Begin scene. Open on the aftermath of the battle. Camera pans over a mist shrouded battlefield. Solemn figures move through the carnage, retrieving the wounded. Bodies are everywhere.

The camera pans over to Erda, wearing a sad grey cloak. She kneels at the side of a wounded mercenary who is sitting in the mud, a broken spear shaft in his side. She moves in to inspect the wound, but the merc turns away from her. “See to your own lot first,” he mutters. Erda moves on.

She moves over to the site where Lord Hobb was slain. There are many armoured goblin-men, but just as many paladins and rangers lying amongst them. Ruadh, his chest bleeding and leaning heavily on a spear, is standing grimly over Bran. Erda sees Bran on his knees, cradling the head of his cousin, Conn, in his lap. Bran can hardly fight back the tears. Conn’s chest has been caved in. No doubt his lungs have been crushed.

“I’m sorry, Conn…” Bran bites his lip as he fights the tears, blood trickles down his chin. “I should have been here.”

Erasmus walks into view, Myra beside him. Erasmus kneels beside Conn, the young ranger who had looked up to him from the beginning.

“We did it…” Conn’s voice wheezed out from his destroyed chest. “Didn’t we… ‘Rasmus? We won?”

“Yes Conn. We’ve won.”

“You said… we could win. And I didn’t believe you… I’m glad I could be here… Sorry, Bran…” With that, the young ranger was gone.

Erda and Erasmus stood up and walked away. “That charge was suicide,” said Erasmus. “But it seemed like our only chance. We took Hobb’s head in the end… but so many of us were cut to pieces..”

Erda nodded her head. “They did so, because it was you leading them. You have become a fine leader.”

“And what a dangerous thing that is…” Erasmus stopped suddenly. “Erda, how is he?”

Erda looked away, a sad look in her eyes. “His body is like one great bruise. His muscles are torn, several fragments, burst blood vessels. He pushed his body far beyond the breaking point.”

“Can anything be done for him?” asked Myra, who was there the whole time, by the way. But Erda said nothing.

“You did it once before…” said Myra. “Ruadh brought me back too. Is there not any...?”

Erda shook her head. “I wish that I had. But even if I did… there are so many that could be saved. Too many to choose.”

“There must be something…” Myra said softly, Erasmus took her hand.

Ruadh came limping over, his eyes resting on Myra. “Erda… Both Myra and Pike are here now, by the power of the magic healing potions. I now believe as you do… that the hand of fate was upon your choice, and mine. They, and Erasmus, perhaps deserve to see what it was that brought them here.”

“Do you think that’s really alright?” said Erda.

Ruadh nodded. “None would say it was inappropriate. And I could name no one worthier than Erasmus.”

Myra looked at them in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Erda took Myra’s hand in her own. “We will take you to see… the King of the Forest.”

Change scene, we have a comatose Pike. His body is basically different shades of black and blue. He is barely conscious. He will be dead soon. Gingerly, Erasmus carries him through the dark tunnels, following Erda. Myra is following behind. Myra’s heart breaks at the sight of seeing Pike, so weak and helpless, held in Erasmus’ arms like a child.

Yada yada, they enter out of the tunnel of roots, and enter into a grove. It’s a magical scene, as they step out onto a turf of soft grass. It is like a clearing before them, with a still pool in the centre. On a solitary island in the centre of the pool, a white tree stands, its leaves golden. The canopy above is parted, to allow a ray of sunlight to bathe the Tree. The whole tangled cluster of titan-trees that have fused together to form the Ranger’s safe-haven and fortress, all of them have seemingly formed around to this one, delicate Tree to guard and preserve it like many gentle hands cupping a flower petal.

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Soft and melodic music plays and Erda walks barefoot through the pool, Erasmus and Myra following silently behind her. Now the two of them understand. This is the source of the magic healing potions.

Cue dream sequence. Pike’s mind is dim. He is standing in the midst of a fog. At his feet is a swamp, filled with bodies. Pike, shoulders slumped, feels himself sinking deeper and deeper into the mire. Bodies bearing familiar faces float by. There is Wudu the troll-girl, in her cloak of owl feathers soiled by mud and blood. Garth is there, holding in his head in his hands like a helmet upon his breast, his mouth stuffed with a purse overflowing with silver coins. And there is a woman, Pike’s childhood girlfriend from his tragic backstory, her eyes wide with terror and grief. Pike watches as she sinks into the murk beneath him, her eyes locked on his as they disappear. Pike sinks lower. That is where he belongs.

But his hand touches something solid. At first he believes it is the hilt of a sword. He is about to recoil in disgust. But a warmth emanates from the thing that fills his arm. A warmth that is comforting. A light begins to fill his eyes, a light like the gentle glow of dawn. He looks up. Before him, rising out of the murky waters, lies and island. The white tree that stands upon it is thin and delicate, yet it hold aloft many branches laden with fruit, radiant with glowing light. Its roots coil down into the water, one of which gently grips Pike by the hand. A figure, sitting amongst the roots, is looking at Pike.

Pike, the figure says. He cannot tell if it is a man or a woman’s voice, deep yet soft. Come. Sit by me.

“Who are you?”

I am a friend. I have been watching you for a long time. Come, won’t you pull yourself from the mire?

“No. I have to go. It’s my time.”

Is that for certain? You still have much to do. Come sit by me, and we shall talk.

“Is that… alright?”

I’m sure if the earth wanted your bones, they would have it. It’s alright.

Pike took hold of the trailing root and allowed himself to be gently pulled towards the island. There he stood up and looked at the figure.

“I… I know you. From somewhere.”

Yes. The magic healing potion, the power which saved your life before, belonged to me.

“Erda gave me that potion.”

Yes. And it was I would gave it unto her, my fruit that is. That is the great secret which the rangers have been protecting.

“Who are you?”

I am as you see me. A child of the forest. Loved by the Trees, and loved by the Rangers. I have little need for anything else, but to love them in return.

“You must be very powerful.”

I am. In my way. The power that flows from me gives strength to this land. And a little of the land’s power flows back to me. My power is that of life. And, slowly, I can harness vast amounts of that power, to form into a single fruit. Enough power to save one from certain death. Though it weakens me, this I gladly do, for the Rangers take it as a great responsibility. Not lightly do accept this power. One such as Erda, I gladly give my power, to her judgement.

“To have to choose who lives and who dies. That’s a terrible choice to make.”

Yes. A terrible gift to have.

“Then why do you do it?”

Simply because I love life. All things must pass. Especially you creatures who walk upon the earth, or swim in the waters. But seeing you live out your lives, that gives me joy. And there is much joy in a life well lived.

“Did… did Erda make the right choice?”

The gift is yours. That is for you to decide, when your days have ended.

“I made my choice. I gave up my sword, and used the Rage that destroys me from within. Without the sword, my body cannot handle the rage. I will die now.”

Only if you choose so. Your body is in poor condition, but if it is your wish, you could press on, with what little strength is left to you. For as long as your body can last.

“What for?”

Only time can tell.

“They don’t need me anymore. The war is over. But I can’t live alongside them. I’m a stranger to peace. Those bodies out there. The people I’ve killed. They’re the only company who will have me now.”

Maybe that is so. But the war is not truly over.

“What do you mean?”

There is change on the wind. Things are moving now which will shake the foundations of the earth. I know that it is inescapable. For I am at the centre of it. I will die. And soon. This cannot be avoided.

“That can’t be…”

But it will be. I am not sad. But of my land, and the Rangers, and all the little people that live in the shadows of the forest. They do not understand the forces that stir out there, beyond the horizon.

“Why are you telling me this?”

Because of all the echoes I hear, carried by the winds of change, I hear your voice among them. A great Doom lies before you. A great Destiny.

“Is that a good thing?”

No. Not for you.

“Crap.”

I only ask one thing of you. Remember the people here. What they have lived and died to protect.

“What do mean? Like, trees and stuff?”

The figure shook its head and laughed softly. Do not think too hard about it.

“Uhh, okay. Anything else to say.”

Yes, but nothing comes to mind right now.

“Want to just fix it in post and move on?”

Yes. Sounds like a plan.

Pike’s eyes flickered open. Erasmus and Myra watched with bated breath. A golden glow permeates the colour palette on screen.

“Where… am I?”

“You’re with friends now,” said Erda.

Pike looks up at the white branches above him. He feels something that he has not felt for many, many years.

He feels safe.