The hunched back, crowned with sparse bristly hairs, emerged first. Then came the head, with a monstrous maw capable of opening at an impossible one hundred and eighty degrees. But instead of calloused flesh, the creature was woven from wooden fibers; instead of blue blood, glowing sap coursed through its "veins."
The beast, just over a meter tall, crawled fully onto the surface. Its claws, capable of crushing stone, were now shaped from the hardest wood one could imagine. It was an exact replica of the cave monsters, yet this one was a child of the great tree, its own creation.
Finn staggered back, clutching his practice weapon. The elves around him watched with a mixture of astonishment and wariness—clearly, this was something they had never seen before. The great tree had never produced such beings.
The creature turned its head toward Finn, and in its eyes, woven from luminous threads, the boy saw not the mindless rage of the cave beasts, but something else… understanding? Purpose?
The attack came without warning—a lightning-fast lunge forward, claws slicing through the air where Finn's head had been a heartbeat earlier. He barely managed to dodge, feeling the rush of wooden blades pass mere inches from his face.
The training sword in his hands was useless for defense—he remembered too well how easily those claws had shattered stone in the caves. Even fashioned from wood, the creature had retained its monstrous strength. One solid strike, and his weapon would splinter.
It gave him no time to think. Another sweeping blow forced Finn to fall back, roll, and spring to his feet. The creature moved with terrifying speed, its limbs blurring as they cut through the air.
Strike after strike—Finn dodged, but each time the claws came closer. He felt the rush of displaced air, heard the whistle as they carved through space. The beast was driving him toward the arena wall, leaving him no room to maneuver.
Another slash—Finn dodged, but not fast enough. The wooden blades carved a long scratch across his shoulder. The pain was bearable, but he knew the next hit could be far worse.
The creature struck again, this time aiming for his legs. Finn leapt, but it had anticipated the move—the other claw already arced toward his unprotected torso. At the last instant he twisted midair, letting the claws pass just shy of his stomach.
His landing was clumsy—he dropped to one knee. The beast seized the opening, raining down a storm of blows. Finn barely rolled aside in time, escaping each strike by a hair's breadth.
His breathing grew ragged, muscles burning with strain. Every movement cost him more, while the creature only seemed to grow faster, sharper, as though it was studying him—adapting to his style.
Finn tried to create distance, but the beast pursued relentlessly, never allowing a pause. Its claws flashed before his eyes, forcing him to retreat, to duck, to slip away with no chance to counter.
Suddenly it leapt, pushing off the arena wall, diving from above with claws spread wide. Finn fell onto his back, thrusting his training sword upward. The claws met the wooden blade—and sliced through it like butter.
He was unarmed now. Half the sword clattered away, and the beast was already preparing its next strike. Its maw opened, revealing rows of wooden teeth dripping with glowing sap.
It lunged, claws aimed for his throat. Time slowed. Finn saw the blades closing in, saw the triumph burning in those radiant eyes. But his body moved on its own—a sharp dive beneath the sweeping claw, a twist, and a desperate thrust of the broken sword into the base of the creature's neck.
The beast froze. Glowing sap oozed slowly from the pierced wood. Then… it dissolved, unraveling into a storm of fibers that sank back into the arena floor.
Finn remained standing, chest heaving, clutching the jagged sword fragment. His muscles trembled from exertion, and the scratch on his shoulder throbbed with pain. But he refused to back down. Scooping up the other half of the weapon, he pressed both pieces against the arena's wooden floor.
To his surprise, the surface seemed to liquefy. The broken halves sank as though into water. When Finn pulled them free, he found himself holding a whole sword, restored as if nothing had happened. And before him already stood another beast—just as grotesque, just as deadly.
The elves exchanged glances of astonishment—none of them had expected such a display of the tree's power. Yet their lives followed another rhythm, bound by centuries of discipline. Moments later they returned to their measured drills, unshaken.
Finn tightened his grip on the restored blade, bracing for the next duel. The exhaustion hadn't faded, but now his eyes burned with resolve. At that moment, the great tree had truly begun his training.