Unfated? What an ugly word! They have fate, but it is so chaotic that most die young. The ones that live are genuine agents of chaos—whether they are agents of good or evil remains depends on their resolve. In his infinite wisdom, the All-Father had me exclude them from the weave. It is an offering towards the Void—to keep the balance. You question what you do not know, fool.

~Morrigan, the Goddess of Fate

The mystical Sacred Groves housed close to Father Oak’s trunk were filled with an overabundance of mana. This mana was the only way for a grove of trees, not sprouting from Father Oak, to survive. Thrive, even. Among them were variations of the sacred trees: oak, hazel, holly, yew, ash, pine, and apple. Lesser trees were present too but held a lower status.

A grove like this wasn’t something that could exist outside the barriers because it required thousands of years of accumulation. The mana needed time to create an ecology that would allow various plants, not originating from Father Oak, to survive.

While it might be easy to mistake the streams and lakes as something engineered, they formed naturally. Only the bioluminescent moss and plants were not indigenous and came from the tower. It was an ethereal experience seeing the plants light up as they approached, but few realized the plants used the visitor’s body heat to create light. It acted almost like an alarm system.

Crow scurried through the dimly lit grove as if he’d lived there all his life. He’d hop or climb over boulders, swing on low hanging tree branches, and stomp through the smaller streams. Papa tried to stop him a few times and told him to slow down, but he was too excited about exploring.

It was to where even Conall treated the place less like a holy ground and more like a mystical dimension with a new surprise around every corner. The plants didn’t light up as brightly as the floating lanterns, but the light did overlap and amplify. Touching a few of them, he could even feel the heat they gave off as they radiated light. There was enough heat that it felt more like a warm day in a field exposed by the sun rather than the cool and shaded confines of a forest.

“Papa, why are the trees black?” Crow was hugging a tree, trying to climb the broad base by shimmying up the trunk.

Shaking his head, he plucked the wild child off the tree and set him back down on the ground. “Not sure. Maybe something to do with the lack of light.”

Whatever the reason, the contrast between that, their leaves, and the light only made it feel more surreal. Conall felt awe and understood why many would seek entry to a place like this. He felt like a fool, gawking at everything he saw. The closer they came to Father Oak’s trunk, the stranger and stranger it became.

Neither father nor son felt the need to rush, so they traveled for what might have been hours. Their energy was abundant and never flagged. It wasn’t until they reach a bramble wall with thorns as thick as their heads that they realized they’d arrived.

The bramble wall shifted, and vines as thick as Conall’s legs moved aside, creating an entry large enough to allow both of them access. Crow skipped through the passageway as if he owned the place, not showing a bit of fear or awe, but Conall was too late to stop the boy. He could only follow behind.

“Welcome, Conall, son of Niall. And you, Crow, son of Conall. Children of the Maddox clan.”

“Son of mama, too—” Crow’s mouth fell open when he saw an old man practically ooze out of a tree. His original thoughts fled. “Are you older than grandpa? He told me he was older than Mugna and his body more crooked than Father Oak.”

The child’s intelligence startled Mugna, and when he realized what the boy had asked, he couldn’t help but laugh until tears rolled down his lined face.

“Ahh, your innocence is a blessing greater than any I could give.”

Conall was stunned into silence, and even while his son was spouting nonsense, he only felt fear. It really was Mugna, and he looked just like his statue from the Plaza of the Gods. His white beard looked more like moss than hair, but it looked well-groomed and flowed with the light breeze. His aged face looked like bark made into flesh. The god’s fingers were as gnarled as the root staff he held. Interestingly, the aura of kind wisdom that his statue exuded felt the same, only much more abundant.

“F-father Oak?” He finally managed to ask.

“You have nothing to fear here, child. Call me Mugna, and your son is extraordinary.” Mugna smiled and turned to face the boy’s father. Using the knotted end of his root staff, he touched the back of Conall’s hand. Green and brown energy flowed through the flesh until the symbol of Awen appeared. “A blessing. You may visit the Sacred Groves any time you wish. The mark will fade eventually, but the elders will sense it and will not stop you.”

“T-thank you for the blessing,” Conall said and placed a fist over his Shield before bowing. Fist over Shield was the universal sign of respect that all nations recognized and considered it one of the highest forms of respect one person could show another.

“Enough of that. I’m old and don’t have time to waste on honorifics. Feeling grateful in your heart is enough for me. Hey, Crow, do you want to visit grandpa Mugna whenever you like?”

“I can come here?”

“Yes, whenever you want.”

“Woah… Yes!” Crow’s smile lit up the grove more than any plant could. The root staff touched the boy’s exposed arm, and a similar scene appeared. Crow rubbed at the symbol on his arm and felt a strange energy emanating from it. “Thank you, grandpa Mugna.”

“Good, you have manners and are polite. Now both of you sit,” Mugna commanded and waved his hand. Roots grew up from out of the ground, forming into stump-like stools and a small table. Crow practically flew towards his seat and plopped his butt down on the large surface before he started swinging his dangling legs.

Once seated, the old man poured some hot tea for the adults and a sweet chilled drink for Crow.

“Conall, you should understand you are at a crossroads.”

“I do, but I came for advice because I’m unsure what to do.”

“You must stay for at least five years, ten at most. I know your fears, but I must insist. The child is more special than you know.”

“Five to ten years? I don’t understand. Is Ciara in danger or my son?”

“Both. The threat Ciara’s father left you is real, and if you rush off now, I fear you’ll lose both wife and child. Crow’s biggest risk isn’t his bloodline. I assure you, waiting increases the chance of saving both significantly.”

“What is going to happen?”

“I don’t know all of it, and his fate becomes more indistinct as time passes.”

“How is that possible?”

“I’ve survived many eras, but do you know why your wife’s abduction woke me?”

“No…” Conall replied while Crow continued to slurp his drink.

“There was a ripple in the lines of Fate, which only occurs with the birth of an Unfated. A person whose fate is unwritten. I’ve seen many ages, eras, and epochs—eons maybe. Most of that time, I’ve slumbered within my tree, but without fail, I will always awaken when I feel a new era is upon us.”

“How?” Crow asked. “How do you know when a new era is coming? Papa said he knows when mama is coming because—”

“Don’t finish that thought, boy,” Conall said and stared at his son in horror. That child’s mind was like a sponge.

Mugna chuckled. The dynamic between father and son was good, and he could sense an intense bond between the two.

“I’ll answer your question, little Crow. I know because children, like you, start disappearing from the weave. Morrigan has turned a blind eye to your plight, which is both a blessing and a curse.”

“Are you saying that Crow has no future?” Conall asked with a frown, growing more concerned by the second.

“No. I am not saying that.” Mugna said a bit more sharply than intended. “It is a long story, but fate is like this complex prediction. Seeing potential avenues and then deciding which is the most likely or ideal outcome. The goddess of fate sometimes leaves people out of her formula. She is allowing chaos to cause havoc among those who rely too heavily on fate.”

“Why? It makes little sense why she would do something like that.” Conall looked towards his son while he asked, wondering what was in store for the boy.

“That I can’t answer—not even I know the answer. What I do know will not guide these Unfated. Once removed from the weave, no one can scry him. He’ll be invisible to heaven and earth—an unpredictable element. Chaos.”

“Good,” Crow piped in with his squeaky child’s voice. At this point, Mugna wasn’t surprised at how much the boy was paying attention. It was still shocking the amount of comprehension the child had.

“Why is that good?” Mugna asked the boy.

“Papa told me that in battle, the winner is the man that is unpredictable.”

Mugna chuckled until his cheeks hurt. “Good child. Your father is a smart man, and you can learn a lot from him.”

“Sorry, senior. He’s always had a—”

“Stop. No need to be so formal here. A bright and curious child is a blessing, so you never should apologize for that.” Mugna sighed while watching the boy. “Your son is in danger because he has no fate. Threads of fate guided actions you’ve taken; they helped you realize your goals. Fate is not prophecy, so it’s not infallible, but it’s always given you a path to follow. Crow won’t have that. It is why most Unfated die young. Everything he gains will be through his own achievement and willpower. It isn’t just him, but anyone close to him will eventually disappear from the weave too. Therefore, you must leave within the next ten years, or his presence will disrupt the fate between you and your wife.”

“You act like this is a good thing. I don’t understand how this is anything but bad.”

“How did Gideon find your wife?” Mugna asked, taking a different tactic.

“I don’t know. Cia is from a coven, so he probably used witches to scry her location.”

“Good. Yes, that is most likely what happened. That will never happen to Crow. No power exists that can spy on your boy remotely. No one can predict his future, past, nor present. Only by physically being in his presence can they sense or see him. His secrets are his unless he shares them—or captured, tortured, or Soul Searched. The heavens are blind to all his actions, but he should still be careful. Should the heavens take notice, they’ll send all their wrath at him.”

“Doesn’t that mean no one will know if he is living or dead too? Such as my wife?”

“If she is paying attention, she’ll recognize the signs. Change rarely occurs quickly or without strife, especially if the northern clans decide to build enmity with this child. Do you understand?”

Conall nodded. Mugna inferred that his son was a two-edged sword. If mishandled, it could cut the wielder as much as the foe. As a prospective Druid, it was his duty to make sure the boy respected the Druid Order and his blood. It also implied that Crow a potential calamity, which was more than enough reason for the other clans to scheme against the child.

As much as he cared for his people, he also feared for his wife. Ciarra was a powerful witch with a potent scrying ability. Scryers fell into one of three classifications: Past, Present, or Future. Most witches could do all three, but these were the weakest of the coven. Specialized talents, like Ciara’s, created the most powerful witches. His wife’s ability to see the Present allowed her to spy on damn near everything, but it required preparation to stare into the Void. The alternative was something in the Void reaching out and crushing her soul.

For this reason, Conall was concerned his wife wouldn’t know what was going on and would do something foolish. If she thought Crow had died, would she continue to fight?

“Yes,” Mugna said, feeling the emotion of the man before him. “It is easy to read you when you are agitated. This is a crucible for both of you to bear, and you cannot risk sending word. She has faith in you, so you need to have faith in her. For now, that will be enough. Mentioning this in any fashion will only bring danger to your entire clan.”

“I understand.” Conall felt his broad shoulders sag as if a mountain had landed on them.

“Son of Niall, the heavens aren’t cruel. If it burdens the soul, then its reward won’t be simple. Have some faith. Even I know your wife’s will is strong. She will endure, and so must you.”

“Then what should I do?” Conall asked, feeling lost for the first time since he’d started on this path.

“Raise the boy ad you have been. I will have books and histories sent to your clan for him to read, since we can officially consider him a Bard. Show him the love of a parent, a clan, and the world around him. Heavens may not see him, but that does not make him immune to luck or calamity. I’ve seen others like him, and they always suffered greatly on their journey. You must make him a fighter.”

“I can fight!” Crow cried out, still trying to follow the conversation. “Ask papa. He showed me.”

The old-man laughed with abandon. Crow was a tonic for his soul.

“Guard the boy well. The little I can see of the boy’s fate, he could be the Druid Order’s demise or its savior. However, I won’t say more than that because he already interferes too much to be trustworthy. No point giving you false confidence you shouldn’t have. I only know that something will happen in the next ten years.”

“I will make him the focus of all my attention and training.”

“There is one thing that stands out. Should you come across any Beastlords—befriend them. They are a potential ally.”

“Beastlords?” Conall knew the current chieftain’s son, but most of them stayed on one of the central continents ruled by the Tribe, an order of shamans. They didn’t even control the portal there, nor did they have a guardian. They worshipped a god, but it wasn’t Cernunnos—who was the Lord of the Wild Things. Instead, they worshipped Typhon—who had a statue in the Plaza of the Gods.

Overall, they were a ferocious yet honorable people. In all the time he’d spent in the tower, never once had he heard of a Beastlord deliberately harming an innocent. They enjoyed the hunt and had a direct way of handling things that most people found offensive.

“Typhon is misunderstood, but a staunch ally. I’ll let you know a secret,” Mugna was grinning. “The rumors are true, he does—” the old man glanced over at the boy to find he’d fallen asleep with his arms resting on the table and his head nestled into them. “Well, he beds beasts. Typhon is a beast himself—a dragon, if I’m not mistaken. His anger stems from his progeny. Almost all of them are evil bastards. You don’t want to get on his bad side, so tread carefully if you ever deal with him.”

The two chatted over miscellaneous topics for another hour.

“Thank you for your guidance. I need to get this kid some dinner and send him off to bed.”

“Because of what I am, there isn’t much I can do for the child. There is a balance I, too, must maintain. Should anyone realize the boy is Unfated, they will harm the child. Crow isn’t unique, so this isn’t an uncommon story. Most like him don’t live long or live long enough to become the demons they hate. But…almost all of them had strong willpower, fight, and an unwillingness to stop. The reaper could come after them, and they’d fight the damned reaper. He might suffer, but nothing like those that decide to cross him.”

Once more, Conall rose and bowed, fist over Shield before gently picking up his son. Within moments, he’d already disappeared through the barrier.

Mugna remained sitting and sipping on his tea, watching the two with eyes of unfathomable depths, his thoughts following one random thing after the other.

“Interesting. Naming the boy Crow was like spitting in fate’s eye, but the boy really is special. Maybe I should teach him the Druid Beast Form, show him how he can take on a beast aspect by using a powerful Beast Core. I’ve been saving a Silver-Eyed Crow’s core.”

Mugna laughed, thinking about it. The Silver-Eyed Crow could see the lines of fate, and if Crow took it as his first beast form, he’d have the ability too. Invisible to fate but able to see fate’s connections—it was a reversal of power that caused even Mugna to pause and take a shuddering breath.

“Mayhem and slaughter,” Mugna chuckled, feeling a sinister smile spreading across his face. His warm eyes turned cold as his eyes turned toward the tower on a distant continent. The gnarled old man started laughing with glee.

“You better pray the boy doesn’t become a Druid, or my vengeance will arrive much sooner than you’d thought,” Mugna muttered before merging back into the massive oak, forsaking all thoughts of balance as he thought up a plan to help the boy’s growth.