I invited Nameless not as a courtesy to a foreign guest,
but to complete a proper act of gratitude before the Memory Tree—
to thank it for holding nature in balance, so that my people may still take memory as root and live within restraint.
The ritual ground lay along the forest ridge.
Shadows of branches sliced the morning light into thin sheets. Wooden tags and slips were bound all along the trunk—not wishes, but decisions once tied to the bark by our ancestors. A decision, once bound, is no longer debated; it is only made visible.
I stood beneath the tree and recited the benediction from memory:
The tree records the name; the name records the deed. When the seasons are in order, we do not demand more. When the seasons fall out of balance, we do not shirk the cost. With memory as root, with restraint as crown. Today's fruit, received with thanks, not possession. Yesterday's error, remembered without defense.
Wind moved through the canopy.
The tags chimed softly—not in reply, but in confirmation.
Setteth stood slightly behind me. He lowered his voice so only I could hear.
"Once the lead steps forward, even the benediction becomes a supporting role. Princess Sessanna's name carries more weight than anything spoken here."
I glanced at him. His expression was calm.
This kind of irreverence at the edge of order kept the ritual from turning brittle.
Nameless remained in the outer ring, never crossing the line of roots.
The way he looked at the tree was not reverent. It was closer to someone identifying a direction.
Hoofbeats approached, disrupting the rhythm of breath.
A mounted party broke through the trees and halted at the perimeter.
Their leader dismounted and knelt on one knee.
"Lady of the Elves," he said, "this interruption is not my wish. I am here only to warn you—the Demon in the Fog has crossed into this territory. I urge your people to withdraw from the Memory Tree for now."
An elder stepped forward, voice heavy as stone.
"The Outlanders have always treated nature as fuel. You fell trees, divert rivers, and we have not contested you. But to disrupt our rite—this is the gravest insult to our kind."
The Human King raised his eyes, still keeping form.
"I bring a risk notice, not a provocation. You have ignored our markers and written alerts more than once. This tree does more than nurture memory—it amplifies decisions. Any disturbance may multiply error and fear. Seal the outer ring. Evacuate the young-branch zone for three days. Three horn calls as warning—"
Another elder cut him off.
"Your terms are impossible. Tell me—if the Demon were to strike our people first, would humans show such concern? Days ago, a human trespassed through our barrier."
A ripple passed through the gathered eyes.
The Human King paused, as if filing the information into an external logic grid.
"Who trespassed?"
The High Elder did not answer. He raised his hand.
The air dropped like an invisible curtain, pushing the Human King and his retinue back beyond the boundary.
It was not violence. It was enforcement.
"No disputes within the barrier," the elder said, withdrawing his hand. His voice was dry and cold. "Your unease has been received. Your methods will not be adopted."
Outside the boundary, the Human King mounted his horse again and inclined his head toward me.
"At the very least—seal the young-branch zone during the rite. We will station forces beyond the outer ring. If anything abnormal occurs, three horn calls."
I looked to the elders.
Position outweighed opinion.
After a half-breath, one of them spoke.
"Do as you will beyond the outer ring. The space beneath the tree is not to be disturbed."
The Human King nodded. Before leaving, his gaze passed over Setteth, then me, then Nameless in the outer ring—not as conclusions, but as marked nodes.
The riders vanished into the forest.
The wind reclaimed the clearing.
Order, on the surface, returned.
Unease stepped closer.
Setteth murmured, "You see? The rules are always the protagonist."
I adjusted my sleeves and spoke the closing words.
"The rite proceeds by measure. The space beneath the tree remains undisturbed. Matters beyond the ring belong beyond the ring. We claim neither merit nor blame—only clarity of memory."
The crowd answered.
The tags chimed again.
When the ceremony dispersed, voices retreated to the perimeter.
Only the three of us remained beneath the Memory Tree.
I asked Nameless, "What do you think the Memory Tree is?"
He considered. "It doesn't just record elven history and life. It records changes in the Fantasia Continent itself. Like—Sophia. Recording, but not directing."
I nodded.
He had grasped it quickly: recording and amplification, not blessing or mercy.
As his words settled, a fine tremor passed through the bark.
A bud swelled rapidly before our eyes—then split open.
Not a flower, but a winged cluster of light, forced out through a seam of decision.
The light condensed.
A tiny fairy sat upon a thin leaf, breathing faintly.
I locked onto the lines of her brow and eyes.
My heart missed a beat.
She looked like Rosa.
Not similar—identical, in the way something is identical only after it has already been recognized.
The density of magic spiked.
The elders turned at once, faces hardening as they advanced.
"A manifestation of the Phantom Realm's demon," the High Elder said.
Another had already raised his hand, preparing a brand of purging fire.
I did not think.
There was only one impulse: protect her.
"Stop."
My voice broke through before reason could assemble.
Etiquette demanded reverence; my body made the choice first.
"She is not a demon."
There was no time to construct a justification. No time for the constraint to intercept.
I raised my hand and summoned elven power. Mistletoe surged from the outer roots, weaving into a flexible lattice that blocked their path.
It was not an attack.
Only distance.
The elders' anger flared.
"Withdraw your spell, Sessanna. Even the King and Queen would not dare such disrespect!"
I understood the weight of that accusation: treason.
But I also knew—if I yielded now, the fairy would be erased within a single breath, reasonably and cleanly.
Setteth stepped half a pace between me and the elders. His gaze was ice-cold, but he said nothing. He was calculating.
Nameless did not move. His hands hung at his sides, as if holding back the instinct to rush forward.
The elders began casting.
Purging sigils formed in the air, a geometric net meant to burn the mistletoe away.
I reacted immediately, shifting the vines into spiraling growth—not opposing the fire, but flowing around it, letting each burst strike empty space.
It was not elegant.
It was the only resistance I had: to slow them down.
"You are using the tree's domain as cover," the High Elder said coldly. "Turning mistletoe into a shield is blasphemy against nature."
I did not answer.
Any explanation would be logged as emotional interference.
I crouched and lifted the fairy. She was light—barely permitted to exist. She opened her eyes once, looked at me without recognition, without attachment.
That was correct.
In this memory, she was not my answer.
The fire pressed closer. A section of mistletoe burned away. At the same moment, the bark sealed itself—isolating my interference from the tree's core.
I understood then: the Memory Tree was not on my side.
It was preserving the integrity of the record.
I stepped backward into the outer shadow along the root ridge—a service corridor used only by priests and keepers.
I knew the path.
Not from the present—but because Sessanna had always known it.
"Princess!" an elder shouted. "You may not relocate life beneath the tree by private authority!"
I did not turn back.
"The space beneath the tree remains undisturbed," I said. "You should not disturb it either."
The words were defiant—yet spoken in their own language.
In the half-breath of hesitation I created, I carried the fairy along the side-root shadow, away from the core.
It was not escape.
It was moving a life that would be reasonably destroyed away from the blade.
Setteth did not follow, but his voice reached me, low and precise.
"You have three breaths. If the outer ring sounds the first horn, the elders will collapse the rules as a whole. You won't even have a retreat."
I knew.
I also knew none of this would be written as my victory.
I crossed the last line of roots. The wind beyond the ring shifted.
A single horn sounded in the distance—not an alarm, a test.
It was enough.
The elders would take it as proof: You see? Unease is spreading.
At the edge of shadow, I stopped and looked back at Nameless. He said nothing—only nodded once, faintly.
I saw you do the thing you will regret, and still chose to do.
I nodded in return.
I held the fairy closer and whispered to her,
"This is only temporary. I didn't save you. I only delayed the sentence."
She did not respond.
That was proper.
As I stepped into the next stretch of shadow, I understood clearly—
I had not changed history.
I had only pushed a mistake already written forward by half a step,
so that before it fell,
I could see exactly how sharp its blade truly was.
ns216.73.216.10da2
and then Add to home screen.