The Ritual of Acceptance between elves and a dryad was not complicated. It was simple, so simple that it was almost laughable. All it took was for the dryad to willingly offer some of her sap to the elves she wished to accept. All they had to do was drink it. Of course, the sap was usually diluted with juice or water. There was simply too much power in raw dryad sap for most elves to withstand, never mind a group who had spent years and years wandering on the road and slowly withering away.
To Viator’s surprise, however, Doomwing himself chose to intervene in what should have been a simple ritual.
“Use this,” Doomwing rumbled. His immense form cast a shadow over everything, and it was only his outstanding control over his own power and presence that kept him from paralysing everyone where they stood. A wooden cup floated down. It appeared plain, yet upon closer inspect, Viator realised that it was covered in intricate carvings that radiated subtle, ancient power.
“Great Doomwing,” Viator murmured. “This… what is it?”
“In the First Age and the Second Age, such cups were commonly used for the Ritual of Acceptance. The most beloved and sacred of those cups were carved from the branches of Mother Tree herself and gifted to her daughters, so those daughters could use them to seal the bond between themselves and their elves. I… knew Mother Tree well. I was curious about the magic in the cups, and I asked if I could have one. That is the one she gave me.” Doomwing’s expression did not change, but he seemed to radiate a deep, primeval sorrow. “I thought it fitting that Daphne have it.”
Viator was silent. He could not find the words he wished to speak. He had heard of Mother Tree. What elf hadn’t? But she was only a myth to the elves. The elves of the First and Second Age were long dead. Only the dryads could remember her, and even then, not many, and those few spoke of her only rarely and never to those like Viator who were outsiders and wanderers. Yet to Doomwing, Mother Tree was not a myth. She was a memory and someone who had favoured him enough to gift him with an item that only a dryad or an elf should have. Slowly, he accepted the cup and then moved to offer it to Daphne.
“Lady Daphne.” He bowed his head. “We would be honoured if you could use this for the Ritual of Acceptance.”
Daphne stared at the cup. Her expression was complicated as it flickered between the cup, Viator, and Doomwing. At last, her hands closed around the cup. The cup lit up, the countless carvings etched upon it glowing soft shades of green that called to mind long-dead forests that had burned away in the conflicts of Ages past, forests that now dwelt only in the memories of the oldest dryads and living legends like Doomwing who had been there to watch those forests burn… or there to set them alight.
“Very well. My mother made this cup, so it is fitting that I should use it.” Daphne smiled gently. “How many years passed, I wonder, between when this cup was made and when it came to be in my hands.”
“Too many,” Doomwing said, and his voice was like distant thunder born of a dwindling storm. “Far too many.”
Daphne’s wooden construct walked back to her main trunk. The fairies stood vigil beside her, but they made no move to interfere. This was a sacred rite, one that even they recognised. For all their snark and taunts, once Daphne had made her opinion on the elves clear, they had accepted her decision. Of course, Viator suspected that the moment this ritual was over, they would probably go back to teasing him and the other elves, but that was something he could accept. Like him, the fairies had also pledged their loyalty to Doomwing. The dragon would likely tolerate competition between groups under his rule, but he would crack down on treachery without mercy.
One of Daphne’s branches bent down, and the tip of the branch split open. From that split, a single drop of sap flowed. It was akin to a shard of emerald bathed in pure moonlight. The eyes of every elf locked onto it with longing.
“Antaria,” Daphne said. “Did you bring the water?”
The princess chuckled and nodded at the buckets beside her. They were filled with water drawn from the nearest well. Daphne had insisted on it, saying that the water used to nourish her and the crops nearby was more than good enough for this ceremony. Moreover, it was water purified by magic woven by Doomwing. “Of course. Need my help?”
Daphne’s construct beckoned her forward. “Each of the elves has to drink a cup, and each cup will be filled with water and a single drop of my sap. You will be the one to add the water.”
Doomwing’s lips pulled back to bare his teeth in what passed for a smile amongst dragons. “A fine choice.”
Antaria’s brows furrowed. “Am I missing something?”
Viator explained. “The one who adds the water to the cup during the Ritual of Acceptance can be thought of as the dryad’s second - a truly trusted friend and advisor.”
“Oh.” Antaria smiled sunnily. “Then I would be honoured. But who gets the first cup?”
Viator glanced back at the his fellow elves, but Daphne spoke before he could say anything.
“Viator, you have led these elves to me. You should be the first. Furthermore, you are to be their leader. Who else could it be but you?” Daphne said.
Viator nodded slowly and stepped forward. Soon, he was offered the cup. Despite being heavily diluted with water, the liquid it held was still a verdant green. It radiated life and vitality, and his instincts urged him to down it as quickly as possible. Yet he held himself back and bowed first to Daphne and then to Doomwing before closing his eyes and raising the cup to his lips.
He drank, not just with his lips, but with his soul.
The long years of wandering had robbed him of his strength little by little, turning what should have been a fertile plain into a parched, cracked, and broken desert. He could hardly remember how the better days had felt when he had been young and strong and alive in every sense of the word. But as he drank, the days of plenty came again, and the desert within him gave way.
Power surged through him like water surging through the cracked beds of a dried-up river. The desert bloomed, and coarse sand became rich soil. Where only winds and woe had dwelt, flowers spread and trees rose and took root. The strength he had almost forgotten filled him once more, and he marvelled as even that was surpassed with ease.
This…!
The dryad he had once served had been young, but she had still been older than Daphne. Yet the power rushing through him told a story he could scarcely believe. Daphne was far, far stronger than his previous dryad had been. It was like… like comparing the moon to the sun. Her words earlier… he had assumed they were simply metaphor, but this power would make sense if she truly was somehow the direct daughter of Mother Tree and not simply another descendant, as all dryads were.
Viator dragged in a breath, and his mind swam with all the scents. He knew his senses had dulled, but he had never realised just how badly they had fallen. His eyes opened, and he had to blink back tears, both from how much had changed and from all that he could see. Like his sense of smell, his sight had dulled, and now it had more than returned in full. It was keener than it had ever been. He found himself laughing even as he scrubbed away at his tears.
“Are you all right?” Daphne asked.
Viator nodded firmly. “I am better than all right.” He dropped to his knees. “From this day until my last day, you are my dryad. If the world comes to strike you down, then I will stand against the world. If my life can buy you even a moment longer of existence, then I will gladly give my life. And if the day comes that I ever prove unworthy of the grace you have shown me, then I will happily cut my own throat.”
Daphne blinked and then helped him back to his feet. “Thank you… although I do hope that none of that is ever necessary.”
“Indeed, but still, there are words that must be spoken and vows that must be made.” Viator gestured to the other elves. “Who is next?”
“They’re certainly very enthusiastic,” Daphne drawled. Her construct was perched atop Doomwing’s back. As for the elves, rather than sleep inside any of the houses that were available, they had opted to sleep next to her tree. She had asked Viator about it, and he had asked her to indulge them, saying it was something necessary for them to soothe their hearts. After a few days, they should be less clingy, but for now, all of the elves were still awestruck at once again being bound to a dryad.
“That is how elves are,” Doomwing replied. He wanted their discussion to be private, and there were few places more private than in the air with his concealment magic around them. “In the Second Age, the elves who chose to side with Mother Tree did not take a backward step, no matter how many casualties they took or how badly they were outmatched. On many occasions, I saw elves charge headlong into dragon fire all in the hopes of landing even a single meaningful blow.” He growled. “I will not lie. Whether you think it foolish or not, the elves of that Age were unquestionably brave. Braver, I think, than quite a few of the dragons they fought, for it is easy to be brave when you are strong, and far harder to be brave when you are weak.”
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“I should find it troubling,” Daphne murmured. “But I don’t.” She paused. “I… saw their memories.”
“That too is to be expected. When a dryad bonds with elves, she can glimpse into their minds and memories. Under the right circumstances, it may even be possible for a dryad to imbue certain elves with her power or even control their bodies from afar.”
“What?” Daphne’s eyes widened. “That sounds wrong.”
“Sometimes, it is necessary,” Doomwing replied. “Dryads, by their nature, are not especially mobile. In many ways, elves serve as their limbs since they can travel relatively freely. However, the power of an elf rarely approaches that of a dryad. Thus, in times of great peril, it may be necessary for a dryad to channel her power through an elf to deal with some threat. Doing so requires at least partially taking control of the elf’s body to avoid destroying it with their power. However, that is not something you will be able to do for a while. Your power is growing swiftly, but you are still young, and you still have much to learn.”
Daphne nodded. “Is that part of why you asked me to come up here?”
“Yes. I have plans for my domain - plans that will need your cooperation.”
“I’ll help if I can,” Daphne. “But I find it hard to believe that there’s something you need my help with.”
“You are a dryad, and I am a dragon. As powerful as I am, there are certain things that you will be far better at due to your nature. And though it may be some time until you can accomplish these things, I still wish to discuss them with you. That way both of us may have clearer expectations for what lays ahead.”
“You sound urgent,” Daphne said. “I haven’t really heard that before.”
“I have reason to be,” Doomwing replied. He then spoke of the approaching Final Catastrophe. He did not provide her with all the details he had uncovered, but he told her enough for her to understand the gravity of the situation. “I will address this with the others as well, but I did not speak to you of this on a mere whim. Should my… speculations prove accurate, you may have a great role to play in the days ahead.”
Daphne stared down at the land beneath them. “What you’ve just told me. It makes me feel small.”
“Against what it is to come, we are all small. Myself included.” Doomwing growled. “In truth, I am weak. Far too weak to face what draws near. That is why I must pursue strength.”
“Weak? You?”
“Yes. I have reason to believe the coming Catastrophe will be greater than any of those that have come before. If that is true, then all the might and glory still remaining in this world will not be enough to face it. After all, the First Age ended when the gods and their oldest and mightiest children fell before the Broken God. How could those who remain in this Age hope to stand against a foe mightier than that?” Doomwing chuckled. “But I do not believe in giving up. I must seek the path forward, no matter how narrow and treacherous it may be.”
“A Fifth Awakening?” Daphne asked.
“Yes.”
“Then you must have some clue,” she said. “Some idea of what must be done to achieve a Fifth Awakening.”
“I do. At least, I have theories. Much of what I believe must be carefully investigated, but your role is something I can share. Power will be required, far greater power than I currently possess. Yet that power cannot reside within my body, not until the very moment I attempt a Fifth Awakening.”
“Then where, if not your body? Magical items?”
“A solution I have considered in the past. But insufficient. No. Only the land itself can hold power so vast that even my body cannot withstand it.” Doomwing’s eyes gleamed gold. “And that is where you have a part to play. Dryads are bound to the land in a way that dragons are not. As a dryad grows in power, so too does the land grow in power. A dryad can turn a dead desert into a place brimming with power. The very currents of magic that flow through the land can be enriched, and the sheer quality and quantity of the magic in the land can be uplifted to levels even a dragon could not hope to match.”
Daphne frowned. “You know that I am very young for a dryad. What you are asking…”
“You can accomplish it. You are a direct daughter of Mother Tree. Your lineage is second to none, and your potential is matched only by a few. I will make every possible resource available to fuel your growth and advancement, and I will secure every scrap of wisdom and knowledge that I can to aid you.” Doomwing sighed. “You do not understand just how great a difference you could make. You have memories from Mother Tree, but they are fragmented and sparse. I was there. I witnessed the blessed land that came to exist around her.” He sighed again, deeper this time, and flame flickered in his jaws. “She was strong, far stronger than me. Mother Tree was stronger than all of us dragons put together.”
“Then how did you slay her?” Daphne asked. The memories she had from Mother Tree included fragments from her death, but none explained how Doomwing had managed to fell such a mighty foe.
“We poisoned her,” Doomwing rumbled. “As one would a regular tree. Her roots were vast and spread across the land. But I knew her. I knew her very well. And so when the time came to face her, we did not do so at once. We weakened her first. A dryad nourishes the land, and the land nourishes the dryad. It is a virtuous cycle, with both growing stronger and stronger. We broke that cycle. We poisoned the land, and through it, we poisoned her. A cycle of ever-growing weakness. It was not easy. It took all we knew of dryads and their workings to devise a poison that would work, but we managed. In the end, her power was only a shadow of its former glory, but even so, we barely won. But before her poisoning, the land where she dwelt was a blessed place, one filled with more power than any other, save for the dwellings of the gods in the First Age.”
“If that is true, then why haven’t other dryads made such domains for themselves?” Daphne asked.
“I am not sure. But I have a theory. The daughters of Mother Tree who live today were born from seeds cast from her dying body at the end of the Second Age. The method she used would have been taught to those who followed her, and they fell, as she did, at the end of the Second Age. After that, there was no one left who knew, and the memories her daughters have inherited are too chaotic and fragmented to pass on such… a complex technique. But though I cannot perform the technique, I was there for many years while it was in place. I know how it feels, and I remember how it looked when examined with my own magic. Given what is to come, I will share all I know with dryads willing to cooperate against the coming threat. I believe that they will be able to reconstruct the method with sufficient time and discussion. I will insist that you are taught it as well.”
When Daphne remained silent, Doomwing continued. “If you can create such a blessed land, then it will be able to store the power I require. When the other conditions are met, and provided my other speculations are correct, I will draw upon that power when necessary.” He paused. “Fear not. I have no intention of stripping the land bare and killing all within it. The power I draw will be the excess, and there will be more than enough of that should you succeed in learning the technique. Moreover, learning the technique will greatly aid everyone else in my domain. The greater quality and quantity of magic will help everyone else advance. This applies not only to dragons but also humans, elves, animals, and all other manner of creatures.”
Daphne dragged in a deep breath. She didn’t need to breathe - this was her construct, after all - but it was a gesture she had picked up from Antaria. “Do you really think it can be done?”
“It can be. It must be.” Doomwing chuckled. “If you wish for a simpler analogy, then think of this. If a Fifth Awakening is akin to the forging of a blade, then the blessed land I am asking you to create shall be the bellows that give air to the forge. The materials used in the making of the blade are certainly important, as is the smith, but without the bellows and the air they provide, the blade cannot be made.”
Daphne found herself chuckling as well. “That makes it a lot easier to understand.” She nodded. “Fine. I’ll do my best. When do you plan to speak with the other dryads?”
“I will ensure that things are settled in my domain first, and then I will seek out the other dryads. I will have to go in person. They will not hear me out otherwise. In the meantime, I must also ensure that you have access to the necessary resources to accelerate your growth and development.” Doomwing’s muscles tensed. “I have also received word from one of my fellows about a most unusual dryad. That, too, is something I will have to investigate.”
“Unusual?” Daphne tilted her head to the side. “How?”