A faint smile spread across Garlan’s bloodied face. He closed his eyes for a moment, focused his mana, and sheathed only his arms in dark crimson scales.

  With a sharp cry, he drew back both fists and struck a heavy blow straight into the golem’s neck joint.

  The stone head shattered free in a spray of shards, rolling loudly across the ground. Moments later, the massive body collapsed.

  From the promontory, Darak’Thar approached slowly, arms crossed.

  — From this fight… you’ve advanced greatly.

  Garlan panted, but remained on his feet. He glanced at the fragments, then at Darak, and gave a silent nod.

  A few days later, the canyon winds had gone still. Silence stretched through the rocky hollows—peaceful, almost sacred.

  Darak’Thar escorted them to the edge of the sanctuary. Marenna stood with arms crossed, her gaze fixed on the green horizon unfurling ahead.

  — You have done what was required here, said Darak. The fire has learned to bend without dying out.

  He turned to Marenna.

  — And you, living seed… out there, something will want to speak to you.

  Her head lifted.

  — The Sanctuary of the Living…

  — It is not for you alone, but it may choose you. The sap whispers louder than usual. Perhaps for you.

  Darak placed his massive hand on the stone beside him.

  — Follow the moss. Where it should not grow. Where the stone itself opens. That is where the path begins.

  Marenna gave a quiet nod.

  Brenuss rose to his feet, ready.

  Garlan, a step behind, looked back once more at the heights of the stone sanctuary.

  — Thank you, Darak.

  The landscape shifted with the passing days.

  The ground softened, blanketed in moss, rare flowers, tall grasses that swayed without wind. Trees rose, twisted by time, by magic… by will.

  Luminous butterflies guided their way. Animals watched without fleeing. Everything felt at once peaceful… and taut.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Then they saw it.

  A temple.

  Not of stone, nor metal. But a weave of roots, knotted trees, branches rising and opening like a living cathedral. The Sanctuary of the Living.

  It stood there. Immense. Calm. As if it had always been.

  And at its heart, a gigantic figure—half tree, half dragon—awaited them.

  It opened its eyes slowly.

  — Welcome, my daughter.

  Its voice resonated like a breeze through a field of wheat.

  — Welcome, son of fire and wind. And you as well, little black dragonet.

  It inclined its head, its breath rustling the leaves of the entire sanctuary.

  — What brings you to me?

  They froze, stunned by the solemnity of its words.

  Garlan blinked.

  — Wait… did he just call you “my daughter”?

  Marenna, equally startled, nodded slowly.

  — Yes, I heard it too. But… I’m a half-elf human. Not a half-dragon like you.

  Virellia laughed, a deep, vibrant laugh that sent a shiver through the trees around them.

  — Do you not know the origins of the elven people?

  — Elves were my first creation. My first golems of flesh and blood, gifted with thought and magic. I left them with complete autonomy… I wished to see how they would evolve.

  Marenna stammered, eyes wide:

  — But… that was never written in any book I’ve read.

  — Of course not, Virellia replied gently. No elf was ever aware of their creation. I built a village, populated it with beings of different ages, so they would believe in a natural origin. That they had always lived as they were.

  A sharp THWACK echoed. Marenna smacked Garlan across the top of his head, half-burying him in the soft soil of the sanctuary.

  — Idiot! Not the time to be thinking about that!

  Crimson, caught between shame and anger, she turned away, arms crossed, ears steaming.

  Virellia laughed harder, a warm, ancient laugh that set the foliage trembling.

  — Come closer, my daughter. Closer.

  Still shaken, Marenna obeyed cautiously. Virellia slowly shifted into a humanoid form, a tall figure of bark and gentle light.

  She laid her hand upon Marenna’s head. Silence lingered. Then, within that contact, a vision blossomed in the young woman’s mind—an intertwining future of strength and transmission, of growth and deep roots.

  Virellia slowly turned her gaze to Garlan, amusement flickering in her eyes.

  — No, young fire… no eggs.

  She let the silence breathe again, then continued, softer:

  — And so—why have you come to me?

  Garlan and Marenna exchanged a glance, then began to tell their tale. The departure from the lake. Emmut. The Sanctuary of Wind. Kazuhan. The trial of Earth with Darak’Thar.

  Virellia listened without interrupting, eyes half-closed, filled with compassion.

  — Hmmm… I see. You have endured the trials of my kin… or rather… our kin.

  She placed her hand upon Garlan’s chest, her perception cutting through him as if nothing could be hidden.

  — Yes… I understand. Your metamorphosis is impossible for now. Your father, though human, was prodigious in magic. He sealed your draconic side… once he discovered your mother’s nature. Likely out of fear.

  Garlan froze. His breath caught. An empty hollow opened within him—then was instantly filled by a rising, raw rage.

  He clenched his fists, eyes fixed on nothing, jaw locked.

  — He… sealed me? That man I never knew… chained me away from what I truly am?

  There were no tears. No cries. Only that raw, near-animal fury—against an absent father who, even in death, still bound him.