The battle stretched on for two relentless days. Carlos, though strengthened by the blessings of fire and wind, was feeling the weight of exhaustion pull at his limbs. His body was pushed to its breaking point, but he refused to stop. His mind was focused on one thing: getting the root of the Mother Tree and saving his brother. He had no time to think of the elves, their village, or the consequences of his actions.
The elven warriors, skilled and ruthless, were relentless in their defense. Their strikes were calculated, and their movements were fluid with the grace of centuries of practice. They fought with the passion of those protecting not just their land, but their very essence. Carlos could feel their hatred for him—an outsider, a mortal, intruding into their sacred home. Each strike, each magical ward they cast against him, felt like a rejection of his existence. But he pressed on, ignoring the pain that seared through his body.
Even with the blessings, the battle was a brutal back-and-forth. The fire coursing through his veins only fueled the intensity of his strikes, but the flames burned at him as much as they did his enemies. His gloves were scorched, and the heat of the fire twisted around his fingers, a constant reminder that this power came at a price.
But after two days of ceaseless combat, the tide began to turn. Carlos's strength, though diminished, had not faltered, and the elves, too, were showing signs of exhaustion. Their movements were slower, their magic less precise, and many of their number had already fallen. Carlos was a warrior born, even if his body was that of a boy, and the blessings were pushing him beyond his limits, breaking through the elves' defenses.
Amidst the chaos, Carlos caught sight of a figure emerging from the shadows of the Mother Tree—a being unlike any he had faced before. This was no ordinary elf, but an ancient one, older than any of the warriors he had encountered. His skin was a deep, ageless green, and his eyes shone with the wisdom of millennia. The ancient elf's presence was heavy, and even Carlos, who had known the horrors of war, felt a shiver of respect and fear.
The ancient elf raised a hand, and the remaining warriors fell back, forming a protective circle around him. "Enough," the ancient elf said in a voice like the wind through the trees, strong yet filled with a quiet sorrow.
Carlos stood still, his breath ragged as he faced the elf. The fire that still burned within him seemed to quiet in the presence of this being, as if even the flames understood the weight of the ancient elf's authority.
"You are a fool to continue this," the ancient elf spoke again. "The Mother Tree is not just a tree. She is the life of our people. Our souls are intertwined with her roots. Without her, we die. And yet, you come here, with your fire and your promises, threatening that which we hold most dear."
Carlos's grip on his sword tightened. "I have no choice," he said, his voice strained. "My brother is dying. The root of the Mother Tree is the only thing that can save him."
The ancient elf's gaze softened, but only for a moment. "The Mother Tree does not grant her gifts lightly. She is not some healer to be used at your will. But you are not the first to come seeking her help." The elf's voice grew bitter, and for the first time, Carlos felt the weight of the elf's words.
"You are right," the elf continued, his voice colder now. "But the consequences will be the same. The Mother Tree is not just a blessing. She is a price. Take what you need, but know that it will cost you. It will cost all of us."
Carlos's chest tightened. He had known there would be consequences, but hearing the weight of them from the elf made the reality of his choice sink in. Yet, there was no turning back.
The ancient elf stepped forward slowly, placing a hand over his heart as if to calm the beating within. "The Mother Tree is precious to us, as precious as life itself. But there is no mercy to be found in this land, not for you, not for us. If you truly wish to take the root, then you must face the final trial. You must prove that you are worthy of the price you are willing to pay."
Carlos nodded, though his heart was heavy. He knew what needed to be done.
Before he could speak, the ancient elf raised his hand to stop him. "I will not stop you from claiming the root, but know this: the blessing you hold, the fire you wield, will be your undoing if you do not control it. The Mother Tree's power is not meant for mortals. You will burn yourself to ash if you are not careful. And the elves... will never forget."
Carlos met the elf's gaze, his resolve unbroken. "I don't need your forgiveness. I just need to save my brother."
The ancient elf gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod, and then, in a voice that echoed through the forest, he said, "Then go. But be warned—this path leads only to destruction."
Carlos, feeling the weight of the elf's words press upon him, turned and began to make his way toward the Mother Tree. The air around him seemed to shift as he moved, the wind picking up once more. He ignored the burning in his hands, the fire searing at his flesh, as he pushed forward with every ounce of strength he had left.
As he approached the roots of the Mother Tree, he turned once more to the ancient elf, who stood silent, watching him. The elves, once fierce and unyielding, had now become silent witnesses to his actions. Their fate, intertwined with the tree, was sealed. And Carlos's fate, bound to his brother's life, was no less certain.
With a final glance at the elves, Carlos reached down and took the root of the Mother Tree, feeling its power surge through his body. The moment it touched his hands, the world seemed to tremble around him. The blessing of fire burned hotter, the wind howled with fury, and the weight of the ancient elf's warning settled heavily upon him.
But there was no turning back now.
He had come for the root. He had come for his brother. And now, he would face the consequences.