After having travelled for several days on end, only stopping for the few opportunities that he came across, he finally enters one of the smaller cities in the inner forest. Forest dwellers, none looking similar, wander the streets or lounge in the buildings covered with plant life.

He heads towards the market, looking over the wares with a quick eye. He spent too much time pursuing the opportunities he came across, so on a schedule, he moves onwards.

Not bothered by anyone, he heads towards the city centre.

***

“And who might you be?” A forest dweller that evolved from some species of canine asks.

Sairal looks at the humanoid monster that stands four feet tall with large canines jutting out of his mouth. The dryad bows to the guards in front of him, “I have come to use the teleporter. I’ve been summoned to the Courts.”

Another guard, this one having scales instead of fur, looks the dryad up and down twice, seemingly satisfied the guard nods, “Do you have the order?”

Sairal nods, “I do,” he gestures to the tree the guards stand in front of, “May I?”

He looks at the tree, digging through his memory for the snippets of information that relate to it. The Songbird said that the ancient tree’s roots span dozens of kilometres in each direction, making it a hub in the forest where one can easily place and make use of teleportation circles.

The guards nod and Sairal walks forwards, gently pressing his hand on the tree’s bark. Treetalk activates and leaves shake themselves out of their deep slumber. Branches move and twist as he speaks to the one who is in charge of the entire teleportation net in Luxia.

After explaining, she searches through her leaves and finds the right order that was made for him by the Court. One of the tree’s branches lowers to the ground.

The guard tears one of the golden leaves off the tree’s branch. The order slowly appears on the leaf as if it’s getting written by hand.

He harrumphs, making it sound like a growl, “Looks like you’re cleared.”

Sairal bows once more and moves forwards to the teleportation platform that sits on one of the large roots that reach over the ground around the tree. The runes laid out on it pulse with life. He commits as much as he can to memory before the guards urge him on. The right information is worth a pretty penny to some groups, not that he would go that far…yet.

The scaly guard smiles, “Haven’t you used one of these before?”

Sairal shakes his head politely, it is always good to be kind towards the guards be they a dryad or a forest dweller. “A few times but that all was a long time ago.”

The guard nods, “They have changed a bit since then. The King found it far too easy for other nations to invade our teleportation network so with a bit of help and coaching he put someone in charge of it. Now we all travel through the roots of her tree.”

Sairal turns back to the guard, “The Grove Mother is in charge of it?”

The guard with fur barks out a laugh, “No but she supports it with one of her skills. The Overseer is one of your kind.”

The dryad looks at the runes that pulse with life, “And the runes? They seem to be new too.”

“Humph. Even if you are from the outskirts you must know this. Don’t dryads love to talk to each other through their trees? Having tea parties and gossiping while you all barely do anything?” the furry guard motions for Sairal to continue and crosses his arms in annoyance.

Sairal gives him a wry smile, “We do like to gossip, however, most don’t give away information for free, even common knowledge.” The furry guard gives him a suspicious look to which Sairal shrugs, “You know how we can be.”

The scaly chuckles as the other guards just sigh, defeated, “Fine, since your fellow dryads won’t tell you anything. Some of the runes are location tags to other teleportation circles while the rest is just the usual charging array, only attuned to nature magic.”

Sairal nods happily as he stores all the information in his mind. He steps into the circle, runes beginning to glow as it charges and drains the surrounding magic from the air.

“Oh right,” the scaly guard pips in. “You should be careful at the Courts. Lots of strong beings there.”

“I know,” he replies.

The teleportation circle activates, shooting up a green beam of light that envelops Sairal.

“Fucking dryads. I hate ‘em. Always thinking that they are the rulers of the forest.” Sairal hears the furry guard say before the magic takes him through the root paths, towards the Courts.

With a small audible pop, he appears in the central forest. Instantly a dozen presences, most quite a bit stronger than him, wash over him.

He takes a deep breath, not only getting used to all the strong dryads in the vicinity but also breathing in the dense magic that permeates the air. It feels like he can breathe again, having been gasping for air all the time he spent in the outskirts.

Sairal greets the guards at the teleportation circle; both of them dryads.

“Oh look, a little brother,” a dryad with blueish nightshade tied into his short hair says.

“Don’t bother him, Eluris,” the other dryad comments, slapping him on his back. She turns to Sairal with a smile on her face, “Hello, my name is Feiriys.” Her eyes are a pinkish green that matches her afro of blooming blossom.

Once again, Sairal bows, deeper than before in the presence of the two (D) grades

Feiriys speaks up, “You are the one from the Fortress Beaver incident, aren’t you?”

He suppresses a wince and nods, “I am. If I knew it was one of the Plateau’s schemes, I would have intervened earlier.”

Eluris shrugs, “No one saw the ramifications that it caused beforehand. Too bad they still blame you for everything. I bet they know you alone couldn’t have solved it, but they still need someone to take the blame,” The dryad’s expression grows serious, “Make sure that you don’t end up being that dryad. Anyway, you will be questioned by the Higher Court, Aziri, and the King by Truth stone. It’ll clear everything up.”

Sairal freezes, “…I will meet the King?”

“Yup,” Feiriys chips in. “It’s quite the honour since he has many matters to attend to. You should consider yourself to be lucky that he found an opening in his agenda for this.”

Sairal hides another grimace and trails after the two guards. As lazy as they might seem, they know their duties. Sairal stares at both of them, Eluris walking on his left while Feiriys strolls on his right. It looks more like they are escorting a prisoner to the blade rather than a hearing.

For the first time, Sairal takes in his surroundings. Trees are everywhere. Tall enough that their tips reach the lowest clouds. Treehouses hang in layers in the trees, all connected by rope bridges. When he steps onto the first rope bridge he gets to see what lies below.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

It brings a small smile to his lips to see the Battleground again. Down there, everything fights with each other. Plants, monsters, dryads, all are attracted or created by the dense magic that wafts through the forest.

Feiriys continues, pulling Sairal out of his thoughts, “The King has taken an interest in the incident, and I agree with him. One question is how that (D) grade heart was smuggled into the forest, but how they made such a simple dam destroy most of the defences in the western parts of the outskirts is something else entirely.”

Sairal’s gaze sharpens. There were defences in the outer forest? “Are you certain there were defences in place? I haven’t seen any around,” he pries.

Both of the (D) grade dryads give each other a look and don’t elaborate as they lead him towards the seat of power in Luxia.

They stay silent until Eluris speaks up again, “You’re close to level fifty. Soon, you’ll need to join the Lower Court. Have you already decided on the faction you will join?”

Sairal shakes his head, “I’m not planning to join any. I don’t like the strings that come attached to them.”

“Bold move. You should know that will create problems on its own. If you ever change your mind, you can join the Grove Mother’s party. She is kind to all,” Eluris says.

Feiriys blurs and slams an elbow into the other dryad’s side, casually showing the power a (D) grade has at their fingertips. She clears her throat, “I thought we talked about recruiting, Eluris.” She glares at him and turns back to Sairal with a smile on her face, “You can always join the King’s faction. He will lead us to a better future.”

They walk a dozen paces in silence before Feiriys speaks up again, “You know, everyone is interested in you.”

Sairal halts again. Closely, he scans her face for any lies. Seeing nothing, his eyes narrow in suspicion, “Why?”

“You know why,” she says with mischief in her eyes, “There is always something happening around you. Good and bad. Everyone at the Courts has taken an interest in you. Don’t you think that it is odd that you met two second-lifers in less than ten days? Oh, and you need to give a report on both of them. You have been staying quite silent on the second one, not even telling their species. You know that is required don’t you?”

Sairal sighs and doesn’t answer as he continues to walk over the rope bridges with the duo. Along the way, the tree houses grow more opulent, and the number of levels of treehouses steadily increases. Not long later they arrive at the seat of power, the central building right at the base of the King’s dryad heart.

He takes it in for a long moment. Sairal always wondered about the origin of it. With no one alive from that time, except for the King, the story is more myth than legend. It has to have some historical significance or else the King wouldn’t allow it to be.

He takes in the grey walls of the castle, or at least, what it used the be. The entire building is suspended in the air by jagged vines with thorns that are the size of an average dryad.

Someday he will find out what the meaning behind the building is. But not today. Already he had too many eyes on him, watching his every move.

“That’s it: King’s rise. The central building where the Courts reside to rule, judge and carry out the King’s orders,” Eluris explains.

“It looks no different than before,” Sairal comments.

“You have been here before? Not many share that honour,” Feiriys replies.

Sairal nods, “Believe me, my life would’ve been better if I‘d never seen it.”

Without any comments he heads inside, the duo of dryads still watching his every move. For how friendly they might be, they can take him down in less than a second if they have to.

He stares at the building. It hasn’t changed before, not even the plants that grow on the walls are any different as if it is trapped in time.

But there is one difference this time, however. Sairal looks down at his wrists, this time not cuffed.

The large reddish door, also known as the gates of judgement, at least to him, swing open. All too soon he is forced inside.

***

The insides of the castle paints a stark dichotomy with the poor and crumbling outsides. Instead of all that, the floors are covered with red carpets showing the wealth the forest has.

Alchemical plants scaling from Rare to Elite casually grown in planter boxes along the walls. Bronzewood chandeliers that give greenish light hang from the ceiling, most of them having plants growing on them that drape towards the floor.

On the walls hang the heads of beings that have proven to be challenges to the forest in the past.

Sairal stares at the face of a Guralin, twisted in rage and horror as it looks at the final attack that banished the monster to the realms of the dead.

The duo of dryads now trail behind him as they all follow an (E) grade that carries out menial tasks for the Courts. He shows them a room, “Please wait in here until the High Court and the King have finished discussing the previous matter. Refreshments have been supplied,” the young dryad says in a mechanical tone, showing that he must have said this hundreds if not thousands of times.

Sairal gives a small thanks and enters the room that displays the same wealth the hallway had. He receives a wave from Eluris as the door swing shut. He turns towards the large windows that show much, if not all of the landscape surrounding King’s rise.

Behind him the lock on the door clicks, announcing that they locked him up.

He sighs. Of course, they would do this; lock him into a room until they find the time to stop with their petty squabbles for political power to take their built-up rage out on something or someone.

After shaking his head at their foolishness, he looks around the room. While the wealth of it is showing, it’s all relatively plain. Only a few paintings of victorious moments hanging on the walls.

In the centre of it all stands a large reddish couch that seems to be made out of the finest silk the Courts could scrounge up. It bathes in the sunlight that shines into the room through the large, open windows. On the armrest of the couch lays the mentioned tray stacked with refreshments.

Sairal stares out of the windows. Large as they may be, he doesn’t have a doubt that they have been reinforced with enchantments, made just as strong as the walls if not stronger.

He keeps the disgust off his face as the takes place on the couch. This entire room is meant to wear dryads like him down before the fight with the Courts even starts.

His eyes fall on the refreshments, he doesn’t take any of them, afraid that they might be poisoned or laced with something else. He reaches for the tray but instead of grabbing anything from it, he activates his Spatial pocket and pulls out a pill he traded a long time ago. Things like these were bound to happen. Only, he didn’t expect it to happen this soon.

Before popping it into his mouth, he pulls up the description again.

Pill of aura resistance (C)

A small pill that temporarily grants large resistance against auras of higher-grade beings. The stronger the offending aura, the shorter the duration of the pill.

He pops it into his mouth and pushes the pill under his tongue, not swallowing and activating the effects just yet.

Sairal stand up from the couch and moves towards the windows, looking out at the central forest. He takes a deep breath, composing himself for what’s to come. He steels his mind for the faces of long-lost friends and rivals that are bound to be in the Courts.

He lets the faint auras of the members of the Higher and Lower Court that he can sense even here, through all the walls on the other side of the castle, wash over him. He doesn’t resist these auras, instead accepting them as they are, slowly growing familiar with them.

More memories flow through his head, reminding him of what happened last time. He has learned from them; learned how they slowly push their victims into certain directions with their aura alone. He won’t let that happen again.

The tiniest hints of a smirk form on his face. They thought it would be fun to let me stew in their auras before my report. Truly, there are only fools in this castle. They freely give me all the time I need to compose myself.

For the very last time, he goes over everything he prepared over the past week, going over every possibility he could think of, going over all the questions they might ask. What he didn’t include in any of his plans was the presence of the King. He never expected the King to be here with how busy he is with his own tasks.

Footsteps echo throughout the hallway, telling him that it is time. Sairal schools his expression and takes in one last breath.

Whatever happens, he will never make the same mistake twice.

***

The doors swing open.

Sairal steps into the Court. All around him on the circular tribunals sit Dryads and forest dwellers. The weaker ones, be it political or personal strength-wise, sit on the lower seats.

As he looks over the tribunals he can also the clear distinction between the Lower and High Court, a clear line of empty seats dividing them.

On his first step into the room, he has the focus of almost all of them. They prod him with their auras, trying to nudge him in a certain direction, or just to find out who and what he is.

Sairal lets his eyes roam over the seats, smiling at the few faces he barely recognises. The tribunals are more than packed. It seems that many beings have indeed taken an interest in the events that transpired in the outer forest.

He sees more familiar faces in the crowd, some that have judged him before, be it in his favour or against. But all of these beings don’t matter to him. No, his eyes keep roving through the room looking for that one certain dryad.

He makes eye contact with him and forces himself as he moves towards the centre of the room. His skin prickles and his hair stands on end as if he is walking into a nest of Segriads, but he doesn’t break eye contact with that one dryad.

The dryad leans backwards in his chair, arms resting on the armrests and his legs folded over each other.

There, above the masses of the Lower and even the Higher Court, near the King, sits the dryad Sairal despises the most. The dryad he swore to kill one day; one of the highest ranking members in the entirety of Luxian forest, Aziri, a peak (C) grade and the right hand of the King.