They made their way back to the arboreal atop Orville. The suns’ light peeked out from the silver horizon as if to greet their return. Hector enjoyed the warmth of Shael pressed against him as he held her in his arms.

“The Odigwa knows our destination through the bond,” Shael explained to Hector. “It is not just through the trees that we may connect to Serendrial. She planted life in this world, Orr. All life came from her first creation, the First Arbor. Then came the First Born, the Orrkin. Then came everything else.”

“Then came us,” Hector said grimly.

“We know your kind’s history since before you have forgotten your ways, the death of your world. We have long made peace that we must share Orr together.”

“Yet now it has come to this,” Hector murmured. “A war for your people's survival.”

“That it has. But it is a war to end the next. A war for peace.”

Something not dissimilar to what the Forma decreed, Conrad echoed in silence.

"One must be willing to fight in defense against such atrocity," Hector snapped.

"What is it?" Shael turned her head sidelong to him.

"It's nothing."

A hummingeagle raced towards them, Daelith riding atop, long braided hair waving back with the wind. He veered beside, a knowing smirk quirking his mouth. Both Odigwe slowed in flight, gliding with a stray flap of their wings.

“You two spend the whole night training?” he asked with coy innocence.

“No,” Shael said curtly. “We also slept.”

“Right.” Daelith’s grin closed to a somber line. “You should know that the Tribunal has ended, and that all the Tribes have been called for war.”

“So it begins,” Shael said.

“Not yet. My father wishes to speak with you Hector. If you will follow me. Eimear, Seitu, eimear!” Daelith cried out, and his hummingeagle gained speed in the direction of the Serendrial's towering Arbor, their own Odigwa flying close behind.

“We’re heading for the Arbor,” Hector said. “To what end?”

“It can only be to summon the Orrkin,” Shael answered. “I have heard myself that the chieftains will not act without their aid.”

“You said so yourself, that they are neither friend nor foe to the sylven. What will they do to a human?”

“I do not know.”

Hector had never heard Shael admit to uncertainty. To hear her now did nothing to stop the growing knot in his gut. He remembered Celdan’s vision of how the Orrkin had so easily dismantled the greatest mages in the Empire’s history.

“Celdan never did explain the Orrkin,” Hector spoke to shed away his growing unease. “Or why they spared him.”

“The Orrkin are Serendrial’s Firstborn,” Shael said. “They are the bringers of Serendrial’s will, as to whereas the Seers merely interpret her way. It was they who walled and shunned us from the First Arbor.”

“Questions upon questions,” Hector mused.

They reached a nested treetop, Celdan’s creased face gazing up to their landing.

The once First King of Kings spoke softly. “So. The decision has been made. We must prepare for war. Now is as good a time as any.” He carried strapped to his back something swaddled in furskins, long yet not unwieldy, and he reached over his shoulder to present it to Shael.

“I believe you lost your spear to the trolls, Warden,” Celdan nodded for her to take it. Shael untrussed its wrappings to reveal a crystalline spear glinting in the suns’ light. It was an opaque turquoise in color, the same as Hector had seen Shael’s knife. Its double edged head jut out in four facets, curving to a sharpened point. She twirled the weapon with one hand along her fingers. Though it was nearly as long as she was tall, its weight must have weighed as the sticks they trained with, perhaps even less so.

“Eru crystal,” Celdan answered Hector’s confusion. “Grows near the First Arbor. Lighter than glass, harder than even Dwarven steel. The attempts needed to make such a weapon took bloody centuries. But the finest weapon goes to the greatest guardian for my kin.”

Shael bowed her head. “You honor me, Elder.”

“See to it that you use it well, Warden. For use it you will.” Celdan turned to Hector and produced a roken scabbard, whirled and furrowed in its wooden grain. A simple rectangle turquoise crossguard jutted out to either side. A leather spiralled handle sprouted out and ended with a circled crystal pommel.

“The buckle should fit nicely to your belt,” Celdan said. It did, and Hector unsheathed the shortsword with his opposite hand with a scraping of roken wood. It was shaped like the swords of old, stocky and triangled to a simple point. It indeed weighed less than the sticks he had trained with. He slashed at the empty air, for even the air seemed to fear it, rushing away from the blade despite its lightness.

“It’s beautiful,” Hector said simply.

“That it is,” Celdan smiled sadly. “Though its purpose is not for the sake of beauty.”

He beckoned Daelith to bring two roken shields of different shape. Both were simple and unadorned, smooth and grained as his sheath. One was slender and tapered at either end, its bottom longer than its top. One side curved inward that was perfect for crutching a spear against. Shael took the shield from Daelith and fixed it to her pack.

Celdan secured the other shield to Hector’s left arm, a smaller version without the nook to one side. It was a swordsman’s shield, pointed at both ends to glance off a blow… or bash into the foe. It was lighter yet thicker than a standard steel tower shield of the Empire.

“With the aid of the druids and dryads of the Odigwe we have made roken wood grow into itself, folding into itself over and over until not even fire can eat away at its dense core.”

“Why are we here Celdan?” Hector asked as his forefather buckled the straps over his forearm. “Are we to fight the Orrkin ourselves?”

“No, we’d have better odds fighting the entire forest itself,” Celdan said with firm certainty. “We have come here to bargain with them.”

They walked briskly down the spiral tiered steps within the Elder tree and continued down the forest floor. The rays of light were even dimmer from the great Arbor’s fanning canopy, and in place of the glowcap mushrooms for light were spiking geodes of crystal glimmering turquoise that rose from the craggy ground.

They stopped at the wall of linked trees, barring entrance in silent judgement. Celdan sighed wearily. “We shall see if the Orrkin deem us worthy to enter.”

“Will they?” Hector wondered aloud.

“They must,” Celdan said. “Place your hand on the wall. Only you, Hector.”

Celdan did the same, and they stood for a moment, palms pressed to the bound trees. Hector opened his eyes.

“Nothing,” he murmured angrily. “Why not fly there yourself?”

“And risk their wrath? We stay put. Keep your hand still.”

Another moment passed, and Hector felt the wood tremble. Startled, he pulled his hand back to look at the trees fold and twist away to open an entrance wide enough for the both of them.

“Only Hector and I can enter,” Celdan held up his hand for Shael and Daelith to halt. “The two of you must remain here, until we return.”

“It is my duty to guard Hector,” Shael snapped.

“I know you care for your mate.” Celdan gave a wry smile. “You think you two could keep your union a secret? The strength of your bond is palpable to the Sight. But it is we who have been granted entrance, and we alone. Let us not linger long.” The old man strode with regal authority to the other side.

“Go,” Shael said. “We will wait for you here.”

Hector nodded and turned to follow Celdan. As soon as he stepped over the trees furled and grouped back into a barrier of trunk and branch.

“We press on,” Celdan echoed the words he had spoken all those centuries ago.

There were crystal veins, faceted turquoise prisms pointing skyward that huddled within the massive tendriled roots of the First Arbor. But they did not glow, and the thin stray shafts of light poking downward was all that saved them from the darkness.

The statuesque soldiers made up an army of silhouetted figures. Their eyes were the same deep golden as the sylven. Some flashed in the heavy shadow, beady amber slits though absent of irises seeming to follow them as they weaved around the still bodies.

“Your army, is this all of them?” Hector asked.

“That and more,” Celdan murmured. “The wall, I suspect, is there just to ward away trespassers. Those who do trespass however share the same fate as these that have fallen.”

“Are they alive?”

Celdan chortled. “Oh, they are very much alive. If the Orrkin so wanted they would cut us down where we stand. These men have become something else. You saw in your vision how they sacrificed themselves, turning into sifting dust. My theory is that the Orrkin are capable of controlling every part of their body, from the tiniest figment. When the men breathed in their essence they turned. Changed entirely, yet still holding onto some remnant of humanity. So they are Husks, for the Orrkin have grown themselves into them. Now they guard the Arbor, in eternal vigil.”

“That is… terrifying,” Hector murmured.

“Is nature not terrifying in many regards?”

They reached a narrow pass wide enough for them to still walk through side by side, sloping roots that towered over as gnarled wooden canyons patched over with evergreen moss and brownish red lichen.

Deeper they tread, until they reached a grove of sapling trees and a sloping hill of wood rising round and round the great hollow of the First Arbor as a giant stairwell. Glowing capped mushrooms larger than Hector’s whole arm span grew on the inner tree walls with brilliant green or golden radiance.

A lone figure was spotted at the tree’s open center. Suns’ light traveled down freely from the distant opening above, bathing the gargantuan creature in its soft illumination. It was dark green as Shael’s hair, mottled as the chieftain Naal’s complexion. It opened its beady eyes, rolling round as if it had not opened them in ages past. They were a darker amber than the sylven, as brownish tree resin. The Orrkin rose from its seated position, two feet against another. It was hunchbacked, though it stood twice over the tallest man. Its ungainly body seemed stretched in proportion to its height. Its bald head was shapen as if a sculptor had taken clay and molded its blunt features with hasty fingers, though its brows furrowed together in clear stern forbearance. It had a snubbed flat nose above widely set thin lips closed in utterance. It raised a blocky arm, its forearm as thick as its shoulder, three stubby fingers beckoning them forward in a surprisingly human gesture.

The Orrkin lowered both hands to their head level, its palms raised. Hector looked to Celdan, who answered with a shrug. The old man was first to reach for the Orrkin’s hand, placing his own on one stubby fingertip the size of his three longest fingers together. He followed the actions of his forefather. Its skin felt smooth yet rigid, akin to the flesh of a porous mushroom.

A presence filled his mind, ancient and so alien in its thought he could not comprehend its intent, and Hector gasped in astonishment.

Careful… Conrad's Voice echoed in his mind.

We... Its voice emanated throughout, a rasp of bark and stone grinding against each other to create such sound, yet breathy as a forceful wind. ...know why you have come. We. have WAITED. Long… for one such as. YOU...

Will you fight for my cause? Hector asked wordlessly.

No. The creature’s tone crunched with finality. We will FIGHT… for ours.

Celdan laughed suddenly, belting laughter that echoed above.

“What is it?” Hector demanded.

“The things it has seen. What it knows is… incredible,” Celdan grinned. “More knowledge than all the Old World could understand. Something seemingly a monster, is a being truly enlightened. So this is what the Seers spend all their long lived lives trying to realize, a drop in this well of all knowing.” Celdan bowed his head. “I thank you, Firstborn.”

The creature kneeled in turn before them. Hector turned his head above to view more Orrkin of various sizes, all smaller than the first, the smallest still larger than the tallest man. Hector noticed the smaller the Orrkin the more vibrant and full colored green it was, the same as bright peat moss, while the larger grew to be darker, akin to the shadow of a leaf. They trudged not slowly but not swiftly, as if each step was taken with thoughtful judgement down the massive sloping stairwell.

The first Orrkin nodded towards Conrad, who flickered to existence beside Hector.

It can sense me. Conrad seemed perturbed in his expression, and Hector realized the spirit was even struck still with fear.

YOU. Hector grimaced as the Orrkin’s voice thundered and grated in his ears when all was quiet. Are one of the first… we are… similar… you and I. First to stand… and last to fall.

Conrad nodded his head in turn to the Orrkin.

“I can hear it now, as if it is capable of the Voice,” Hector spoke aloud.

“Indeed,” Celdan murmured. “It seems all it needed was our touch to create a line of communication.” He turned to the Orrkin and asked, “What is your name?”

We hold. NO meaning… to names. You are open… to the WAY. Thus. You hear… US.

Celdan frowned, scratching his cropped silvered beard absentmindedly. “Though you seem sexless, you have the deepest voice I have ever come to hear. You must have a name, at least for our sake. I shall call you Eld. Is it fine we name you Eld?”

So it… shall be. ELD.

“How many are there of your kind, Eld?” Celdan asked.

We… are many. But to you… Two hundred. Thirty. And six.

Celdan paced uneasily in front of Eld while the rest of the Orrkin continued down their path, trekking down from either side, one behind the other to leave from whence they came.

“So few,” Celdan said grimly. “Did you glean my mind, Eld?”

Eld nodded.

“Then you know of my kind’s numbers. Hector has told me the Capital holds at least tens in the thousands.”

We know… of your KIND… KING. of Kings. We go NOW. You… will follow. We will do… and you shall do… what you will...

Eld sat back down to its original position. Now... GO... with its final words Eld closed its eyes and bent its head down, turning still as a great living statue.