Dawn broke over the Flame Forest, soft blue light filtering through the canopy, serene as it had been for millennia. Yet today… something felt catastrophically wrong.
The first to discover it were the Ironforge patrols.
"By the eternal flames…" whispered Blazecrest, her voice cracking. Her claws trembled as she stared at what had once been the most sacred site of their civilization.
"The Sacred Tree… it's completely dried out."
The Flame Spirit Tree guardian of T-Rex awakening, producer of mystical spirit fruits, the heart of their civilization—was gone. Where branches once glowed with power, only brittle, cracked husks remained. Leaves had turned to drifting ash, and the mystical radiance that had endured for millennia was extinguished.
"Every branch, every leaf!" stammered her patrol partner. "How is this possible? The tree has never shown even a hint of illness!"
Blazecrest pressed her scales to the cold, lifeless bark. Once pulsing with life-giving energy, now it was stone-like.
"We have to alert the families immediately," she said, voice heavy with dread. When I was born, our cave burned in flames. When I awakened, rain and thunder nearly drowned the forest. How bad is my luck? This… this is beyond catastrophe.
She rang the giant Rock Bell. Its echo thundered through the valley, alarm rolling through every canyon.
Runners from every family raced through the forest, shouting the impossible news:
"Emergency assembly! All heads and leaders ! Critical situation gather !"
Within the hour, representatives from every T-Rex family had gathered at the site of their greatest loss. The sight before them was worse than any nightmare—the mystical heart of their civilization, now a lifeless husk.
Stomp… Stomp…
A giant, old T-Rex landed near the site, flames roaring from every pore. His voice carried ultimate authority.
"I have never witnessed anything as catastrophic as this!" he thundered. "The tree that sustained our people for thousands of years… destroyed! Who dares commit such a crime?"
"Deliberately destroyed?" multiple heads whispered, horrified.
Pythrone's eyes scanned the wreckage. Flames glinted with suspicion.
"This is no natural death," he growled. "The mystical energy has been completely drained. Sabotage. Someone deliberately targeted the future of this tribe."
Fear rippled through the assembly.
"Without the Spirit Tree, how will our children awaken?" Chief Magmaroar bellowed. "Our entire awakening tradition depends on it!"
"The next generation will remain wyrmlings forever," another patriarch added. "Our civilization itself is threatened!"
Scorchclaw stepped forward, his Leader-Stage presence silencing the crowd.
"This is clearly an act of warfare," he declared. "But fury cannot drive us. Investigation comes first. Then measured action."
"Investigation? Against whom?" demanded the head of the Forgefire clan.
"Could it be the Ceratosaurus tribes?" Scorchclaw's gaze was grim. Murmurs rose like wildfire. "Their border conflicts with us have escalated for months. They may not win on the battlefield, but they could dare strike at the roots of our future."
The accusation stung. The Ceratosaurus had always probed T-Rex defenses. An attack on the Spirit Tree could cripple awakening without direct confrontation.
"This has the tactical signature of warfare," Chief Ironforge agreed. "A surgical strike against our most vital resource, avoiding battle. Cowards."
All eyes turned to Pythrone, flames blazing in their gaze.
"We cannot assume guilt without evidence," he said slowly. "False accusations could plunge us into needless war with devastating consequences."
"So what do we do?" one patriarch pressed.
Scorchclaw lifted his head, eyes hard as volcanic rock.
"We respond with measured escalation," he said. "Investigate the site. Gather proof of how this was done and by whom. Then send diplomatic envoys to the Ceratosaurus Legion. Demand answers and accountability."
"And if they refuse?" Magmaroar growled.
"Proportional force," Scorchclaw replied. "They struck our heart; we strike theirs. But not with reckless war. That would destroy both civilizations."
Pythrone nodded. "Wise decision. Rage serves no purpose here."
"What about our immediate security?" another patriarch demanded. "If they reached our sacred site undetected, our homes may be next!"
"All families will intensify training immediately," Scorchclaw commanded. "Every T-Rex capable of combat will prepare. Three months of coordinated buildup while we investigate and plan."
"Three months?" some questioned.
"Yes," Scorchclaw confirmed. "Haste brings casualties and failure. Timing is everything."
"During this period," Pythrone added, "all family rivalries are suspended. Every quarrel becomes secondary to this external threat. United we stand."
The patriarchs murmured agreement.
"The investigation begins at once," Scorchclaw continued. "Examine every trace, question every patrol, gather evidence."
"What about diplomacy?" Magmaroar asked.
"Envoys dispatched within two weeks," Pythrone answered. "We will demand answers through proper channels before considering war."
"And if diplomacy fails?" Scorchclaw declared. "We strike their vital targets: training grounds, resources, border outposts. They must learn there are consequences for harming us."
Pythrone exhaled slowly. "This could lead to all-out war. We must inform other great tribes, seek counsel, secure allies."
Scorchclaw bent a knee in acknowledgment. "Yes, Elder. We will ensure allies understand the treachery of the Ceratosaurus."
While the elders discussed strategy, one small wyrmling stood apart, drenched in sweat, eyes locked on the dead tree.
Is all this… happening because I bound with the Ragnarok Spirit?
"Rider…" Pallet whispered, stepping closer, amber eyes filled with worry. "Are you all right? You look… stricken."
"I'm fine," he muttered, voice shaking. "Just… shocked. Like everyone else."
Silence fell. Both knew the same terrible truth—the secret of who had destroyed the Flame Tree.
When the crowd dispersed to begin preparations, Rider Rex remained at the lifeless trunk. Ragnarok's presence lingered—silent, heavy, and unmoving.
"Did I do this?" he whispered to the spirit bound to him. "Did our pact kill the tree?"
No answer. No comfort.
Later, as they returned to their caves, Pallet suddenly grabbed his tail.
"Rider," she demanded, eyes sharp. "Tell me the truth. Is the death of the Flame Tree connected to you?"
Guilt clawed at him. He nodded slowly.
"Sorry, Pallet. I can't be certain… but there's an eighty percent chance. The Flame Tree stood for thousands of years. After I formed the pact with Ragnarok, its essence vanished. The tree dried because of me."
Her eyes flared, thoughts tumbling.
"The sudden disappearance of the Flame Tree… this is the beginning of the great Jurassic war," she whispered almost to herself. "I thought being reborn into the past meant I could control events… but maybe the universe will not allow it. They make me their puppet instead. …What was the point of sending me back? More cautious planning is required from on "
Rider Rex watched her desperate expression, guilt tightening his chest.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I couldn't resist. I awakened… and it led to this."
Pallet forced a smile, but it was more grimace than comfort.
"Rider, better if you don't tell anyone. Even a hint connecting you to this… could doom us all."