blink of an eye, they were upon him, their blade flashing in the sunlight. The fight had begun.
Carlos met the elf's attack with the same deadly precision. The blade clashed against the elf's with a loud ring, sparks flying as the two danced in a deadly waltz of steel and speed. The elf was fast—almost too fast to track—but Carlos had the wind and the fire at his back.
They didn't speak. Their eyes locked in silent battle, each of them fully aware that only one would leave the clearing alive.