A Fool’s Fate isn’t ordained, just predictable. Fate is prediction, and prophecy is a lie—anyone who says otherwise is a fool. Crow’s are also creatures of fate—harbingers. They do not foretell doom but warn of its potential—ignore the signs, and you’ll understand the truth of a Fool’s Fate.

~Morrigan, The Mysterious Goddess of Fate

S.E. 13026

Oiche was unique. Nine Keystones existed, one on each continent, and one Guardian per Keystone. The Keystone anchored Tur Briste, the Shattered Tower, to this world. It was also one of the nine Portals of Ascension—a permanent entry into the tower.

None of the other continents had Father Oak, which had grown around its Keystone. The portal to the tower was deep within its trunk, and while the Druid Order controlled access, they would not deny entry—this was an unspoken rule among cultivators.

All of that was only one facet of Oiche’s uniqueness. Situated under such a massive canopy without sunlight or precipitation, the city’s buildings, roads, and other industries also had a very distinct look and feel.

Some restaurants chose not to use buildings, except for their kitchen and storage. Instead, they created open terraces with garden walls, leaving the entire place open-aired. Stores were large buildings several stories tall but flat on top—same with homes and manors. Buildings didn’t need pitched roofs because there was no precipitation.

Roads were wide and flat, most layered with close fit stone. Skywalks also existed as walkways between larger buildings and over some wetlands. Lack of rain didn’t mean there weren’t natural springs and lakes formed throughout the entire area.

Residents only had to worry about one weather condition—the cold. Because they were on the northern continent, they had bitterly cold winters and frost. Those flat roofs became terraces and gardens, thick insulation to the buildings below them. Mugna, the name of the Guardian, could shape Father Oak. Residents petition the Druid Council to help create piping made from Father Oak’s roots, which aided in plumbing and piping heat from the depths of the earth.

Crow stared in wide-eyed wonder as his papa explained. There were also manors owned by the clans that contained several lodges—but these weren’t nearly as impressive as some private residences. A large lodge was almost like a private hotel. At the entrance was an open yard with a deck leading into a lobby or communal living space. Most residents would use this place to read, relax, and to have dinner. Hallways branched off this place, creating private wings for families—bedrooms connected to these halls.

The principal reason for these lobbies was the wood-burning fireplace. This one thing provided a stove and heating for the entire building. It was very economical considering how brutally cold winters were. Ovates or higher didn’t worry about the heat so much because they could use their Source to warm their bodies, but someone like Crow still relied on the warmth of a fire to survive.

“Do you know what an Ovate is?” Conall asked.

“A Druid in training. They’ve opened their Source but have yet to attain their Shield.”

“Exactly right. Do you know what a Bard is?”

“A title given to someone like me. A person who has activated their bloodline and has a nearly perfect memory.”

“Yes. Bards hold high status among our people. As Druids, we are natural historians and academics that pursue the study of the natural world. The outside world believes we are nature lovers, but is that true?”

“No…?” Crow’s answer drew out the word, turning into a question more than a statement.

“Ha! We love nature, but it is more about ecology. It is about understanding the natural balance of the world between man, animal, plant, and the elements all around us. I mention this because Bards, like you, eventually choose a path. They seek knowledge on a particular topic and spend their entire lives trying to advance our understanding of that path. A Bard’s greatest quest is to get a glimpse of the Truths—the laws that govern our world.”

“Boring!” Crow grumbled.

“Is it? Did you enjoy learning to use your bow from uncle Barnes?”

“Yes, can he visit again?”

“He is a Bard. His title is the Endless Rain because he pursues knowledge related to bows, arrows, flight, trajectory, materials, and more. Finding a path isn’t boring if you choose your path well.”

Crow’s eyes lit up, finally intrigued, but as a child, he was easily distracted.

“Papa, what is that?” His little hand pointed at an open-air location with a small building in the back that had smoke rising out of it. In the open area were garden walls, dividers that created maze-like sections between seating areas. Each area had tables loaded with food and people sitting around them laughing, eating, and drinking.

“That place is Night Sky Restaurant. Most restaurants under Father Oak are like that since they have little in the way of wares, they can serve their guests under the sky.”

“But no night sky here, papa, that’s a silly name.”

Conall chuckled and ruffled his kid’s hair. They’d call places like that a pavilion in the tower, assuming it had a roof and no walls.

“See those places, rising tall but looking as if built from one piece of wood? That is part of Father Oak. Mugna formed most of these buildings using his massive root system. Those—the buildings built like minor fortresses—are used to protect wares, but they have another important role. They are civilian shelters if we invaders break into our city.”

“He made all these?” Crow’s awed voice caused Conall to grin.

“Nope, but he could have. They make some buildings of stone or wood from nearby forests. However, most of the plants and trees stem from his roots. Normal plants can’t survive in this sunlight deprived area. Look over there—” Conall pointed towards a nearby grand plaza lined with over a dozen of those tall wooden structures. Some appeared to be one solid smooth surface, but others had intricately twisted wood of various colors woven together. “They make the solid ones out of Father Oak’s roots. They create the others by twisting and braiding smaller trees, offshoots of the roots, together. Weaving them like that is very costly, but the artistry is worth it. But over there…” Conall’s hand shift towards another small plaza. “Those buildings weren’t made from Father Oak—their craftsmanship is good, but you can tell they used shaped wood.”

“How do they weave it?” Crow asked breathlessly, trying to take it all in. His eyes were nearly bigger than his head.

“All things contain Origin energy. Father Oak has it in abundance, and Mugna, or the Druid Council with his permission, can shape the wood.”

“Papa is talking about mana?”

“Nope, Origin. Mana is tamed origin power, or maybe diluted is a better word for it.”

“What’s d-diluted mean?”

“Like tea, if you add more water, the flavor is weaker. Mana is Origin energy watered down by elemental affinities. It makes it so our bodies can withstand it. Our Source, if awakened, reverses the process and attempts to purify mana back into Origin energy. Cultivating takes time and dedication to do it right, and those with weak willpower never climb high.”

“Is Origin energy the only energy?”

“It is the root of all energy. The Source is our Soul energy, or the two are so intertwined as to be the same. We can use it to strengthen the Mind and Body too. Mana is what we call the tame energy our bodies can safely absorb. Easterns call it Qi, but they use it mostly for body refining to improve their martial ability. The shamans on one of the central continents call it Spirit—many dominant races call it Spirit or Soul energy. They also further classify it—”

“Boring,” Crow grumbled. He’d heard his papa explain this a hundred times. The Source cultivates energy. Those that harness it label that energy differently—mana, Qi, Spirit, Soul, Hex, and maybe a hundred more known or unknown variations. They used these determinations in Technique and Ability manuals, which helped identify where the skill originated. “Why do we call it mana?”

“Well… I don’t want to bore you?” Conall said with a grin.

“Papa!”

“I’ll give you the short version. Druids have been around for a very long time, but we spent thousands of years in hiding. Our order was almost wiped out of existence, and only nine clans survived that calamity. Danu and Mugna settled us on this continent, which we called Darach, and we are Darachians. In the old language, Darach means oak, and so we became the Darachians, Druids of the Oak— ”

“Papa, that isn’t mana.”

“I’m getting there, you impatient brat! For Druids, losing our history is a heavy blow, and we lost a lot during that time. You’ll find a lot of what we know ends at around the time we arrived here. Mana was something the Darachians used. It is unknown if it was initially a Druid word or not. Because we study the natural world, seeking its Truths, mana is a suitable word—it means supernatural power. Now that we openly walk the earth as Druids once more, our secret term for Druids of the Oak is out of favor. It doesn’t change the fact that our continent’s name is Darach.”

Crow didn’t understand, not really, but he remembered every word his father spoke. He rarely interacted with other kids, so he didn’t know that his ability to remember everything was rare. Despite the seemingly leisurely tour, papa was moving quickly towards a destination, and soon a growing crowd ended their conversation.

He had once asked his papa why Father Oak didn’t stop bad things from happening in Oiche, and it was something Crow pondered still. His father said that fate and karma existed in this world, and the gods had to be careful not to intervene too much, or they’d receive a backlash—usually as a calamity. Father Oak wouldn’t involve itself in petty world affairs, and he enforced only one rule—no killing under his canopy. He’d react instantly by striking down anyone that broke that rule. Papa told him it was because when a person died, their blood essence would seep into the soil, which contaminated his roots.

“Sweet Onion,” Crow muttered after seeing the store sign ahead of them. He’d learned to read about six months ago, which was only possible due to his eidetic memory.

He’d heard the name of this place from his father; it was one of the Maddox clan’s primary sources of income. The bottom floor was a grocery mart, and it sold rare and hard to find ingredients. It even stockpiled a lot of lesser plants and herbs in some warehouses in the outer city.

The second floor sold books, techniques, and resources for cultivators. The third, fourth, and fifth floors were by invitation only, and it sold unique goods that didn’t exist anywhere else in Oiche. Not only that, they bought oddities, things that had no history but contained enough mystery that they weren’t simple items.

The sixth floor was clan only, but no one—not even papa—knew what was on that floor.

The store got its name because its success came from selling sweet onions—but not your typical garden variety. Maddox clan’s ancestral grounds were in the heart of a forest, and they’d found wild sweet onions growing there. Because it contained a high concentration of mana, it later became a key ingredient used in a pill that could assist people that had just awakened their Source. Its high price was because demand was much higher than supply. Maddox clan could only produce so many onions every year.

Seeing the store up close, it reminded Crow of a castle’s tower. He was further sold on the idea when he saw another tower not far down the road with a wall connecting the two together. There was even a closed gate in the center of the wall.

The crowd gathered around the other tower.

Conall picked Crow up and spoke into the boy’s ear. “Our clan’s manor is beyond that wall. On the other side are several lodges, private courtyards, and one big courtyard which spans the back wall along the barrier.”

“Barrier?” Crow asked with his face all scrunched up. He could see a forest behind the manor, but he wasn’t sure if that reached the massive trunk of Father Oak. It didn’t matter how many times he saw the enormous oak—it always inspired awe.

“It’s a formation—you’ll learn about them in time. That barrier is so powerful that not even a hundred of me could destroy it. That forest is also part of Father Oak, and it is the only reason they can grow in this land of darkness. We call that area the Sacred Grove, of which there are two—east and west. In the South, Temple of the False Dawn—sometimes called Temple of Mugna—divides the two groves with a tunnel that leads to the Portal of Ascension. They crafted the tunnel from Father Oak’s root, which means everyone coming or going must go through the temple. North is the Heavenly Bard Amphitheater—built into Father Oak’s trunk with enough seating to hold hundreds of thousands of people.”

“What is an amp-am-ampa—what is that?”

Conall chuckled as he listened to his son stumble over the word. The boy’s tongue stuck out of the side of his mouth as he concentrated on thinking before trying the word again.

“Amphitheater?” Crow asked hesitantly, keeping his tongue from twisting the word once more.

“It’s like in our clan, where the elders speak. It has a central area or stage, with seating surrounding it. Only this one is a living amphitheater and is always available to anyone that has opened their Source. A Druid with an affinity towards the wood element, it is one of the best places for them to cultivate.”

“What is that place?” Crow asked, pointing to the place where the crowd gathered.

“We call it the House of Danu, a place of healing. Your uncle manages it, and it is where he can practice his Medik craft. Between Luthais and Song Lin, the miracles in healing, and the healers they’ve trained, it has gained a lot of attention. It has had its troubles, mostly because of Song Lin.”

“Aunt Lin? No. She is too nice. No one would hurt her.”

“No one will. Lin’er is an eastern Alchemist, so they fear her. It is why they call her a demon or witch, and those small-minded people refuse her aid and find trouble with our healing house. I need to settle this,” Conall told his boy, but in reality, most of the clowns causing trouble wouldn’t dare push it too far. It is why he didn’t rush over immediately.

“Is papa strong?”

Conall sighed. He put his son down, who had recently taken on more features from his mother. In his heart, he wanted to tell his boy no; he wasn’t strong. Tell him he lacked enough power to prevent his wife from getting snatched. But outside Tur Briste, they considered his Topaz Shield strong enough to dominate a country or even an entire continent.