I am an old tree now, rooted deep in the heart of a joyful village within the Elven Empire of Virelyndor.
Our village is a gentle jewel, nestled beside a forest that leans lovingly toward the Sea of Unity, where the waves sing lullabies to the shore.
Long ago, my mother tree stood proud near the sacred World Tree itself. But fate, whimsical and wild, had other plans. One day, a mystical bird, shimmering with light, devoured the fruit of my mother tree and carried the seed far, far away.
High above the skies, another bird a hunter cloaked in shadow struck its prey mid-flight. And from the skies I fell, still a seed, tumbling from the predator's beak into the soil of this distant, blessed land.
The villagers found me. They didn't see a seed they saw a future.
They nurtured me. In times of drought, when the sea's water was brine and bitterness, they boiled it, collecting pure steam to water my tiny roots. They sacrificed their own comfort just to keep me alive.
Such clever minds. Such kind hearts.
I remember the children most of all. When I was still a sapling, barely a whisper of green, they turned me into a game. They danced around me, leapt from my baby branches, tied ribbons to my limbs, and laughed beneath my shade.
I grew up with them not just beside them, but with them.
When they laughed, I laughed too.
When they cried, sap welled up within me.
When they whispered scary stories in the dark under my leaves, I shivered with them.
I was not just their tree.
I was their friend.
Their listener.
Their silent guardian.
They were my friends. My family.
But they could never hear my "thank you."
They never heard my goodbyes.
Not even my laughter in the rustle of my leaves.
Yet, they knew I was there a presence, a friend rooted among them.
Still, they denied that a tree could have a heart.
The children Oron, Ayla, Fira, Ylia, Eilin, Sira, and Tael were especially dear to me.
They were bright and curious, always climbing, laughing, whispering secrets beneath my shade.
As they grew older, so did I.
By the time I reached my 25th year, Oron had married a gentle woman, and two years later, they were blessed with twins small, soft, wide-eyed souls.
They were so beautiful. So alive.
The others grew too, blossoming like the flowers they'd once braided into my branches.
But time, that relentless river, carried away the old.
The village once over a thousand years old mourned the passing of its elders.
A great funeral was held. So many came. So many wept.
I remember Sira weeping the most.
She was the kindest of them all.
Now, I am over a hundred years old.
And the happy village I grew up in is still happy.
One day....
Demons from the under-realms have risen, corrupting all they touch with the divinity of Envy.
They poison the pure, for purity is easiest to stain just as white paper is easier to defile than one already smudged.
The elves, in all their grace and goodness, were the perfect targets.
Yet, being pure also means they can be healed.
And the elves, children of nature, fought back their healing magic glowing like fireflies in the dark.
But the corruption spread fast.
The trees turned first, twisted by darkness, attacking the very people they once sheltered.
Even my closest friends trees who had danced in the wind beside me became monsters.
And I… I was no exception.
Madness crept into my roots. My mind clouded. My branches trembled with rage.
I became a thing of wrath until I saw him.
Oryn...
Oron's youngest child. Barely five winters old.
I was moments away from striking him down when his face that face broke through my madness.
"Monster!" he screamed. "Mother, save me! Father! Sister, help!"
He cried not just from fear… but from heartbreak.
I remember still the marks they left behind little hearts carved into my bark, wooden cradles hung from my limbs.
And something inside me cracked a tremor deep in my soul.
Perhaps it was the blood of the World Tree running in my veins.
Or perhaps it was the word 'monster' that finally shattered the curse.
For the first time, I felt a new emotion something sharp, painful, and pure.
Regret.
I stared into Oryn's eyes, and though I had no voice, I tried to comfort him.
"It's all right, little one. I remember you."
But he couldn't understand me.
I had no vocal cords. Only silence and rustling leaves.
He only cried louder.
So I gently lifted him with one of my branches and carried him to a safe place.
Then I turned back to the forest, back to my friends who were no longer themselves.
They were attacking the very families they once loved.
"We are protectors, not destroyers!"
I shouted with all my being, but they could not hear me.
They had fallen too far.
And now, I would face them… even if it meant tearing my own roots.
The village had warned the authorities long before.
Whispers of corruption, strange withering in the woods, and the scent of sulfur on the breeze.
Too many signs. Too many to ignore.
They said demons might come.
But no one expected this many.
The invasion came like a shadow flood.
Elves were wounded some broken, some bleeding but miraculously, none had yet died.
After the initial wave was pushed back, the villagers turned their eyes to the corrupted trees.
But... how do you raise a blade against a tree?
To an elf, a tree is more than wood or leaf it is kin.
Second only to family.
They tried purification spells.
They prayed.
They wept.
And I tried to stop my friends my fellow trees twisted by envy's curse.
But I couldn't. I couldn't reach them.
In time, the villagers gave up on mercy.
They began to hunt us.
But we were born near the Sea of Unity blessed by the breath of the World Tree herself.
We were strong. Too strong for common hands.
Our roots had drunk from ancient magic, and our limbs had danced in divine wind.
We were closer to gods than plants.
And now... we were monsters.
I remember the moment it happened.
One of my oldest friends, a mighty tree named Lyselorn, raised a branch blackened and spiked with corruption aimed straight at a fleeing elf child.
And before I could think… I moved.
I threw my body between them.
The branch pierced through my core.
Sap, glowing and colorless, spilled from the wound.
But I felt no pain only a dull ache deeper than roots or bark.
I don't know why I moved.
I didn't think.
I just did.
Because they could not kill us…
But I could not allow us to kill 'them'.
There was no salvation left.
Only choice.
So I did the unthinkable.
I turned against my own.
I became executioner of those who once stood with me beneath the stars.
One by one, I struck them down.
Their cries once rustling songs in the wind turned into gurgled shrieks.
Their sap covered the ground like ghostly blood.
Colorless. Cold.
I wept.
Not in silence, but with screams like cracking timber.
A cry so raw, so broken… it echoed like a demonic laugh.
The sky maybe in mourning, maybe in pity began to weep with me.
Rain fell.
Heavy, Relentless.
The villagers had stopped fighting.
They stood, silent and trembling, watching a massacre not of demons… but of friends.
And when it was done when all that remained were stumps, bloodless roots, and my own trembling limbs.
I stood.
Alone.
A guardian.
A murderer.
A weeping tree in the middle of a dying dream.
And yet, I'm just a happy tree in a happy little village.