Thalor moved swiftly through the devastated woods, his sharp eyes scanning the area as he assessed the damage. The once-vibrant forest of Aether was now a twisted shadow of itself, the trees warped and scorched from the corruption that had spilled out from the sanctuary. Beside him, two younger arcanists followed, their steps quiet but deliberate as they mirrored his pace.

"We'll need to start here," Thalor said, his voice calm but firm as he raised a hand. Energy rippled from his fingers, stretching out like veins of light toward the ground. The forest responded slowly, the roots trembling as though awakening from a deep sleep.

"Master Thalor," Nalia began, her brow furrowed with concern, "if we restore the ground first but the balance of the ley lines beneath remains disturbed, won’t the new growth be unstable? Should we perhaps realign the magical currents before attempting any regrowth?"

Thalor gave a nod of approval, his expression thoughtful. “You’re right to think of the ley lines, Nalia,” he said, his deep voice carrying authority. “The ground and the life force are intertwined with the flow of magic beneath. If the ley lines are disrupted, no matter how strong the foundation, the growth will be flawed and unstable.”

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the ravaged landscape before them. “But the ley lines are delicate. Attempting to realign them without stabilizing the physical ground could cause further fractures. Start with the foundation, strengthen it carefully. Then, once the ground is secure, we’ll begin to realign the magical currents, ensuring they flow in harmony with the natural life force.”

He gestured toward the shattered earth. “Our work is not just about restoring life, it’s about balance between the physical and the magical. If either is neglected, the restoration will fail. Remember that.”

The other arcanist, Derin, stepped forward, his hands already glowing with magic as he prepared to follow Thalor's instructions. "I'll handle the grounding spells. Nalia, you focus on directing the energy into the roots once we're ready."

Their teamwork was efficient, yet their movements held a subtle deference toward Thalor, whose experience far surpassed theirs. His presence exuded authority, and though he was instructive, he carried an unspoken expectation that they would rise to meet the challenge on their own.

As they worked, the light around them shimmered, the magic weaving itself through the broken earth and wounded trees. Nalia's hands danced in the air, guiding the energy into the roots, while Derin muttered under his breath, creating a steady hum that reinforced the ground beneath them. Slowly but surely, the earth began to stabilize, the warped trees straightening as the corruption receded inch by inch.

Thalor watched their progress with a keen eye, offering occasional guidance but mostly allowing them to work independently. He was a teacher, but also a leader, and he knew the value of letting his students find their own rhythm.

Before long, a familiar voice rang out through the clearing. "Thalor."

Maelor, the great druid of Aether, stepped into view, his massive frame imposing yet calm as always. His deep orange eyes scanned the scene, immediately taking in the progress and the remaining damage. "You’re making headway."

Thalor nodded, offering a slight smile. "Slowly, but we’ll restore it. Your timing is perfect, Maelor. We could use your expertise."

Maelor approached, his presence immediately grounding the energy around them. He knelt down, placing his hand on the soil, feeling the flow of magic beneath the surface. "The corruption runs deep," he said, his voice low. "The trees are recovering, but the balance has been disrupted. I can guide the natural flow, but it will take time."

"Time we don’t have much of," Thalor replied. "But we’ll work with what we’ve got. The sanctity of these woods must be restored."

As they discussed strategies, the sound of small footsteps echoed through the trees. Thalor and Maelor turned to see a young dwarf, no older than eight, cautiously approaching. He was short, even for a dwarf of his age, with tousled dark brown hair that fell in waves around his ears and bright, curious eyes that sparkled like emeralds. His round face still held the soft features of childhood, and his hands clutched a small, handmade staff. His clothes were simple and a bit oversized, giving him a slightly awkward but endearing appearance.

"Hey there," Thalor said warmly, his stern demeanor softening. "What brings you out here, young one?"

The dwarf boy stopped a few feet away, clutching the staff tightly in his hands, his wide eyes scanning the scene with a mix of curiosity and nervousness. "I—I wanted to help," he stammered. "I saw what happened to the forest, and I thought... maybe I could learn something. Is it... is it dangerous to be here?"

Thalor exchanged a glance with Maelor, who gave a knowing smile. "Curiosity is the first step toward wisdom," Maelor said gently. "But you should always be careful in places like this. The magic here is unstable, and we wouldn’t want you getting hurt."

The boy’s face fell slightly, his small hands gripping the staff tighter, but Thalor stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. "That doesn’t mean you can’t stay and learn. Just stick close and watch how we work. Maybe you can even help out."

The boy’s eyes brightened, his nervousness melting away as he nodded eagerly. "Really? I won’t get in the way, I promise!"

"Good," Thalor said with a chuckle. "Now, watch closely. See how we guide the magic into the earth? It's not just about strength, but finesse. The balance here is delicate."

As Thalor and Maelor continued their work, they included the boy in their discussions, explaining the process of restoring the natural flow of energy to the land. The young dwarf, now more at ease, watched with rapt attention, his green eyes wide as he absorbed every word. His youthful curiosity was a bright contrast to the grim task at hand. He asked questions—some insightful, others innocent—and the two older arcanists answered with patience and care.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

At one point, the boy asked, "Will the trees ever be the same again? They look... hurt."

Maelor glanced at the twisted branches overhead, a flicker of sadness in his eyes. "Nature has a way of healing, but scars remain. These trees will grow tall again, but they’ll carry the memory of this corruption. That’s how the world works—change leaves a mark."

The boy seemed to ponder this for a moment before nodding solemnly. "But... we can still make them strong again, right?"

"Stronger than before," Thalor assured him. "And maybe, with time, even more resilient."

As the day wore on, the young dwarf found small ways to help, under Thalor’s watchful eye. He fetched water, carried tools, and even used his innate ability to sense the veins of minerals beneath the surface, gently guiding Maelor and Thalor toward the most stable ground. Though his connection to the earth was still developing, his contributions were met with encouragement, and he beamed with pride.

In a brief moment of rest, as the group watched the slow regrowth of the forest around them, the boy turned to Maelor with wide eyes. "Do you think I could become as strong as you one day?"

Maelor’s deep laughter rumbled through the trees. "Strength isn’t measured by how much power you wield. It’s measured by what you do with it. If you keep your heart and mind open, young one, you’ll grow in ways you can’t yet imagine."

The boy smiled, feeling both seen and inspired.

As the team of arcanists and their young helper continued their work, a new presence began to make itself known. From the trees, a figure emerged, his silhouette imposing yet fluid, moving with an ease that belied his size.

Maelor recognized the figure instantly—there was no mistaking him. He was dressed differently than in his battle attire, trading his usual armor for something more fitting of a Blood Mage's mystique. His outfit was ornate yet functional: a deep crimson robe embroidered with dark, swirling patterns that hinted at ancient blood magic, its hem lined with silver thread. His cloak flowed behind him, clasped at the neck with a black onyx brooch, and long leather gloves covered his hands, giving him a striking, almost regal appearance.

“You really don't have to babysit me, you know,” Maelor remarked dryly, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve survived worse.”

Riven's lips twitched, but his usual aloof demeanor remained. "I'm sure you have," he replied, voice low but calm. "But humor me. You were half dead not long ago, and I don't plan on letting you slip through my fingers again." The words, though delivered with Riven's usual quiet intensity, held an odd undercurrent of concern.

Maelor chuckled, the sound deep and rumbling. “What, afraid your blood magic won’t save me a second time?” He didn’t wait for Riven's response, already knowing the answer. There was a certain comfort in their banter, in the unspoken bond they shared, even if they rarely acknowledged it aloud.

Thalor, who had been silently observing the exchange, interjected with a grin. "If we're talking about babysitting, I think you both could use it. Riven watches over you, and I’m stuck watching over both of you. It falls to me, it seems, to ensure that wisdom prevails amidst this enthusiasm.”

“And here I thought your heart only beat for the forests, Master Thalor," Riven remarked with a wry smile, offering a slight nod that balanced his usual dry humor with the respect due to Thalor's status.

Thalor’s sharp eyes flicked over to Riven, his expression unamused but carrying a faint hint of indulgence. “Careful, Riven," he replied smoothly, "the trees have long memories. They might take offense to your humor.”

Riven smirked, tilting his head. “If I’ve learned anything, Master Thalor, it’s that respect for the forests and sarcasm are not mutually exclusive.” There was a glint in his eye, and despite the jest, the reverence for Thalor’s connection to nature was still there, just beneath the surface.

Maelor gave a quiet chuckle, the sound deep and brief, cutting through the otherwise calm air. "Now that the forest diplomacy is settled, how's S'varra? Still trying to bite your hand off?"

Riven’s smirk faded slightly, replaced by a more serious expression. "She’s not in a good state," he admitted, glancing at Maelor. "The venom’s spreading faster than anticipated. It’s keeping her magic unstable—violent, even."

“We need to create a stable ground for her recovery. If her magic keeps reacting to the venom, the whole area could become volatile.” Thalor added.

Riven nodded. "I've been working to isolate the venom in her system, but it's resisting. We’ll need more than blood magic to keep it contained long-term."

Maelor’s brow furrowed in thought. “Then let’s stabilize her for now. Once the forests are back in balance, we’ll focus all resources on finding a permanent solution.” He glanced at Thalor, who nodded in agreement.

The young dwarf had been lingering on the edge of the group for a while, his wide eyes flitting nervously between Maelor, Thalor, and Riven. Despite his obvious hesitance, curiosity got the better of him. Finally, with a hesitant step forward, he piped up, “Excuse me, sir… um, Riven? How do you do the… blood magic thing?”

Riven, caught off guard by the sudden question, blinked, his usually aloof demeanor faltering. He stared at the dwarf for a moment, as if unsure what to make of the small, wide-eyed figure.

Thalor raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly, but said nothing.

Riven cleared his throat, glancing at Maelor, then back at the child. “It's... complicated,” he said in his usual calm tone, though the slight awkwardness in his voice was hard to miss. “Not something you should be trying anytime soon.”

The young dwarf’s eyes grew even wider. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean—just—it's fascinating! Do you have to, like, use your own blood or…?” He trailed off, suddenly realizing that he was asking a lot of questions for someone standing in the presence of powerful arcanists.

Riven’s lips twitched, caught somewhere between amusement and discomfort. He wasn’t used to explaining his methods, let alone to someone so young. “Yes… sometimes," he said, his voice softening just a fraction. "But mostly, it's about controlling others' blood. That's why it's… delicate.”

The dwarf’s mouth dropped open in awe. “That’s amazing… and kind of scary.”

Riven gave a soft chuckle, a rare sound that seemed almost out of place coming from him. “It should be. That’s the point.”

Maelor, watching the exchange with a grin, leaned over and whispered to Thalor, “Looks like Riven's found a fan.”

Thalor snorted softly. “Maybe we should leave him with the dwarf for more lessons.”

Riven shot them both a mock-glare, but the edges of his lips curled upward. He looked back at the dwarf, who was still gazing up at him with a mix of awe and fear. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Finmor,” the dwarf stammered.

Riven nodded, his tone turning unexpectedly gentle. “Well, Finmor, you should stick to learning magic from someone like Master Thalor and Maelor. Blood magic’s not for curious minds.”

Finmor nodded eagerly, but his gaze didn’t leave Riven, still fascinated. “But… maybe one day?”

Riven gave him a long look, then said with the faintest of smiles, “Maybe. But don’t rush it.”

Maelor and Thalor exchanged amused glances, watching the unlikely interaction. As Riven turned to leave, Finmor tugged on Thalor’s sleeve, his voice hushed. “He’s a bit scary… but he’s kind of cool, too.”

Thalor chuckled, patting the boy on the head. “He grows on you. Like a very stubborn, thorny vine.”

Riven, overhearing the comment, simply shook his head, his gaze flicking back to the little dwarf. “Let’s hope you never have to see the other side of blood magic, Finmor.”

With that, he walked away, leaving the young dwarf standing in awe and the rest of the group suppressing their laughter.