The wind tore through the trees like it was running from something older than the forest itself. Leaves shivered, branches bent, and for a heartbeat the whole world seemed to hold its breath. Then—light.
Soft, shimmering light blossomed at the base of an ancient oak: five blue sparks, five golden-orange ones. They hovered, whispering to one another, then drifted into the bark. The tree swallowed them whole, and the world twisted around them—dragging us along.
The oak split open like a door into a realm impossibly vast.
A castle rose from the earth, larger than any fortress mortals could imagine. Towers speared the clouds, carved from stone white as moonlight and veined with gold that shimmered like living fire. Bridges arched between spires high enough to steal breath, and waterfalls of silver light cascaded down into courtyards bursting with flowers that glowed softly in the dusk.
The guardians stood proudly at the gates—not men, not quite spirits, but tall, elegant forms draped in embroidered robes, armor etched with runes older than language. Their weapons shone like starlight. Some wore crowns of leaves and vine-metal; others carried spears humming with power. They walked as nobles, warriors, kings of a world long dead.
Names whispered through the air—
Aelorian the Sky-Breaker, Yranis the Thorn-Warden, Kael of the Silver Hunt—
heroes whose stories were sung for centuries, now wandering the gardens like memories refusing to fade.
The lights drifted through them, sliding deeper into the castle's heart.
Inside, the halls expanded endlessly: gold-lined archways, murals carved into marble walls, chandeliers woven of crystal that bled soft light. The floor reflected the world like polished ice. Statues watched from corners—creatures of myth, elves, drakes, forgotten gods. Every breath felt sacred.
Finally, the spirits reached the castle's center: a circular chamber crowned by a living tree that rose through the roof like a pillar of life itself. Its leaves glowed silver. Its roots pulsed with warmth.
One by one, the spirits settled upon the runestone pedestals surrounding it. Their shapes stretched, twisted, and formed into beings with elven faces, myth-born bodies, eyes glowing like dawn. Smiles gentle enough to mend wounds. Light poured from them as they touched the great tree.
Every touch released something small:
a spirit, a creature of light, an animal woven from shimmering aether.
They drifted upward like blessings.
Until—
A shadow pulsed through the roots.
The light died.
The golden bark darkened, veins turning black like spreading rot.
Gasps echoed.
Some lurched back, barely snatching their hands away before the corruption reached their skin. Others stared in horror, frozen by confusion and betrayal.
Cracks ripped through the trunk.
The tree groaned—a sound like a dying god—and the first splinter exploded outward.
"EVACUATE! GET OUT! MOVE!" the guards roared.
Wings unfurled, warriors lifted into the air, others dragged people toward the exits. Stones split. Vines snapped. Half the chamber collapsed as the sacred tree fell, shattering the floor and ripping through the castle like a storm of wood and ruin.
When the dust finally settled, only the elder remained.
A figure like an angel carved from dawnlight—long blond hair, golden eyes sharp as judgment itself. He stood alone before the ruined tree, refusing to flee
Hours later, the others returned. Slowly. Fearfully.
They expected rot.
They expected death.
What they found made some scream, others faint, and a few drop to their knees retching.
Because lying in the crater where the holy tree once stood was a creature that should not exist.
A deer—but not.
Legs stretched too long, joints bending in the wrong directions. A body oversized, swollen with something unnatural. Horns massive, jagged, branching like broken lightning. Its bones seemed… misassembled, like something had tried to remember the blueprint of a deer and failed.
And when it raised its head—
Its eyes were pitch black, bottomless, wide.
Its teeth were sharp, uneven, layered like a shark's but thinner, wrong, hungry.
The moment it looked at them, the screaming started again.