Wraithwood Botanist

Apokálypsis: Greek for apocalypse and revelation. That was the word that came to mind when he asked me to nickname the connection between me and the mana tapestry—and it was fitting. As soon as I thought the word, the tapestry of colors crashed down around me, sucked into my mana channels.

I screamed as my mana channels ripped open. They were going to burst, and I knew that. Yet Yakana took more control over my body, stabilizing it while saying:

Faster.

"Churn!" I screamed as my core spun on overdrive. "Eroí kai mythikoí! Ektithémenoi sti galázia asfáltos…" I chanted to focus that energy, creating the pattern Yakana taught me, churning and weaving and threading it around my core.

It was still unbearable—but I didn’t slow down. I felt that if I slowed down, I would lose the momentum that was driving this progress. So I gritted my teeth and bore it, embracing the sweat pouring down my body—feeling that power and fear and excitement that drove me forward.

Hours passed, and soon, that pattern was ingrained in me. I had long since stopped chanting and now had absolute control of it. There was absolute freedom—but I learned the way, so I followed it, moving the mana, twisting it, morphing it, threading it, churning it. It was Apokálypsis. Revelation. Destruction. Death—rebirth.

2.

While Mira was in her state of enlightenment, Elana was tapping her index against her lips, engrossed in the scene playing out. It had been six hours, and she had yet to look away or lose interest.

I underestimated her, Elana thought. Perhaps she has what it takes to be beautiful.

"Since no one else’s gonna say it, I’ll do it," Kori said, taking his boots off the porcelain table and sitting straight. "This is fucking ridiculous."

"Yeah," Telgan said, resting her little back against the bonsai. "This is very abnormal."

Mira’s threading wasn’t natural—it was something they expected from demigods. Even with the best resources, it didn’t make sense. No amount of talent could give her even temporary control of this level.

"But why?" Hapsel said, grabbing his tusks, letting go, and thrusting out his hands in frustration. "That cat’s a fuckin’ natural—and he speaks magic. So why the hell’s he not doin’ good?"

"She must’ve bonded with Yakana," Telgan said.

"The fuck’s that gonna do?" Kori asked. "You can speak to forest spirits, and it took you centuries to get to this level like the rest of us."

"Yakana isn’t a forest spirit," Telgan said. "It’s a collection of souls that’s connected to the assimilation. Melding souls with an entity like that is like connecting to mana itself, and if she did it, it means that she has an absurd affinity for soul—"

"Shut up."

The group turned to Elana, whose lips were inverted into a scowl.

Telgan didn’t back down. Her face turned serious. "You need to tell Brindle, Elana." The dryad was speaking of Brindle—the ex-guardian of the forest. He also had a high affinity for souls—which was the reason he became a soulmancer. If Mira also had such a gift—and she was in the Forest of Souls—the situation had changed completely. Mira just went from a talented girl to a serious entity—but Elana wouldn’t entertain the idea of giving her up. So she turned to the dryad with a murderous expression.

"I told you to shut up," Elana said. "And I recommend you do it, too. Because if you don’t shut your damn mouth, there’ll be consequences."

"Consequences?" Hapsel snorted. "You got any clue how many gods you pissed off with this stunt? Keep actin’ like a bitch, and gods’ll be paradin’ your pretty little corpse around next week."

Elana’s body marbled with goosebumps.

"Just stop with the drama," Kori said. "No one’s goin’ to war over your stunt—but they will if you start threatening people. So calm down."

"I don’t know about that," Telgan said. Her voice was grave, capturing everyone’s attention. "If you don’t tell Brindle—he will kill you."

Elana’s lips parted, jaw loose, aggressively perplexed and stunned and borderline angry. "Brindle? You think Brindle is going to kill me? That thing hasn’t left his garden in millennia. I’m more worried about all the other jealous abominations around me."

"Then you’re a fool," Telgan said coldly. "Brindle doesn’t care about our problems—but he cares about his forest. And if you don’t tell ’em that someone bonded with his assimilation, then there will be war."

Elana swallowed hard. "Wait. Yakana is… his?"

"Yes. Brindle created Yakana to be the guardian of the forest. He’s an amalgamation of almost a million souls. So the fact that he’s bonded with Mira is significant and concerning."

Elana looked at the screen, watching Mira thread, covered in channel discharge like it was glazed icing. There was no way that Mira could do this on her own. She was chosen.

"Here’s my question," Kori said. "Can Brindle even do anything about it?"

"You mean besides killin’ any patron that links to ’er?" Hapsel asked.

"Yeah, besides that. It’s not like he’s well connected. If people can’t get into that forest, she should be safe, right?"

"Maybe not in the Fourth Ring," Telgan said, "but I doubt he’d leave the upper rings vulnerable. The Bramble’s for mortals. I’m sure he has something for the gods."

"This is absurd," Elana huffed. "But fine. I’ll tell Brind… what the fuck is that girl doing?"

Suddenly, everyone whirled around and found Mira pulling the turquoise mana core out of her bag.

"Oh, this’ll be good," Kori said, kicking his boots up on the table again.

"Gah, that girl," Hapsel groaned, grabbing his tusks and then thrusting his hands off them.

"Well, I guess we don’t need to worry about her anymore," Telgan said apathetically.

Elana grimaced. Mira’s core was about to explode and kill her. There was no doubt about it. She was a mortal with a seed, and she was about to thread a peak second evolution core. Nothing would save her from that fate. Not talent. Not a guide. Not an amalgamation of souls. Mira was dead—and that was that.

3.

I stared at the core in my possession. Under my connection to the assimilation, I could feel power burning through it. It felt overbearing, but it didn’t feel unmanageable. Mana was warping, twisting, and dancing around and within me, moving in complex networks that were beyond natural comprehension. It was beyond me—but I could handle it. Such was the power of merging with the assimilation. Yet it felt unfinished, and Yakana said that a moment ago.

Search now for a core so that we may build your strength, he had said. Now, I was holding the most powerful of them. It was leagues above the others, and it felt dangerous—but that’s why I wanted to thread it right then—in that moment—when Yakana was helping me, guiding me—merging with my soul.

Do you feel confident in handling such power? Yakana asked in the present.

Can I do it? I asked.

Yes.

Then yes.

If that’s what you wish, then allow me to show you. Close your eyes.

They are closed.

No, they aren’t. Close them until you can only see blackness.

It was an abstract concept, but I could still see the forest. So I imagined myself closing them further, and the forest dimmed.

Again, he said.

I complied, closing them further and further until there was only blackness, the sound of my heart, and the interconnected feeling of mana.

Now, put the core into your mouth.

I did. It tasted like minerals and glass and almonds, but its power felt overbearing, as if I ate pure salt. Then the energy exploded in a cosmic ripple that felt like I was witnessing a galaxy forming. In an instant, the mana within the core overwrote my own, overpowering the mana raging within me, as if it were nothing more than a burning, crashing plane landing in an ocean.

How do… I… control this? I screamed.

You contain and release it, Yakana said. Observe.

My core moved on its own, and a new mana pathway opened, changing the threading pattern. It connected to the galaxy of mana, pulling out wisps that felt like snakes, biting and snapping and hissing as they flailed about my mana channels. Yet Yakana wrangled it, taming it until that energy was feeding my mana pathways instead of destroying them, like pressurized water pushed through steel pipes.

That was what I was learning—to refine and harden my mana channels until they could withstand the chaotic torrent of raw mana. I couldn’t do it myself, but I could feel the groove—remember the way that it felt and the way that it was done. I couldn’t do it—

—but I understood it. Soon, my "muscle memory" was doing it naturally.

Now take over, Yakana said.

I locked so far into the groove that it made me overconfident. As soon as I took over, my entire body shook and spasmed. I felt like I was riding a bucking bronco while having a seizure. Yet I gritted my teeth and bore it, closing my eyes further, forcing chaos into normalcy. It was hard and fast and strong and brutal, but I soon was able to constrain the whips snapping in my mana channels. It was exhausting, and I wanted to give up, but I wouldn’t. Not yet. I’d spit it out—but it wasn’t time. This was power that I wanted—

—that I needed.

I was useless and weak and defenseless. Kline almost died—and what did I do? I saved him with a handout. We went to the cave and what did I do? I let him protect me to the end. What would happen if he was in trouble? What could I do?

Nothing!

I couldn’t do a goddamn thing!

I wanted power so I could protect my little warrior. I wanted to be his partner and ensure he lived forever—to live with me forever.

I wanted to find my family one day and help them—to provide them with these potions somehow. I wanted to conquer this world, learn botany, and live my life how I wanted. And all of that came down to this moment. So I kept threading and threading and threading until I thought my mana channels might explode—and then I continued on. No one would stop me. Not this time. Not anymore.

Suddenly, there was a loud crack in my head, and I spat out the stone. Then I stumped, feeling drunk and limp.

That is enough, Yakana said. Continue when you wake.

But I… I protested, but my body wouldn’t respond. So I shut down, falling to the ground. Sleep then took me, wrapping my body in black velvet and ushering me into the great beyond.

4.

Elana balled her fists as she stared at the half-consumed mana core. The room was silent, devoid of the bickering and threats and boisterous bravado that had plagued it only an hour before.

Suddenly, as if someone had shattered a soundproof window, Kori spoke. "You’re tellin’ Brindle," he said. "’Cause I’m not gettin’ dragged into this shit."

Elana didn’t want to. She wanted Mira all to herself—but the time for that had long since passed. The only thing she could do was get the most out of Mira as she could—so speaking to Brindle herself was the best course of action. "I’ll contact him now," she said, standing and walking to the door. "You have my word."

5.

A druid wearing a light brown cloak snipped off the limbs of a bonsai tree. The cuts were perfect and uniform—but nothing compared to his symmetrical antlers. Despite having a calcified face that looked like the skull of a short-snouted dog, his body seemed perfect—as if it were a sculpture created by the gods.

Yet he didn’t think of it as beautiful. He found beauty in the tree before him—especially the bark. It had a rainbow trunk and branches, like someone had melted colored wax and let it drip down it.

"What a curious tree," he muttered. "It’s a shame they’re gone."

The tree was a "Rainbow Eucalyptus Tree," a tree from "Earth"—the latest planet to be destroyed by the gods. He felt it was a pity. Nature was often far more beautiful and unique than what the gods made.

He was in a beautiful forest with trees of all descriptions, shapes, and sizes. All were radiant, exuding glowing auras. These were ethereal trees he had accumulated throughout the cosmos, most coming from different planets. Yet somehow, this mortal tree had captivated his attention more than any other.

"Let’s fix you up." Returning to his work, he finished pruning the bonsai’s limbs to create a beautiful design and then traced its limbs with his finger. It, too, obtained a golden glow.

Then he stood and examined the tree. It was strange and counterproductive to plant a bonsai in a garden, as trees become bonsai when their roots are restrained in a pot. Yet this tree was different. As soon as he walked away, the tree started growing in real time, breaking apart the soil as it pressed outward.

He turned and watched the tree grow a few inches a second with a melancholy sigh. "What I would give to let you grow naturally." Mortal trees cannot exist in the Ethereal Gardens—so they must be blessed.

It was a tragedy.

Suddenly, a telepathic link shattered his reverie. "This better be good," he said.

"Ah, come now," Elana said. "Is that how you treat an old friend?"

Brindle sat under the shade of a tree with pink and white leaves, watching his new eucalyptus tree grow. "You’re wasting your time," he said.

"Hoho! How I wish that was true. I assure you, Brindle—I am not here out of respect, let alone for commercial gain. I’m here to avoid war."

Brindle clenched his human-like hands. "Speak."

Elana scoffed, but he didn’t bite.

"There’s a neophyte in your forest," Elana said, "—and she’s almost passed the trial."

"With or without support?"

"With."

"How much."

"A substantial amount."

Brindle rolled his eyes. "So?"

"Telgan said she’s bonded with Yakana."

Brindle’s body locked into place, becoming still. How long had it been since he felt apprehension? He couldn’t remember. "How?" he asked.

"She’s a newly integrated. I offered my legacy if she could create the Lumidran Awakening Elixir. She did and she drank it. Now, she’s just unraveled half a turquoise core in less than an hour. If that’s not proof of bonding, this girl’s a god."

Brindle tentatively released his grip. "What’s her class?"

Elana’s voice became amused. "Botanist."