Hector gazed down upon the sea of sylven sitting in the forest glade; a flood of greens, greys, browns and in between. He was standing atop the rafters of a hollow, leaning over the gnarled branches that encircled the opening. The circular glade itself was the center of the Odigwe arboreal, where all paths met and ended. It was a massive clearing that allowed hundreds of densely packed sylven, most likely the entire village, to attend the ceremony.

Muriel and Celdan stood at its center facing a sylven couple. Even from a distance Hector could see the newborn held in its drial’s (mother’s) arms. Muriel’s voice pierced the soft background of the rustling canopy and the faraway calls of the wildlife overhead, Shael translating their tongue beside him.

“Today marks a day of a new life, a new sylf into our tribe. Serendrial has blessed us with another chance. A chance to guide she who has not yet walked, she who has not yet spoken, she who has not yet hunted and wrought. She has a name, Nerimys, from the line of Aurai. Speak her name, and respect her line.”

“Her name is Nerimys, from the line of Aurai,” chanted all the surrounding sylven.

“Stand all, and know Nerimys Aurai. Know her well, and she shall know the tribe.”

Celdan, Muriel and the couple linked arms, and the sylven around them touched their shoulders, and the next sylven surrounding and the next; their heads bowed in reverence.

“Why are you not with them?” Hector asked Shael.

“I am not one of the Odigwe tribe. My place is as an onlooker, as you. To bond with a tribekin is a sacred rite, for you now see them as they see you, for all you are forevermore.”

Hector nodded. He understood the concept of gleaning one’s mind with the Voice, but to sense another person’s being as Celdan had shown him in his visions was so wildly abstract it was muddled and lost beyond his knowledge. All he had sensed before was shining amber lights in varying sizes, ebbing and flowing in a lull of life.

Some were so small it was barely a dim flicker, but there were so many to join with each other that they became a glowing torrent. Others fleeted by themselves, wild and impetuous, blazing ever so brightly amidst the void. But there were so many lights that it was not stifled by the darkness; the dark was their vessel.

Hector had come to realize the darkness was merely space, and the lights were countless souls inhabiting the material plane that was the forest.

“Do you believe your ancestors leave the world to you, and the next to come?” Hector murmured, watching the circle of linked arms in still harmony.

Shael frowned. “We do not inherit the world from our ancestors; we merely borrow it from our children. This is our way.”

Hector was beginning to grasp the sylven way of life, like a blind man reaching for the suns’ light. He would not be able to see it, but he could feel its warmth. To leave the world not just as it were, but in better form than even before. A philosophy the sylven did not just state nor decree, but devoted upon freely.

Hector shifted and grimaced. It was not so long ago that he had sat atop such heights and looked down upon the deaths of their kind with no remorse. Now he was granted an insight into their sacred rites, a celebration of their lives. How savage and fickle we are, he thought. Compared to those we thought savage.

“The ceremony has passed,” Shael spoke in her native tongue. “Are you communing with your spirit?”

Hector shook his head. “No, I’m just beginning to understand why Celdan left to live amongst your people.”

“You already understand Draiell,” Shael noted. “It has not even been a month.”

It was true. Whatever had happened to his mind with Conrad’s enchantment, he now thought differently. Distant memories murky from time now came to him in lucid dreams. In the echoes of his childhood he had glimpsed more of Baric’s stern face than his father’s, a silent guardian.

Roth’s impatient tone, every word a scold, “Pivot with your front foot. Extend with your sword arm. Widen your stance.”

Hector shrugged, “I’m a quick learner.”

Shael’s eyes narrowed as she regarded him. She turned to the mossy overhang behind them. “Come. You must know more of the Ro et Daal (path of war).”

“When did your people create the Ro et Daal?” Hector asked as he followed her down the curving steps.

“It was one of our ways since before your kind came to Orr. When we were still a young race, descended after the Orrkin, we warred amongst ourselves over hold of Orr. It was a dark age for my people. Each tribe had developed their own Ro et Daal, seeking to gain advantage over the other.”

“So when we settled Orr, you were driven to unity?”

“We united as one people long before your arrival. This is a story all younglings are taught by the Seers. It is of the first Elder Seer, Ith, his line of Delvoch.”

Long ago, before the time of the Sundering, Orr was a land that was whole and vast. But its races were far from united. Sylven warred over dominion of the open plains and fertile lands free from the wild dangers of the Elder Forest.

Tribes were separated by color of skin, a flawed judgment that led to countless deaths. All tribes had their own lands that were jealously guarded and taken with sylven blood.

There were two neighbouring tribes that warred with each other, the tribe of the hills and the tribe of the woods. The hills tribe had hair black as night’s veil and skin grey as shale. The woods tribe had hair brown as wood and skin green as fresh leaf.

One night a grey vanni of the hills came to raid the village of the woods, and kill one of their own as a rite of his passing to become a warrior of the grey. His name was Avose, of the line Crinn. For it was the season of the rite of passing, when the winds howled longest and loudest and blood spilled most between the tribes.

He sneaked through the patrols and stalked the village, searching for a worthy mark. He entered one hut, bone dagger ready to taste first blood. What Avos found was a green sylf hunched to a corner. The sylf held out her own dagger poised in defense, teeth bared, ready to fight for her life.

Avos stopped and said, “You know why I have come. Cut off your hair braid, and I shall leave you here.”

The sylf paused. A moment passed, and a braid of hair of chestnut brown was thrown to the ground. Avose took the braid and skirted from tree to tree to head back to his village in the hills.

Weeks passed and Avose Crinn was now a warrior of the grey. One night he stood watch over his village. He felt a bone dagger pressed against his throat.

“What is your name?” It was a sylf’s voice.

“Avose Crinn.”

“Avose Crinn. You know why I have come. Cut off a lock of your hair, and I shall leave you here alive.”

Avose did so and handed a lock of hair dark as shadow.

“Who are you?” He turned to ask.

Her form was now visible in the soft light of Weilün. It was the same sylf whom he had left behind.

“My name is Lithi Delvoch.”

“Will I see you again, Lithi Delvoch?”

She turned to face him.

“In the woods between the hills. There is a bleached tree.”

Avose nodded, “I know of it.”

“Then let us go there.”

So they journeyed to the grounds between the two tribes and sat down beside the great tree, its trunk deathly white and bare of any leaves. They talked of the eternal war between their tribes. Both were weary of further bloodshed. Both had lost much. When it was first light they each turned back back to their own people, but it would not be the last time they met at the bleached tree.

Many nights passed, and they grew to respect each other. Respect turned to warmth, warmth burned to love, and Lithi would go on to carry their child.

“We must leave this place,” Avose said, for Lithi was not in union with any vanni of her tribe.

“We must,” Lithi agreed. “But where?”

“We will go beyond the woods of your village,” Avose said. “To the Elder Forest.”

The Elder Forest was home to the Orrkin, who attacked any they found within their borders. Newborn deformed or found too weak were left in their forest, never to be seen again.

With a heavy heart Lithi agreed with Avose’s decision, for they had no other choice. They journeyed deeper past the sapling woods to the towering trees of the Elder Forest. Deeper still they went, and the forest grew sunless under its many leaves. They stopped to drink water from a nearby stream.

Beady amber eyes glinted in the shade, and hulking forms of Orrkin stepped into the surviving shafts of suns’ light, surrounding them. The Orrkin did not attack however. Instead one beckoned them forward.

Avose warily stepped to face the Orrkin. The Orrkin held out a hand that could engulf Avose’s head, still as the trees around them. Avose held out his own hand and slowly reached to meet the Orrkin’s open palm.

He opened his eyes.

“They mean us no harm,” Avose said. “They will lead us to our new home.”

So they journeyed ever deeper, until they reached the First Arbor, the birthplace of all life on Orr. It was a place of branchworks each large enough to house entire villages, such was the size of the Serendrial’s Arbor even in our history. They found the abandoned newborn from various tribes grown to fledglings, their deformities healed by the Orrkin through their ways. These were the first Seers.

Avose and Lithi rejoiced with them, for they found that they were not alone. In time their newborn vann was brought into Orr, Ith of the line Delvoch. A union between two tribes, between two peoples. Ith had hair dark as night yet had skin green as a new leaf. He grew into the world with a pure heart and a life free of the constant bloodshed his Ailur (parents) were brought up in.

One day, when Ith had grown from newling to a youngling, he asked his father, “Why do we never cross the forest to the land beyond?”

Avose answered with care, “Because the peoples’ hearts there are blackened with hate and festered with fear. Fear to treat another with kindness as I gave your mother. To end the cycle of hatred, you must start with an act of love.”

Ith thought over his father’s words. He decided then that he would help all the people across the forest, and show them the way of Serendrial. For the Seers were the first among our kind to commune with the First Arbor, and along with the Orrkin taught Ith her way. The way of Serendrial cherished all life, and not avoided but celebrated the cycle of natural end and rebirth, for such was the balance of Orr.

Our kind had warped and skewed this way in the belief that in ending another tribe’s being would grant us a longer richer life in the next. In truth we were slowly dwindling our people, and even the boon of birth Serendrial had granted us was being overcome with our sateless bloodshed. Entire lines died out in the tribe wars, never to be heard of again.

Over the years Ith grew taller than his father and wiser beyond his span through the teachings of the Seers and the Orrkin. Soon there were others, mixed of tribal blood like him, that shared in his belief that the people across the forest could be redeemed.

One day, upon meditating inside the First Arbor, Ith opened his eyes. He knew how to show his mother’s and father’s people the way. In this he became the first Elder Seer, and would share his enlightenment with the other fledglings. When his Ailur (parents) and the Ailur of his fellow mixed bloods were fast asleep, they tread softly out and journeyed farther than they had ever gone from the Arbor.

They left without warning, for though their Ailur were wise and benevolent, they were fearful of the bloody ways of their people, and sought to protect their fledglings from such bloodshed. Ith knew however that to leave the wound of hate to fester would eventually lead to the end of his people. So they journeyed on.

The Elder Forest shrank to its sapling woods, where they reached the village of Ith’s mother past suns’ rise. The tribe of the green saw sylfi and vanni of various shades bearing the attributes of different tribes. The whole village came out to see these mixed bloods, who had caused the guards that attacked them to suddenly weep and wail by their touch.

The tribe’s chieftain, Khyr of the line Sulloch, stepped forward to face Ith. Khyr stood two heads over the fledgling, built akin to a Tauri (ox), but Ith looked up to face his hateful stare.

Despite his size Khyr whipped his club at Ith’s head with blinding speed. Ith had trained in both ways of his mother’s and father’s Ro et Daal, and ducked deftly underneath the mighty strike to rest his hand over Khyr’s forehead.

Khyr stopped, eyes wide with understanding. Serendrial through Ith showed the chieftain every life he taken, every torment and pain he had ever given. Khyr then wept with sorrow for all the suffering he had caused.

The towering chieftain now knelt before Ith. “What must I do to make it stop?” Khyr asked.

Ith looked down at Khyr and said, “Rise, for you now know how far you and your people have gone from the way. Live free of your old hatreds and fears, and know that we are all one people, connected and whole. That is enough.”

The chieftain of the woods bowed before him, as did the rest of the tribe to receive the touch of Serendrial. Not one sylvan of the woods would ever be the same again, for they now understood the true way of living.

Ith and the other Elders left for the tribe of the hills.

Upon finding Ith and the other fledglings gone, Avose and Lithi set out to find them, crossing over to the woods after so many years despite their fears. Lithi found her past tribe greet her and her mate with warm welcome instead of striking them down where they stood. They were wary of such actions, for fear had crept into their hearts as brambles twisting round them. They asked of Ith and the other fledglings, and were told that they had gone to free the tribe of the hills.

Fearing the worst, Avose went back to his past tribe alongside his mate Lithi. They found Ith and the other fledglings celebrating with the people of the grey. The darkness that had once consumed their hearts and minds had been cleared and the people of the grey had also been set free.

Avose asked Ith, “What have you wrought, my vann (son)?”

Ith said, “Serendrial has shown them the way, saph (father). Just as it has been shown to drian’s (mother’s) people. Will you accept Serendrial’s touch?”

Avose and Lithi nodded, and Ith placed his hand on their foreheads. The fear that held them in its thorny grip was cleared by the touch of Serendrial, and they rejoiced in awe of her way.

“How can we learn to show this way to others?” Avose asked.

“Go back to the First Arbor, and Serendrial shall guide you,” Ith answered.

Avose and Lithi journeyed back to Serendrial’s Arbor, knowing what Ith and the others with him had to do. News of the tribes of the grey and green now living in harmony traveled like the winds, and the other tribes built walls around their villages to protect them from whatever influence they saw as madness.

Ith and the other Elders would not let walls stop them however, yet the darkness in the peoples’ hearts caused them to fight tooth and nail against them. Tribe after tribe were shown the way, but one Elder after another fell with each freeing. Soon Ith was the only one to walk alone; to the last tribe of the sands.

By day he basked in the warmth of Heli and Oss (suns), granting him strength. By night he walked by the pale light of Weilün (moon). Whereas the beasts of the sands would devour any other that came so close to their domain, he was left alone by the grace of Serendrial, and guided to pools of water to sate his thirst.

He reached the village when the suns were at their highest peak. The tribe of the sands had heard of his coming, for they were the last still with darkness tainting their hearts and minds. The chieftain was Ulyss, of the line Acharr. She stepped out from their walls to meet him.

“You have journeyed far to die here,” Ulyss said.

“If my death will free you all, then I may die in peace,” Ith said.

Ulyss began her attack, striking with her spear like a writhing viper. At this time Ith had been taught all the Ro et Daal of the past tribes he had freed, and he dodged and used his surroundings to best the chieftain, skirting round sand that reflected off the suns’ light to blind her. His cheek grazed off the blade of her spear, and his palm landed onto her forehead. Her eyes opened, and Ulyss was shown the way.

“You will die soon,” Ulyss promised solemnly. “My spear was tipped with the poison of an elder drakul, of which there is no antidote.”

Ith nodded, “Then I must move with haste.”

He freed each sylvan, but the poison was taking effect and slowing his movements. Such was his resolve however, that even when his veins were black with burning poison, he laid a staggering hand onto the head of the last unfreed.

With his duty upheld and with heavy eyes Ith knelt, head down, and was still. As soon as he fell clouds split the sky and rain showered the village. A tree sprouted from the hard dry earth to cover his body, towering as an Elder Tree. The tribe wept with the sky of his loss, and grass sprang out from the sands as well as water that seeped and pooled. So would the village of the sands be turned to the Oasis of Ith, remembered forever as the first Elder, the Seer to unite the sylvan race and show us all the way of Serendrial.

Hector sat cross legged facing Shael on the grass of the clearing, interrupted from the trance of her tale in its ending. Butterflies fluttered and flitted past, bright turquoise as the flowers they supped from.

“This way you speak of, it is the Sight of Serendrial?”

Shael breathed deeply. “It is much more than that. To explain it takes more than words. The visions you have gleaned from Celdan are a sliver of its meaning. Every sylvan is connected through the way.”

“This way of Serendrial spread through touch, sounds akin to a plague.”

Shael frowned. “It is as much a plague as water is to one addled by thirst. It is what allows us to coexist as one people, living in harmony. The way does not free one’s self from strife, but how to live in peace with it.”

“Can a human be shown the way then?”

“It is possible, but only through mated union. Celdan has proven this. Your kind is different from us in both body and soul. The touch of Serendrial cannot reach you unless you give yourself freely, when you have bonded with a sylvan.”

“So to be shown the way, I would have to mate with you.”

“Yes, or that of another sylf.”

They faced each other motionless, neither taking their eyes off of the other. Shael stirred and looked away.

“You have already made your choice however, have you not?” She murmured.

“And you act like you have no choice,” Hector said. “This isn’t how people should live.”

“What do you know of the duty of a sylf to her children, to her people?” Shael snapped. “Ravshi tests those that are worthy. It is true, and truer than the notions of love.”

“What of Avose and Lithi?” Hector asked. “If they did not love, there would have been no Ith, and there would have been no way.”

“Love is something that had to be left behind. For duty was to come first, so that the strong could become stronger to survive your kind.”

Hector paused, and finally said, “I’m sorry. It was ignorant of me to say. What humanity has done to your people is… unforgivable.”

“Such is the way,” Shael said warily, “as the Seers say. We cannot change the nature of things, but we can choose how we act to such events. What has transgressed is already done. My people have chosen to make their stand here in this forest, back to our very roots. What will you do?”

The sounds of the forest filled Hector’s silence. A chirruping of birds. The ever present rustle of the leafy canopy. Water trickling over a nearby rocky creek. These sounds soothed Hector as he went through the thoughts that raced in his mind.

“I don’t know,” he began. “There are too many elements in this war. Will your people even fight for my cause? Will my kind fight for me once they know I am alive? How can I explain to them that our peoples can live in peaceful coexistence after millennia of war and hatred? Will I be betrayed like my father by my own kind, blindsided and alone?” Hector placed his fingers over the temples of his head. “I don’t want to die like my father. I do not even wish to live like he did. Is that worse to say?”

“Is this not something you would speak of to Celdan?” Shael asked.

Hector shrugged, “He would probably say some vague comparison with nature. ‘A flower blooms when it is time. It does not wait, it just does.’”

Shael smirked, “That wasn’t half bad. You have the makings of a Seer yet.” She stood up to grab the training staves that rested next to a tree trunk thrice a man’s arms span wide.

“Come,” she tossed a staff to Hector. “Let’s see how your form has progressed.”

“We have not yet started the Ro et Rav,” Hector stated. Shael’s staff lanced forward which was barely parried away.

“Are you questioning my methods?” Shael asked, following with another strike, dull cracks of wood striking against wood. Hector was too focused to answer, lifting a foot from a trip before Shael swiftly spun and hooked the wood stave round his standing leg, sweeping him off the ground.

“Damn,” Hector sat up and groaned, massaging his right calf.

“Get up,” Shael said mercilessly. Hector knew better than to refuse, for when she was training him she was both judge and executioner. They continued the rhythm to strike, dodge, parry, or block, an endless chain of action followed by another. Hector was always caught in the defensive, for Shael did not let up. Constantly attacking from a new angle or with an unpredictable move or feint that would jar him from finding a pattern to her way of fighting.

With physically pained frustration Hector attempted what Conrad had done when the spirit had controlled his body, to close the distance and negate the range of Shael’s staff. But the latter was easier said than done. And when Hector glanced off Shael’s staff to the side, stepping closer, she kicked out with her rear leg to his midsection, knocking the wind out of him back.

Catching his breath Hector gritted his teeth and swung downward. When Shael brought her staff up with both hands horizontally to block, he let go of his own to grip the infuriating piece of wood that was the giver of many welts and bruising. Shael tripped him but Hector would not be denied, holding onto the stave with fierce determination.

He stepped closer, and let go of the weapon suddenly to dash below and wrap his arms around her waist. He lifted Shael to the side and threw her to the grassy earth. Hector scrambled up to mount her and she arched her hips out, causing him to lose ground and she reversed their position, now her on top.

Both were now breathing hard from their sparring. Her hands lay on his chest, and remained there. Her golden eyes, dark pools at their center that drawed him in stared back keenly.

“You are ready,” Shael murmured. She bent down and he propped himself up, dangerously close, dark green hair tickling his face, her warm breath smelling of mintleaf, before she pushed him back down to stand. “To train with the sticks now.”

Hector exhaled slowly and lay on the ground, finding Shael’s form bathed in the suns’ rays. Strands of her hair strayed with the soft breeze, a halo of light crowning her head. She extended her hand to pull him up. The day would be long and arduous, but with Shael as his teacher Hector was finding the training harder and harder to refuse.