The Forest will burn

Priestess Laraiz takes on the last bastion of the Elven Nation

The forest was loud with life.

Birdsong echoed from emerald canopies. Wind rustled through vast curtains of moss.

But the trees they knew.

And they whispered their warnings through bark and root: Something unnatural comes.

From her place atop a steel chained war chariot, Priestess Laraiz gazed into the ancient woodlands of Syla’norel, the last bastion of the Elven Nation.

Cloaked under a woven tarp of shadows, stood the newest creation of the Ardent Engineers: a Metal Golem three stories high, powered by a corrupted shard of the Seal of Air.

A single figure emerged from the tree line ahead: tall, robed in silver and living vines, their features sharp and glowing with ancient magic.

Queen Elarindra, sovereign of the Elven Nation, bearer of the Verdant Crown.

“You dare trespass,” the queen said, voice ringing like music over steel. “This forest is not yours.”

“It belongs to no one,” Laraiz replied, descending from her chariot. “And it hides a power that must be taken.”

“The Seal is not yours to claim.”

“It is not yours to hoard.”

Elarindra narrowed her eyes. “You will find only death in these woods.”

Laraiz smiled faintly. “Then I’ll return the favor.”

At her command, the Golem strode forward with thunderous steps. Its arm opened like a blooming flower, revealing a spinning core of wire and heat. With a shriek of warping metal, it unleashed a torrent of green flame onto the first line of trees.

The forest screamed.

Wildlife fled in all directions.

Laraiz walked slowly through the destruction, stepping over scorched roots and crushed blossoms. She knelt at the edge of a smoldering log, and picked up a handful of blackened leaves.

“A shame,” she murmured. “This land was once beautiful. Now it’s just...”

She let the ash fall through her fingers.

“...garbage.”