As Adarin turned to study his choices more closely, the space shuddered again.

  This time it was different.

  Not like turbulence. Not like previous system ripples.

  It was like an earthquake.

  Like a space station under catastrophic impact—

  —and he was aboard.

  Liora yelped.

  And with the soft pop of a soap bubble, both she and her half of the space vanished.

  Adarin staggered, suddenly alone on his platform, surrounded by the eight distant stars of his cores.

  “What?” he shouted. “Liora?”

  He spun, head on a swivel, scanning his surroundings with the twitchy vigilance of a point defense turret.

  Then the red system light surged back.

  But this time, it wasn’t just red.

  It was streaked with purple and blue, flickering like a malfunctioning neural net.

  ERROR.

  Unauthorized access detected.

  Initiating shutdown.

  Shutdown overridden.

  Re-initiating shutdown.

  Shutdown overridden.

  ERROR.

  Adarin’s eyes widened. Shit.

  He lunged forward and snapped his focus back to the class selection screen. The list was still there—flickering.

  Druid – Medium Rarity

  You are on the path of nature. Become one with it and your life shall be the one that can’t be extinguished.

  Officer – Medium Rarity

  Command men and morale in battle through superior tactics, exemplary leadership, and charismatic confidence.

  Summoner – High Rarity

  Create constructs and dentures from the domain of life. And suborn them to your will, bend them to your purpose.

  World Tree Guardian – Greater Rarity

  The World Tree has touched you and sees you. Its power is there for the taking, but never forget that the branches are fed by roots of responsibility.

  Seer – Greater Rarity

  You KNOW. That is who you are. Become what you are and close the cycle. We know you. Come know us.

  Select Class for E-Tier

  Current Class: G-Tier – Tactician

  The space groaned again—an audible vibration through the bones of the platform. No time.

  “I need power,” he muttered, skipping over the lower tiers.

  His attention locked on the two greater rarity classes.

  Tree Guardian. Seer.

  Time to choose.

  The class descriptions flared briefly, shimmering in streaks of molten metal red, each word etched into his mind with painful clarity.

  Tree Guardian — Master Alteration and Conjuration Magic. Become the forest. You are as inevitable as nature.

  Seer — Master Divination Magic. Know the future and the fate of enemies and allies. Be ten steps ahead in a game where most stumble in the dark. Let your enemies become your playpieces.

  Why have the descriptions changed? The one for Seer was far more ominous before. No fucking matter.

  Another shudder rocked the liminal space.

  Adarin’s eyes lingered on the Seer class, the symbol pulsing like a suspended yearglass.

  Divination...

  But—

  The predictive algorithms of the System had been impressive in their time. But they hadn’t seen the future. They extrapolated—ruthlessly—based on an intrusive web of information, not foresight.

  Still… using that power…

  He ground his teeth. If I ever go against it, I cannot have all my power depend on the System.

  Then World Tree Guardian it is.

  As before, with Liora, three figures manifested—ghostly images, slowly fading more deeply into existence.

  But Adarin noticed the differences straight away.

  They were not as fully present.

  Space around them fractured, as if they were encased in splintering glass. The shaking of the interface intensified.

  Adarin scanned over them.

  A man in roughspun green robes stood with a long beard, a sickle in one hand and a gnarled oak staff in the other.

  Next, a living tree—nearly twice as tall as Adarin himself—loomed above the platform.

  And then: One of the greenskins. An orc.

  Strangely, parts of the orc’s skin had been replaced by bark. Leaves draped his shoulders, flowering vines hung like hair, and yet he was undeniably old—sitting cross-legged, a serene smile on his face.

  Is there a reason the System keeps repeating the same trios?

  Then he spoke, his voice tainted with haste: “What do you have on offer?”

  He looked to the tree-creature first.

  “I. Am. The. Verdant. Old. Wood.” Each word landed with the inevitability of a growing root splitting stone. One word, one sentence.

  Adarin nearly shivered with impatience as the creature finished speaking.

  “What do you demand for your mentorship?” he asked.

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  The creature’s face began to shift like tectonic plates grinding against one another. Colors bled into it like ink dropped into water, as the figure grew more concrete.

  Disapproval was carved into its features.

  “I demand the resurrection of the cult of war,” it intoned. “Sanctify ten ancient trees in death.”

  Very dramatic. Adarin suppressed a roll of his eyes.

  The text before him shimmered with the names of the offered spells, though it twisted and distorted with each pulse of the collapsing space.

  Root Demon

  Radius of Alteration (Core Tier)2 × 10 meters.

  You may revive an existing root network within this radius to do your bidding as living wood.

  Brush Servant

  Revive groves or individual shrubs to act as servants. They may whip at enemies.

  At most, (Alteration Courtier × 50) bushes may be controlled.

  Range, ability, and intelligence depend on your Alteration Courtier level.

  Duration: Alteration Courtier level in minutes.

  Adarin closed his eyes, visualizing the spells—both situational, but with clear tactical uses.

  Now he saw the roots and twigs had grown around skulls and bones. A macabre display.

  Sanctification through death… this thing is something religious. And I’m not sure I want anything to do with the ideology of the System.

  Adarin inclined his head in acknowledgment, then turned to the man in the roughspun tunic. “Who are you, and what do you offer?”

  The man glanced around, seemingly noticing the shaking space himself.

  “I see you don’t have much time, child,” he said in the voice of an old man—somehow understanding the urgency, yet taking the time he needed without wasting Adarin’s.

  A smile ran across Adarin’s lips. Tight. Efficient. Fast.

  The druid mirrored it.

  “I am Archdruid Erickson of the Misty Islands,” he said. “In my time, I drew my power from the Fae. I would have you awaken and bind the dryadic spirits of five tree species to your will. After all, life is created through life, is it not?”

  Then the old man smirked. “You might even find the task pleasurable.”

  Adarin gave a wry smile. A manipulator’s demand, dressed in ritual. Typical. But my new form… could I even—

  A curtain of red light surged over him, interrupting his train of thought.

  I’m not in a situation to be thinking about that.

  He shook himself out of it. I ain’t some young, horny, dumb recruit. Anymore.

  “Thank you,” he said to the druid, and focused on the abilities.

  But the druid raised a second hand.

  “Let me save you some time,” he said. “I offer you two new abilities. Sap Blood—extract sap from trees and use it as an incendiary, or to strengthen yourself and your constructs. And…”

  The man smiled viciously. “Neuroarboreal Parasite. It allows you to create thralls through alteration magic. Something few expect from our kind.”

  The druid’s grin deepened.

  “What I can see of your soul… you’re a man who enjoys control, aren’t you?”

  Adarin caught the anticipatory gleam in his eyes. He felt a flicker of shame—but quickly crushed it.

  Every soldier faces his shadow. You learn to integrate it—or it devours you.

  He considered the abilities.

  Limited attack power. Useful for traps and survivability—Sap Blood has promise. Neuroarboreal Parasite offers potential… but my implant’s already capable of creating thralls of a sort. Besides, turning living people into constructs?

  He frowned. That feels more like Rüdiger’s territory.

  Adarin stroked his chin, then nodded. “You have my thanks. I’ll consider it.”

  Finally, he turned toward the orc, who had sat with closed eyes the entire time, his flowery hair swaying in an unseen wind. “And what do you have on offer?”

  The orc’s eyes shot open and met Adarin’s with the intensity of a targeting laser. “I am Bloommaster Gaskai,” he said. “High Arborist of the Tree-Bonded. I would have you spread your nature. Use your Groveheart ability to create three groves—groves of utility and attraction. Let them bind the people nearby, inseparably.”

  “For each grove,” he continued, “choose the three children with the greatest potential—and initiate them as druids.”

  “To do this, I offer you Cornucopian Garden.”

  The words came out like a machine gun: rapid, efficient. I could work with someone like that. He’s not wasting anything.

  Only now did he notice the orc’s clothing wasn’t sewn or wrapped—it was grown, leaves and vines sprouting directly from his skin.

  “Will I become like you if I accept your path?” Adarin asked, clipped and direct.

  The orc laughed—a melodious, gentle sound, completely at odds with the grizzled old man sitting cross-legged before him.

  “No, no,” he said. “This was my choice—my oath, to become a guardian of my people’s worldroot. To be one with the jungle. So we might provide for it—and it, for us.”

  “That, after all, is the core of Cornucopian Garden, the spell I offer you. And should you fulfill my quest, you will gain Pollen Wind.”

  He gestured toward the text now forming in front of Adarin, then centered his head again and closed his deep emerald eyes.

  Adarin studied the description:

  Cornucopian Garden – Alteration

  You may grow fruit trees that extract local resources, accelerated by your will or left to enhanced natural growth.

  The limit of what the tree can produce is defined by your knowledge of alchemy.

  Alchemy… meaning organic chemistry here?

  Adarin shifted his attention to the second ability—Pollen Wind.

  Control over plants, flowers, airborne compounds—biological warfare, alive and predatory.

  Desire grew in his mind. Alive. Predatory.

  But he focused and canalized his options like the practiced commander he was.

  The Oldgrowth—focused control and combat power in wooded terrain.

  The Druid—enhancement and manipulation.

  The Orc—large-scale soft power. Infrastructure. Resource gathering.

  The decision wasn’t complicated.

  Resources. Adarin nodded. I will need resources. And people. And in this world… binding people to my will would certainly be useful. Will certainly be useful.

  He turned to the orc, just as the shaking space grew into a full-body quake. A tremor that didn’t stop.

  “Bloommaster Gaskai,” he said. “I choose you as my mentor.”

  The orc’s grin widened, and he raised a hand. Ivy burst forward—impaling Adarin cleanly through the chest.

  He didn’t move. Just stared into the orc’s eyes—no longer ordinary, but twin emerald orbs glowing with elemental life.

  They locked gazes.

  And Adarin felt it settle into him—something embedding in his Alteration Core. There was friction, as though two boxes had been forced to nest inside each other.

  I’ll have to ask Rüdiger what this is about.

  Adarin bowed stiffly. “Master. We shall talk later.”

  But Gaskai only bared his canines in a wide grin. “You have work to do, boy. See you soon. And remember…”

  Another verdant wave shattered the space. Darkness folded in—and when it cleared, Adarin was bound in ropes. Four metal-clad skeletons dragged him across a ruined street.

  He clenched his teeth against the drag. Mentor or not, Gaskai had marked him. And the real war was about to begin.

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