The air in Botanical Bend was thick with unease, a restless tension that crackled like a live wire, making every breath feel charged with impending doom. The streets, once vibrant with the bustle of life, were now nearly silent, broken only by the distant echo of footsteps. Shadows loomed beneath the awnings of the weathered houses, clinging to corners and crevices as if they too feared the day’s dark promise.
At the edge of the neighborhood, a squad of Guntai soldiers gathered, their metallic armor glinting in the weak light of the waning sun. Their presence was a specter of dread, a testament to the oppressive might of the Techie regime that sought to purge the remnants of magic from their territory. They moved with grim purpose, eyes scanning the area with unyielding vigilance, eager to hunt down the slightest trace of magecraft.
“What do we have here?” one of them sneered, his voice dripping with contempt as he gestured to a group of residents huddled together in a small park. They had gathered to discuss the strange occurrences that had gripped their neighborhood, whispers of awakened magic, and the storm brewing in Listama. Now they stood together, oblivious to the danger that closed in around them.
As the Guntai advanced, the sound of their boots crunching against gravel sent a shiver through the onlookers. A woman stepped forward, her expression a mix of defiance and fear. “We’re not hiding anything,” she called out, her voice trembling slightly but resolute. “We’re just trying to protect our home.”
“Protect your home?” the Guntai soldier laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. “You’re harboring mages, and we know it. We detected the surge from Listama. And we know of the things that have been happening here. You think we won’t come for you?” His hand rested on the hilt of his weapon, fingers twitching with eagerness.
The crowd shifted uneasily, fear flickering in their eyes. A child clung to his mother’s leg, and she knelt to shield him, her face pale as she whispered assurances. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Just stay close to me.”
"None of us know anything about the strange things happening around here," the woman said. "We've all reported everything that we know."
"Have you now?" the officer asked, taking another step toward the group.
People scrambled to hide behind the sturdy trunk of an ancient tree at the center of the park, its gnarled roots gripping the earth like the last remnants of hope. A group of children clung to each other, their faces pale with fear, while parents struggled to protect them.
The officer swung his weapon at the tree, striking its trunk with a sickening thud and sinking the sword's blade deep into the wood. He snarled at the people huddled behind it as splinters exploded into the air. A deep gash marred the ancient bark, the tree’s sap oozing like blood from an open wound. The tree seemed to shudder, its leaves rustling as if in response to the violence.
The sight of the injured tree sent shockwaves through the residents. It was a sacred entity, a symbol of their community’s resilience. The tree had stood for generations, a witness to their joys and sorrows. Now, it suffered under the merciless assault of the Guntai, and despair washed over the onlookers.
Blue light blossomed from the wound in the bark as a young woman stepped out from the tree, her form ethereal and luminous against the encroaching darkness. The Guntai gaped, momentarily stunned by her sudden appearance, their eyes widening in disbelief as she raised her hands to the sky. Beams of radiant light pulsed outward, weaving intricate patterns of mana that shimmered in the dimming air.
With a graceful sweep of her arms, the ground trembled, responding to her call. Vines burst forth from the earth, thick and sinewy, snaking around the Guntai soldiers’ feet like serpents, binding them in place. The air vibrated with the sound of rustling leaves as roots emerged from the soil, reinforcing the tree’s wound with a protective embrace.
The soldiers, now fully roused from their stupor, drew their weapons, eyes narrowing in determination. “Here we find the mage!” one of them shouted, struggling against the encroaching vines. He swung his blade wildly, severing some of the creeping tendrils, but more quickly took their place, undeterred by his efforts.
The dryad’s expression remained fierce, her emerald eyes blazing with fury as she channeled the energy of the wounded tree into her own being. “You are nothing but parasites,” she retorted, summoning the earth’s strength. With a powerful stomp, she called forth a surge of soil and rock, a shock wave rippling outward, knocking the Guntai off their feet.
The soldiers stumbled back, but they quickly regained their footing, firing off rounds into the tree and the group of people huddling behind the tree. The Sergeant, emboldened, shouted commands to his comrades. “Form up! Surround her!”
As they encircled her, the dryad pressed her palms to the ground, channeling her magic into the roots of the ancient tree. The earth trembled, and jagged stone spikes erupted around her, forming a natural barrier that shielded her from their onslaught. “You shall not!” she cried, her voice a rallying cry that resonated with the wounded tree and the people she was protecting.
“Don’t just stand there!” a woman shouted, her voice breaking. “Help it! We can’t let them destroy our home!”
In their desperation, the residents rallied, gathering together behind the tree as it bore the brunt of the Guntai’s fury. The soldiers pressed their advantage, but the community’s spirit ignited. With whatever makeshift weapons they could find—a rusted pipe, a broken chair leg, anything that could be used to strike back—they charged at the Guntai, their cries echoing in the darkening air.
“Protect the tree! Protect our home!” a young man shouted, and it was repeated their voices rising as one.
The clash was immediate and violent. The Guntai, caught off guard, stumbled back as the residents lunged at them, wielding their makeshift weapons with fierce determination. The air filled with the sounds of struggle—metal clanging against wood, cries of pain, and the desperate gasps of those fighting for their lives.
But the Guntai quickly regained their composure, their training taking over. They struck back with brutal efficiency, using their weapons with ruthless precision. The tide of the battle turned, the desperate bravery of the residents meeting the cold, calculating brutality of the soldiers.
The Guntai pressed forward, determination hardened by the desire to assert their power. They hacked at the vines, their blades glinting ominously in the low light. With each swing, the dryad felt the pain of the tree echo through her, a painful reminder of the violence unfolding. The connection they shared was profound—its suffering was her suffering.
Summoning all her strength, the dryad summoned tendrils of earth and roots, entwining them around the soldiers’ weapons, yanking them from their grips. The Guntai staggered back, confusion etching their faces as their weapons were wrenched away.
The ground beneath the Guntai swelled and bucked, forcing them to regain their balance. Cracks formed in the earth, revealing the vibrant life force hidden below. The dryad’s heart pulsed with the rhythm of the tree, her energy intertwining with the roots, drawing strength from the earth to fend off the relentless attack.
With a wave of her hand, the ground erupted again, this time sending a wave of dirt and grass surging toward the soldiers, pushing them back. The dryad advanced, using the momentum of the land to propel her forward. She weaved through their ranks, dodging strikes and retaliating with bursts of earth magic that sent shockwaves through the Guntai line.
In the chaos, the Guntai moved between the Dryad and the humans that she had been trying to protect. They divided their unit to separate their focus. Half to deal with the humans and half to deal with the magical abomination.
The remaining residents turned and fled, but there was nowhere to go. The Guntai moved like a predatory pack, herding the frightened masses with cruel precision. They chased down anyone who dared to resist, a trail of violence carving through the community. The sound of weapons clashing, the cries of the innocent, and the merciless laughter of the soldiers filled the air—a grim orchestra that heralded death.
The soldiers were relentless, their training and resources proving as great as the magic, with determination hardening their resolve. The Sergeant rallied the others, “Push her back! We can’t let her escape!”
In a final act of desperation, the dryad summoned the ancient tree’s remaining strength, causing the ground around her to bloom with vibrant flora, each blossom radiating light. The vines curled and twisted, forming a protective cocoon around her, blooming with iridescent flowers that released spores into the air, momentarily blinding the soldiers.
She screamed, her voice resonating with the harmony of nature. As the Guntai staggered, disoriented by the sudden burst of light and pollen, she harnessed the surge of energy from the tree and unleashed it in a concentrated blast of mana.
A wave of energy surged through the air, colliding with the Guntai and sending them reeling back. The sheer force of it shook the very ground beneath them, uprooting nearby plants and causing the park to tremble. For a moment, the dryad felt invincible, her connection with the earth granting her the power to defy the encroaching darkness and the invading Techies.
But the soldiers were not defeated yet. Regaining their senses, they pushed through the confusion, their resolve hardening in the face of adversity. “Do not let her get away!” the Sergeant yelled, voice taut with urgency.
As the dryad prepared to unleash another wave of magic, she felt a piercing pain rip through her side, and she glanced down to see a Guntai soldier with a rifle, grinning with triumph. “Got you!” he shouted, and in that moment, her world tilted.
Desperation coursed through her veins as she stumbled back, the connection with the tree faltering. The ground beneath her shifted, a reaction to her pain, as vines writhed in anguish.
“No!” she cried, feeling the spirit of the ancient tree echo her despair.
In that split second, she realized the battle was over. The Guntai pressed forward, their relentless pursuit fueled by the promise of victory, and she could feel the weight of her duty—the weight of the tree’s hope—resting squarely on her shoulders. Gathering her remaining strength, she prepared for one final stand, ready to defend the last remnants of her home, even as darkness threatened to swallow them whole.
Another shot was fired and she fell to the ground, gasping. She looked to the trees, hoping. The fey must have felt her awaken, must have sensed her magic. Scanning the trees and clutching the oozing wound in her side she struggled to rise. The Sergeant drove his blade through her chest and she crumbled.
“Search the houses!” he shouted, his voice a bark of authority. “We’ll root out every last one of them!”
The soldiers obeyed without hesitation, breaking down doors, kicking in windows, and turning homes upside down. They rifled through personal belongings, tossing aside family photos, clothes, and cherished mementos as if they were nothing more than detritus. It was a desecration of the sacred—an invasion that tore at the very fabric of the lives they had come to disrupt.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the shadows lengthened, swallowing the remnants of resistance. Bodies lay strewn across the street, a grim tableau of despair. The Guntai stood among the fallen, breathing heavily, eyes bright with the thrill of their hunt.
“Clear out the last of this filth,” the commander ordered, his voice cold and unyielding. “They’ve harbored mages long enough. This is what happens when you defy the Techie laws.”
The people fled into the woods and the fields, hoping that distance could save them from the fate the others had found.
Kam stepped out of the tree line and gestured for the running people to come his way. Many did not see him and continued towards the field. Kali glided out past him and went after them, her dark form invisible in the night, slipping up over them and taking them into the safety of her fold.
Kam ran out towards the Lesser Life Tree, it dryad lay dead at its roots and a gaping wound pulsed in its bark.
"We are too late," he whispered.
The sun set, casting a dark shroud over the neighborhood. The cries of the fallen lingered in the air, a haunting reminder of what had transpired—a night where hope was extinguished, and the chill of despair settled heavily over Botanical Bend. The ancient tree stood wounded, its branches sagging under the weight of the violence it had witnessed, a testament to the fragility of life in a world ravaged by fear and hatred.
