The air in the chamber didn't just crackle—it seemed to scream with tension as Aira stood surrounded by Ziemrot's shamans. Their eyes pulsed with emerald fury, casting eerie shadows across ancient stone walls that suddenly felt closer, more confining. Their bodies formed a perfect circle around her, a living barrier of flesh and elemental power cutting off any escape. The weight of their collective judgment pressed against her skin like a physical force. They hadn't come to negotiate or understand—that much was clear. Not one had accepted her party invitation, choosing instead to serve as silent sentinels, their faces masks of stony condemnation that needed no words to convey their intent.

  Before they had a chance to do anything, a status message appeared in Aira's vision:

  --- Quest Update ---

  Obtain the Shards (1/4)

  Progress: 25%

  Reward for obtaining the Splinter of the Worldroot: 1,000,000 XP

  Reward for the second location: 2,000,000 XP

  "So, that's you name…" thought Aira.

  Before she could continue the thought, a flurry of System messages assaulted her:

  --- System updated ---

  Enhanced bonding

  --- System updated ---

  Enhanced communication

  --- System updated ---

  Enhanced elemental control

  --- System updated ---

  […]

  The messages continued, but Aira wasn't given an opportunity to process or even read them. Khanorrh stepped forward, his weathered face contorted with rage. His face was a mask of silent condemnation as he raised gnarled hands toward her. The other shamans followed suit, their fingers weaving complex patterns that made the very air shimmer with dangerous energy.

  The first attack came without warning—a battering ram of raw Earth energy that surged toward her from all directions at once, the air itself turning solid and brown-green with power. Aira's body reacted before her mind could catch up, her arm thrusting the Shard upward in a desperate parry. The crystalline surface caught the dim light of the cavern, flaring to emerald life as it met the shamans' assault. Power collided with power in a deafening crash that felt like two mountains slamming together—a sound so physical it shook loose dirt from the ceiling and sent concussive ripples through the chamber that made Aira's teeth vibrate in her skull.

  For a heartbeat—one single moment suspended between breaths—everything stilled.

  A silence so complete it felt like the world itself had paused to witness this transgression. Then came a sound no human ear was meant to hear—the mountain itself seemed to scream, a primal roar that didn't travel through the air but through stone and root and bone directly into the mind.

  The roots lining the walls pulsed with blinding light, tearing free from stone. They whipped through the air like living tentacles, striking indiscriminately—shamans, Aira, everything in their path. The last thing Aira saw was Khanorrh's face, his expression shifting from rage to horror as the mountain's fury engulfed them all.

  Images flashed in disconnected bursts through Aira's semi-consciousness: being dragged through caves and caverns, the sensation of rising through the city, and always, always the feeling of roots, of the magical conduits surrounding her. She fought to stay awake, to understand. Still, darkness kept pulling her back under—a mercy, perhaps, considering the pain that flared with each moment of clarity.

  Consciousness returned in fragments—first pain, then sound, then finally sight as Aira found herself sprawled on her bed in their treehouse, her limbs heavy as stone. Her fingers scraped against what should have been familiar wood, but something was terribly wrong. The walls that had once gently curved with living bark, breathing with the rhythm of natural growth, now stood rigid and unyielding as petrified corpses. She blinked, trying to locate the soft rectangle of light from the window, but there was nothing—every opening, every window, every door had vanished, replaced by seamless wood that sealed them inside like insects caught in amber. The treehouse hadn't just changed—it had become their coffin.

  Lila knelt beside her, blood trickling from a cut above her eye. Alliot paced the perimeter, hands running frantically over the transformed walls. Of Al, there was no sign at all.

  As soon as Aira came to her senses, Lila ran to her and grabbed her in a hug so tight it almost squeezed the breath from her lungs.

  "By the twisted branches!" Lila exclaimed, her voice cracking with relief as she helped Aira sit up. "What in the shadowline just happened down there? One moment you're doing your ritual thing, and the next..." She gestured wildly at their transformed surroundings. "The whole mountain shook like a loaded deer! Even the branches in our walls were writhing. We could feel it right up through the floor, like the earth itself was having a fit!" She brushed dirt from Aira's hair with shaking fingers. "Did the ritual work? And are we root-and-bark prisoners now, or just waiting for them to come finish what they started?"

  Aira pressed her palm against her temple, wincing as fragments of memory slotted back into place. "The ritual... it worked, but not like anything I've experienced before." She closed her eyes, recalling the moment. "When I connected with the Source, it felt like the mountain was pushing back, playing with me. Then suddenly, it... just went along."

  She described how light had erupted between her palms, coalescing into a crystalline object—a sliver of pure elemental energy that pulsed with its own heartbeat.

  "The Splinter of the Worldroot," she whispered, the name appearing in her mind unbidden. "It formed just as the shamans attacked."

  Aira's hand moved to her pocket, fingers searching for the object she'd instinctively tucked away. Her expression shifted from confidence to confusion, then alarm.

  "It's gone," she said, frantically patting her clothing. "The Splinter—I had it! I felt its power." Her eyes darted around the room. "Did the shamans take it when they brought us here? Or did it get lost in the chaos when the roots attacked? Ah… We need to get out of this house first. We'll figure out the rest."

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Aira rose unsteadily to her feet, momentarily setting aside the loss of the Splinter to assess their immediate situation. Her eyes traced the unnaturally smooth walls of what had been their comfortable dwelling, now transformed into something entirely hostile. The grain of the wood no longer flowed in natural patterns—instead, it seemed to spiral inward like a vortex, centered on... nothing. Just seamless wood where doors and windows should have been.

  She turned to Alliot and asked: "What has happened to our treehouse? Is that even a thing?"

  "I wouldn't say it's normal," Alliot said. "Nothing of what's happening now is normal. But it's a standard functionality. Some of the treehouses grown in Ziemrot can do that. If the hosts want to make sure their guests don't leave the city. I think your house in Wentouk was the same."

  "Oh, wow!" said Lila. "You are spilling beans now! How intriguing! Was it because you were afraid or concerned about our part in your plans?"

  "Not my plans. Ainorrh's," said Alliot. "But it's a standard precaution. You are outsiders. One never knows."

  "Did you try just forcing your way out?" asked Aira.

  "It wouldn't work," said Alliot. "We're not just fighting a wooden prison—we're opposing the will of an entire elemental stronghold." He pressed his palm against the wall, and the wood seemed to shudder in response. "We can't fight against the force of the whole city. It's not only the magic of the treehouse. It's the shamans, and the Source itself."

  "The Source seemed to be quite unhappy with what the shamans did down there, in the lowest chamber," said Aira. "Maybe it will make an exception for us?"

  "Or we just need to find a different way to leave?" asked Lila. "We are leaving now, right?"

  "We'll have to figure something out," said Aira. "But wait…"

  "What is it?"

  A familiar squeak pierced through their party chat, making them freeze.

  "Al?" Aira called out, scanning the seamless room. "Where are you?"

  A second squeak, louder this time, drew their attention to the floor. Al darted in through a small hole near the floor, his fur dusted with dirt and his whiskers twitching frantically.

  He scampered to the center of the room, circling in agitation. Then, he stepped back, and something remained where he had stood just a moment before. The Shard. Pulsing with emerald light. All eyes were momentarily attracted to the object.

  Al nudged the Shard toward Aira with his nose, his tiny body straining with the effort. Where the crystal touched the wood, it left behind faint luminous trails like writing in a strange language. The light seeped into the grain of the wood, momentarily revealing the complex patterns of its growth that shouldn't have been visible to the naked eye. Al's tiny eyes, normally darting with rodent nervousness, now fixed on Aira with an unblinking focus that seemed beyond his nature, as if something far more ancient looked out through those small black orbs.

  Aira bent lower, and the Splinter of the Worldroot glowed brighter as it approached her fingertips as if recognizing its intended wielder.

  "What's that?" asked Lila.

  "That's..." Aira's voice trailed off as she reached for the Shard, her fingers hovering just above its surface. The air around it shimmered like heat rising from summer stones. "The Splinter of the Worldroot. The result of the ritual. And if the System's reaction is anything to go by, the main reason we were guided to Ziemrot in the first place."

  As her fingers finally made contact, the Shard pulsed once, twice, and then settled into a steady glow that seemed to answer some unspoken question. Aira's eyes widened, a smile of realization spreading across her face.

  ***

  Aira's train of thought was interrupted by a soft hissing sound—like water on hot stone—as the wood where the door had once been began to ripple. The surface undulated, the grain shifted and realigned itself in patterns defying natural growth. Green light, similar to the emerald hue of the Splinter, seeped through the wood in veiny tendrils that expanded outward from a central point. Unlike the delicate tracery the Splinter had left on the floor, these luminous patterns carved deep furrows into the wood, the material peeling back layer by layer like flesh being flayed from the bone.

  The process was beautiful and horrifying at once—organic matter surrendering to a force that demanded passage. Within moments, where solid wood had stood, a rectangular opening gaped like a wound in the treehouse's flesh.

  When the transformation ended, Khanorrh stepped through the newly formed passage, his movements cautious and stiff—a predator uncertain of its footing. The marks of the Source's fury were etched across his weathered form. Even if his clothes were new, they didn't entirely hide the bruises and scratches that covered his body. The emerald glow of his eyes, which had burned with righteous fury in the cavern, now flickered like dying embers, dimming with each labored breath. But diminished or not, the weight of centuries still hung about him like a cloak, danger radiated from his hunched frame, and the power of Ziemrot was still behind him.

  "Are you in touch with Ainorrh?" he demanded without preamble. This time, he addressed both Lila and Alliot directly, and any pretense of refusing to acknowledge the 'blightborn' was abandoned in his urgency. "The stone does not forgive cracks, Alliot. Do you receive commands from her even now? I know you have means." His gnarled fingers curled into fists at his sides. "Tread lightly, lest the earth swallows you whole. We all buy services and artifacts from Wentouk—do not think we are blind to the tendrils she extends into our soil."

  Lila and Alliot exchanged glances, a silent conversation passing between them in the space of a heartbeat. They paused, maintaining the charade of translation for Aira's benefit. The air between them practically vibrated with unspoken tension as they played for time, each calculating the risks of truth versus deception.

  The pause only stoked Khanorrh's fury. His face contorted, the wrinkles deepening into crevices that cast shadows across his features in the dim light.

  "I don't need the aberrant's answer!" he snarled as he stepped toward Alliot with sudden menace. "By the mountain's cracked bones, enough of these games!"

  Behind him, silhouetted against the opening, loomed the hulking shapes of enlightened guards—their eyes glowing like cold stars in the shadows. The wood beneath them seemed to pulse in rhythm with their breathing as if the very treehouse recognized them as extensions of Ziemrot's will rather than separate entities. Their silent presence added the weight of an avalanche poised to fall to Khanorrh's words.

  "Moss-eaten nonsense!" he exclaimed. "I'm not ready to wait while you play your stupid games!" He slammed his fist against the wall, and the entire structure shuddered in response—not from the physical impact but from something deeper as if he'd struck a chord in the very essence of the treehouse. "The mountain crushes the foolish first! The fate of our city hangs in the balance—the fate of all enlightened! The deepest cracks hold the oldest stories, and what you've awakened below may doom us all!"

  "We don't have any means to communicate with Wentouk," said Lila. "Clear as a mountain stream, Aira's communication powers are torch-blind when it comes to reaching that far. And we've been told that Alliot's just as lost in the lichen when it comes to personally reaching out to Ainorrh." She turned to their companion, eyes narrowing slightly. "That's right, isn't it, Alliot? Solid as oak, you'd have mentioned something that important."

  Their enlightened companion hesitated for a moment but then answered. "I have a way. The High Shaman is right, I can reach out to Ainorrh. But this method is reserved for extreme situations only."

  "I knew that!" said Khanorrh. "She gave you a communicator that can tap into our source of power, right? Our Source? This is why you sent the aberrant to go down there? You yourself couldn't get close enough because you are a weakling!"

  Alliot briefly glanced at Aira and Lila, his eyes darting between them like trapped birds. The shock on their faces mirrored the betrayal they must have felt—another secret revealed, another layer of deception peeled away. He stood frozen in indecision for a moment that stretched like an eternity. A deep sigh escaped him as his fingers nervously worked the hem of his shirt, the fabric bunching and twisting in his grip. He moved as if to step toward Aira, a gesture of explanation or perhaps apology forming—then halted, the motion dying before it fully lived. His thoughts played across his features in a silent drama of conflict and calculation, each emotion chasing the next in rapid succession: guilt, fear, resolve, and finally, resignation.

  get one additional chapter!

  The Dark Lady's Guide to Villainy :)

  you can read 9 chapters ahead for only about $3.50! I'll even throw in a couple of interludes in the mix :)

  https://discord.gg/TMRUtjEXFz