V’aleirith lifted her face to the sky, the corners of her lips turned up to a small smile. The stars were inching into alignment, tracing the patterns she had long waited for. Their slow dance promised a path forward, one that might finally carry the world out of its misery.

The Fatebreaker was moving again. She could feel it, as surely as she could feel the pulse of the Elder Tree’s roots beneath her feet. His thread had once more unraveled those who sought to wound the world, pulling them out of the weave of fate. The stars whispered of it: he had shaken the doomed future off its course, if only for a time, and pushed it toward the brighter one she had prayed for. Toward a world free of the apocalypse that still lingered like a storm cloud on the horizon, a catastrophe he alone had already lived through once.

Yet beneath her smile, worry clung to her heart like a shadow. She did not often let it show, even to herself, but it was there. The future was drifting into the unknown, and even elves feared that most of all. Humans had their short lives, fleeting as sparks. When the unknown pressed close, they could escape into death, return to the cycle, and take another path through reincarnation. But elves could not. They endured. They lived long, too long, to avoid what was coming. Whatever future revealed itself—bright dawn or consuming dark—they would face it whole, until purged or preserved.

The Fatebreaker had spoken of such things before. In one of their talks, he had told her, almost casually, how many races had already died when he had been born. V’aleirith had listened in silence, calm on the surface, though the words had cut deep. She had not asked more. She had not needed to.

For she knew one truth: she would never allow her children to walk that same path. The elves were tied to the Elder Tree, yes, but they were more than roots and branches, more than what the world thought them to be. They were a people with will, with history, with strength. And as long as she lived, she would make certain they endured.

But for now, all V’aleirith could do was wait—to see what kind of fate slowly drifted toward her people. The Fatebreaker was playing his part, step by step unraveling the strands that bound the world to ruin. And she would ensure the elves played theirs as well.

In recent months, hope had begun to stir among her kin. The new generation of Spirit Trainers had bonded with companions stronger and purer than any seen in centuries, a sign many took as a blessing. Yet V’aleirith knew the truth: the path was fragile still, and hope could be broken as easily as glass. It was her duty to strengthen it, to steady it before the winds of change grew too fierce.

She tilted her head back toward the sky once more, but a soft nudge brushed against the back of her mind—warm, familiar, like a hand on her shoulder. She turned her thoughts downward, to the vast glowing trunk and endless boughs of the Elder Tree whose embrace she stood within. Her lips curved into a gentle smile.

“I’m not worrying too much,” she said softly, placing her palm on the bark. “And even if I am… it’s only natural, with what’s coming.”

A gentle voice, like leaves stirring in the wind, whispered through her mind. Soothing, patient, reminding her of the roots that ran deeper than fear.

Her smile deepened, though her eyes glistened faintly. “I know,” she murmured. “I know you hold so many expectations for me, for him. But they do not crush us beneath them. I think he does this not because you asked, not because fate demands it, but because he chooses to. We glimpse the future. He has lived it. That alone makes him want to change it all the more.” She lifted her gaze, eyes tracing the dark weave of branches above. “You felt it, didn’t you, when you touched him last?”

The tree’s limbs shivered, their leaves rustling in a deep affirmative. Along with the movement came a surge of emotion, poured into her mind like water through roots. Fragments of what it had tasted in him: dread so thick it suffocated, the gnawing edge of powerlessness, the hollow ache of helplessness.

And beneath it all, the crushing weight of guilt—guilt for being born in a broken world, guilt for watching it crumble further, guilt for surviving when so much had not.

V’aleirith closed her eyes. The feelings struck her heart as if they were her own, and she drew in a steady breath, steadying herself against them.

“Yes,” she whispered. “He carries all of that inside him.”

V’aleirith’s chest tightened with sorrow as the Elder Tree’s feelings sank into her. To live with such dread, to carry guilt that deep, would break most souls. Yet she also understood, those very scars were what drove the Fatebreaker onward. The pain gave him purpose, the despair hardened into resolve. In a world like theirs, sometimes the most horrible burdens became the wings that carried one higher. Few ever recognized that truth. Most would drown in self-pity and call it fate.

But not him. Not the Fatebreaker.

A slow ripple stirred through her mind again, the Elder Tree whispering not in words but in visions. Images bloomed within her—Arzan standing at the center of a storm, his shadow stretching across the world, making choices that would shape not just the elves but all who remained. Hopes of what he might do. Hopes that burned even brighter than the fear that he might fail.

The Elder Tree had long accepted its own death. It did not cling to its life. What bound it to the world was not itself, but its children, the elves, and the fragile, uncertain future they faced. That was why it still endured, why its roots still drank deep.

V’aleirith opened her mouth to speak, to reassure the tree.

But before the words left her lips, a sharp jolt seared through her mind. Her star spirit flared suddenly, flooding her veins with a rush of unease and danger. At the same instant, the Elder Tree shuddered, its great branches shaking violently, whipping up gusts of wind through the grove. Its voice thrummed inside her like a drumbeat—it was warning her.

Her face tightened, the lines of age and worry sharpening into something harder. Slowly, she turned, her gaze sweeping the shadows beneath the trees.

“Whoever is there,” she called, “you may as well come out.”

For a breath, nothing answered her but the restless stir of leaves, and doubt pricked at her. Was the intruder toying with her, slipping away unseen, or waiting for a better moment to strike?

Then, there was a shift. A silhouette stirred at the edge of the clearing and stepped into the moonlight.

Her star spirit shimmered high above, its silver light gathering and cascading down, wrapping the figure in radiance. The glow lit the man fully, stripping away shadow and giving V’aleirith her first, unflinching look at him.

One look was all it took. V’aleirith’s heart fell, her blood turning cold.

“Xantheus,” she said just above a whisper, unable to believe her own eyes.

The man smiled at the sound of his name. His dark suit shifted with the night breeze, fabric whispering as he lifted a hand to sweep back his hair. “So I am known,” he said lightly, almost amused. “I didn’t realize I’d made enough of a mark for an elf elder to recognize me at a glance. But I suppose if you survive a few hundred years, you do earn yourself a reputation.”

V’aleirith’s eyes narrowed, her tone sharp as steel. “A reputation of blood, carnage and evil.”

Xantheus only grinned wider, his sharp eyes glinting as they flicked past her, peering into the vast body of the Elder Tree as if he could see straight through bark and root. “Not a bad reputation to have,” he said. “Fear is a kind of respect, after all.”

Then his smile flattened, his tone shifting into something colder, more direct. “So let’s not waste each other’s time with pleasantries. I don’t enjoy conversations with people I won’t see again. I’ll make it simple.” He raised his hand slightly, as though offering a deal. “Let me finish my work here, and I’ll let you run back to save your little village.”

Her brows furrowed, confusion flickering in her eyes. She opened her mouth to demand what he meant—

A scream cut through the forest like a blade.

V’aleirith’s head whipped toward the sound. Another scream followed, and another, until it seemed as though the entire forest was crying out in pain. Then came the guttural snarls of beasts, the shattering roar of explosions, the crack of fire tearing through wood. The night itself burned with chaos.

Her stomach dropped.

Xantheus’s voice slid back into the silence. “Ahem, the longer you stand here, the more your people suffer. Keep me waiting, and you may return to nothing but a burned village. Stay here, and you won’t see even that. You’ll only drift into darkness.”

Behind her, the Elder Tree trembled, branches shuddering with fury. Winds whipped through the grove, leaves snapping like banners in a storm. Its rage pressed into V’aleirith’s mind, hot and unyielding, urging her to act, to strike, to tear this intruder apart.

But Xantheus did not flinch. His grin returned, sharper now, and his stance shifted ever so slightly. He was inviting the fight, baiting her with false bargains, knowing full well she would never abandon the Elder Tree, never turn her back on the god of her people.

V’aleirith clenched her jaw, her eyes never leaving him. She trusted the other elders. They would defend the village as best they could. Her place was here. She would not leave—

Xantheus clicked his tongue, shaking his head as if disappointed but secretly pleased. “It seems,” he drawled, “that I’m always right about people.”

A pulse of light flared beneath his suit—bright yet tainted, darkness burning inside radiance. V’aleirith braced herself as a summoning circle whirled open across his palms, lines etched in sickly fire. With a sound like tearing chains, something clawed its way out.

The ground trembled as the beast landed.

Her eyes widened at the sight in front of her.

A massive three-headed creature towered before her, each maw dripping with fury. A cerberus—twelve feet tall, its hulking form so broad it blotted out its master behind it. Its three throats growled in unison, the sound shaking leaves from the Elder Tree.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Xantheus’s voice slipped through the beast’s snarls. “Why don’t you play with it?”

The cerberus lunged. Fire roared from one head, wind sliced from another, lightning cracked from the third, the elements braided together into a storm rushing straight at her and the Elder Tree.

V’aleirith did not move. Above, her star spirit flared like a sun among stars, its silver glow falling across her shoulders. The elemental torrent smashed into a shimmering blue barrier that bloomed outward from her hands. The world shook, sparks flying as fire, wind, and lightning hissed against the wall of spirit-forged power until they guttered out.

The cerberus snarled and hurled itself bodily against the barrier, claws raking, teeth gnashing. The impact rippled across her defenses, but the wall held. With a twist of her fingers, she unleashed the barrier’s edge, and the beast was flung back, crashing into the earth with a quake.

“Well, well.”

Xantheus’s voice came again just as his form rose into the air. Great leathery wings, black in color, tore free from his back, spreading wide as they caught the moonlight. His smile curved into something more savage. “Nice trick. Spirit Trainers always are the most entertaining to fight. Sadly…” His eyes narrowed. “…I can’t seem to see your spirit.”

He tilted his head, gaze flicking upward toward the starry canopy where her spirit blazed unseen to him. “No matter. I don’t need to.”

Within seconds, circles of summoning fire spun to life across his body, glowing brighter and brighter through the lines of his suit. One after another, they burst open.

And from them came beasts.

Clawed horrors with bone-plated hides. Winged predators shrieking with the echo of storms. Shadow-born hunters that slithered without form. A tide of monsters spilled out of him like an army unchained, and at his silent command, they hurled themselves against her barrier all at once.

The grove shook with the force. The air filled with the roars of beasts and the grinding crack of claws on spirit-forged light. V’aleirith’s teeth clenched as she pressed more of her spirit’s strength into the shield, veins of silver fire running up her arms. The barrier shimmered, bent, but did not yet break.

Then she saw them.

Among the swarm, a pack of fox-like creatures darted close—small, deceptively quick, their eyes glowing with malice. They flickered in and out of existence, vanishing before a strike could land, reappearing an instant later at the barrier’s edge.

Her eyebrows shot up in alarm. The fox-like creatures didn’t bounce off the barrier like the others. They slipped through it as if it weren’t even there.

Two of them lunged straight for her.

Before their snapping jaws could close around her throat, the Elder Tree roared in her mind. Branches split and snapped, lengthening with unnatural speed. They whipped forward like spears, smashing the beasts mid-air against the inside of the barrier. She heard the sound of bones cracking, and yelps cut short, and within seconds, the fox things lay broken and still.

Xantheus only grinned. “Good tricks. You really are like a treant.”

V’aleirith’s eyes hardened. “Do not compare the great Elder Tree to a mere creature like that.”

“Why not?” His grin widened. “Both are just trees in the end.”

His gaze slid past her, lingering on the massive trunk and writhing branches of the Elder Tree. The grin faded into a thin, cold line. “Not that it matters. It’s going to die either way.”

A spell structure flared across his palm, lines of dark light carving themselves into the air. With a single sweep of his hand, a beam of pure shadow slammed into the barrier.

The impact was immediate. Her star spirit cried out in her mind, its voice raw with strain. V’aleirith spread her hands, pouring more power into the barrier, light flaring so bright it scorched the air. But the cerberus, the winged horrors, the clawed beasts—they were still striking, tearing, gnashing. Every blow splintered her defenses further.

The barrier groaned, trembling, spider-web cracks crawling across its surface.

“Give up,” Xantheus said, his voice louder than the chaos. The beam thickened, pressing harder, grinding through her will. “You are too small. Too weak. The only reason this tree still lives is because it’s buried so deep in these woods. Hard to reach. Hard to touch. That’s all.”

The barrier shrieked like glass under too much strain.

A line split open. One beast slipped through, then another, claws scraping the roots. The blue light faltered, fragments falling away like shards of crystal.

V’aleirith staggered back, her breath shallow, her arms trembling. Above her, her star spirit pulsed desperately, bleeding light into her veins, but it was not enough.

Xantheus’s grin returned, vicious and sharp. He twisted his hand, angling the beam until it pointed straight at her chest.

The beam never struck her.

Another light split the heavens, spearing down from above, clashing against Xantheus’s dark magic midair. The collision erupted with a violent roar. The shockwave tore through the grove, hurling V’aleirith backward. She slammed into the trunk of the Elder Tree, the bark cracking behind her as pain lanced through her body.

Her vision swam, stars flashing in her eyes.

Voices called out in her mind—her star spirit, the Elder Tree—urgent, desperate, but muffled, as if drowned beneath water. She forced her gaze forward, fixing on the dark figure floating calmly above.

Around her, branches whipped and coiled, smashing beasts out of the air, crushing them into the earth. Yet more crawled and leapt, a relentless tide clawing toward the elder tree’s roots.

Xantheus hovered with maddening ease, his arms now folded. He tilted his head, looking skyward, as though addressing something unseen. “So your spirit is there,” he murmured, lips curling in intrigue. “How interesting. I would love to add her to my collection.”

V’aleirith braced her trembling hands against the bark and pushed herself upright. Her breath burned in her chest, but her voice was steady, cold as night. “You won’t live long enough to try.”

Xantheus laughed so loud that it rang in her ears. “My death is centuries away, elder. You are already defeated.”

Her frown deepened. “What do you mean?”

The answer revealed itself before he spoke.

She turned her gaze to the beasts swarming the branches. Something was wrong. Their movements had changed—frenzied, unnatural. And their eyes… their eyes glowed brighter, redder, until the glow was all that remained of them.

A chill pierced her bones. A terrible premonition seized her heart.

The Elder Tree felt it too. Its boughs trembled with unease, its voice crying out in her mind.

Above, Xantheus rose higher, his wings spreading wide against the moonlight. He stretched out his arms as though orchestrating the scene, and the next few moments slowed into eternity.

The beasts threw back their heads. Their howls split the air, a chorus of despair and madness. Their flesh writhed, split, and then erupted with a surge of dead mana, black fire bursting from within.

V’aleirith gasped, clutching her chest. She felt the Elder Tree wail—a cry of agony that tore through her spirit. Its massive branches folded inward, sweeping low in a desperate attempt to shield her.

Her star spirit flared above, but she had nothing left to give. The last embers of her strength guttered out as she raised her hands to form another barrier.

Too weak and too slow.

The world was drowned in light.

The explosion consumed everything. A storm of shadow and fire blotted out sky and ground alike.

The last thing V’aleirith saw was the Elder Tree’s great branches curling protectively around her, enclosing her in its embrace. It was still… protecting her.

And through the roar, one voice reached her mind, gentle and proud.

You did well, the Elder Tree spoke to her in a voice so ancient that she felt like everything in fact was crumbling… coming to an end.

***

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep