The landscape opened up at once.Until then, Madara had crossed shaded paths, modest valleys, dense woods. But here, the forest had receded. It froze at the edge, as if seized by fear.Before him stretched an immense plain, deserted and grassy, reaching as far as the eye could see.And at the heart of that emptiness…A corpse.Not of a man. But of a colossus, a fallen vegetal god on its knees.
A trunk, as wide as a castle, as long as a mountain laid down, split along its length, lying on its side like a slain being.Its broken roots jutted from the earth like the claws of a dead beast.Its sap had blackened the soil where it had flowed.
The Tree of Flugel.Even in death, its aura ruled everything.
Madara advanced slowly.Each step on the thick grass echoed like footsteps inside a sanctuary.There was a heavy silence there, almost religious.
The trunk was at least thirty meters in diameter. It would have taken hundreds of men, arm to arm, to encircle it.And yet, it had fallen. Cut down. Not burned, not rotted. But severed. Clean, violent.The wound was still fresh.
"It was not nature that killed it. It was an act of war."
Marks of impact scarred the bark. You could see the traces of explosions, the grooves of spells deflected, runes torn away.On the ground, charred weapons, fragments of armor, crushed wheels, and sometimes… human remains.The wind lifted torn cloaks, which flapped softly against the rocks.
Madara stopped near the base of the trunk.He lifted his gaze.Even fallen, the Tree still rose, so great was its length. Its shadow covered an entire part of the plain, like a cloak thrown across the past.The battle had been of unimaginable violence. The earth bore its scars.
But what unsettled Madara was the calm.No stench of death. No rot. Time itself seemed to have chosen to honor this place, and to preserve it whole in memory.
He placed a hand on the blackened bark.A shiver. A vibration, faint, ancient. But still alive."This trunk is not just a remnant. It is a witness."
He closed his eyes a moment.He pictured the clash. The hooves. The cries. He knew nothing of it, but the earth carried the scars of a struggle too great for these plains.And here, all had frozen.
He opened his eyes again.And in the distance, he saw the traces of passage.
A trail, half-erased in the grass, ran toward the southeastern edge. Wagon wheels, hurried steps, dragging marks.There were clear signs: a body had been carried or hauled. The group had left in haste. He could not swear to it, but everything pointed that way.
Without a word, Madara set off.
The sun sank slowly over the plain, drowning the tall grass in a sea of gold and copper. With each step, Madara rustled the dry stalks, while his heavy red armor caught the light like a moving blaze. In the glow of sunset, he advanced alone, imposing, detached from the rest of the world.
Before him, the tracks did not lie. Deep, sharp, still fresh. Hooves had torn the soft earth less than an hour ago. Wheels had carved parallel lines, leaving behind a steady furrow, a line drawn straight to the horizon. No forks, no crossings. Only one road, clear, straight, undeniable.And Madara followed it.
He did not need to hurry. In this open plain, his sight carried far. The evening wind brought scattered voices, indistinct. But enough to confirm he was closing in.
A rocky rise appeared ahead, crowned with a stern estate, surrounded by beaten fields. That was it. Without even knowing, he was nearing the Karsten domain — and the heart of a fate already in motion.
The ground hardened under his steps. The wild grasses thinned, replaced by stone and the packed dust of a kept road. Ahead, the castle finally stood. A strange bastion, blending the grace of Renaissance architecture with the sober, refined lines and the thick shoulders of a medieval fortress, rugged, functional. The towers kept watch, tall, but mute.
Night had fallen.A dark sky, pricked with stars, wrapped the plain. And in that newborn darkness, the castle's lights rose — warm, flickering, their glow stretching into the air like arms lifted to the heavens. Torches burned on some walls. Windows shone with trembling light. But none of it seemed festive.
Madara slowed.Something was wrong.
He heard the sounds before even reaching the walls: muffled cries, groans, sobs. A diffuse dread. Not the quiet grief of mourning, but the raw shock of a place that had just lived the unacceptable.
His gaze climbed along the battlements. No guard. No sentry. The tops of the ramparts were empty, abandoned. Only the wind moved there, whistling through the arrow slits like a lament.
Before him, the main gate stood wide open.No chain. No portcullis. No barrier.An open access. Too open.
He stopped a moment, staring at the black shadow stretching beneath the gaping arch. Then he crossed the threshold.
The air changed.Inside, it was heavier. Darker. Silence did not reign: it was shattered by the chaotic echoes of voices layered upon one another, some faint, others panicked. Weeping. Orders. Questions without answers.
He walked toward the inner courtyard, ready to discover what remained… and what he was meant to see.
Author's NoteI'm back! I'm currently putting the final touches on Arc 2 of this story. I'd rather finish it completely before posting, so my goal is to have it wrapped up by mid-September. That means the continuation of the arc should start around that time.
I've tried to take things to the next level, and the tone of the story will shift from here on. Just wanted to drop this teaser to let you know I'm still alive!
See you next month for the continuation!