No one knew when it truly began.
At first, the forest only felt… strange.
Animals stopped approaching the streams. The roots of the Tree of Dawn began to rise from the earth like twisted veins, and during the nights, a greenish glow crossed through the mist between the trees, illuminating the forest for seconds before disappearing.
The elders said it was a natural change in the mana.
They lied.
Or perhaps they were only trying to convince themselves that the forest could still be saved.
Then the deaths began.
An elven hunter returned with his hands covered in a black sap that could not be washed away. Three days later, his body exploded into a storm of mana in front of his own family.
The beasts changed soon after.
Deer with completely black eyes.
Wolves far too large.
Creatures that continued breathing even after their hearts had been pierced.
And the forest…
The forest began to reject them.
Branches closed when they tried to return to certain areas. Roots destroyed familiar paths. Some trees even attacked elves who had lived there their entire lives.
As if something within the forest was trying to drive them away.
Or protect them from something worse.
The night everything changed, the sky lit up green.
It was not an aurora.
It was the Tree of Dawn.
Its gigantic branches slowly opened while an unbearable pressure covered the entire forest. Many elves fell to their knees. Others began bleeding from the nose and eyes without understanding what was happening.
Then he appeared.
A figure descended among floating leaves and living roots, wrapped in a mantle of dark green light.
Aeltherion.
The Herald of the God of Nature.
Even the altered creatures retreated before his presence.
The elves expected salvation.
But the herald observed them in silence for several seconds before speaking.
—The forest is dying.
No one answered.
The fear was too heavy.
Aeltherion extended one hand toward the Tree of Dawn. The bark trembled. For an instant, something dark moved beneath the wood… as if something alive were trapped inside it.
—Mana no longer flows as it should —he continued—. Something is feeding it from below.
Black roots slowly began spreading around the clearing.
Some elves stepped back.
Others began to cry.
Because they could feel it.
The forest no longer smelled the same.
The wind no longer sounded the same.
And the mana…
The mana felt hungry.
More than a thousand elves died during the following moons.
Some lost control of the energy within their bodies.
Others disappeared near the roots.
And many were killed by creatures that once protected the forest alongside them.
To prevent total collapse, Aeltherion granted divine blessings to the survivors.
But even that seemed like a temporary solution.
Like trying to hold back a flood with bare hands.
During the final ceremony before the Tree of Dawn, when fear had already replaced all hope, the luminous sap began to rise from the roots.
Everyone looked up.
The light slowly turned above the clearing… until it stopped before a young elven archer.
Grisela Etherealwind.
She stepped back, confused.
She was not the strongest.
Nor the most talented.
But when the radiance touched her chest, the entire forest reacted.
The wind changed.
The leaves began to fall.
And for the first time in months…
The Tree of Dawn stopped trembling, and something within it seemed to react as if trying to send a desperate message:
"Run."