Ever since they had entered the Tree, Zeke felt suffocated. There was something terribly oppressive about this place, as if it were telling him that he didn’t belong. It was similar to stepping into an Exarch's domain. He couldn't manipulate the ambient Mana either, leaving him effectively defenseless.
Worse still, the air carried a pressure reminiscent of Bloodline suppression. Yet unlike a Progenitor’s overwhelming force, this one was subtle—almost gentle. That didn't mean it was any weaker.
If he had to compare the two, he would describe a Progenitor’s presence as a tidal wave—crushing, immediate, impossible to withstand. This one, however, was like the ocean itself. Calm on the surface, harmless and still… yet vast beyond comprehension.
There was nothing he—or anyone else—could do to disturb a being that possessed such power.
"An apt description," Khai'Zar's voice rumbled in the back of his mind.
The Dragon had not gone back to sleep after his earlier meal, and Zeke found himself oddly grateful for it. Facing the Tree's pressure felt far less daunting with Khai'Zar's presence at his side.
He placed one foot in front of the other, forcing his steps to remain calm and steady despite the tightness coiling in his stomach.
Maya’s hand slipped into his as they neared the door. He couldn’t blame her—the place was unsettling, even without the strange absence of Mana. Deprived of natural light, the interior was brightened by bioluminescent moss that covered nearly every surface. Though it provided ample brightness, the color was wrong.
The shifting green and blue glow cast an eerie pallor over everything, making faces appear corpse-like. Shadows behaved unnaturally—either absent altogether or stretched far beyond their natural reach.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sound echoed through the stillness.
No answer came.
Zeke turned, intending to ask Lyriel how to proceed—only to find the platform behind them empty. She must have slipped away the moment they reached the entrance. Just then, the door opened.
A mousy elf stood in the doorway, her head barely reaching Zeke's chest. She looked like a human teenager, which meant she had to be at least two or three times his age.
“We are here to meet my sister’s mentor. Do you know who that is?” Zeke asked when the girl didn’t speak.
The girl turned.
“Where are you going?” He tried again.
She wordlessly gestured for them to follow, ignoring his questions altogether. Her movements were quick, nervous—the kind of energy that came from wanting to be anywhere else.
Zeke gave his sister a small, reassuring smile and entered first.
The corridors twisted deeper into the palace, each turn taking them further from the entrance. The walls pulsed with that same bioluminescent glow, creating the illusion that the tree itself was breathing around them.
Their guide's pace seemed to quicken with each step. Whatever awaited them at their destination, she seemed to want no part of it.
They emerged into a vast chamber that defied the logic of indoor spaces. Grass covered the floor—actual grass, not some decorative carpet. It bent beneath their feet, releasing the scent of crushed vegetation. At the chamber's center burned a flame that wasn't quite fire. It produced no smoke, no heat, yet light poured from it in waves that felt like morning sunlight.
Plants thrived everywhere. Vines climbed walls that stretched three stories high. Flowers bloomed in impossible colors. Small trees grew in disorganized clusters, their branches heavy with fruit Zeke couldn't identify.
The illusion of being outdoors was nearly perfect. Only the wooden ceiling far above betrayed the truth.
Several figures occupied the space. All girls, most appearing relatively young even by their race's standards. They sat in small groups, some reading, others practicing what looked like meditation. None acknowledged the new arrivals.
Only one girl rose from where she had been kneeling near the light source. She moved with purpose, heading straight toward them. At her approach, their guide took three quick steps backward, then turned and fled. Not walked. Not excused herself. Fled.
Zeke knew a warning sign when he saw one, but there was little he could do without knowing the type of danger that awaited them.
The approaching elf ignored Zeke entirely. Her attention was fixed on Maya with the intensity of a collector examining a rare specimen.
"So you're the human." Her voice carried the musical quality all elves possessed, but there was something sharp beneath it. "Smaller than I expected."
She circled Maya slowly, her gaze cataloging every detail. Maya stood frozen, uncertainty written across her features.
"Your Mana is underdeveloped. Your posture is atrocious. And your—" She grabbed Maya's chin, turning her head left, then right. "Bone structure is acceptable, I suppose. For a human."
Maya's eyes widened. She tried to pull back, but the elf's grip held firm.
Enough.
Zeke reached for the elf's wrist. His hand closed on empty air. She had moved—not dramatically, just a subtle shift that placed her beyond his reach while maintaining her hold on Maya.
She looked at him then. For the first time since entering the chamber, those bright eyes acknowledged his existence.
The loathing hit him like a physical force.
"Disgusting." The word dripped with centuries of cultivated contempt. "A filthy male dares to reach for me?"
Her free hand gestured. Vines erupted from the grass beneath his feet, coiling around his legs before he could react. Without his Spatial Awareness, there was no way he could have reacted. More wrapped his arms, pulling them against his sides. The bindings tightened until breathing became difficult.
Zeke’s brows furrowed. Apparently, not everyone was as restricted here as he was. This girl seemed to have no problem using her Magic. This could be a problem.
She released Maya and stepped toward him. Though she barely reached his shoulder, her presence seemed to fill the space.
"Quite audacious. And this from a human, and a man no less. "Each word came measured, precise. "Tell me, worm, have you never been properly educated before?"
Zeke opened his mouth to reply, but a hand closed around his throat, cutting the words short.
She had to stand on her toes to reach properly, which should have been absurd. Would have been, if not for the complete helplessness of his position. Without Mana, without mobility, he was nothing more than meat waiting to be butchered.
Her face came close, far too close. Confident in the strength of her restraints, she leaned in until their noses nearly touched.
Even through the fury building in his chest, Zeke couldn't ignore what proximity revealed. The elf's features held the kind of symmetry artists spent lifetimes trying to capture. Full lips curved in a smile that belonged on a statue. Bright eyes that caught the chamber's strange light and threw it back doubled. Her hair fell long on top but had been shaved along the sides, proudly displaying the pointed ears that marked her race.
Without the cruel delight twisting her expression, she might have been among the most beautiful women he had ever seen. Even with it, she still ranked high.
The thought came unbidden—and unwelcome.
Normally, he could banish such distractions with a flicker of Mind Magic, but here, cut off from his Core, he had no such luxury. So even while trapped and powerless, he was left at the mercy of his own treacherous body.
His vision darkened at the edges. Maya's worried face swam in and out of focus. The elf's smile widened, her grip tightening incrementally—drawing out the moment, savoring it.
The very moment he had been attacked, Zeke had seen some of the girls running off. Clearly, they were attempting to alert someone about what was happening. However, it now became clear that he could not wait for this person to arrive.
Waste or not, enough was enough.
The growl that had been building since she first touched his throat finally won.
His heart, already pounding from oxygen deprivation, released a single drop of Draconic Essence into his bloodstream.
The effect was immediate. Violent. Beautiful.
Fire raced through his veins. His muscles swelled, straining against the vines that suddenly felt like wet paper. His skin stiffened, taking on the hardness of scales. The minuscule dose of Essence sang through his body with more potency than ever before. It was as if the Tree's domain had somehow amplified its effect.
The vines snapped. Not torn, not stretched—snapped, like dry twigs beneath a boot.
His hands found her throat before her shock could translate into action. Her grip on him loosened, then released entirely. Not that it mattered. Her strength had become irrelevant, a child's tantrum against stone.
Zeke grinned. The expression felt too wide, too sharp. Yet somehow, very fitting for what he was about to do.
He drove his forehead into her face. Bone crunched. Blood sprayed. Golden light immediately began knitting the damage back together.
So he did it again. And again. And again.
Each impact brought that satisfying crunch of breaking cartilage. Each healing brought fresh bone to shatter. The cycle fed itself: destruction and restoration locked in perfect rhythm.
The Tree's power worked even here, even on this arrogant creature who thought herself untouchable. Her nose reformed. He broke it. Her orbital bone cracked. The light repaired it. Her jaw dislocated. Gold threads pulled it back into place.
Blood coated the grass—his face, his clothes, his everything. In an instant, he was drenched in it. The warmth against his skin was oddly pleasant, almost comforting. Slowly, it soothed the fury that had nearly consumed him.
Time lost all meaning. Seconds, minutes—he couldn’t tell. He cared nothing for such distinctions. There was only the impact, the breaking, the reforming, and the breaking again.
Then something wrapped around his limbs. Thin as grass, delicate as spider silk. Yet it pulled him backward with force that brooked no argument.
Even through his Essence-fueled fury, Zeke recognized the futility of struggling. This binding was different. Where the girl's vines had been mere wood animated by Mana, this was something else. Something he couldn’t contend with.
He let it drag him back. The rage still burned, but its edge had dulled against repetition.
"…I said, this ends now."
The voice registered slowly, as if traveling through water. Female. Elderly. Carrying the kind of authority that came from centuries of being obeyed.
Zeke forced his breathing to slow. The Draconic instincts fought him, demanding more violence, more dominance. He pushed them down through will alone.
His vision cleared gradually. The chamber came back into focus.
All the scattered girls had gathered behind a single figure. They huddled together like children seeking shelter. Even Maya stood among them, her face pale with shock.
The woman they sheltered behind looked ancient by elven standards. Her skin had the texture of bark, lined and weathered. Silver hair pooled around her feet in streams that seemed to move without wind. Yet she stood straight, unbowed by the weight of whatever years she carried.
"Who are you?" Zeke rasped. The words came out rougher than intended, his throat still adjusting from its near-crushing.
She met his gaze without flinching. Lesser beings would have looked away from what they found: The lingering traces of Dragon-rage, the promise of violence barely leashed, the blood that covered his entire form—still warm.
This one didn't.
"I am the Treemother," she said. "And this is my home."