All the people stood there mourning their fallen friend, everyone deep in grief. The weight of loss hung heavy in the air, even in this magical sanctuary. Lantern-light gentled the edges of faces and turned tears into slow, jeweled streaks. Wind moved carefully through leaves, as if the tree itself had lowered its voice.
Hisag's voice was soft with sorrow. "One of ours has fallen. Yavia's closest friend, with whom she grew up—she considered her as a sister. Now she rests there."
Elena stepped forward, hands at her sides to keep from reaching out too fast, too foreign. "Is there anything we could help with?"
Hisag nodded gratefully, the blue of his cloak darkening in the dim. "Thank you for asking. Let's go there for now."
They moved as the gathering ebbed and flowed, grief rearranging the crowd in delicate, aching patterns. As they approached the circle of mourners, Tian noticed three elderly figures standing slightly apart. Their attire was more elaborate than the others—layers of fabric whispering sigils and seasons—and a powerful aura emanated from each of them, stronger even than the warriors who had faced down monsters without trembling.
"They are the Third Elder—Migos, Fourth Elder—Lysara, and Seventh Elder—Gelrad," Hisag whispered respectfully. "They hold the highest authority after the Grand Elder."
Migos stood with hands clasped, a mantle of earth-tones draped like strata over his shoulders. Gelrad's presence felt like a storm held in a jar—hair white and wild, eyes bright with quiet lightning. Between them, Lysara watched with a stillness that made space for others' grief to move.
After a few minutes, the crowd began to disperse, people offering final prayers and touches to Yavia's shoulder before turning back to tasks that did not vanish for sorrow. Life in their hidden sanctuary had to continue. The world-tree creaked like a ship at anchor, holding.
The Fourth Elder stepped forward. A woman with silver-streaked hair and kind but piercing blue eyes, she wore robes of deep purple embroidered with golden symbols that seemed to shimmer with their own light—as if meaning itself had been coaxed into thread. Unlike Zivan's weakened state, she radiated calm strength; it did not press. It simply existed, incontrovertible.
"I am Lysara," she said, her voice carrying the warmth of a teacher and the authority of ages. "Zivan has told me about your situation. The orbs you carry, the energy within your companion—these are gifts that require careful guidance."
Her gaze found Amara. It did not pin; it included. "Child, you've been pushing your abilities without understanding their true nature. This is dangerous—not just for you, but for those around you."
Amara's fingers flinched at her sides. She thought of eight-minute flights into a darkness that had teeth, of returning to a body that felt borrowed. She thought of Elena counting her pulse, of Tian's silence that said more than caution. Her eyes did not drop. "I know," she said softly. "I didn't know how to stop."
Turning to Tian, Lysara studied the orb as if it were a guest. "And you, young man, carry a burden you do not yet comprehend. The choice to consume divine essence is not one to be taken lightly. It will change you forever."
Hisag stepped forward, kindness and excitement braided. "Elder Lysara, they've agreed to learn our ways. The Grand Elder believes they are the ones from the prophecy."
Lysara nodded slowly. Belief did not rush her; it passed through her and settled. "Perhaps they are. But prophecy or not, they need training. Come," she said to Tian and Amara. "We begin immediately. The longer you delay, the more dangerous your untrained power becomes."
Elena's concern found words. "Is it safe? What exactly will happen to them?"
"Nothing in this world is safe anymore," Lysara said, and somehow the truth landed like a hand, not a blow. "But without proper training, the power they possess could consume them—or worse, hurt everyone they're trying to protect. Trust is required on all sides."
They followed her along a curving walkway where the bark smoothed to a pale, human-polished sheen. Below, the branch-villages hummed with afternoon—crane-shadows skimming roofs, rittles laughing in chittering bursts. Above, the canopy held its breath.
"The path ahead is difficult," Lysara continued. "Divine energy doesn't simply settle into human bodies—it must be earned, understood, and carefully integrated. Some do not survive the process."
The words placed weight on the air. No one spoke. Tian measured that weight the way he measured threats—what he could carry, what would require others' hands.
Elder Lysara led them to a circular chamber carved into the heart of the great tree. The space hummed with a low, living resonance; the floor sprung softly, the walls curved like a ribcage. Glowing crystals lined the ring, each pulsing in rhythm like a heartbeat, their light warm and steady, calibrating the room to breath and intention.
She gestured to the center. "Sit."
Tian and Amara moved to the circle's heart. The others fanned along the perimeter, instinctively taking guardians' positions. The orb in Tian's harness thrummed once, then settled, as if recognizing a ritual ground.
"The process is ancient and sacred," Lysara said, voice echoing gently, words catching and carrying in the crystalline light. "Divine energy cannot simply be absorbed—it must be awakened step by step, like climbing a mountain."
She approached Amara and, without touching, indicated the base of her spine. "The energy should first be felt at the lowest chakra point of the human body—the Muladhara, your root chakra. Here, you must slowly awaken it and contain the energy there, creating a foundation strong enough to hold divine power."
Amara nodded, though uncertainty flickered in her eyes. "How will I know if I'm doing it right?"
"You will feel warmth, then pressure, then a sense of completeness in that area," Lysara replied. "A settledness that does not ask for confirmation. Only when the first chakra is fully awakened and stable should you move the energy upward to the next point—the Svadhisthana, your sacral chakra."
She traced an invisible line upward, the motion so precise it felt like a thread being pulled through fabric. "You must do the same to all the other chakra points—awakening each one, containing and stabilizing the energy before ascending. The Manipura at your solar plexus, the Anahata at your heart, the Vishuddha at your throat, the Ajna between your eyebrows."
Tian leaned forward despite himself, drawn by the clarity of instruction and the strangeness of being invited to remake one's own interior. "And the final one?"
"The crown of enlightenment—the Sahasrara chakra," Lysara said reverently. The crystals' pulse lilted at the word, as if the room had heard a name it loved. "When you reach and awaken this final point, you will have achieved true divine integration. But beware—rushing this process, skipping steps, or forcing the energy upward too quickly will tear your body apart from within."
Elena stepped closer, worry laid bare. "How long does this take?"
"For most, centuries," Lysara admitted. No flinch. No softening. "But given the divine blessing you carry, perhaps a few years. The energy wants to flow—we must teach it patience, and teach you control."
Hisag added quietly, as if laying a stone where the path dipped, "Those who succeed become protectors of humanity. Those who fail..." He didn't finish. The silence did. It was not a threat. It was a fact, mourned in advance.
Lysara placed her hands on both Tian and Amara's shoulders—not to push, not to claim, but to include. Her palms were warm; her stillness was instructional. "Are you ready to begin? Once we start, there is no turning back. Your old selves will be forever changed."
Tian and Amara exchanged glances. Images flickered between them like messages passed by lantern-light: the underground complex breathing in time with generators; children's faces pressed to safety glass; the abyss and its predators; Zivan's cough and the stars; a bracelet on a grave; the white robe lowering into battle; a tree that grew from heaven down.
"We're ready," they said together.
Both sat in lotus position, closing their eyes as if dimming one world to let another rise. Tian unclipped the orb from his harness and rested it before him, the glow gentled by the chamber's pulse. Amara's hands laid palm-up on her knees, fingers loose, shoulders easing as if given permission not to hold everyone up alone.
Lysara looked at the remaining members of their group, who stood watching with the feeling that to breathe too loudly would be to disrespect the moment. Then her mouth quirked, a teacher remembering a classroom.
"What are you all waiting for? Join with them and do as I say. Focus with all your mind and try to feel the energy."
Kai raised his hand hesitantly, half apology, half habit. "We don't have those orbs with us. What do we do it for?"
"The energy, when being channeled by the chosen ones, will circulate and permeate around them," Lysara explained patiently. "This, in turn, can be absorbed by others—even though small amounts at first, but with time, anyone can gather energy in their chakra points."
Elena smiled, settling into position beside her friends, crossing her legs with the defiance of someone who had always preferred movement to stillness and would now learn both. "Drop by drop makes an ocean."
Around the circle, boots scuffed, then stilled. Shoulders lowered. Eyes softened shut. The chamber's crystals aligned their pulse to breath after breath until the room felt like a shared lung. Outside, Mosscall went on—a pot stirred, a crane called, a child laughed the wordless laugh of a world that did not end.
Inside, an elder began to teach strangers how to build foundations out of light.
Lysara's voice became a path. "Muladhara. Root. Find the point at the base of you. Imagine a red ember. Not flame. Coal. It will not scorch. It will insist." Her hands moved, painting warmth into the air. "When it answers, do not drag it. Invite. House it. Give it the name 'home.'"
Amara's breath deepened, the tremor in her exhale smoothing to a line. Tian felt the orb vibrate at a frequency he recognized and did not know, as if a door he had stared at for weeks had always been unlocked.
"Good," Lysara murmured. "Now we begin."