Chapter 263: Chapter 263 – Trading Eternity for Other’s Tomorrow!

The forest shimmered beneath the touch of dawn.

Golden light spilled through the canopy, washing over leaves still wet with dew. The moon retreated quietly into the horizon, surrendering its reign to the sun. Luca stood beside Sylthara at the edge of the camp, watching the soft glow creep across the treetops. For a moment, the world was silent — too calm, too gentle — before the weary figures began to emerge from the tent one by one.

Rolph stepped out first, rubbing his temples as though trying to shake away a sleepless night. Victor followed, his eyes bloodshot but steady, carrying the weight of someone who could not afford to rest. Gustav stumbled behind him, stifling a yawn, while the Saintess—her golden hair muted by the pale morning light—walked out last, her expression calm yet tired.

No one spoke. They merely exchanged glances — tired, knowing, resolute — before turning their gaze toward the forest ahead. There was no ceremony, no speeches. Just a silent understanding. They started walking.

Luca and Sylthara followed quietly in their incorporeal forms, moving among drifting rays of light.

“Finally,” Sylthara whispered, her voice tinged with restrained anticipation, “we can know what’s going on… about Mother Tree and the elves.”

Luca nodded slightly. “Yeah. Let’s stay close.”

The path ahead wound through the thickest parts of the forest. Birds stirred high above, their calls faint and uncertain. The group’s footsteps pressed softly into the moss, their voices soon blending with the rustle of leaves.

Gustav was the first to break the silence, groaning under his breath. “Why is everyone not here yet? We’re going to start without the rest?”

Rolph exhaled through his nose, not slowing his pace. “Mariel, Thrain, and Bolgar went to reinforce the western wards. Raymond’s overseeing the supplies and scouting ahead.”

Luca’s eyes flickered with recognition. Mariel… a woman’s name. Thrain, Bolgar, Raymond… so these are the other heroes.

The forest deepened. The air grew heavier, thicker with mana. Sunlight began to scatter into shimmering motes, like dust caught in divine breath. And then—

Sylthara stopped walking.

Her eyes widened, her lips parting wordlessly as a tremor ran through her.

There, in the distance, stood the World Tree.

It towered higher than any mountain, its colossal roots sinking into the world’s bones, its trunk glimmering with silver veins of pure light. Branches spiraled upward like the arms of a goddess embracing the sky, each leaf glowing faintly with emerald luminescence. The air around it hummed — not with sound, but with life.

“M–Mother Tree…” Sylthara’s voice broke, her breath shuddering. Her hands trembled as she took a step forward, unable to tear her gaze away.

Even Luca, hardened by countless lives, found himself awestruck. “It’s… massive. But it’s not just that… it feels alive. More divine than anything I’ve seen.”

Sylthara nodded slowly, her eyes glassy. “Of course… this is her most uncorrupted state. Before the wars, before the darkness. She’s… beautiful.”

They walked closer, the ground beneath them glowing faintly as if acknowledging their presence.

As they neared the clearing, movement caught Luca’s eye — figures standing before the radiant trunk.

Elves.

Dozens of them. Their hair spun like moonlight or the shadows of twilight. Two distinct groups stood together, mingling but still marked by difference — light elves in robes of gold and green, dark elves in silvers and blacks that shimmered under the sunlight.

At the center of it all sat two representatives, side by side.

When they saw Rolph and the others approach, both rose to their feet in unison.

“Welcome,” the light elf said, voice like a gentle breeze through crystal leaves.

“Welcome,” echoed the dark elf, deeper, firmer — a resonance that lingered in the air.

And for a heartbeat, beneath the towering Mother Tree, the ancient forest seemed to hold its breath.

For Sylthara, the sight was unthinkable — her breath caught in her throat as her eyes darted between the two courts, seated side by side, speaking, laughing even, beneath the Mother’s branches.

Tears welled before she even realized it. “They… they’re together? Light and dark elves… together?”

Luca just observed her and the scene before him.

At the center, Rolph stepped forward, his voice solemn. “Your Majesties. We thank you for granting this audience. The fate of this world… may rest upon this moment.”

Both queens nodded silently, — two thrones formed from the living roots of the Tree — sat Queen Serelis of the Light Elves, her golden hair cascading like sunlight, and Queen Vaelira of the Dark Elves, her silver eyes gleaming like the night’s first star.

Rolph’s tone was heavy, each syllable chosen with care. “The Devil Emperor grows stronger. His corruption spreads through land, water, and soul alike. If left unchecked, even the heavens may fall. We’ve gathered here because… there is no other hope left.”

Serelis’s gentle voice broke the silence. “You seek Mother Tree’s power.”

Rolph nodded. “We need your aid — the elves, the world Tree — to weaken him. Even if we cannot destroy him, we must seal him long enough for the world to heal.”

The air rippled with unspoken dread.

Luca exhaled slowly, his gaze tracing the immense, glowing trunk behind them. The World Tree towered above like a living god, its pulse slow and divine. That thing… it’s not just a tree. It’s life itself.

He could feel it — the resonance of existence, the rhythm that tied all beings to the same breath.

Rolph looked toward it then, eyes solemn. “To contain the Devil Emperor’s corruption… there is no being other than the World Tree that can withstand it.”

Silence fell. The air itself seemed to shiver.

Even the leaves stilled — as though the forest itself was listening.

Luca felt the hair on his arms rise. The mana was trembling.

From the soil beneath Vaelira’s throne, faint orbs began to rise — spirits, glowing and fluttering like candle flames in the dusk. They hovered around her, their light gentle yet sorrowful.

Sylthara gasped. “Wha— Spirits?!” Her voice trembled. “But… they only answer to nature’s mana! Dark elves… we— we lost that ability long ago!”

Luca stared at the spirits, as he saw them for the first time.

Vaelira rose. The spirits parted in reverence.

Her voice was like water running over stone — calm, ancient, and absolute.

“You speak the truth, human. The Mother tree can purify all corruption… but not without a price.”

Rolph frowned. “A price?”

“Mother Tree is divine, yet she breathes through her children,” Vaelira said, placing a hand upon her heart. “Her veins are our mana, her breath our life. But to contain the Devil Emperor’s blight, she needs vessels — living beings bound to her essence, who will draw the corruption into themselves, channel it, and seal it through her roots.”

The words rippled through the gathering like thunder.

Serelis rose abruptly, her radiant presence flaring. “Vaelira, you know what that means!”

“I do,” Vaelira replied softly. “Those who take the corruption will bear its mark forever. Their Nature’s mana will fade. Their bond to the Mother — broken. They will never again feel her grace… nor be welcomed beneath her branches.”

A hush fell so deep that Luca could hear his own heartbeat.

Rolph took an uneasy step forward, his voice shaking. “We cannot ask you for that. Not when the cost is your people’s eternity—your very souls!”

Vaelira turned toward him. There was no anger in her gaze — only quiet understanding. “Ask not, then. We offer it freely.”

Rolph froze, unable to find words.

Vaelira continued, her tone firm, resonant — the kind of voice that could shape destiny. “The corruption must be bound in living vessels, or it will seep into creation itself. You would not have a world left to save, human. The seas would boil. The mountains would scream. The light you cherish would flicker and die.”

The Saintess lowered her head, trembling. “So you would cast your kin into shadow… to save us all?”

Vaelira’s eyes softened. “Not cast. We will walk into it ourselves.”

Serelis shook her head violently, tears gathering. “No. You cannot. You are our sisters. If there is corruption to bear, then we shall share it. We were born together under the same song — the same Mother’s light!”

Vaelira’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles — not mocking, not cruel, but unbearably gentle.

“Then let that light endure, Serelis.” She stepped closer, every motion graceful and deliberate. “You are the dawn. You were made to heal and to grow. But I… I am the dusk. My people were made to guard the night. If corruption must be embraced, let it be by those who already dwell in its shadow.”

Serelis stepped forward, anguish flashing across her divine face. “No, I cannot allow that! If anyone bears that burden, it should be me — my people. You are my sister, Vaelira. We are the same blood, the same root!”

Vaelira looked at her with aching tenderness — the kind that could only come from love so deep it hurt to breathe.

“Sister,” she said softly, “do you know what happens when light tries to embrace darkness?”

Serelis froze, tears glimmering in her eyes.

Vaelira smiled faintly, her voice trembling but sure. “It doesn’t destroy the dark — it only burns itself away. The Tree cannot lose her light… not while the world still needs to see.”

Serelis shook her head, desperate. “Then what of you? What of your people? You’ll be cast out — condemned to centuries without her warmth—”

Vaelira stepped closer. Her hand hovered near Serelis’s cheek — almost touching, but stopping just short, afraid that even her shadow might stain that golden glow.

“That is our purpose,” she whispered. “We are her protectors, Serelis. The ones who stand where her light fades. Let us take her pain. Let us bear what she cannot. That is what we were born for.”

Her words fell like sacred vows.

Serelis’s tears finally fell, her light flickering like a dying dawn. “You would give up everything for us…?”

Vaelira smiled — small, tragic, beautiful. “Is that not what sisters do? When one walks in light… the other guards her back in the dark.”

A silence thicker than grief filled the clearing.

Even Rolph and the Saintess lowered their heads in quiet reverence.

Serelis’s voice broke into a whisper. “If you do this, your line will be cursed! Your descendants will live in exile — feared, hated, forgotten…”

Vaelira’s eyes glistened, but her resolve did not waver. “Then let our exile buy the world its peace. Let our curse be the shield that holds creation together.”

Serelis’s tears fell freely. “You will be remembered as monsters, Vaelira!”

“Then let us be the monsters who saved the dawn,” Vaelira said, her voice trembling with quiet strength. “If the world must call us cursed, let it. We will bear the hatred of eternity… so that you may remember what love once meant.”

The Light Queen fell silent. Slowly, she reached out her trembling hand.

Vaelira took it.

Finally, Serelis lowered her head, tears slipping silently. “If this is truly your will… then I will not stop you.”

Vaelira turned to Rolph and the others. “We will take the corruption upon ourselves. Let the light elves remain pure. Let them guard what we lose.”

And so it was decided.

For a brief, eternal moment — light and shadow intertwined.

The air hummed with the sound of ancient mana, the World Tree’s leaves shimmering with mournful brilliance.

Even the spirits wept — tiny droplets of luminous mana falling like tears.

Sylthara’s breath caught in her throat. Her hands trembled as she whispered, “So… that’s how it was…”

Tears welled in her eyes, the truth cutting deeper than any wound.

“All this time… we weren’t abandoned by the light elves… or by the Mother Tree…” Her voice broke into a whisper, her knees buckling as she sank onto the luminous ground. “We chose this. We chose to protect them… to bear the corruption ourselves.”

The world around her blurred — the two queens, their quiet resolve, the shimmering leaves of the Mother Tree reflecting in her tears.

Luca looked at her, silent. Even he could feel the echo of her grief, her awe, her pride. The dark elves were not the forsaken… they were the ones who gave everything.

Above them, the morning light spilled through the branches — warm, golden, and unbearably gentle — as if the Mother Tree herself mourned the fate her children had chosen.

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