On the peaceful, radiant continent of Valinor, Silmalorë was still trying to adjust to his new form as a world tree. His towering, glowing body had become the center of natural magic flow, channeling life energy through his roots into Lake Cuiviénen, which still cradled the elves in their long slumber. Days passed slowly, and the silence that enveloped Valinor often left Silmalorë feeling bored.
"Hmmm... what should I do today? So bored," he murmured inwardly, his inner voice echoing softly among the gently swaying branches.
Above his head, eagles had built their nests. They perched calmly, their feathers shimmering under Valinor's gentle light.
"Hii-hiiiw," their calls echoed, and suddenly the eagles flew around Silmalorë's body, forming graceful circles in the air. Silmalorë's days in Azeroth as a world tree were spent playing with this flock of eagles. He extended his branches, channeling life energy into the air, creating refreshing swirls of magic.
"Hii-hiiiw," their voices rang again, this time more cheerful. The eagles gazed at Silmalorë's branches with curiosity. Though they weren't leaf-eaters, instinct told them that the leaves of this world tree had an extraordinary taste. They approached, gently pecking at the glowing leaves, and instantly their bodies were filled with abundant life energy. They soared higher, their feathers gleaming, their eyes shining with renewed spirit.
Silmalorë smiled in silence. Life as a tree was dull, but thankfully there was one eagle who always kept him company. This eagle was different from the rest. His body was slender, his eyes sharp, and his movements graceful. Because of his resemblance to the eagles from Tolkien's world, Silmalorë named him Thorondor—a name that would one day be remembered as the king of giant eagles. Thorondor had lived in Silmalorë's tree-home ever since, and Silmalorë was happy to help him build his nest.
Thorondor's feathers were dark brown, glossy like wet wood. He might have been the first eagle to appear on the continent of Valinor. Silmalorë spent time with him, playing and sharing life energy. But since the last storm, Silmalorë's perception of the world had changed completely.
That day, rain poured heavily. Thorondor, the little eagle, was thrilled to play in the water. He ran out, flapping his wings, playing under the falling rain. He tried to play with Silmalorë, but the water flowing from the tree's roots began to fade. The brown feathers on his body slowly changed, revealing a layer of white underneath. Once his body was washed clean, his color turned slightly golden and fluffy. Maybe he was still a baby, newly born and not fully grown.
After the rain stopped, the little one got bored and rolled around in a muddy nest. His body turned back into the small brown bird Silmalorë had just seen. He hadn't expected Thorondor to be so sly, but also clever. To survive in a place like this, perhaps cunning was necessary. Without any tools, no waste would be left behind.
Silmalorë, who was now just a tree, had no way to protect him directly. But over time, his power grew. He began to cleanse the little one's body with streams of life energy. Thorondor's safety wasn't a concern for now, but food was becoming a problem.
Thorondor used to hunt insects on Silmalorë's body for food, or eat leaves filled with life energy. But Silmalorë didn't dare let him wander too far. A few days ago, he went to a neighboring tree to catch insects and was nearly swallowed by a snake. Fortunately, the snake wasn't far, and Silmalorë quickly drove it away with fast-extending roots.
This eagle's IQ didn't seem high enough to survive before Silmalorë came. Luckily, he never strayed too far. Silmalorë's branches were always within reach, and if they hadn't been… he might already be dead.
Then Silmalorë tried earnestly to see if he could bear fruit. He wanted to feed the little bird with something more than just leaves. But after two days of effort, he gave up. Feeding leaves turned out to be enough. Two leaves a day were sufficient to keep Thorondor healthy and active.
Time passed, day by day. In the world of Azeroth, Silmalorë continued to inject life energy into the little eagle. He also began channeling this energy into nearby trees, hoping to awaken something greater. He wondered whether his power could create ents and entwives, like in Tolkien's world. He waited patiently, gazing at the horizon of Valinor, hoping new life would emerge from the roots he touched.
As days went by, more and more eagles began nesting atop Silmalorë's body. His wide and sturdy branches became the perfect place for flocks of birds to settle. Naturally, this made Silmalorë very happy. His days as a world tree no longer felt dull. Month after month passed, and Thorondor's body grew larger, his feathers expanded with majestic brilliance, and the newly arrived eagles began to bow to him instinctively.
Silmalorë watched this transformation with deep joy. Thorondor now increasingly resembled the giant eagles of Tolkien's world, and his aura of leadership began to shine clearly. He was no longer just a small companion, but had become a symbol of strength and wisdom among the flock.
Around Silmalorë's tree, the tiny Tinkerbell-like fairies he had once created also joined in the play with the eagles. They floated through the air, gathering dead wood, building nests, and laughing merrily. Silmalorë's life as a world tree was now filled with sound, movement, and color. The loneliness that once enveloped him had been replaced by delightful commotion.
The flora and fauna of Valinor and Middle-earth now resembled the planet Pandora. Towering trees with glowing roots, flowers that shimmered in the dark, and strange creatures darting through the underbrush. Combined with beings from Tolkien's world, the forest surrounding Silmalorë had become a place of wonder, teeming with magic and diversity.
Silmalorë's daily efforts to channel life energy into the surrounding trees finally bore fruit. The trees began to show signs of awareness. Silmalorë gave them names and divided them into two races: the male trees became the ent race, and the female trees became the entwives.
The male ents loved wild forests, towering trees, and untamed nature. They roamed, guarded, and nurtured the woods with great passion. Meanwhile, the entwives preferred gardens, fields, and cultivable plants. They chose to move to fertile plains to farm and build orderly gardens.
Their numbers now reached 144 trees, consisting of 72 ents and 72 entwives. Silmalorë instructed them not to argue or differ in opinion, so they could reproduce and have ent and entwife children. How they would reproduce, Silmalorë did not know, and he didn't want to be asked. Even in Tolkien's world, such things were never explained.
As the leader of the ents, Silmalorë named one tree as the wisest and strongest: Treebeard. He would become the voice and face of the ent race, guardian of the forest and protector of nature.
Silmalorë tried to communicate with the ents and entwives.
"Can you hear me?"
But there was no reply. They only nodded their tree heads slowly. Silmalorë did not give up. Patiently, he began teaching them the language of Tolkien's world—from writing to speaking. Though he had no mouth and could not speak physically, he used his life magic to create sound. That sound echoed gently through the air, teaching word by word, sentence by sentence.
Month after month passed. Year after year turned. Teaching the ents and entwives was an extraordinary test of patience. Yet Silmalorë never stopped. He taught them how trees grow, how soil stores water, minerals, and energy. He explained that leaves absorb light, change color, and even fall to become fertilizer. From the leaves, he taught that every small thing has a role.
Fruit is the result of long care, and seeds are the hope of the future. He taught that anyone who nurtures life must patiently wait for its yield. The ents protected the forest so wild fruits could continue to grow, while the entwives tended seeds to become fields and gardens.
Living trees follow the seasons: growing, blooming, bearing fruit, then shedding. Silmalorë taught that nothing is eternal except change. The ents learned to accept slow change—forests evolve over hundreds of years. The entwives learned to embrace rapid change—plants can be harvested within months.
Silmalorë taught all this and more. They would become guardians of the forests across Valinor and Middle-earth, protectors of nature who were not only strong, but wise.
Throughout the year, aside from playing with the eagles and the tiny Tinkerbell-like fairies, Silmalorë also witnessed strange creatures from Pandora crossing his domain. Their bodies glowed, their movements were graceful, and their voices were foreign yet beautiful. One day, Silmalorë saw a massive toruk makto soaring across the sky. Its wings stretched wide, its shadow blanketed the forest, and its eyes shone like falling stars.
Silmalorë gazed calmly at the sky, his towering tree-form blending into the heavenly landscape now filled with unfamiliar colors. He felt a quiet joy at the changes unfolding around him. Soft light swept across the leaves growing from his body, and the wind carried a scent of life he had never known before.
"Why do the plants and animals in Valinor and Middle-earth look more and more like they're from the movie Avatar: The Way of Water? Specifically… which Na'vi tribe is this?" he murmured, his inner voice echoing among the branches stretching toward the sky.
Yet on the other side, he also saw familiar elements from Tolkien's world. Nearby stood two legendary trees radiating sacred light: Telperion and Laurelin. They stood with grace, emanating the aura used to create the Silmarils—the great jewels that became the center of conflict and beauty in Arda's history.
"Damn… that's Telperion and Laurelin. So… why am I only realizing this now? Is it because I've grown taller? Or… do I now resemble a tree like Eywa from Avatar?"
He lowered his branches slowly, and beneath him lay a tranquil, radiant lake. Its waters reflected the sky like a heavenly mirror, displaying the shimmering light of sacred trees and drifting clouds.
"That's… Cuiviénen? The lake where the first elves of Tolkien's world awakened? Why haven't they woken up yet?"
"I've been channeling life energy into it every day…"
He recalled the novels from Tolkien's world he had read in a previous life. In that lake, the first 144 elves awakened, paired as male and female. They were the beginning of the Eldar race, noble beings who brought light and beauty to the world.
"Hmm… how can I awaken them all from the lake? This is confusing."
Silmalorë kept thinking, trying to formulate a plan within his consciousness now bound to the form of a tree. But suddenly, he felt something moving on his body. A subtle vibration traveled from the tip of his branches down to the roots embedded deep in the earth.
"Hmm… who's that on my head?"
"Have the Thorondor eagles returned?"
"Wait… I'm a tree now. So… it's on one of my branches?"
He tried to move a branch with his will, and at that moment, he was truly shocked. On his body were fourteen small children—adorable, like fourteen-year-olds. They all fell from his branch, drifting through the air like feathers released from wings.
"Damn it! They're falling! How do I catch them?"
But before he could panic further, the fourteen children transformed into dragons midair. Their wings spread wide, their bodies glided gracefully, then landed on the ground with perfect motion. After that, they changed back—into small human forms, standing calmly beneath his shadow.
Silmalorë looked at their faces one by one. And he immediately recognized several of them.
"Wait… isn't that Geraint? Velskud? Argenta? From the game Dragon Nest?"
"And the others… their faces look like characters from Fairy Tail."
He froze. Confused. Awestruck. Angry. All emotions collided into a storm that shook his trunk.
"Damn it… why did Fairy Tail characters become dragons? I can understand Irine, Igneel, Grandine, Selene—they're dragons."
"But why Mavis Vermilion, Erza Scarlet, Juvia… and the others? Weren't they human?"
Silmalorë sighed inwardly, even though he had no lungs.
"This must be… Eru Ilúvatar's doing."
A gentle voice greeted his consciousness from atop one of his branches. The voice didn't come from his own thoughts, but from a living being.
"Lord, have you awakened?"
Silmalorë froze. That voice… was real. Not just an echo from his mind trapped in tree form.
"Allow us to introduce ourselves. We are the new Valar, creations of the Beloved One, Eru Ilúvatar."
He tried to respond, though he had no mouth.
"Can you hear my voice?"
"Of course, Lord. We were created by our Creator, Eru Ilúvatar."
Silmalorë was stunned. So… they could truly hear him. At last, he could breathe a little easier. He wasn't alone—there were living beings who could speak now.
"Why are you all still children? And why didn't you appear when I was teaching the eagles and the ents and entwives?"
"Lord, we were only just created. We will grow stronger over time. We're only a few hundred years old."
"Hundreds of years…?"
"What year is it now?"
"Lord Silmalorë, we do not know."
"Do you have any clues for me about what happened while I was asleep?"
"Yes, Lord. We just defeated the dragon Galakrond alongside the Dragon Aspects from the continent of Kalimondor."
"Wait… did you say Galakrond?"
"Yes, Lord."
"Hmm… very well. You may return to your activities."
"Understood, Lord."
Silmalorë fell into silent contemplation. If these new Valar were only a few hundred years old, then the imprisonment of the Old Gods must have happened recently. Based on the timeline he pieced together from various observations and memories of the past, he concluded that he was now in an era roughly one million years before the opening of the Dark Portal. The arrival of the Pantheon was estimated to occur five hundred thousand years from now. He saw the shadows of the Dragon Aspects in northern Kalimondor, where the ancient dragon nests lay. That meant he was living in a time five hundred thousand years before the emergence of the Troll race, and after the Trolls appeared, the Night Elves and Highborne would likely be born six to ten thousand years later.
Thus, his elven race would most likely awaken around one hundred thousand years before the opening of the Dark Portal. Silmalorë felt his thoughts begin to tremble. What was he supposed to do for the next four hundred thousand years?
He watched as the ents and entwives grew in number and skill, tending to the forests of Valinor and Middle-earth with increasing mastery. Silmalorë felt joy. Now, nearly every animal living on both continents had come into contact with the body of his world tree.
One day, Silmalorë attempted a transformation spell. To his surprise, after shifting into a humanoid form, he looked strikingly similar to an elven male. He stared at himself and said, "Hey, turns out I can transform into a humanoid."
His original body still stood tall behind him. He tried moving the branches of his tree form, and they still responded. "How strange. I can become humanoid now, but my original body is still there. So I'll die if someone tries to burn me?" he murmured.
Silmalorë summoned Thorondor and Treebeard to begin a journey across the continents of Valinor and Middle-earth. The three of them traveled together, documenting the flora and fauna they encountered. The new Valar—who preferred sleeping, being dragons—did not join this expedition.
Silmalorë departed from Valimar, where his world tree body stood, heading toward the Pelóri Mountains. Along the way, he searched for a nearby lake to see his own reflection.
"Hey Treebeard, there's a lake ahead. Stop there!" Silmalorë commanded.
"Very well, Lord Silmalorë," Treebeard replied.
Treebeard and his entwife companions accompanied Silmalorë on his adventure through Valinor. He gently lowered Silmalorë from his head. Silmalorë approached the unfamiliar lake and gazed at his reflection in the water's surface. He felt deeply satisfied with his handsome appearance. His hair was silver-toned, softly glowing, slightly wavy, and long enough to reach his waist. His face was symmetrical and captivating, with golden pupils like miniature suns shining at the center of his visage.
After admiring his face, Silmalorë continued his journey with Treebeard toward the Pelóri Mountains. In the grasslands, he spotted a herd of Arrow Deer and began sketching their body shapes. He recorded their features on wooden boards crafted from his own world tree body—ensuring the notes would endure for ages.
Silmalorë noted that Arrow Deer often traveled in small herds of up to eight. These deer possessed a distinctive membrane, like a sail, stretching from the top of their heads down their long necks. This membrane could expand and contract at will, functioning to detect vibrations in the air and ground, warning them of predators. When threatened, they would fully extend the membrane—either to intimidate foes by appearing larger or to prepare for escape. Their operculum was located near the base of their necks.
Arrow Deer preferred hiding among vegetation and feeding on flower nectar. But when danger approached, they would sprint at high speed. By straightening their bodies and using their long tails and neck membranes to lift themselves, they would shoot across the plains like arrows. Because of their velocity, Silmalorë's tribe named them after their arrow-like movement.
Every day, Silmalorë walked with his companions for five kilometers. Whenever they encountered an unknown creature, he would stop for four to seven days to document all unfamiliar flora and fauna. He observed which were poisonous, which were safe, and how they grew. Once everything was recorded, he noted the surrounding temperature and searched for seeds from the plants he discovered.
As a tree, Silmalorë didn't need to eat. But because his soul was still human, he insisted on eating whenever he was in humanoid form. He refused to live entirely like a plant.
Over the course of four hundred thousand years, he documented, sketched, experimented, and engaged in countless other pursuits. Cataloging all flora and fauna took ten thousand years. Conducting experiments on where plants could grow and thrive—including grafting various strange species—took another ten thousand. The remaining three hundred eighty thousand years were spent on other activities, no less bizarre and complex. He was accompanied by Treebeard, Treebeard's wife, and Thorondor. Silmalorë even kept a personal journal chronicling his travels and observations across the continents of Valinor and Middle-earth.
How did he store his wooden tablets? He simply inserted them into his own body. His main form was a massive tree, and the tablets were made of wood as well. He even built a tree-library within his body to house all his handwritten notes and experiments.
Silmalorë learned vast amounts of knowledge during his journey. In his previous life, he hadn't been a scientist. But in this new world—specifically, the world of Warcraft—he began to live as a researcher. He resembled a genius scientist from the pre-modern era. Why pre-modern? Because the elves had not yet awakened, and he had no access to modern tools. He could only write down famous theories from Earth that he remembered from his past life.
How could Silmalorë possibly develop quantum physics, modern computers, and space technology on his own? He knew it was impossible. Modern science is born from collaboration, industry, and society—not from a single long-lived individual. So he would leave the rest to the elves who would one day awaken at Lake Cuiviénen, to study and continue everything he had begun.