The smuggler's den reeked of mildew and betrayal. Flickering torchlight cast jagged shadows across the damp stone walls, and the air hung heavy with the metallic tang of old blood. Ethan sat with his back against a rusted iron grate, the Eldertree seed cradled in his palm. Its amber glow pulsed faintly, a dying heartbeat.
Lira paced the room, her boots crunching over broken glass. "Elara's scroll is a trap. Plant the seed in Valenhold? That's where Cedric's loyalists will be sharpening their knives."
Varyn leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed. "And Vostra's armies will raze the city if we don't act. The tournament's a stage, girl. Ethan wins, the crowd crowns him a hero. The seed gets planted under their noses, and Cedric's remnants lose their spine."
"Heroes die first," Lira snapped.
Ethan said nothing. The seed's voice hummed in his bones, a low, resonant thrum. *Beware the crown. It knows your name.*
He turned the seed over. A single root had sprouted overnight, thin and pale, curling around his thumb like a question.
They left at dusk, cloaked in stolen Blackthorn uniforms. The Frostspire Pass was a serpent's coil of ice and jagged rock, the wind howling like a wounded beast. Ethan's breath fogged in the air, his scar throbbing with every step.
Lira walked ahead, her bow slung across her back. "Vostra's scouts are close. I've seen their tracks—wolf sigils carved into the ice."
"Warmongers," Varyn grunted. "They'll hit Valenhold hard. No mercy for traitors."
"Traitors?" Ethan asked.
"To them, everyone in Roudnam is a traitor," Lira said bitterly. "The war never ended. Cedric just… paused it."
The seed pulsed. Images flickered in Ethan's mind—a forest of Eldertrees, their canopies ablaze, Vostran soldiers laughing as Roudnam's soil turned to ash.
*Remember*, the seed whispered.
### **Scene 3: The Ambush**
They were halfway down the pass when the arrows fell.
Lira sensed it first—a faint *twang* in the wind. She shoved Ethan behind a boulder as black-fletched bolts peppered the ground.
"Vostrans!" she hissed.
Six scouts emerged from the ice, their armor forged from charred Eldertree bark, their faces hidden behind wolf-mawed helms. The leader raised a curved blade, its edge serrated like a fang.
"The seedbearer dies," he growled in broken Roudish. "The rest… *entertainment*."
Ethan's aura flared—**earth** to anchor him, **wind** to sharpen his reflexes. He swung his branch, now reinforced with Eldertree roots, and met the leader's strike. Steel clashed against living wood, sparks flying.
Lira's arrows found gaps in the scouts' armor, but they fought like madmen, unflinching as bolts pierced their limbs. Varyn grappled with two, his stone fists crushing helmets.
The leader's blade nicked Ethan's arm, and the world *shifted*.
*He stood in a grand hall, its pillars carved from Eldertrees. A king knelt before a sapling, his crown of thorns drawing blood. "I am worthy," he pleaded. The sapling's roots speared his chest, and his scream became a roar—the first Swordmaster, his aura burning gold.*
*Then fire. Vostran torches. The hall crumbled, the trees' dying shrieks echoing as their power was carved into crowns, blades, prisons…*
Ethan reeled, the vision searing his mind. The Vostran leader laughed. "You see now, seedbearer? Your kingdom is built on stolen bones."
Ethan's branch erupted with **sunlight**. The scout's armor blackened, his screams swallowed by the wind.
They regrouped in a glacial cave, the walls shimmering with trapped auroras. Lira tended to Ethan's arm, her fingers cold.
"What did you see?" she asked.
"The first Swordmaster," Ethan said. "He… merged with an Eldertree. The crowns—they're not symbols. They're shackles."
Varyn's jaw tightened. "The royals siphon aura through those thorns. Always have."
"And you knew?" Lira's voice was deadly soft.
"I knew Cedric's crown made him strong. Didn't know it *ate* him." Varyn met Ethan's gaze. "The seed's your counter. Plant it in Valenhold, and the cycle breaks."
"Or starts anew," Lira said.
The seed's root coiled tighter around Ethan's thumb, as if agreeing.
Valenhold's spires pierced the horizon at dawn, their gilded peaks smeared with smoke. Blackthorn banners hung limp, replaced by the phoenix sigil of Princess Elara.
Her emissary met them at the city's edge—a gaunt man with ink-stained fingers. "The tournament begins at noon. You'll fight in the third round. Win, and the princess grants you an audience."
"And if I refuse?" Ethan asked.
The emissary smiled. "Then Vostra's wolves feast on your corpse."
The Iron Circlet Arena seethed with nobles, their perfumes clashing with the stench of sweat and ale. Ethan stood in the gladiators' tunnel, the seed hidden beneath his tunic.
Draven's voice slithered from the shadows. "You look nervous, Mudborn."
Cedric's former champion leaned against the wall, his new armor forged from Eldertree bark, his eyes glinting with stolen aura.
"Still Cedric's dog?" Ethan said.
Draven's blade ignited—**fire**, **metal**, **shadow**. "I serve the crown. And the crown wants you dead."
The crowd roared as Ethan entered the arena. The Oathstone loomed at its center, its surface scarred by centuries of blades.
Princess Elara watched from her balcony, her crown a delicate circlet of silver thorns. "Let the trial commence!"
Draven attacked first, a whirlwind of fire and shadow. Ethan parried, **earth** and **wind** clashing against **metal**.
"You're weak," Draven taunted. "The seed's a crutch."
Ethan's scar burned. The seed pulsed, and **sunlight** erupted from his branch, searing Draven's armor.
The crowd fell silent as the Eldertree root within the wood writhed, alive.
Elara stood, her voice amplified by the Oathstone. "Ethan Ardent wields the Eldertree's power! The crown recognizes his claim!"
The thorns on her circlet glowed, and Ethan's seed *screamed*.
*It's a trap—*
Roots burst from the Oathstone, ensnaring Ethan. The seed tore free from his tunic, hovering above the stone as Elara's aura siphoned its light.
"Thank you, gutter rat," she said softly. "Now… *burn*."
Fire engulfed the arena—**sunlight** twisted into hellfire. Draven fled. Nobles screamed.
Lira's arrow struck Elara's shoulder, but the princess laughed, the seed's power swirling around her.
Ethan struggled against the roots, the seed's voice frantic. *Break the stone!*
He channeled all four elements, the clash of **earth**, **wind**, **water**, and **sunlight** cracking the Oathstone.
The last thing he saw was the seed's light exploding, and Valenhold's spires collapsing into flame.