At first, I was unsure whether what I was seeing and hearing was my imagination or not… No, that wasn't it at all. I feared that what I was hearing was a trick. That what I felt in my soul was wrong, and I was being deceived.

"Why did you come here, Little One." The same soft, motherly voice asked me, "If it is within this Root's power, it will be done."

I was stunned as the full attention of the being fell on me. Her presence and voice made me feel like I was lying under the branches of a tree in the height of summer, trying to cool off while falling asleep in my mother's arms as a child. Any doubts about my situation vanished in the face of the love-filled voice and intent washing over me. If this wasn't the World Tree, the Ancestor, it was something akin to it.

"Greetings, Ancestor. I am honored that you would speak with me," I said back while trying to bow. My body did not move, at least not that I could tell, but I felt the intent was sent with my mental words.

"There is no need for that, Sapling." The feminine voice sounded slightly amused by my actions, "I cared little for meaningless formalities long ago, and in recent centuries, that care has dwindled to nonexistent. Isolation will do that, even for me. Few have managed to speak to me through my Roots or Branches, let alone come to my heart. And time is… not on our side."

Panic and shame washed through me at the words. Every elf child grew up hearing stories of the Ancestor and her Guardians. The humans claimed they were nothing more than the Ancients — those who made up the elven kingdom that once spanned the continent — but nobody with a brain believed such talk. After all, how could a kingdom that was nothing but a cesspit of backstabbers and betrayers, who turned on the Republic in its infancy, still be honored and respected?

The actions of the Ancients were irredeemable for a reason, and that reason was the primary cause for why the elves of today are treated as second-class citizens. But despite how we suffer rightfully for our ancestors' actions, they were not the Ancestor or Guardians.

Our legends are clear.

While they might be our elders and ancestors, the Ancients are not those we honor by remembering them. That right belongs to the World Tree, which we were all born from, and the Dawn Trees, which act as its Roots and Branches in this world and every other.

The Ancestor is, and will always be, represented by the Dawn Trees. While they are individual trees, they are considered a single entity, as they are all connected to compose the World Tree. And no Dawn Tree could ever be spoken about without mentioning its Guardians, its ever-vigilant protectors.

But I, like most, had always thought of them as simple stories. Myths and legends that might have had some grain of truth in the distant past but will never be seen in the world again. An aspiration for the elders and youth to push and reach for while the middle-aged deal with the present.

I bet you could go to any elf village and ask any adult, and you will hear that in their youth, they trekked into some forest on a grand adventure, looking for a Dawn Tree. More than that, every decade or two, you hear of a fool who gathered together an ambitious team to venture into the heart of the Great Wood, seeking out what had long been lost.

Some sought to reclaim a portion of the elves' lost glory. Others ventured into the forest to fulfill a sense of exploration. What they all had in common was that it was rare for anyone to return. And those that did return never spoke of finding anything besides giant monsters who chased them out of the forest's depths.

And yet, here I was. Here it was. I was no exception to venturing off into the woods around my village with my friends in search of Dawn Trees or The Lost City of the Guardians. The one city that never fell to the Republic, despite all its inhabitants long since dying.

At a moment when I was reasonably confident I was going to die, I indulged in a juvenile fantasy. To search a lost and forgotten ruin in search of a Dawn Tree. And… a miracle happened.

By the Ancestor and fucking Guardians, I found a Dawn Tree. And it spoke to me. Like all the tales and legends my mother told me while I was trying to fall asleep. It was all true, and now I wanted to weep tears filled with my sorrow. I could feel the tree through the scarlet half-sphere, and it was dying.

No, it had been dying for a long time at this point. I had simply been the impetus that pushed it over the edge. Soon, in minutes, hours, or days, it would die.

The variation in the time was how much energy I made her use. How much power the beastkin I brought here made her use. I couldn't see them, but I knew they were there regardless, just past the clearing's edge, trapped in their own little worlds of peace and love.

"Do not shed a tear, Little One." The motherly rustling voice said as a soft caressing breeze washed over my mind, gently enveloping it as if it was a hug. For the briefest instant, I was filled with her loving affection, and I felt the power behind the mental hug. It was so great that I could not comprehend its edges. But it left me as unharmed as a parent squeezing their child to their chest after whisking them from the path of a wagon.

While I was under the Dawn Trees boughs, I was safe. After reassuring me, she spoke again. "It is past time this Root died. Nothing lasts forever, and the old need to make room for the young. At least this way, I may achieve some small good and preserve life rather than have more of my body silently wither away. Now speak, what can I do for you?"

I hesitated for a moment, considering what I should ask. Or if I should ask anything at all. But with the warmth of the World Tree still filling me, any regrets or guilt I might have about coming here was snuffed out before it could take root. What's done is done, and I wanted to live, so I asked, "I need time. And I need a way out of this valley and away from the beastkins."

"Hmm… that could be a problem… The Lost Ones do not give up easily… However, these children aren't so lost anymore, are they? Together, you still might… yes, I think this is for the best." The World Tree's mind began to ebb and surge over me as she thought about my request and how to deal with it. I caught bits and pieces of her thoughts, but my request was apparently not as simple as I had hoped, causing me to tense in concern.

"Getting you out is easy." The World Tree reassured me, washing away my anxiety with her soothing voice. "Finish your journey under my boughs by moving to the trees to your back. After a short distance, the trees will end at a loose hillside. At the base of the hill, find a tree with a large hollow in its trunk and search inside the cavity until you find a lever to open a secret passage. As for time, the Guardians will stall the Lost, but they won't last long. It might not be much, but it is all the help I can offer you."

"Thank you," I replied to the Ancestor, distantly feeling my body bend forward in a bow. Like I was slowly waking up from a dream, the power the World Tree had used to keep me in place while searching my mind was receding like the tide. But the power surged back over me, sending me one final message.

"Once you are free from the mindscape, the protections of the glade will vanish, and those outside will be free to enter unimpeded." The World Tree paused, and I could tell she was not done talking. She was just thinking of what to say next and if it was even worth her effort. "Should the time ever come when you remember and you need answers. When you need the power to protect, seek out my heart. The Mantle must be taken up before it's too late, and I believe you can bear the burden…" The soft caressing of the World Tree's voice faded away into indistinct murmurs as she finished. And along with her words, the unimaginable power that enveloped me a moment before whooshed away like it had never existed.

I blinked, and the endless white filling my mind disappeared. Looking blankly down, I moved my hand away from the scarlet half-sphere, seeing it was dim and lifeless now, looking nothing more than a dull ruby, if rather large.

Pressing my hand back down on the dim sphere and pushing my mental energy into it, I mentally called out, "Wait, Ancestor! What did the last part mean? What Mantle?"

Stolen novel; please report.

Honestly, I didn't care about the Ancestor's last words. I just wanted to hear her speak again. To be in her presence. The world felt so lonely and desolate without her comforting embrace, as if I would never again feel the warmth and joy of being at home.

I was going to call out again, but the clearing, which was filled with a deathly silence a second before, broke into a clammer of overlapping howls in the next second that were so loud I could hardly hear myself think. It was to such an extent that I felt the noise in my chest, and I thought I could detect a slight tremor under my feet.

Stumbling back from the pedestal like a lightning bolt struck me in the chest, I looked around at the surrounding trees. I saw nothing moving at the tree line, but it meant little when I could hear them so clearly.

Beastkins were here in the dozens, if not hundreds, and they would find me soon enough, whether I saw them or not. Jumping away from the pedestal, I started to run away from it. A decision that lasted all of a few seconds before I slowed and partially turned, looking for the source of the sharp cracking and creaking of wood sounding behind me.

The silver lines scattered over the Dawn Tree were splitting apart like two sides of a door. Unwilling to stop moving, my run became a clumsy stumble as I couldn't tear my eyes from the scene playing out behind me.

When I caught a glimpse of what lay within the silver cavities, I choked on air and started coughing. Every single one contained a seven to eight-foot-tall figure reminiscent of Legion Knights holding weapons in their hands. Some held spears, other swords and shields, and more had bows. The largest Guardians — as there was nothing else they could be — held hulking broad swords nearly as tall as them, their hands clasped on its hilt with the blade tips resting between their feet.

"The Guardians are real…" I whispered in awe, my mind drifting back to my childhood. Legend said that the greatest elf warriors would offer up their memories and willpower to the World Tree so they could serve as her Guardians in death as well as life. Taking those memories, she implanted them into constructs made of living wood, which could heal from any damage in a matter of seconds and were stronger than any mortal, serving as the perfect protectors.

Starting from the lowest alcoves, the Guardians stepped out of the tree to drop a short distance to the ground. After no more time than a beat of the heart, the Guardians were moving away from the tree, clearing the spot for the next Guardians to fall. They took multiple steps away from the trunk, forming lines as they moved before turning in unison and walking around to the other side of the tree.

There were no halting or jerky movements as the Guardians moved, as would be the case if they were externally controlled puppets. To my eye, each one was moving with a fluidity that I had only seen in the most seasoned and skilled fighters. If I didn't know better, I would say I was watching a century or two of knights.

The howls of challenge reached a new peak as the Guardians began to form a line on the far side of the tree from me, and the noise caused me to come to my senses. Looking at the Guardians one more time, I reluctantly turned, my shuffle becoming a run.

At first, as I ran away from the tree's cover, I was concerned I would be spotted. But that concern quickly vanished and was replaced by another. As I watched, the massive branches filled with golden leaves overhead were lightening. And that wasn't a metaphor for anything. The bark and leaves dulled in color like a bucket of dye thrown into a lake. As soon as I saw it, I knew it could be nothing more than the Dawn Tree dying, and it was like a physical blow to me.

And then I forgot all about the grief as one of the golden leaves — that looked too similar to spear points for my liking — faded all the way to a dull bronze and fell. One or two wouldn't be that bad, like walking down a tree-strewn path in autumn. But if all of the leaves started to fall as their branch died, that could be a problem for me running.

When one of the leaves fell from some limb and landed point first into the ground ten yards before me, concern prickled at the back of my mind. I stared at the leaf, processing what had just happened for a moment. Looking up, I saw countless bronze leaves falling like drops of rain… And before I could react, half a dozen leaves hit my head, and more fell on other parts of my body.

I realized something very important about the leaves at that moment… They were fucking knives. I also realized my head was covered in minor cuts, but that thought was pushed to the back of my mind as I pulled on my mental energy.

Still running, I quickly extended a tendril from my head and reshaped it to form a shield over and a little in front of my body. I thought about creating a full-body shell but doing that would take more mental energy than I wanted to spend… However, now that I was looking, I discovered my reserve was full, which made no sense, but I wasn't going to complain about it right now.

Whenever one of the leaves fell just right to spear into my shield, I felt a minor spike in the usage of my mental energy and willpower required to maintain the casting. On the bright side, it wasn't that often that a leaf would land on the mental energy point first, but with me dealing with literally hundreds of leaves every second, it was happening enough to add quite the strain. And that was on top of the pressure of holding back what felt like a river.

My mental reservoir being ready to burst didn't mean much when it came to me, especially with my already worn-out mind. To avoid pushing my willpower to its limit and passing out, I had to compensate for my weaker will with mental energy to maintain the casting, and I was already down by an eighth of my total after a couple seconds.

The strain of constantly deflecting the small attacks mounted with every step, and I had to continually remold and reinforce my shield with mental energy to keep it whole. Then, all of a sudden, the pressure stopped, and there was nothing to block.

The leaves were gone… like entirely gone without any trace, but I didn't put much thought into that as I was less than fifty yards from the edge of the tree line. I made it! I thought with a mixture of relief and shock that I hadn't turned to the side.

And then a piercing cry sounded from above and behind me, freezing me in place in a pointless response to prevent myself from being seen. Sighing, I looked over my shoulder. I was not surprised to see that the eagle beastkin was the one making the racket. His screech was kind of a dead giveaway. And based on my experience, he was the type of creature that enjoyed making a lot of noise.

What I didn't expect, and caused my eyes to widen in alarm, was the beastkin was in mid-dive, headed right for me. He had already swooped under the now leafless Dawn Tree and was now streaking across the short distance that remained between us.

Ignoring the slight twinge of grief in my heart the sight caused, I focused on the beastkin. The wings… that I could see clearly were on the beastkin's back — the fuck is going on — were pulled tight to his body. What surprised me almost as much as his wings on his back was that his body wasn't covered in feathers. Not that I wanted to check his figure out or anything. Apparently, the eagle thought that tight leather pants, some straps making up a leather chest harness, and some useless trinkets dangling off his belt were all the clothing he needed.

The bizarre part and what held my focus the longest was his face. And actual arms, not some kind of wing-arm hybrid. I could easily describe him as human if I only took those features into account. His jawline was sharp, and his nose was a bit pointed, but there were no abnormal characteristics. Even his eyes were a usual elven green. I was expecting him to have a beak and small feathers for hair over his face. Not to mention, the hawk that chased me through the mountains only had wings and clawed feet.

Shoving aside my useless thoughts about the beastkin, I focused on what mattered. And that was the fact this bastard wanted to kill me if his face twisting into a rictus of derision and scorn was anything to go by. I had seen the desire to kill many times on the faces of humans, beastkin, and elves. Didn't matter which species we were talking about; I knew when someone wanted me dead.

And this guy was giving off all the signs.

Turning forward, I adjusted my belt, then leaped forward, assisted by a tendril. My arms pumped and legs flexed as I ate up ground in a blur, but I was paying little attention to where I was going. I just needed to be moving fast, and where I was headed was a minor concern, as all of my attention was focused on—

Now! I mentally screamed, letting my feet slide out from under me on the dirt while reaching for the blade at my waist. In one fluid motion, I pulled my sword out of its scabbard with my right hand and tossed it into the air.

As I released the blade, I sent out a tendril and grabbed onto the back of my harness to yank myself down and backward faster while a second tendril grabbed hold of my sword's hilt. The eagle beastkin's spear tips — that he pulled out of his ass for all I knew where he got them — passed inches over my head.

Seeing that he would miss, he tried to slash his spears downward to cut me as he flared his wings to stop, but his attacks came nowhere close to landing as my back slid over the ground. I smirked as the beastkin's head turned, tracking me with his eyes even as I dodged. And that was when I attacked with a mental flick that my wrist subconsciously followed. Controlled by a tendril, my gladius swung downward and slashed into the base of the beastkin's right wing.

"Caaaw!" Cried the eaglekin in rage and pain as his outstretched right wing collapsed when my blade cut into his flesh and bone. A moment after the strike, the tendril holding the sword was severed as the beastkin's wing made contact with the casting, but the job was already done. I might have lost my weapon, but at least his attempt to turn his diving attack into an upward swoop ended in a wild flailing fall. Besides, at this point, the weapon only slowed me down as I tried to escape.

The beastkin started tumbling across the bare dirt in a spray of dust and blood. I didn't even give the beastkin a second glance as I jumped to my feet and started running for the forest.

"Ahh! Mother fucker!" I screamed as I stumbled to the side after only a few steps toward the forest. Some asshole had thrown a spear at me. Luckily, it had missed hitting me in the center of my back, which was great. But now my left arm has a large splinter sticking out of it. You can call a short spear a splinter when it's sticking out of your body… right?

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