The Sylvariths were a race forged in the crucible of Mako's wild heart, their essence woven from the planet's breath, evidence of its untamed spirit. They embodied a symphony of contradictions, graceful as the wind threading through the canopy, yet fierce as the storms that split the skies. Joyful in their revelry, yet formidable in their quiet strength.
Clad in silken light that seemed to sparkle with the forest's own glow, they adorned themselves with leaves, bark, and petals, their forms blending seamlessly with the land, as if the roots themselves had birthed them to dance among the branches.
Their souls thrived on communion, a deep-seated love for music and shared celebration. This feast thumped with hypnotic dances that stirred the earth beneath their feet. Yet beneath the laughter and lilting songs lay the heart of a hunter, honed by instinct and tradition. To cross them was to awaken a wrath as relentless as the jungle itself.
Aldrich sat on a weathered wooden bench, the bonfire's flames reflecting in his eyes, casting a warm flicker across his weary face. The party unfurled around him like a living tapestry, food and drink flowed in abundance, tables groaning under the weight of roasted meats and strange fruits. To his right, Aldana and Alan were lost in animated discussion, their laughter a bright thread weaving through the night. He marveled at how quickly they'd bonded.
His hand drifted to a wooden cup brimming with a peculiar whitish liquid, its surface rippling faintly. He'd seen others, including Alan, sip it with relish, but hesitation gnawed at him. His gaze shifted to the massive steak on the table, its aroma a heavenly lure, the scent of charred flesh and herbs teasing his empty stomach.
He wondered what creature that had surrendered its life for this feast, as hunger clawed at him. A day of fighting and trudging across the jungle had drained him to the dregs of his strength, his body a hollow shell craving sustenance.
"You have not touched your food, human. Is it not to your liking?" The voice boomed behind him, and Aldrich's spine stiffened as King Jenoka's shadow engulfed the lantern light, his towering form a monolith of muscle and scar.
"It is, your majesty," Aldrich replied hastily, seizing the steak and tearing into it with a ravenous bite. Sweet juices flooded his mouth, a burst of flavor so intense it nearly drew a moan from his throat. He swallowed, then dove in again, chewing with desperate speed. The taste was divine, a symphony of wild game and spice. Emboldened, he lifted the cup to his lips, the liquid sliding over his tongue, sweet as grape wine, creamy as milk. With a gasp of delight, he drained the rest, the richness reviving his weary frame.
"That's more like it, human!" Jenoka clapped his massive palms together, a thunderous laugh rolling from his chest. He gestured with a sweep of his arm, and soon a colossal bowl of the milky wine appeared before Aldrich, accompanied by heaping servings of meat. The king settled beside him, claiming a slab of flesh the size of Aldrich's head, tearing into it with gusto. "I must thank you, human. And your friend, too," he said between bites, his voice a deep rumble.
Aldrich paused, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I did nothing to earn your thanks, King Jenoka," he said, reaching for another cup. "Your daughter saved my life. I should be the grateful one."
Jenoka's grin widened, revealing surprisingly white teeth that gleamed in the firelight. His gaze drifted to Aldana, now twirling by the bonfire with a circle of female Sylvariths, her movements a fluid echo of the flames. "She reminds me so much of her mother," he murmured, his voice softening. "Especially her eyes, she inherited them from her."
Aldrich took another sip, his attention riveted on the massive Sylvarith. "How did she die?" he asked, his tone gentle, mindful of the weight behind the question.
"Childbirth," Jenoka replied, his eyes distant, the word heavy with memory. "Aldana was too much for her.
The words stirred the air with their quiet grief. Aldrich turned his gaze toward Aldana, her form a graceful silhouette against the bonfire's dance, and nodded solemnly. "I'm sorry," he murmured, the apology a fragile offering to the hulking Sylvarith beside him.
"It's past now," Jenoka replied, a faint smile softening the rugged lines of his face. "I miss her every time the wind sings through the trees, but she gifted me the most precious treasure. My daughter." His voice warmed, a father's pride threading through the melancholy.
Jenoka tilted his head. "Do you know, human, I've met your kind before?" He asked, lifting his wooden cup to his lips, the milky wine glistening as he drank it all.
"Of course, your majesty," Aldrich responded, his hand drifting toward his own cup but halting midway. A haze clouded his mind, he was teetering on the edge of drunkenness. He withdrew his arm, steadying himself against the bench. "Your fluent Manora is proof enough."
Jenoka's laughter boomed, a thunderclap that shook the lanterns' glow. "Ah yes," he said, wiping a trickle of wine from his chin. "My father insisted I learn it, just as I've pressed Aldana to master it now. A necessity, he called it." His massive hand rubbed his scarred jaw.
"I recall when they first appeared, your people. Thirty years ago, I was but a stripling, fresh from my first hunt, much like Aldana now. They descended in heavy airships, a swarm of metal beasts numbering in the thousands, hovering like storm clouds in the atmosphere, a shadow over our lands.
Then, they descended. Men clad in red armor, their guns roaring with a power enough to slaughter anything in their path. Each squad was led by figures in yellow armors, their blades bright as stars, yet lethal beyond reckoning."
Aldrich leaned in, squinting against the fire's dance. "Was there a battle?" he asked, his curiosity a spark in the night.
"A battle?" Jenoka's laughter erupted, a thunderous cascade that shook the lanterns. "No, no, human. It was no battle. It was an execution. They were demons unleashed, bringing hell to our forest. The Lorkaths fell first, a whole race erased in a breath, their songs silenced forever." His words carried a weight of ancient sorrow, the memory etched in every syllable.
Aldrich's brow furrowed, a frown creasing his face. The Lorkaths. They were absent from the watch's archives. Extinction, then, was their fate.
"So how did you avoid the same?" he pressed, his voice low.
Jenoka shrugged, a massive shoulder rolling beneath his leaf skirt. "We are proud, but not fools. We did not fight, we surrendered. And because of that, they held back their army from annihilating us, choosing instead to tame us. The other races, hearing of our fate, followed suit."
He tossed a hunk of meat into his mouth, chewing with ease.
Aldrich's frown deepened. "So what was it for? I see no trace of colonialism, save for you and your daughter speaking our tongue."
Jenoka's broad shoulders lifted again, a gesture of ignorance. "I fathom it as little as you. They taught us nothing new, hoarding their technology like misers. The ones my father dealt with wore white skin suits, clinging to their skin like a second hide. Beyond burying strange things beneath our soil across the planet, they did nothing until they finally left, not before promising their return though. And now, here you are," he slurred, his voice thickening with the milky wine's embrace. Drunkenness had claimed him at last, Aldrich noted, marveling at how long the titan had held it at bay.
With a groan, Jenoka slumped, his massive head thudding against the table, his hair splaying across the wood like a fallen banner. Aldrich rose, his legs wobbling from the wine's pull, but he steadied himself against the bench. He approached Alan, who drooled onto the table, a lopsided grin tugging at Aldrich's lips. All his life, he'd envisioned Highlanders as enigmatic titans, shrouded in mystery, yet here was Alan, as vulnerable, as human, as any Lowlander in their frailty.
"Hello, Aldrich," Aldana's voice broke his reverie, her figure swaying toward him under the lanterns' ethereal glow, her beauty a stark contrast to the night's rugged edge. Aldrich swallowed, his throat dry as he took her in, her grace a quiet storm.
"You speak to father," she said, a smile softening her features.
"Yes," Aldrich replied, returning the smile, his gaze drifting to the slumped king. Karlak was already there, trying to help the king to his chambers.
"You should head to your chambers as well, Aldana," Karlak rumbled in their native tongue, his eyes narrowing with a glare that pierced Aldrich like a blade.
"After I show them to theirs," Aldana countered, her voice firm, matching his in their shared language.
"I can find someone else for that," Karlak insisted, his tone edged with frustration.
"Karlak!" she barked, a command that silenced him. With a sharp "Tch!" he relented, guiding Jenoka away, his broad back disappearing into the settlement's depths.
"What was that about?" Aldrich asked.
Aldana's smile returned, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. "Karlak being Karlak," she replied. "Carry Alan. I show you to your chambers."