I wear a veil and claim to be a hag, but few know my real identity. Survival often requires hiding a part of one’s strength.

~Cailleach, the Veiled Hag of Winter

Mugna stared off into the distance, sipping on his hot tea. Crow arrived an hour ago, and neither of them said much, just sat in companionable silence enjoying their drink and thoughts.

The invite was mostly to help Crow soothe away his pains, aches, and stress. He didn’t know when Mugna took the place of a beloved elder in his heart, but this tree spirit was the one person who really understood him.

Crow’s relationship with Mugna did not go unnoticed. Several clans voiced their discontent, and Crow didn’t need to guess who. The problem is, none of them understood. In his world, Mugna wasn’t a god or supreme being. This old man was family. Sure, his bloodline and wood mana affinity opened that door, but growing up with Mugna bonded them together. Crow knew that Soul Burn impacted this old man just as much, if not more, than him.

“Alright, all done. You may go,” Mugna told Crow, who looked over sharply.

Mugna was ancient, but until today Crow never felt he was old. In all his dealings with the god-like figure, he’d only felt the man had a spry, refreshing aura, like that of new growth in spring. This was the first time Crow felt the old man’s age, and it alarmed him.

“D-did I do something wrong?”

“No, child. Your incident weakened me, but a small semi-hibernation period will fix it. I’ll tell you some secrets if you vow never to speak of them.”

“By limb and root, I make this vow. I will not speak of Mugna’s secrets unless he allows it. By root and limb, I made this vow of my free will.”

Mugna’s eyes lit up, and both felt the oath binding them together. It left Mugna momentarily speechless.

“Are your vows always that powerful?” The old man asked Crow.

“Aren’t they supposed to be like that?” Crow hadn’t ever thought about it, but every time he vowed by root and limb, there was always the stirring of Origin energy. Or at least Crow thought it was Origin energy.

Mugna tapped his lips while staring at the boy in front of him. Few people knew that karma was a power greater than fate, and vows were a karmic link. It wasn’t the words that mattered, but the conviction. The formalized phrasing was there to enforce sincerity. Vows were solemn when karma was involved and breaking one had severe consequences.

Crow’s conviction was high, and the vow was strong enough that both felt it. Mugna only felt that kind of karmic linking with righteous characters from eras long gone, making it all the more confusing. Not even Mugna wanted to delve too much into the power of karma, as it’d inadvertently force a person onto a narrow path of inaction. Karmic Cultivation was the path of a watcher. This path left them little choice when dealing with the world, which is why they took vows of celibacy, silence, and severed connections with the outside world. Only in this way could they minimize the backlash of their actions. That is why most hid away in remote areas and had little to do with anything outside their sect.

“One thing before I talk, be careful of making vows in the future. If you are familiar with karma, you’ll understand my meaning and why I won’t say anything more about this topic.”

“I understand,” Crow said. After the Sluagh, he had a stronger sense of karma than most. In hindsight, he realized that his revulsion toward the Sluagh was related to their karma. The wrongness he felt was likely thousands upon thousands of souls that had their karma forcibly severed when their lives ended. Karma rejected them.

“Okay, enough of that,” Mugna said while tugging on his beard. “What I wanted to share with you is that I’m not a god.”

“W-what? Aren’t all guardians supposed to be gods?”

“I’m an ancient being, and most gods are not my equal. But… I am the last of my kind. I am an Oaken Treant, one of the nine roots of Yggdrasil. Arguably, my people were the noblest and wisest of all treants.”

“What is the Yggdrasil?”

“Should have known you’d ask that, but I have no simple answer. Truthfully, I’m only becoming aware of it, so my understanding is limited. It is said when treants root deep enough, they are all connected. Not like a hive mind, but something more elevated as we keep our individuality. Time has distorted our history, and many believe that Yggdrasil is some sort of world tree.”

“And what is a World Tree?” Crow was grinning, but Mugna knew the boy was serious.

“Depends on who you ask, but almost all of them believe it’s a well of power. I’m sensing that isn’t really wrong, but it is so much more. It is strange. Now that I sense it, I’m starting to realize I’ve always been connected. It means I’m close.”

“Stop being so mysterious, old man,” Crow snorted. This was a common occurrence during their interactions. Mugna spent so long adopting this wise god-like figure that he spoke in riddles, and Crow catching on to it would call him out on it.

“Ha. I’m close to becoming what you’d consider a god. The power within Yggdrasil is a form of nirvana for me. It’ll elevate me beyond the cycle of reincarnation and possibly seed a new generation of treants. You can consider this next step like reaching the pinnacle of cultivation for my kind.”

“You really haven’t reached god status?” Crow still felt like Mugna was messing with him.

“I was wounded during the war that nearly destroyed the Droaidh and helped give birth to the Druid Order. Danu is the true benefactor of the Druids, but she carries a burden. In the past, many view us as husband and wife, and maybe that isn’t wrong. We just aren’t married the way you’d understand—for now. Once a treant faces death, they one more option at life—they take root. A rooted treant is nearly immortal, provided its roots aren’t destroyed. Further, rooting is the only way for a treant to reach Yggdrasil, but our progress is measure by millenniums, not centuries or decades.”

“Is Yggdrasil the source of all wood mana?”

“What an odd question, and why did you ask that?”

“You made it sound like Yggdrasil isn’t just stage of power, but something otherworldly. An existence beyond this world.”

“As to your question, I don’t know, but if you follow that logic, then that’d mean an existence like Yggdrasil would exist for each of the five base elements at least,” Mugna pondered the idea for a few minutes, and Crow sipped his tea. “Let’s ignore that question for now—I don’t have a good answer for you. But, you should understand what Yggdrasil is meant to represent. They called it the World Tree because the gods and people believed that Yggdrasil was a force that opposed Chaos. The nine sacred treants with the ability to reach Yggdrasil each served a purpose, and Oak was considered the World Tree’s true representation. It was the one tree with the power to connect all realms through its roots and limbs.”

“Interesting. Do you know what the other eight could do?”

“You, brat! Are you deliberately sidetracking me?” Mugna blew out a breath which made his beard flutter. “I don’t know what the others could do. Getting back on topic… Mother Danu is considered a primordial goddess, meaning she emerged from the void and brought her people with her, of which you are a descendant. She saved me and brought me here, the last bastion of her people. In exchange for her grace, I promised to look after her people. I suspect she knew what I could become, too.”

“And you are telling me this because I’m interfering?”

“Don’t get the wrong idea, boy,” Mugna chuckled. “I’m telling you because you are the reason I have finally sensed Yggdrasil. I’ve felt the pull of fate, which I’ve not felt in a long time. I can’t move, and the heavens can’t touch me. You have to understand that rooted treants are shielded from fate but not immune to it. All that means is anyone outside my canopy cannot scry into it.”

“What about under your canopy?”

“Smart boy. If they are physically under my canopy, then that protection is gone. Not that you have to worry about that. Unfated have their perks.”

“Is fate trying to help me? I never really understood the point. I don’t want to be a catalyst of chaos.”

“Sadly, your presence will cause that without you even doing anything,” Mugna took a sip of tea.

“Wait, does that mean you and I are enemies?” Crow had a small epiphany, and Mugna’s hand stopped moving. “You said Yggdrasil stands in opposition to the Void or the primordial chaos. Doesn’t that make you the champion of order and me the champion of chaos?”

“That… I do not know,” Mugna said slowly, awakening to the possibility that Crow’s existence might be spurring him to approach Yggdrasil as a balance to his chaos. It was an alarming thought and very imaginative. “Remember, fate pulling at me isn’t like when it affects humans. If I don’t want to do something, fate nor the heavens can make me. Even if those two things are somewhat connected. Fate isn’t something Morrigan creates but that she sees. A fate-web so intricate and detailed that it’d be nearly impossible to map out all outcomes. She is aware of your true potential, which is why she erased you from the heavens.”

“The Goddess of Fate is helping me?”

“Probably not. She is in an ongoing standoff with Chaos. Out of all the gods and goddesses in Tuatha De Danann, her role might be the most critical. Carving out a place of order within the Void was considered madness at the time. Mother Danu showed them it could be done, but all things need a balance. The Void is like a dumb child—hmm, let’s call it a massive existence, instead. So large that it can’t see ants like us, as long as we maintain a balance, we will continue to be ignored. Assimilating chaos is the way to maintain.”

“That sounds complicated.”

Mugna laughed and tapped his staff on the ground. “By the gods, it is. The point I’m making is that we aren’t necessarily fated as enemies.”

“So true fate, the existence beyond the heavens, is trying to help both of us?”

“I believe so, yes. For you, it is giving you implicit permission to make a mess of the realms, which will anger the heavens. The heavens can’t control you, and it was designed to maintain order and control. While fate wants you to understand how little you know and that the path before you is long.”

“But it is my path, yes?”

“It is. Morrigan helped set you adrift so that no one could control your path, not even her. Chances are she forgot about you the moment she set you free.”

“And all your talk about treants and Yggdrasil—it was to nudge me into understanding that a person needs roots, people, friends, allies, and even enemies. I need a past worthy of anchoring me or I risk becoming something worse than the rootless.”

“Your intelligence is a marvel,” Mugna smiled, and Crow felt extremely grateful toward the old man who continually looked out for his wellbeing. “I also told you because we have fate. The more I think about what you said, the more I believe we’ll see each other beyond this realm. You better not disappoint me.”

“I won’t. Are you close to reaching Yggdrasil? You make it sound like it’ll happen soon.”

Mugna laughed and shook his head. Little by little, Crow noticed some spry energy had returned to the old man.

“How can it be that easy? It is just that you’ve helped me form new roots and sped up some of my growth significantly. Part of my exhaustion comes from this growth. I thought of something that might help you, a gift that is yours to keep. Now that you have access to the False Dawn Workshop go to the northeastern area. You’ll find several smaller stations there, but don’t underestimate them. At one station, you’ll see large stacks of wood. Trust me, you’ll know it when you see it. There are two bookshelves next to each other; go to the left one. On the bottom shelf, reach up on top of the books and feel around for a vestige. It fell there long ago by a strange twist of fate, and I’m gifting it to you now. Don’t worry, it doesn’t belong to the workshop, so you can take it.”

“What is it?” Crow’s curiosity was piqued.

“You’ll see. I am positive it’ll help your current condition,” Mugna grinned mysteriously. “Father Oak is at your disposal when you need supplies, just touch any of the wooden surfaces and ask. You’ll understand when you view that vestige. Now go. I need to slumber for a while, so I’ll be dormant for a few months. I can still see everything but won’t be able to interfere. Keep a low profile for a while, and don’t leave Oiche.”

Crow stepped up and hugged the old man. It was impulsive, and if anyone saw it, they’d curse him for touching their god. He didn’t care what they would think. Mugna was a constant in his life, a member of his family.

“Thank you, grandpa Mugna,” Crow said softly and then ran off feeling embarrassed. He never saw Mugna’s eyes misting over, nor when the tears ran down the bark-like skin of his face.

“Damn kid, messing with my allergies,” Mugna coughed, but nothing could remove the smile from the old man’s face. Crow also had no way of knowing that his action unraveled several knots in Mugna’s heart. Removing almost all the remaining bottlenecks in his effort to reach Yggdrasil.