A room, infinite and white.
Green mana orbs floated like drifting fireflies, pulsing gently, casting emerald reflections against endless nothing. The boy stood at its center, naked, untouched, unharmed. His dark hair fell in waves, his body flawless, yet his eyes—tired. Haunted.
"Am I dead?" Icariel whispered.
"No," the voice inside him answered. "You succeeded. We succeeded."
He blinked. "Huh?"
The orbs rippled outward, then returned, orbiting him like loyal moons. The air trembled.
Then another voice came.
Older. Feminine. Timeless. It didn't echo. It bloomed—like ancient roots rising from beneath forgotten worlds.
"To think," it murmured, slow as the groan of bark under frost, "you not only burned the forest surrounding my fragment... but tried to strike my fragment as well. Without hesitation. Reckless. Unpredictable. Human."
His breath caught.
"Where am I?" he asked, throat tight. "Who… are you?"
"I thought you'd guessed."
"You are inside one of my fragments. I brought you here."
"I am the Goddess of Nature."
"The World Tree."
His eyes widened slightly. "So I'm alive?"
!!!
"For now. Whether you remain so... depends on your answer."
A jagged breath left him.
And then—like a flame reigniting in wet wood—laughter. Wild, guttural, desperate. He clenched his fists, fists that still remembered fire.
"YES." The word tore out of him. Joy like flame in dry grass. "I'm alive!"
The World Tree didn't respond at first. But her thought came like a tide under soil.
"Amusing, truly amusing. He isn't even shocked to be speaking with me—the Goddess of Nature. No awe, no reverence. As if he doesn't know who I am… or worse, doesn't care. He knows nothing of this world's truths, and yet his only concern is that he still draws breath."
A breath passed.
"Hmm... so tell me," she continued, voice like wind through leaves. "Why did you try to attack my fragment?"
Icariel hesitated.
"Oh, that... I'm sorry," he rubbed the back of his head, sheepish. "I thought maybe, if I struck it... I could survive somehow."
"And who told you such a thing?"
A pause. His mouth opened. Closed.
"...I can't say," he muttered.
A soft laugh followed. Not cruel—curious.
"Fascinating. But you needn't worry. I already know."
His mind tensed. He looked inward.
"Voice, she knows about you?" he asked the voice.
Silence.
Empty. Deafening.
The World Tree continued.
"But your strike wasn't necessary. I was watching. Even if you hadn't tried to wake me, I would have saved you. You helped my children."
His breath hitched.
"You… were awake?" he asked slowly.
"I was."
Then silence.
And then—his face changed.
His joy turned cold. His jaw clenched. His hands shook.
"So you were awake… and you had the power to save me."
His voice trembled. His chest rose and fell.
"Then… I guess you had the power to save the others, didn't you?"
His thoughts blurred. Elena's face flashed in his mind.
Her smile. Her blood. Her silence.
His heart twisted. His body shook.
"Then why?" he whispered. "Why didn't you save them? Why didn't you save her?"
His eyes, once dark, glinted with a faint red. A crackle of white lightning snaked across his hand.
"Icariel?" The voice inside his head sounded shocked.
"ANSWER ME!" he roared. "You saved me—why not her?! Why not them?!"
The mana flinched—then stilled.
Then came laughter.
Low. Soft. Echoing. Not cruel—but full of ancient amusement.
"To think…" she said, "you can wield your magic even in this place. That white lightning… still with you."
"It wasn't born of spellcraft, was it?" she whispered. "No theory birthed that storm. It's older. Wilder. It came from something else."
Icariel said nothing.
"But I wasn't awake when the battle began," she said. "Your spell, your white lightning, disrupted the mana enough to reach me. I stirred only when the earth itself screamed. I was too late."
"And if I had awoken sooner—yes. I would have acted. I would have saved them all. But I will see what I can do now."
The red in his eyes dimmed. The lightning vanished.
He exhaled. "Then… I'm sorry. You saved me. Thank you."
"Indeed I did."
"And now you will repay me."
"...Repay?"
"A great calamity is approaching—one even we higher beings cannot intervene in," she said gravely. "I ask for your aid in stopping it. The Elf Queen has pledged her support to the warriors who will face this threat. You will be gathered with others, and you must offer them everything you can—every skill, every ounce of strength. The mission ahead is perilous… and the risks, immeasurable."
"...Then I refuse."
"Excuse me?"
"I said no. I've done enough. Your people live because of me. I gave my life. That's your repayment."
"Bold words, boy. Others have stood in this place. None have awakened me by force, so I have the right now and the authority to crush you, even if you are a lower being."
"Then do it," he spat.
Silence.
"Even if I accept," he went on, "I'd die anyway. I'll just die on a later date fighting, right?"
His eyes turned shadowed again.
"I only fought because they mattered to me. Because she mattered."
Elena's memory again. Her laugh. Her death.
"I'll fight when I care. I'll bleed when it's my choice. But save the world just so I can repay you?"
He laughed bitterly.
"I'm busy saving my own damn life. Let those born to be heroes do it. I never was."
The white room dimmed. The green orbs pulsed more slowly.
"This fear... it will never leave me," he whispered. "Even if I beat it once."
A silence fell—ancient, unshaken, the kind that settles only in the wake of gods or defiance.
"...Even if this disaster threatens everything," the World Tree finally said, her voice now slower, heavier, like roots dragging through stone, "even if it devours you, the realms, all life... are you certain?"
Icariel didn't hesitate.
"My response is the same."
No roar. No cry. Just quiet finality. Like a door that shuts, not with a slam—but with the weight of choice.
A breath passed. Then another.
"...Very well," she answered, and the void trembled faintly. "You are right. You saved my children. That alone repays your debt. I will grant you your life in return."
He nodded, quiet. "Thank you."
"You are healed. The burns your body endured—washed clean in this mana cocoon. You may walk again as if you never shattered."
He took a step. The void didn't crack. His skin didn't bleed.
His hands were his. But something pulsed under the skin. Not pain. Not power. Change.
He turned his eyes away.
"Where do you wish to go?" she asked. "Shall I return you to the fragment—where your battle ended?"
"...No," he said immediately.
His voice was low but iron-wrapped.
"I'm done there. If I return, I won't be able to think properly. The dead cling to me there."
His thoughts turned inward.
"Voice," he called silently. "What do you suggest?"
"Tell her to send you to the nearest city," the ancient voice answered. "We'll start again. Away from the rot. Fresh soil. New roots."
"Fine," Icariel said aloud. "Can you send me to the nearest city?"
"As you wish," she replied.
And in a heartbeat, light cloaked his body. Clothes formed from energy. A black outfit, elegant, martial. Marked at the chest with a glowing green flame—a leaf on fire.
"Thank you," he muttered.
"No worries," she answered.
But before the light could engulf him, he raised a hand.
"You said you knew everything. You said you already knew who told me to attack you… Can you tell me more? About him?"
His brows furrowed.
"I don't think he even remembers who he is…"
The moment he spoke—the voice inside his head screamed.
"ICARIEL!!"
The World Tree replied without hesitation.
"I could tell you. But it's not that he doesn't remember..."
"It's that he has chosen not to speak."
"And if he has made that choice—I will not violate it."
The green light began to pulse.
But just before it enveloped him fully, her voice returned—quieter now. Weightier. Like old bark groaning under its own age.
"To think you denied me a higher beginning," she murmured, more to herself than to him. "But I suppose I shouldn't be surprised—your mind is obsessed with life..."
Icariel flinched. But he said nothing.
"But then let me ask you something," she continued, her voice thinning into something deeper—almost sorrowful.
"This fear you carry like a second skin… this dread that gnaws at you in every breath, every heartbeat… Are you sure it's yours?"
The air thickened. The mana trembled.
"Or was it given to you? Imprinted into your soul like a brand you never chose?"
For the first time, Icariel's expression cracked.
"What…?" he whispered.
The green light surged.
"What do you mean?!" he shouted.
But the void had already begun to close.
Too late.
The question hung like a blade left unsheathed.
He was gone.
And then:
The World Tree exhaled. A thousand leaves fell across the planes of her memory.
And the boy who had defied her—
—the boy reborn in ash and grief—
—was cast once more into the world.
Unknowing.
Unanswered.
Unaware… that perhaps the fear that shaped him was never his at all.