"I'm afraid that will not be possible at the moment,"—
"Of course it isn't," Sophia quickly interjected, stepping forward before anyone else could react, glancing around with nervous energy. "I'm sure Lord Izikel was just confused."
Her fingers twitched ever so slightly, betraying the unease she tried to mask. Izikel saw through it instantly. She wasn't just trying to smooth things over—she was actively working to prevent suspicion, to keep the Chief from realizing that Izikel's memories were not intact.
A hushed whisper met his ear. Lyzah, standing close, her voice trembling.
"Izikel, I already told you—"
But Izikel cut her off, his voice rising just enough for Chief Markis to hear.
"I know. No outsider has visited the Old Tree in years, not even the other Druids… but fifteen years ago, my father, alongside the Lord Commander, was permitted to see it. Why can't I?"
Lyzah had mentioned the strict rules—that only the Tree Keepers and the Chief himself could approach the sacred tree—but she hadn't explained why. The Old Tree was the Altar of the Druids, a revered place of worship. But it suddenly became restricted.
It made no sense to him so he figured it was a thing of status, maybe if he just put his foot down they would let him. He was the son of the priest after all.
Before anyone else could speak, Chief Markis sighed, his calm yet weighted voice cutting through the tension.
"Very well, Lord Izikel. I suppose you were bound to find out eventually… The rest of you will wait here."
Izikel's pulse quickened. Find out what, exactly? His gaze flickered to Sophia, giving her a small nod to stay put before following the Chief into the unknown.
The path they walked was eerily quiet, the usual forest chatter of birds and insects strangely absent. Towering trees lined either side of the winding dirt road, their verdant leaves filtering the dappled sunlight above. As they moved deeper, the air grew heavier, charged with something… off.
Izikel wasn't afraid. He knew, with certainty, that Markis posed no threat. There was a tranquility about the man, an undeniable purity in his presence. His aura, though powerful, carried no malice. Still, Izikel remained on edge, his instincts sharp. He was ready to summon his weapon at a moment's notice.
They walked for nearly twenty minutes before Izikel began noticing subtle changes. The forest, once lush and full of green, was shifting. The leaves had taken on a strange, autumnal hue—vivid oranges and deep ambers clashing against the usual green. It was beautiful at first, reminding of fall back on Earth. But the deeper they went, the more unsettling the sight became.
Then, they turned a bend in the road—and Izikel stopped dead in his tracks.
His breath hitched.
Before him stretched a world stripped of color, stripped of life. The trees were blackened husks, brittle and skeletal. The ground was ashen, lifeless. Some trees still clung desperately to withered, shriveled leaves, but most had surrendered to decay. A once-thriving forest, now nothing but a graveyard.
A deep chill settled in his bones. "What… is this?"
He stepped forward hesitantly, reaching out to touch one of the blackened trunks. The moment his fingers brushed the bark, the entire tree crumbled to dust. A startled gasp left his lips as he yanked his hand back, watching the remains scatter into the wind.
Markis's voice was solemn. "Lord Izikel… we are here."
Izikel lifted his gaze, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe.
The Old Tree of Moon Hill stood before him.
He had seen it before, from the distance of the manor, a towering monument of legend. But standing in its presence was something else entirely. It was massive—its trunk thick and ancient, its sprawling branches reaching toward the heavens like the hands of a god. It was overwhelming, a force of nature so grand it defied logic.
Izikel pressed his palm against its bark. The rough, uneven texture beneath his fingers grounded him, confirmed its existence. From afar, it seemed like it was just another fictional impossibility existing in this world but now… now he had actually touched it. It was real.
Markis spoke again, voice laced with sorrow. "The Old One is sick."
Izikel turned sharply. "What?"
"The Old One is dying," Markis said, his tone as heavy as the air around them. "And it is taking the forest with it."
Izikel's stomach twisted. His mind reeled. He hadn't considered that the tree could be suffering from any disease,
'Since when could trees even fall sick?'
"What exactly is happening to the tree?" he demanded.
Markis hesitated, clearly not expecting the question. He had assumed Izikel would be content simply seeing the Old Tree, but the boy's sharp gaze told him otherwise. There was more to him than met the eye.
"The Altar," Markis finally said, "is drawing energy from the life around it. We fear it will consume everything in the forest."
Izikel's expression darkened. He wasn't just hearing the words—he was processing them, dissecting them, understanding them and Markis could only marvel at what he was seeing, was Izikel always this intelligent?
Even the way he handled the situation with the villagers earlier, it was all so mature. It was as if the child had become wiser after brushing with death.
"Can it affect human life?" Izikel asked.
Markis quickly shook his head. "No, Lord Izikel. The trees are only dying because they physically rely on the Old One's divine energy. Humans are not bound to it in the same way."
Izikel exhaled, tension easing slightly. At least it wasn't a direct threat to the village. At least, not yet.
"But," Markis continued, "if left unchecked, the decay will spread. In a few years, it could reach the village."
Izikel's jaw clenched. "Then what are you doing about it?"
Markis smiled, though there was a flicker of exhaustion in his eyes. "Me and my children will heal it before that happens."
Izikel studied the man carefully. There was faith in his voice. Conviction. But Izikel wasn't sure faith alone would be enough.