High above the city, cloaked in shadow and magic, a figure floated in the air. Black robes billowed in the wind as the man focused his energy on a vast spell. Mr. F was conducting the Soul Funnel, a spell designed to capture the souls of the fallen. His power spread across the city, invisible tendrils of magic seeping into every corner of the battlefield.

For Mr. F, the destruction of the city was merely a means to an end. The city could always be rebuilt. The lives lost today would serve him well—each soul collected through the funnel would extend his life, fortifying his magic and furthering his research. To him, the chaos and death were opportunities, not tragedies.

But something pulled his attention from the spell. A cry—Emma's voice, raw with desperation, pierced the air. He glanced down and saw her, face twisted in anguish, standing before the enormous mole that threatened to bring the entire city down. Behind her, the dome began to collapse, inch by inch.

Mr. F felt a strange tug of hesitation. It wasn't the citizens he cared about. No, they were irrelevant to him. But his students—Albert and Betty—were hiding in the dome. If it fell, they would be crushed along with the rest of the civilians. His mind wavered for a moment. Should he save them? Could he? Every second spent not focusing on his Soul Funnel would cost him valuable souls, potential power slipping through his fingers like sand.

He shook his head, almost disgusted by his own indecision. The Soul Pact he had made was clear—he was only required to protect the city, not its people. It was a convenient technicality. He had no obligation to risk his own plans for anyone.

But before he could settle on his decision, something appeared before his eyes.

A glowing message, bright and undeniable, materialized in the air.

[Emergency Quest Generated: …]

Mr. F's heart sank as the words began to form in front of him. He had a bad feeling about this.

…

Betty and Albert huddled together beneath the massive dome, their hearts pounding in their chests as the ground beneath them trembled violently. The citizens crammed into the shelter were gripped by a suffocating panic, their fear palpable as no one knew what horrors were unfolding outside the walls. The low rumble of destruction vibrated through the stone structure, growing louder with every passing second.

Then, without warning, chunks of the dome's ceiling began to crack and crumble, crashing down in heavy slabs around the terrified crowd. The smaller pieces were dodged by those quick enough or strong enough to shield themselves with magic. But as fate would have it, a particularly large chunk of stone broke free and plummeted toward the ground near where Betty and Albert stood. A woman nearby, paralyzed by fear, was too slow to react. Her scream was abruptly silenced as the stone crushed her beneath its weight.

Betty gasped, covering her mouth with trembling hands, her eyes wide with horror. Albert could feel his heart beating frantically, his pulse roaring in his ears as he looked helplessly around. The shaking worsened, and the realization hit them both like a punch to the gut—they were trapped, with the dome on the verge of collapse. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

"We're not ready to die," Albert whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible over the rumbling of the ground. Betty didn't need to respond—her wide, tear-filled eyes said everything. They were still so young, still so full of dreams and hopes for the future. Their master, Mr. F, had guided them on a path that promised greatness, but now it seemed that path would end here, under tons of rubble.

Without thinking, they reached for one another, their arms wrapping tightly as if clinging to the last shred of life they had. The world around them was chaos, but in that brief moment, their shared fear created an unspoken bond. They didn't know each other for long, but their experiences under their master's guidance had tied their fates together in a way neither could have anticipated. They held on, as much for comfort as for the fleeting hope that somehow they might survive.

The dome gave a groaning, ominous creak as another tremor rattled its stone structure. Above, a deafening explosion echoed throughout the chamber as a section of the dome's ceiling blew apart. Screams erupted from the crowd as debris flew in all directions, and many believed this was it—the final collapse that would bury them all alive.

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But instead of the catastrophic destruction they expected, only a few small fragments fell from the ceiling, followed by an eerie silence. A crack, no wider than a man's hand, formed at the highest point of the dome, letting in a narrow shaft of light. Through that sliver, the people inside could see movement—someone was squeezing through the gap.

All eyes were drawn upward as the figure emerged, gracefully descending from the opening. The gasps of fear turned to murmurs of awe as an old man floated gently to the ground, his robes billowing around him. His feet touched the ground and he stood directly in front of Betty and Albert.

The two young apprentices stared in stunned silence, hardly daring to breathe. They knew exactly who this was.

Mr. F.

"Master!"

Betty and Albert shouted in unison, their voices filled with overwhelming relief as they rushed to embrace Mr. F. Normally, Mr. F would have sidestepped such an emotional display, but given the dire situation, he allowed his students this brief moment of solace. His arms remained still, yet the sheer presence of their master brought them an unusual sense of safety amidst the chaos.

After a few seconds, Mr. F gently pushed them away with a surge of magic. Time was running out, and there were far more pressing matters at hand. The dome was still trembling, on the brink of collapse, and he needed to act fast to save it.

He surveyed the area, his eyes scanning over the trembling crowds, until they locked onto an ancient oak tree standing tall in the center of the main square. Without a word, Mr. F walked toward it, his aura of power growing with each step. Betty and Albert, along with the citizens, watched in confusion. Murmurs spread through the crowd like wildfire, people wondering what the mysterious mage was planning.

Suddenly, the tree began to grow.

The whispers turned to gasps as the oak surged upward, its trunk thickening as it stretched toward the crumbling ceiling. Its branches expanded, reaching out in all directions, intertwining with the stone of the dome as if nature itself were lending a hand. The bark of the tree melded with the cracked stone, forming a natural barrier to brace the structure from above.

But Mr. F wasn't finished. His hands hovered just above the ground, fingers twitching with magic as the roots of the oak burst from beneath the earth. The roots snaked up the walls, glowing with a faint ethereal light, fusing with the tree's branches to create an intricate lattice that spread across the entire interior of the dome. A thick, impenetrable layer of intertwined roots now reinforced the dome from within.

The crowd watched in stunned silence, their awe palpable. Then, a single voice broke the quiet—a cheer. That cheer spread like wildfire, as one by one, the citizens erupted into applause. Jubilation echoed through the dome as people cheered for the man who had seemingly saved them all.

Mr. F remained stoic, unaffected by the praise. His work wasn't over. He knelt and placed his palms on the cold, trembling ground, his senses sharpening as he extended his awareness into the earth. The crowd, sensing something was happening, fell silent once more, their eyes glued to him.

"I've got you," Mr. F muttered to himself, his voice barely audible, before he made his move.

Suddenly, a mass of roots exploded from the ground directly beneath an innocent-looking child standing at the edge of the crowd. People screamed, horrified at what they assumed was an attack on the child. But in the next moment, the "child" twisted in mid-air, morphing into a middle-aged man, his face twisting with malice as he landed a few feet back.

"You hid well," Mr. F said coldly, taking a long stride forward, his eyes locked on the man. In a heartbeat, Mr. F was directly in front of him, whispering menacingly in his ear, "But now that I'm here... the sapling belongs to me."

With a swift, almost effortless strike, Mr. F sent the man flying across the dome, straight toward the walls covered in the glowing roots. The roots eagerly reached out, ready to wrap around the man and imprison him.

But just as he was about to crash into the wall, a burst of fire erupted from the crowd, incinerating the roots before they could ensnare him.

The man twisted in mid-air, using his magic to cushion his fall as he rebounded off the wall and landed gracefully on his feet. Before anyone could react, several other figures emerged from the crowd, each shedding their disguises. What once appeared to be innocent children, elderly citizens, and ordinary townsfolk were now revealed to be hardened men and women in their forties, their eyes burning with intent. Their bodies shimmered as illusion magic fell away, leaving behind figures cloaked in the aura of seasoned criminals.

The crowd recoiled in shock, confusion rippling through them. What was happening? Who were these people?

Only Mr. F and the newly revealed thieves knew the true stakes of this encounter.

In front of Mr. F's eyes, the message appeared once more.

[Emergency Quest Generated: Thieves have stolen a Rank 7 Sapling and are hiding within the dome. The sapling is a prime alchemical reagent. Claim it before the thieves escape during the dome's collapse.]

These thieves had been hiding within the crowd all along, waiting for the chaos of the dome's collapse to cover their escape. The sapling was no ordinary treasure—it was something of immense power, and they had stolen it for themselves.