The aftermath of the Corrupted Treant's defeat was a somber, muted affair. No cheers. No cries of victory. The Unchained, exhausted and nursing their wounds, simply stood in the silent, cathedral-like chamber. Their eyes darted nervously between the colossal, dead tree and the pale, trembling figure of their leader. They had survived. But the demonstration of Edward's new, terrifying power had left a deep, unsettling chill.
He was their savior. Their king. The architect of their impossible survival. But he was also becoming something alien. Something that commanded the spirits of the dead. Something they were beginning to struggle to understand. The awe they felt for him was now inextricably mixed with a deep, primal fear.
