Present Day...
The sun hung heavy in the sky, casting an orange glow over the dense emerald forests of the Nature Tribe's territory.
Vines coiled around ancient trees. Wildflowers bloomed in every hue imaginable.
Yet the air was wrong — too dry, too hot. A sign of impending danger.
At the heart of the forest, Princess Sylvia stood atop a massive oak, her green skin glowing faintly in the dappled sunlight.
Her hair shifted in the warm breeze as her eyes fixed on the distant horizon. Far beyond the treeline, dark smoke curled into the sky — the unmistakable mark of the Magma Tribe.
"They're too close," muttered Nymir, one of Sylvia's most trusted advisors. His bark-like skin creaked as he moved. "Their flames devour more of our land every day."
Sylvia's voice remained calm, though a storm brewed beneath her words.
"We warned them. Again and again. They do not listen."
Before Nymir could answer, the ground trembled beneath their feet. Then again.
And then — fire.
A wall of flames surged through the trees at the forest's edge, devouring everything in its path. Sylvia raised her hand, and instantly, roots erupted from the earth, twisting into thick barriers to halt the fire's advance.
Vines unfurled, weaving into walls of green. But the flames were relentless.
And from the inferno stepped Prince Arson.
His crimson skin glowed like molten rock. Dark, red-streaked hair framed fierce amber eyes — not so different from Sylvia's own in their intensity. Flames danced at his fingertips. Every step left smoldering embers in his wake.
"Nature Tribe!" Arson's voice cracked like burning wood. "Your land grows too far into ours. We burn what encroaches."
Sylvia descended from her oak perch, each footstep coaxing tiny plants to sprout beneath her.
"You burn because you know nothing else," she said evenly, though the vines coiling tighter around her wrists betrayed her anger. "Your fire claims nothing. It destroys what belongs to all."
Arson's fist ignited.
"Your forests choke us. We will burn until the land is ours alone."
The clash was inevitable.
Roots lashed from the ground like snakes, aiming for Arson. He answered with a burst of flame, reducing them to ash.
Fire arced through the air, only to be doused by Sylvia's summoned rain — droplets conjured from mist and dew. The battle became a dance of elements: fire against flora.
Arson grinned as he launched a larger burst of flame, only for Sylvia's thorns to intercept it.
She responded by summoning thick vines to coil around him. But as they touched his skin, they burned to ash.
The battle escalated — slow at first, then fierce.