For two full weeks, a semblance of "peace" settled on the Silent Peak. It was, Kalagar decided, a new kind of peace. A loud, busy, and terrifyingly productive peace.
His three disciples were a whirlwind of fanatical energy. Boro, with help from Valerius's impossible "zip-cutting," had finished the "Sect Hall." The three-story pagoda was a masterpiece of glowing, life-infused wood and self-cleaning runic-stone. Kalagar, after finding his own tiny cabin... lacking... had wordlessly moved his cot and books into the top-floor room, which he declared his "study." It was, he had to admit, far more comfortable.
Lila, meanwhile, had taken to the [Anthem of Life] with terrifying enthusiasm. The "garden" was now a "jungle" of miracle-fruit. The apples (which Kalagar now subsisted on) could heal a broken bone in an hour. The tomatoes... he suspected the tomatoes were sentient.
Valerius spent his days on the chasm's edge, "un-zipping" and "re-zipping" reality, practicing his [Blade of the Void] until the very air around him hummed with tension.
Kalagar, their "Master," did what he did best. He sat on the pagoda's new, self-sweeping balcony, and he read.
He was, for the first time, not just surviving. He was comfortable.
And, of course, that's when the fourth "complication" arrived.
This one did not arrive starved, or angry, or lost. This one arrived... dying.
Kalagar was the first to notice. A figure, small and slender, was staggering up the path. They were draped in a heavy, hooded, grey cloak, despite the mild weather. They moved with a slow, agonizing effort, as if every step cost them their very soul.
"Oh, for..." Kalagar muttered, putting his book down. "It's like a refugee camp. Lila!"
Lila was at his side in an instant. "Yes, Master?" "We have another... guest," Kalagar sighed. "Go. See to it. If they're hungry, give them an apple."
Lila bounded down the steps, Boro and Valerius emerging from the pagoda's ground floor, their tools and sword ready.
"Halt!" Valerius called out, his voice sharp. "This is the domain of the Sage. State your-"
He stopped. The figure had reached the clearing. They looked up, and the hood fell back.
Valerius, the disgraced noble, froze. His jaw dropped. Boro, the exiled Orc, gasped and took a step back. "By the Ancestors... no..."
Even Lila, the village girl, could feel the aura. This was not a commoner. The woman—she was clearly Elven, with high, delicate features and almond-shaped eyes—was the most beautiful creature any of them had ever seen. But it was a tragic, decaying beauty.
Her skin was pale, not with an Elven-grace, but with a deathly, grey pallor. Her long, silver hair was dry and brittle. But the most terrifying part was the aura around her. Life... died.
As she stepped onto the grass, the vibrant, glowing "miracle-grass" that Lila had cultivated wilted. It turned black, grey, and then to fine, dead dust in a perfect circle around her feet. The air itself grew cold and sterile.
She was a black hole for life-magic.
"I... I am here..." the woman whispered, her voice like dry leaves. "I... seek... the Sage of the Mountain. The one... who commands... life."
She looked at Lila, and her eyes widened in shock. She could feel the [Anthem of Life] radiating from her. "You... you are glowing with it..."
Valerius, his face ashen, finally found his voice. "My... my Lady..." he stammered, falling to one knee. He was a noble. He knew who this was. "You... you are Princess Sylvie! Of the World-Tree-Moon-Court!"
Boro quickly knelt beside him, his head bowed. This was royalty... celestial royalty.
Kalagar, watching from the balcony, did not know who this was. He saw a sick woman, and he saw his two, most-powerful disciples kneeling in the dirt. "Valerius! Boro!" he snapped, his voice sharp. "Get up. You look ridiculous. And she is killing my lawn."
The "Annoyed Professor" voice cut through the tension. Sylvie, the princess, flinched. She looked up at the man on the balcony. He was... just a man. He was wearing a simple tunic. He was holding a half-eaten, glowing apple. And he was frowning at her. He was not kneeling. He was not terrified of her "curse." He was... annoyed.
"You..." she whispered. "You must be him." She staggered forward, past the kneeling disciples, and collapsed at the base of the pagoda. "Please... Sage... they say you... un-wrote the laws of magic. They say you... created a new law of life." She held up her hands, which were grey and withered, like a mummy's. "I am... cursed. My magic... it 'wilts' life. I am a void. I am... death. I have been exiled. My own father, the Elven-King, cast me out, lest I wilt the World-Tree itself." She looked up, her beautiful, tragic eyes filled with a last, desperate hope. "Can you... can you fix me?"
Kalagar S. Sully stared down at her. A princess. A real one. And she was cursed. This was not a problem for a philosopher. This was a problem for a... well, a wizard. Which he was not.
He felt the familiar, cold panic rise. He had to say something. He stalled, falling back on his academic roots. He needed to diagnose the problem before he could "teach" a solution.
He walked down the stairs, ignoring the kneeling Valerius and Boro. He crouched in front of Sylvie. The "death-aura" hit him. It was cold, empty, and sterile. His magic apple, however, was not affected. The glow from it pushed back against the wilting, creating a small, warm bubble.
"Hm," Kalagar said, interested. He looked at her. "You say you 'wilt' life. You say you are 'death'." He took a bite of his apple. "You are wrong."
Sylvie's head snapped up. "What?"
"You are not a void," Kalagar said, his professor's mind analyzing the sensation. "A void is empty. This... this is not empty. This is... hungry. You are not destroying life. You are absorbing it. You're a 're-distributor.'"
He was, once again, just babbling. Making it up as he went.
But Sylvie, the Elven-Princess... the one whose entire race was built on giving life-magic... heard a divine truth.
Absorbing... not destroying...Re-distributor...I am not a curse... I am a process!
"But... but..." she stammered. "I take it... and it's... gone! I can't... I can't give it back!"
Kalagar gave her a look of profound, academic disappointment. "Of course you can't. You're trying to 'give' it. Like a gift. That's not how it works." He pointed to Lila. "She knows. Life is not a 'gift.' It's a 'machine.' A 'process.' You breathe out, it breathes in. You breathe in, it breathes out. You are... constipated."
"I... I am... what?"
"You are hoarding it," Kalagar said, standing up. "You are absorbing all of this life-energy and you are just holding it. It's rotting inside you. That's why you're sick. You're a dam... and you're about to burst." He looked at her with pure, academic disdain. "Stop hoarding it. Just... let it go. Give it back."
It was the most simplistic, medically inaccurate advice he could possibly give. It was, for Sylvie, the most profound, life-altering, concept-shattering lesson she had ever received.
Let it go... just... give it back...It is not a 'gift' from me... it is a 'process' through me...I am not a 'curse'... I am a 'conduit'!...
[System: Potential Disciple 'Sylvie' is attempting to comprehend [Lesson: The Constipated Dam (Life-Death Re-distribution)]...][...Disciple Comprehension: SUCCESS!][Disciple 'Sylvie' has comprehended: [Samsara of the First Tree] (Top-Tier Life/Death Magic Art).]
"I..." Sylvie whispered. "I... think... I..." She looked at the patch of dead, grey dust at her feet. She closed her eyes. And she... let go.
It was not a "boom." It was not a "zip." It was a sigh. A silent, rolling, visible wave of pure, concentrated, necrotic energy poured from her. This was the "death" she had been hoarding for twenty years. It poured out, turning the ground an oily, obsidian black. Boro and Valerius cried out, scrambling backward.
But then... a second wave poured out. This was the life she had absorbed. But now, it was filtered through her, balanced by the void-energy. It was not just life. It was life-and-death. It was Samsara. A wave of brilliant, silver-green light washed over the black.
The black, dead ground... exploded. But it wasn't a garden. It was a forest. A patch of ground the size of an auditorium, which had been sterile dust a moment before, was now a dense, sentient, elder jungle. The trees were silver-barked, with glowing green leaves. The very air thrummed with ancient, balanced, complete magic.
And Sylvie... Sylvie... Her grey skin flushed with life. Her brittle, silver hair now flowed with a living, magical light. She was no longer just "beautiful." She was divine. She was cured.
She stared at her hands, which were now smooth and full of light. She looked at the sentient, silver jungle she had just created. She looked at the man who had called her "constipated."
She fell to her knees, but not in weakness. In worship. "Master!" she cried, her voice now a clear, ringing bell. "My life... my soul... it is yours! You... you have re-defined me! I am Sylvie... and I am your fourth disciple!"
[System: Disciple 'Sylvie' (Level 7) has been accepted.]
Kalagar S. Sully just stared at the new, sentient, silver-tree-jungle that was now growing where his lawn used to be. He had four of them. Four. And this one could, apparently, create sentient forests. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his migraine suddenly returning, the miracle-apple's effects negated entirely by pure, undiluted stress.