The boughs of the Tree shiver with the tremors of war. Wars fought within its branches, roots and upon its leaves. Each battle leaves existence with the fertiliser of strength, and so the Tree grows. Every ending, from the most minute rodent, hunted until its demise, to the true death of an everlasting god, fuels and feeds the Tree.

As the cradle of all creation, the Tree guides life within its dimension-spanning boundaries through the nigh-omnipotent System. The parched and choked worlds yet to be graced by the Tree’s touch are tragic places, but integrations occurred regularly. With each new root or branch, a multitude of worlds would be brought into the Great Connection, and become stronger for it. These were times of great potential and upheaval, where the stagnant states upon Yggdrasil were forced into action by the most valuable commodity imaginable.

Potential.

As with any uncertainty, the newly bound worlds could easily bring ruin to the established orders. Like scavengers waiting for the apex predator to leave, the Tree’s inhabitants stood ready to pounce on the new frontier. The infusion of power from the Tree to kick-start the previously mundane universes could create previously unseen wonders. Treasures and technologies completely unique to the new branch or root were worth empires.

While the hungry and desperate masses waited for their chance to invade, those more secure in their power watched the scramble with varying degrees of interest. Some watched over their factions like benevolent guides, others were directing specific individuals and more still were paying attention due to simple boredom.

A simple stool was the only furnishing within a small room. The unassuming seat was occupied by an equally dull-looking individual. Dozens of similar homes dotted the surrounding area of barely liveable land. Most of the others were vibrant, the signs of lives lived marking them all. From the smells of cooking to the sounds of children laughing, each home was as important as the universe which surrounded it.

The home of the ancient wildling had none of these things, despite having been there long before the others. At some point, people had simply started choosing to live nearby seemingly without much thought. The local ground was rocky and food grew poorly, hardly worth the effort. The weather was abysmal, freezing for months and sweltering others.

Yet they chose to live here.

The pensive elder was barely a thought in their minds, but they were the reason the people came all the same. Some of them told stories of the “witch in the woods” or the “old man of the mountain” but they were just fragments of the truth. Their innocent minds could not understand the watcher’s entirety even if it was explained but the protection received by living nearby was palpable.

Monsters didn’t hunt nearby. Somehow, just enough food would be gathered in times of strife so that none were truly in danger. Despite lacking civilization, the locals were intelligent and curious, except when it came to the quiet house deep in the wooded hills. The diseases which ravaged the further countryside were rarely found here. It was a quaint, peaceful place.

Protected by a tired god of war’s presence.

“Hmm,” the armoured ancient murmured, humming power into the surrounding world, “the Storm Dragon gains much from the new integration. They will soon be free of their eternal battle.” Someone of the world they inhabited watching would just see an old man or crone talking to themself in a hut, but in truth the space was filled with retainers.

“Do we take action, Harbinger?” A powerful voice asked the important question, quieting the clamour which had ascended from Harbinger’s words. A dragon moving free was dangerous, and the established factions would prefer to keep things in the balance. Unfortunately, certain aspirational hopes were dashed as the ancient war god laughed hoarsely.

Their hacking laughter sounded like an axe being sharpened. “Do what you like.” They stood from their stool and the wood crumbled. It had only been held together by Harbinger’s will but that will was now focused elsewhere. The pleasant world they lived upon started to buckle as the weight of the war god’s steps shook the mantle loose. “Just don’t get in my way.”

The ancient visage started melting away as more and more power began to fill Harbinger’s form. From frail to majestic in a moment, the growth wasn’t done. A huge smile broke out onto the face of the prime god of war as feeling returned to his fingers. “The Storm Dragon will break free soon. Whether you want it or not,” Harbinger said, they voice rich and full of energy, “war is coming. The dragon will remember those who hindered its escape from Galvanor.”

Harbinger rolled their neck and held out their arm. If they hadn’t left already, the weaker gods in attendance began to flee, while the strongest remained to bear witness. The world of Hoam shattered and the weapon in its core flew to the hand it belonged within. A trillion lives returned to the cycle, the protection rescinded firmly. At that point, only four being remained, Harbinger included.

“You know what this means.” Harbinger told the other three riders. Letting the waves of immeasurable power wash out over the Tree, Harbinger continued to stretch their tired muscles. Thousands of worlds began to run red as bloodlust and warmongering overcame the populaces. From the other corners of existence, three equivalent powers rose like beacons. Harbinger smiled. “Thank you, siblings.”

The connection snapped and the timeless warrior took a moment to experience the joy of strength in their hands once more. Too long spent flagging as proxy battles and peace sapped their power had made them even more dangerous than ever before. The weapon in their hand purred with excitement and nostalgia. “Yes, dearest. It’s time to wage the true war.”

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The grove was being quietly tended to by the four sisters when the branch fell. Each of them gasped in fright at the movement. The eldest moved over to the fallen limb and looked up to the cherry tree fearfully. With a fluid movement, she removed the tree. It was shredded down to its base components and then beyond as her power took hold.

“Why?” The youngest asked. Actions which occurred here rippled through the weave of existence, so the question was fair. The sisters were each separated by only a fraction of a moment, quadruplets, but each was opposite to another. Together, they formed an intrinsic cycle of life and their place of import near the peak of creation was due to this.

“Rot sets in, sisters.” Spring blinked at the empty space left by the destruction of the fruit tree. She had always loved cherries. Her essence was of rebirth and change, yet this still hurt. Autumn placed a hand on her back and said nothing. She was more at peace with the fading of things than Spring.

Of course, the most frantic and energetic of their group was incensed. Summer tore through the orchards and returned before the other three could even finish their sighs. “No other rot, but we have to get the arbiters moving. Win, help me?” The youngest sister cast a quick look to Spring, who shrugged, to which Winter nodded.

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“Let’s go.” And they did, leaving just Spring and Autumn. They walked between the trees more calmly than the fiery Summer had, repairing the slight damage she had caused. She had known they would, but it still caused a few eye rolls.

“It’s serious.” Spring’s head snapped around fast, her brown curls flying wildly. Autumn was not one for words, so Spring gave her full attention to the quietest of them. The grey eyes of the third sister were darting quickly from tree to tree, sensing the truth more deeply than Spring could. Autumn’s eyes became sad. “The Tree shivers as true change rears its chaotic head.”

Silence followed as Spring waited to see if Autumn would say more. After a while, Spring simply lay her head on her sister’s shoulder and sighed once more. “May these tumultuous times bring growth,” Spring intoned, a practised prayer. Autumn smirked at this, but her eyes remained sad. Together, they continued tending to their gardens.

———————

Across the all-encompassing expanse of the Tree and its System, the truth was settling in slowly. The arrival of the new worlds had brought far more changes to the wider Tree than any before, to the point many forgot about the new worlds altogether. Something had happened within the myriad planets, but discovering what would be nearly impossible, even for gods. The truth was more important.

In their caverns and hideaways, powerful creatures stirred and stretched. Felt within their very Dao, each and every member of the imperial race began to shake off the dust of ages. Whole universes trembled in horror as the ancient terrors returned. The Tree had grown fat with treasure and the protections were lax.

The equilibrium had been set for far, far too long.

All across the Tree and throughout the System, one thing becomes clear to those with the perception to see it. Grand vaults were raided, their wards and protections melted away like kindling. Worlds were swept clean of life as avarice itself seemed to be given scales, wings and the power to destroy anything in its way. Within months of the integration of the latest batch of worlds, there was no question.

The dragons were returning.

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Galvanor was the last of the Stormborn. As far as races upon the Tree go, they were considered a peak existence. Not on the same level as some, perhaps, but as a race with no discernable drawbacks and unique advantages, they thrived within the System. Their innate ability to see mana in a way others couldn’t made them potent in its use. At the height of their civilisation, the Stormborn were considered a peaceful people who tended to love magic.

That was a long time ago now. There were terribly few who remembered the Stormborn in such a way anymore. The Tree itself had only been fledgling at that point, a scant dozen universes existing under its canopy. It would grow to many hundreds of thousands, but the Stormborn had been destroyed by then. All but one.

Galvanor had long abandoned his family name. Galvanor the Stormborn worked just as well once the Storm Dragon came to their world. When it arrived, it had been noteworthy, but only along the lines of a meteor passing being worth making a note of. For many ages, the Storm Dragon waited, absorbing the potent mana of the Stormborn homeworld before eventually making its move.

The signature skill of all dragons is to drain their target. Wealth, vitality, power, a dragon’s magic could allow them to steal whatever they chose as long as they had the strength to take it. The ancient Storm Dragon had strength to spare when it came to claiming the heart of Tempus, enough to completely ravage the world above while it did so.

Every treasure was claimed and almost every life upon Tempus was snuffed out.

Except Galvanor. Through luck, determination and pure, unstoppable, unfathomable rage, Galvanor survived the scouring of his world and claimed power from it. The System encourages struggle in all forms and struggle was all Galvanor could do. A staggering amount of boons were placed onto his shoulders by the Tree itself, as though he were being given the strength to chase his goal.

Slaughtering the Storm Dragon in revenge for his burned world.

Space screamed with impossible noises as Galvanor continued his losing clash with the Storm Dragon. Perpetual battle had been sufficient to Galvanor, but the System was cruel. As it had given, so had it taken. The most powerful boon and Galvanor’s reason for existing all in one, shattered by a single truth.

He was no longer alone.

A new Stormborn had, impossibly, come to exist in the newly integrated universe. A confused and scared young man who was barely old enough to shave, just starting his journey into the mysteries of the System and its foul grip upon all the life within its clutches.

The Storm Dragon roared, and Galvanor continued to fight against his slow, inevitable defeat. “One day,” he promised, “you’ll be destroyed.” Not entirely sure if he was cursing the Storm Dragon or something more, Galvanor fell into the throes of battle and lost himself. There was no time to think anymore and no more strength in him to consider possibilities. What would be would be.

He would fight until he could fight no more, and then his time would pass. The longer he could hold the Storm Dragon’s attention, the less time it would have to wreak havoc and gain power before another force engaged it. The destruction would be like nothing the Tree had ever seen. Yet, there was a gentleness within Galvanor’s Dao which had not been there for countless millennia.

He was no longer alone.

Every precious moment he could give to the Stormborn of Earth was worth its weight in jewels. Even locked in ferocious battle, Galvanor could sense the shifts in the power balance. The powerhouses were rearing their heads. Once he fell, true chaos would descend. Grant needed to be as strong as possible before then. Without strength, the tide of fate would sweep the child away.

A shriek pierced the void in which Galvanor and the Storm Dragon wrestled and all thought of the Great Connection, Grant or anything besides was blasted away. A thousand bolts of inexorably powerful lightning rained down on his position, the small pause in the onslaught over. Their battle renewed with vigour as Galvanor’s lip curled back into a snarl.

Both the Stormborn and the dragon roared at each other in utter hatred as they continued to tear each other apart while the Tree’s inhabitants watched in fear.

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It had been approximately five weeks since the System touched planet Earth and threw everything into disarray. Normal operating procedures lasted right up until people realised they could gain strength from pursuing a more dangerous life. While many were slow to react, over a month on, the demarcation between the old world and the new one had become more and more defined.

Ironically, this happened by taking Earth backwards in its history first.

Connection to the System and the wider multiverse beyond it had caused great changes. However, these changes were not simply in sociology, but to every facet of life. Wildlife had become far more fearsome with the introduction of magic to the world. The forests, oceans and skies, once considered conquered, were again the domain of predators the earthbound humans were ill-equipped to handle.

The previously mapped world had grown immensely. All of its land masses stretched, lakes became entire seas and, for the technologically powered civilisations of Earth, the sky and space seemed to explode in size. Most importantly in this case, as the world grew, the satellites orbiting the planet crashed into the world and almost all other technology quickly fell to the wayside. With power lines suddenly running to nowhere, sewers in the wrong place and other such ruined infrastructures, the old political power structures crumbled quickly.

To many, these wider changes were most inconsequential outside of their own existence. For them, it was the lack of electricity, their now useless phones and maps which no longer described the area that affected them most. These changes lead to people quickly gathering around anyone or anything which seemed to have a semblance of control.

Be it food, shelter, power or knowledge, those who had more than others began to use these advantages to cement a place in the new world. As pioneers to an immense and dangerous frontier, the bravest placed themselves on the first steps to power much quicker than the sheep. Those individuals grasped at the threads of strength which the System offered and many did not reach the mark.

The ones who did manage to survive found themselves as claimants to areas of power. These places were variously changed in large or small ways. One such location had destroyed a small area of land in the southern half of what used to be England. Totaling a few square miles, most of the space wasn’t changed physically, but anyone with magical senses would feel the ownership all over the magic in the area.

This particular area was not far removed from how it used to seem. For the most part, a park was simply returned from where it had locked away to form the dungeon which had trapped a certain individual. The surrounding land had already started transforming, reaching towards the new normal the world was settling into. This meant there was now mostly pristine lawn and a swathe of desert randomly set within an increasingly wild and dangerous terrain.

A few of the braver locals, wildlife and human, were close enough to feel when the dungeon popped. A burst of mana and Dao filled the air as the power which had grown and collected within the dungeon was released. The beasts felt their primal fears erupt from all angles and quickly made themselves scarce, with humans not far behind. It immediately began to feel like they were encroaching upon the territory of something much more powerful than they could understand.

Imperceptible changes in the air rippled out, proclaiming that a true monster had just been released from its shackles. A collection of more potent Dao than could be found anywhere else on the new planet was no longer hidden behind the veil of a dungeon. There were very few in the world sensitive enough to feel this new, minute shift but those who did could not hold back the shiver down their spine.

They could do nothing but hope whatever power was growing was a benevolent one.