The seals of the door to Grow fell away upon Ted’s mere approach. He pushed open the light wooden door and stepped into the small smooth bark room beyond. Magical Wood Elvish inscriptions covered the walls, much like in the room of Rebirth, yet here they waxed poetically on the beauty of trees, of the wealth of the Forest, of the life that teemed within it.

  Upon reaching the middle of the room, a warmth flooded through him and a spell took shape in his mind. Grow. The power to nurture the Great Tree, to spout new trunks and branches, to guide and speed its growth.

  The power to heal the damage the dryads had caused.

  A bitter smile forced itself on Ted. Cara would have been so pleased.

  He stepped out and repeated the process with Mend’s chamber, gaining the power to heal injuries, followed by Shapechange, and, finally, Commune.

  Restore the ancient wood elven magic (part 3) completed.

  5,000 XP received!

  Level increased 14 → 15!

  Restore the ancient wood elven magic completed.

  50,000 XP received!

  Level increased 15 → 16!

  Ted increased both Intelligence and Dexterity by one, and focused in on Commune. A way to touch the tree-song, to hear the voice of the Forest, to catch a glimpse of what the wood elves felt.

  A glimpse of what Cara had cared so much for.

  Ted took a deep breath, pressed his hand against the smooth bark wall, and cast the spell, drawing an overwhelming presence flooding in.

  Fire twisted inside him. Dark notes reverberated in his bones and his hairs stood on end. A bird fled. Arrows flew. Blood seeped into soil.

  He flinched away, gasping for air, shuddering to the depths of soul.

  It was gone.

  No, not gone.

  Distant.

  Empty.

  Alone.

  He stared at the wooden wall, holding his trembling hand just shy of the tree-song’s touch, of more pain than he ever needed to feel or know.

  And yet…

  He couldn’t help it. He reached out, touched the wall, invited in another flood of death and pain, of sorrow and rage, of empty nests and withered vines. A storm hammering at a mighty oak. A greklin sniffing at the air. A chickling stumbling back into its nest. Green shoots breaking through the ashes of a forest fire.

  Breaths came one after the other, each slower than the last, and a looseness spread through his limbs.

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

  I’ll avenge her, he promised. I’ll save the Forest, and make her proud.

  Sunlight breaking through clouds and canopy. A sweet earthy scent over the singing of birds. A sharp-eared babe opening its eyes for the first time.

  He pulled back his hand, and a stillness lingered over him, a lightness holding his chest aloft.

  Whatever happened, it would be okay.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and turned away, strode back into the lobby, headed for one of the five portals back out into the real world, back to the Rangers’ fight to save all they held dear, and froze.

  Rangers protected and preserved the forest. They lived and died for it. Jeremy would never have asked Ted to give his life, not when he was needed so.

  “Who are you?” Ted cried out.

  A gust of wind fluttered a honeyed reply, rising and falling in melodious meter. “Guardian of Rebirth, Keeper of Tolabar.”

  Butterflies filled Ted’s chest. He turned, and Jeremy—the illusion of Jeremy—was gone, replaced by a green-glowing mote that hovered in the air, sparkling with purple and gold and crackling white.

  “You’re a spirit,” Ted said, trying to hold back a dam of hope that he didn’t dare let be dashed again.

  “A guardian of life, a keeper of secrets, a granter of power.” The spirit circled the room, bouncing up and down in the air as if in a dance. “A spirit of the Tree, a listener of song, a holder of darkness.”

  Ted slipped back into the room, his legs shaking with each step. “Cara loved the Forest. If you are what you say you are, then you must know that.”

  Dancing around him now, the spirit’s words bounced on. “Are you ready to act; to do what must be done; to pay the price of life?”

  Knots of fire twisted in Ted’s chest as he watched the spirit frolic. “I’m not here to play games.”

  The spirit hung in the air now, moving no more. “No games do I play, few options you have, little hope alive.”

  “I’m not giving up. Not on her, not if I don’t have to—but I won’t trade the Forest for her life.”

  The light of the spirit dimmed. “Rebirth you wish, to bring her back, and save the Tree?”

  Ted’s heart jumped in his chest. “Help me bring her back, and I will give my all to save this world, and the Great Forest.”

  “The promise, given now, you shall hold?”

  “I swear it.”

  “Rebirth, I give, farewell. Bye, Hero, bye…”

  The light faded until nothing remained, not even a glimmer, and a weight settled in Ted’s mind.

  Rebirth.

  Even thinking of it sent an electric tingle down his spine. The power to return a soul to life, at the cut-throat price of a slaver’s existence cut short with brutal torment.

  Deserved torment.

  Ted kneeled down beside Cara and crafted the effect into a spell. He bound the threads of Life and Dark together, weaving them as one and joining them to Rebirth by way of Touch.

  No feedback loops, no missing links, no errors at all he found, no matter how he turned the spell over in his mind.

  This had to work. If it failed now…

  A lump formed in his throat. Even in one’s mind, a road that dark and dangerous was best left untouched.

  He took a deep breath and cleared his mind. Heart pounding, he poured mana into the spell, weaved its emerald green threads in the air, and harness the stolen soul as the pulsing core of the spell. Each beating pulse sucked light from the air and shot ice through his veins.

  The spell closed up and sealed, and the darkness swallowed the green life magic whole.

  Ted pressed his palm against Cara’s chest, closed his eyes, and pushed the spell into her heart.

  The world hung in the balance. His hand trembled against her leather armor, his lips quivered, and she did not move.

  Icy darkness rippled through him and his breath caught in his lungs, and she did not move.

  He opened his eyes and gazed down upon her tranquil stillness, and she did not move.

  The tilt of her head, the one she had when she thought hard, flashed in his mind, and a trickle of mana slipped down his arm and out his palm. That little shifting of weight from side to side, or pacing up and down waiting for the next excitement. The trickle became a stream. The way she fidgeted with her knife, her bow, whatever she had on hand. Her laughter, her smile, her lips upon his. That song he’d promised her and never sung.

  The trickle became a flood, draining every point of mana in the blink of an eye, and she moved.