B4 – Chapter 38: Dryads: Awaken!

Tristan departed the reinforced barricade, manifesting his wings and flapping them with ease as he ascended. The huge spriggan above the ravine moved away, as did the two that were covering the edges of the realm’s border, and the one at the back of the ravine that once held the Daylight Dell. The edges of the realm were prismatic and pearlescent once more, with a neat arch that led into a small tunnel. Tristan could see down that tunnel, and across the battlefield, saw the trees of The Witchwood. Still in umbral, forever twilight.

“That’s probably for the best,” he said aloud in Elvish. “I would imagine if they suddenly felt a day and night cycle, they would unduly suffer.”

You are quite the altruist, Zeltana quipped in his mind. I could get used to this blend of your benevolence and my warmongering. Go into a realm, declare a one on one challenge, and then graft the realm while reinforcing the “branch” leading to it.

Tristan scanned the horizon, and his eyes landed on the enormous mountain in the distance in the blasted, singular tree atop it. Zeltana’s place of birth. “Not my intention. It just worked out well this time.”

You may want to consider doing more of that. Adding other realms’ power to your own, while also taking out threats, and wooing the species and Heritages that live within? That would make you a de-facto ruler of . . . well, every place you did that to.

Tristan frowned. “I don’t want to rule everything. Just get vengeance for my mother, grow my power, kill dragons.” He began moving toward the blasted tree. “The last two are interchangeable.”

Might be worth doing with the Demon Realm.

“They would be unruly,” Tristan replied. “I don’t think they would take well to a foreign ruler inserting themselves as their new overlord.”

I suppose so. Zeltana’s voice became distant, and sorrowful. I . . . I regret that the dryads were slain while sealed away. That ultimately rests on my decisions to seal up the realm. I . . . I appreciate you taking the time and spending the energy to make things right and reforge the species.

“I need them,” Tristan replied. “I want their help, but I also want to restore the Fey Realm to its former state.”

And build upon it.

“That, too.”

You may want to consider forging Realm Bridges.

“What now?”

It is similar to making the enclave of The Witchwood. The difference is that location is fully a part of the Fey Realm, just with its own unique section in reality to keep it separate from the rest. But that weird tunnel shape you observed? That can be replicated with a willing Realm Protector. You could make a Realm Bridge between, say, the Fey Realm and the Heavenly Realm which you are already on good terms with.

“And what would that do for us, exactly?”

Simply put, it would allow for travel from one to the other without the need for realmwalking spells. The downside—

“Is that we’d be opening up our defenses to a possible invasion from that Realm.”

Yes.

“An interesting idea, but I will pass on that. The Fey Realm should stay isolated, save for our desired points of contact.” He approached the mountain; a rocky, hard, pillar-like protrusion that stuck up at the edge of the Fey Realm. The stone was smooth, and coppery in tone. He landed next to the destroyed tree, his booted feet clacking onto the stone like a fine hardwood. “This is where you awakened.”

Where I was born. She went silent.

“This will be the dryad’s new home. I think I’ll call it the Sunlit Summit.” He took a seat next to the tree and closed his eyes, focusing on his essence crucible. As he visualized it in his mind’s eye, he saw it; glimmering silver with crisscrossing lines that fluctuated and bent in a mesmerizing pattern. Going forth, he opened his eyes and was on the smooth, icy surface once more.

The tree at the center of his inner world was slightly larger, and Zeltana reclined on a couch beneath the branches. Her lips were pursed as she looked up at the boughs. Tristan walked over and took a seat on a comfy chair nearby. “Do you want to talk?”

Zeltana looked at him. She had been crying; he could see the rivulets that had run down her face leaving a small trail of crystallize droplets. “I will manage. I grieved for the loss of the spriggan, I will grieve for the loss of the dryads.”

Tristan turned and cleared his throat. “Painting supplies?” Reality warbled in front of him, and a blank canvas appeared, with all of the paints that he needed. Immediately, he set to priming the surface of the canvas as he prepared to make the new version of dryads. “Okay, tell me about them.”

Zeltana let out a sigh. “What do you want to know?”

“What did they look like, for a start. Then their personality, and what they could do – we’re going to recreate them, just with my vision.”

Zeltana sat up and wiped the crystals off of her face. “Well, they are the female version of spriggan. My version of spriggan were more like natural trees, whilst yours are like armored warriors. I would describe them as more feminine trees; juniper, ginkgo, spruce, dogwood, cypress – not as hard. The spriggan were sturdier, so I used oak, walnut, poplar, and ash.”

“I’m going to make them humanoid then,” Tristan said as he let the canvas sit and he willed a sketch pad and pencil into existence. “Now, let’s design . . .” Zeltana peeked over his shoulder and suggested alterations, and Tristan spent gods-knows how long in his inner world, perfecting his sketched outline. He had a vision in his mind as Zeltana spoke. Elegant, graceful, with a thin frame and just the perfect amount of curviness in all the right places. A perfect feminine-appearance pairing to the spriggan’s mass. A light, lithe warrior physique, with wooden plates that were less all-covering and allowed for greater maneuverability than what their male counterpart would have.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“Planning on making them warriors?” Zeltana asked.

Tristan willed the sketch to depart the pad and plant itself onto the canvas, at which point he whacked the extra oil off of one of his brushes and set to work. “I am thinking the equivalent of a blademaster, like Gisele. Someone who doesn’t need heavy armor and uses their speed and agility to fight. The spriggan are more brutish, like a fully armored knight. But the dryads? Quick support strikers.” He began adding color; focusing on shades of black and grey which would nicely complement the greens and browns of the spriggan. And, they were colors that blended perfectly with most of the trees in the Fey Realm.

“A judicious decision. Do you still want them to do the same tasks?”