The home tree was alive with activity. It had been months since Castias attacked, since the danger-close encounter with the dracolich, and since Falcher had left for Huma. The last adventurer raid that came by scattered into the winds. Oakengrove’s defenses were holding for the time being, but he dared not rest upon his laurels. The quiet times always preceded the storm.

The books he’d collected from the Dracolich’s monastery had proven useful. Within the texts, there was talk of necromancy from an almost scientific standpoint, as if someone had dedicated their whole life to understanding it rather than using it. It gave him new insights into the destructive magic and potentially new methods to use it to his advantage without suffering from the corruption it caused.

For weeks, he’d isolated himself in his room and without Saea to break his concentration, the rest of those living in the tree hadn’t seen him the entire time. They knew he was up there but hadn’t felt a need to interrupt him. Day and night, they all could feel the magic in the air, even more of it than they’d grown used to. To them, Oakengrove was preparing something big.

The reality was that Oakengrove was flubbing spell after spell, trying to chain effects together against a dummy target he had Frida make. In his left hand, he held a spell book with a chain of incantations strung together like a poorly written song, and the other hand held out in front of him, palm facing the training dummy. He spoke the massive incantation and, despite feeling the magic course through him; it did nothing. “Son of a bitch,” he groaned. “So I can’t chain these together, at least not in this order. If I can’t chain a lingering effect after a binding, then that really hampers my abilities.” He mumbled, and through the mess of crossed-out words, scribbles, and bizarre shapes, he’d compiled a small curated selection of potentially lethal spell chains. It was a tiny list.

In frustration, he chucked the spell book onto the desk and sat down on the floor with a heavy thump. He breathed slowly and heavily, trying to meditate his frustration away. His mind wandered with his gaze. It was the Month of Harvest and Falcher still hadn’t returned. Simadger had been gone for a month as well. Sending mail overseas was not a reliable method of messaging and it only worsened his disgruntled mood. He rubbed his eyes and eyed a handwritten note he had pinned to the wall. It was a situation update from Saea and it spoke about her initial success with getting settled in Anslo. She wrote about the Adventurer’s Guild and how she’d joined it.

He found it weird. A memory came running back to him, causing a mental whiplash effect similar to being knocked in the skull with a cast iron pan. The memory was from a time before he reincarnated, a much smaller and younger version of himself. For a moment, he saw it in perfect clarity. However, when he tried to focus on it, it not only disappeared from his mind’s eye, but the memory vanished without a trace, only a lingering feeling of something that was lost. “Fuck’s sake,” he groaned again.

He pulled himself back onto his feet and left his room. The downstairs section of the home tree was relatively quiet. Kateda had gone with Khar and Frida to the village to do trade for the weekend. Ciez was on guard duty and Cedrik was patrolling the deeper forest. He was, for the time being, by himself in the home tree. The open doorway had a different figure standing in it. He turned to look at it and standing before him was an olive-skinned nirillin in tan gambeson with red embroidered borders. She held a wood staff like a walking stick and seemed to be by herself. “Can I help you?” He asked.

Sedel set the staff against the doorway. “I’ve come on behalf of the Green Thorn Warband.”

The familiarity of the wood elf now made sense. He had indeed seen her before. “All by yourself? That’s unusual,” he commented. “Very well. You have my attention.”

“I request protection for our warband leader, Roderick,” she said, dropping to one knee with a bowed head.

“A bold request indeed.” He wanted to pry into the reasoning behind it. “Why should I grant a gift of protection to the warband who brought a murderous serpent to my house?”

“A murderous serpent?” Her eyes widened, out of view of the giant treant, with the realization. “Castias tried to kill you?”

“Emphasis on the tried.” He then pointed a gnarled finger towards the taxidermied red-scaled snake tail mounted to the wall. “I don’t take kindly to those who try to take my head. One of mine tried to convince me to have his head mounted on a pike and planted on the forest’s edge. I thought a personal decoration was more tasteful.” He paused and turned to face the elf. “So I ask again, why should I?”

“A gnollish chieftain killed him in our last quest. We thankfully resurrected him, but he hasn’t been the same since then. He’s been more reserved and overly cautious.” She explained. “I tried praying to the gods for something to help him, but they didn’t answer. I’ve only heard rumors of a living tree god, but I now realize that it is you the legends refer to. If it changes your mind at all, Roderick was a florist once.”

Oakengrove’s mind recalled Father Rodgers, who’d now passed on, and his kindness. He recalled one of the last conversations he had with the turtle-kin, ‘If there’s anything I’ve learned in my eight hundred years of serving as a clergyman, don’t force anything, do what is right, and what needs to happen will happen.’ It was his own teachings which encouraged him to be kind and friendly. “Resurrection has a toll, and it affects people differently,” he spoke as if he knew in greater detail about the subject than he really did. “It also puts things into a new perspective. If recklessness or overconfidence caused it, it would explain his newfound cautiousness.”

Sedel adjusted herself and sat on the floor, legs crossed. “He’s my friend and I feel like I’m watching him wither away. It’s not self-loathing, but he’s not been the Roderick I’ve known for the past ten years. I want to believe that even something simple as a protection charm would bring the old him back.”

“It won’t,” He stated bluntly. “Death changes a man, whether that’s the death of a friend or family member or, in this case, his own. However, understanding the reasoning behind his withdrawal might ease your worries. You came to me hoping I could work a miracle. Instead, I shall offer comfort. Your gods did not answer your prayer, so you turn to another, but I say to you, offer the help yourself.”

Sedel looked up, but remained quiet. She couldn’t help but feel as if the giant treant had a point.

“We are our own miracles. The greatest gift of creation is the ability to think. You don’t need your gods to help him, because you and your companions can help him the best. Talk to him, figure out why he is struggling.” He reflected on his own words. A similar experience had befallen him during the dracolich fight. The memory of it haunted him. He’d shut himself in much like Roderick in the nirillin’s tale. “Perhaps I should listen to my own advice,” he mumbled to himself. “You got me to think beyond myself and for that, I appreciate it. Very well, then, I will speak with Roderick and comfort him, but I have one request to make.”

Sedel seemed excited. “Yeah, anything.”

“I keep to myself in these woods. However, outsiders, much like yourself, have forced me to expand my periphery beyond my borders.” He motioned for her to stand. “I seek information about myself, Florism, and the world in its entirety. I fear that my return has raised the ire of the Basar Clans. So, I ask of you, where do you and your warband stand with the clans?”

Sedel pondered the question for a moment. “They’ve hired us in the past, but we’re not loyal to any clan or them as a whole. We’ve kept our loyalties to Gelwood and the people in it. We’re not adventurers anymore, just a band of mercenaries.”

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A smile formed upon the treant’s leafy face. The answer pleased him. “I will not ask you to place a target on your back on my behalf, so I will take your answer at face value.”

As Oakengrove followed Sedel through the forest, he overheard some unusual sounds. A pair of familiar male voices cheering. He nudged Sedel’s shoulder and walked towards the voices. Peeling back foliage, he found Cedrik and Ciez watching a gladiatorial arena fight through a full-size scrying mirror. “Now I know how you got past my guards,” Oakengrove spoke loudly.

The goblin and fae tensed up, burying their heads into their shoulders as they slowly turned around to see their master. They both released an awkward chuckle, knowing full well they were in trouble.

Oakengrove leaned over the bushes to get a better view of the scrying mirror and watched the fight for a solid minute, enthralled by it. “Where is this fight taking place?”

Sedel shrugged, “There are hundreds of arenas all over the world, but this one looks to be in Huma, judging by the arena architecture.”

Oakengrove nodded slowly, “Ciez, Cedrik.”

The two snapped to attention and said in sync, “At your command.”

“Bring this mirror to the tree and mount it over the dining table. I believe we all will have a use for it.” He issued the command with a cold and calculated tone, and it made both of them nervous. The treant then turned about and motioned for Sedel to follow him.

As they approached the outer edges of the old-growth forest, Oakengrove shifted form into the same disguise he used to infiltrate Basar territory. He appeared as a deer-kin adorned in peasant clothing. Sedel panicked at first, thinking some stranger had snuck up on her. She calmed down after some reassurances from him.

Sedel guided Oakengrove back to the manor house the Warband used as a residence. The aged and weathered look made the two-story house look more homely than the rest of the town. With it being on a larger plot of land, fresh construction was ongoing to introduce a six-foot stone and mortar wall. Scaffolding and masonry tools were strewn about as the workers had gone home for the day.

Pushing in the front door to the manor, Sedel called out to the rest of her group, “Dmahdi! Finny! I got company!”

“Dining room!” Echoed back in a gruff female voice.

Turning left off the entryway, they’d pass through a doorless doorway to see the other four members of the Warband playing cards amongst each other. “oooh, who’s winning?”

Dmahdi slapped down a pair of aces “Black Jack!”

Roderick let out a sigh of defeat, not because he lost but because Dmahdi thought she won. “Two aces makes twenty-two.”

Dmahdi quickly looked down at her cards. “Then this second ace is a one. Roshka, hit me!”

Roderick flipped a card from the stack lazily and, sitting before them all to see, was a king of hearts.

“Yahtzee!” Dmahdi shouted and slammed her fist into the table with vigor.

Roshka also let out a sigh. “That’s still twenty-two.”

Dmahdi’s eyes widened. “what? No, but that-” she paused to count the numbers and eventually came to the same conclusion. She sank down into her seat and fake cried, “I was so close, though.”

Most of the coins were in Roshka’s possession, meaning Dmahdi had been on a successive losing streak for some time and, because of a miscount on her part, had gotten her hopes a little too high. They briefly paused the game to greet the guest that Sedel had unexpectedly brought with her.

Oakengrove stepped into the room saying, “A pleasure to meet you all.”

“Deer-kin?” Roderick sounded surprised. “You’re a long way from the Noshiko region. Sedel, where’d you find him?”

Sedel shrugged. “More so, he found me because he wanted to talk to you specifically.”

Confusion overtook his prior apathetic mood. He stood up and stowed his chair beneath the table. “What can I do for you?”

The deer-kin motioned his head into the other room, away from the others. “Our conversation is one best had behind closed doors,” Oakengrove said firmly.

“Alright,” Roderick’s voice was uneasy, and he followed him out.

Watching the door across the hall close, Sedel turned to the others. “Deal me in.”

The deer-kin took a seat in a plush chair. “I’m not here to make a request of you, Roderick Helsmouth.”

Roderick leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “Alright, then what did you want to discuss?”

“Your most recent unfortunate event,” Oakengrove said bluntly. “Sedel informed me you’ve become something of a recluse as of late. Is that correct?”

Roderick rolled his eyes. “I don’t need a therapist. Look, I’ll pay you for the troubles, but I don’t need therapy.”

“I’m not here to do therapy,” Oakengrove said, crossing his legs. He was still trying to piece together exactly how to explain what he’d talked to Sedel about earlier that day. “Sedel told me of your most recent brush with death and how it changed you. I told her I couldn’t change you back. However, I can help ease her concern.”

The human sighed and shifted his weight onto the other foot. “And how do you propose that?”

“By telling you to not obsess over it. Death is natural, and it happens. It’s more likely to happen with your line of work, so if you let every mistake control you, you’ll become afraid of living,” He began. “I want you to know that Sedel came to me on the verge of tears because she was worried about losing you.” Oakengrove stood up and walked up to him and pressed a hooved hand to his chest. “She was worried about losing the man in here, the close friend she’s known all these years.”

Roderick brushed the hand off. “She’s not losing me. I’m still the same man I’ve always been. I’ve just been reflecting.”

“Who are you doing this work for?” The Deer-kin asked.

Roderick scratched the back of his head. “Let’s say family.”

“So you’re worried about being gone,” he said, “And how much damage both that and losing financial income will affect them?”

“Like I said a minute ago, I don’t need therapy, Mr…” He then realized he never knew the man’s name.

“Oakengrove,” he said, then threw off the shapeshift into his treant form, but knelt to fit the room better. “Sedel’s been praying for your well-being and I heard her prayer. I hear your pain, my son.”

Roderick couldn’t believe his eyes. He froze, unbreathing, unblinking, and just stared at the sight of the treant before him.

“I’ve been gone for almost a thousand years, Roderick.” He calmly said, “Worry about the now and the tomorrow. Let next week be. The answers you seek, I may have. So ask and I shall aid you.”

Roderick’s knees grew weak, and he fell to the floor, wide-eyed. For years, he’d abandoned Florism, hoping Syna instead would answer the prayers. The mistake of leaving now was the sole focus in the forefront of his mind. The god he knew all his life was there, physically there in his home. Instead of being mad about his religious departure, the treant was showing kindness and concern. He slowly lifted his head and looked at the brown eyes of the treant. “How can it be?”

“Because years ago, you prayed for something life-changing. From what you’ve told me, it wasn’t your life you were trying to change.” Oakengrove said with a gentle smile.

Roderick’s gaze dipped back to the wood-paneled floor. “My sister. Her cancer has been worsening for years and unfortunately, even with my coin, the best doctors in the region can’t do much. They’ve only been able to stabilize her. She’s barely alive anymore. According to my mother in the letters I get, she doesn’t wake up most days. She’s ten years younger than I. She has lost so much of her childhood and may never even get to know what adulthood is.”

Oakengrove opened the palm of his hand and produced a jar. In it was a mossy twig encased in bioactive soil. “In here is the very foundation of nature itself. Take the soil from it and feed it to her. Her body will fight back, so use water if you must. Then place the twig in her hands and rest it on her chest. This will reset her body, curing her of the cancer through the powers of my magic. Just remember to speak one last prayer when you have done all of that.”

From the giant’s shoulder, a small white bipedal mushroom stood up and held out a fist with a thumb upward. It had no face, but if it did, it would smile supportively.

Roderick took the jar. It was larger than he thought, as it fit in both hands instead of just one. He stared at its contents, which to him appeared unremarkable. He saw dirt and little soil critters like springtails and isopods. The soil was black and nutrient-rich, absolutely soaked in water. His eyes drifted upward to the stick, which grew a single leaf within a few seconds. In his hands, he held one of the greatest miracles he’d ever known. The miracle that would save his sister. “I can’t believe this is actually happening. It doesn’t feel real.”

Oakengrove shifted back into the form of a deer-kin. He then patted the top of the man’s head reassuringly. “You once had faith in me. I ask that you find the self that held that faith close and bring him back. I ask that you have faith in me again.” With a little magic and a needle-thin branch, he weaved a living bracelet that fit him snugly. The branch developed roots that embraced his skin and burrowed, securing the bracelet in place so that it could never be removed. It was painless, but it definitely tickled his skin. “Go to your sister and be with her. This bracelet is my promise to you.”