While Lusian slept, a muffled yet profound disturbance echoed from the foothills of the settlement.
The ground gave way without shattering the rock or exploding into fragments; the earth simply opened, folding in on itself like fresh clay. It happened along the lower stretch of the mountain, precisely in the neutral space separating two newly established herbivore settlements.
Three scouts were the first to reach the fissure. They were neither inexperienced youngsters nor creatures prone to panic. When the ground trembled and began to crack apart, they did not flee. They planted their feet firmly in the earth, lowered their heads, aligned their horns, and awaited the threat with their muscles tense.
Then, something emerged from the depths.
First came an enormous hand of black stone. Mineral fingers sank into the vegetation-covered soil, raising a dense cloud of dust. Then a colossal arm emerged, followed by a massive shoulder. The creature slowly rose from the abyss.
The three scouts took a step backward, holding their breath.
It was an enormous being. Its body easily exceeded three meters in height and was composed of massive blocks of dark stone, assembled with a geometric precision that no mortal craftsman could have replicated. It wore no armor; its own mineral anatomy served that purpose. Incandescent white lines ran along its limbs, sinking between the rocky plates like tendons made of pure energy. At the center of its chest was a core: a dark, polygonal crystal that pulsed with an inner glow. Each pulse made the ground beneath their feet tremble.
Its face had neither mouth nor nose. It bore only two deep slits carved into the stone and a pair of obsidian eyes that coldly examined the three scouts. There was neither fury nor curiosity in that gaze; only tactical assessment.
Behind it, emerging from the same fissure, two more figures appeared.
The scouts remained paralyzed. These were not a band of hunters or beasts of the savanna; they were entities that had emerged from the bowels of the earth, claiming their surroundings through their mere presence.
"Do not move."
The voice was not a shout, but a vibration that made the air and the chests of those present resonate. An executive command.
The herbivores obeyed instantly. Not out of submission, but because their most primal instincts warned them that any hostile movement would trigger a catastrophe.
Soon, a crowd of demi-humans began gathering from the neighboring camps. The stone beings, the Lithaar, neither retreated nor adopted defensive stances. Nor did they ask who held authority over the mountain. The tallest among them raised a massive hand and pointed toward the heights.
"The mana of this land belongs to us."
A deathly silence fell over the crowd. The herbivores exchanged bewildered glances; no one could make sense of the statement.
The settlement's leader stepped forward, facing the imposing colossus.
"What are you trying to say?"
The Lithaar lowered its gaze toward him.
"That you are consuming it." It coldly pointed toward the rune-infused vegetation surrounding the terraces. "The land is being drained."
The leader looked around. The plants were growing in abundance, and his people cultivated them to survive. He could see no anomaly.
"These lands were uninhabited when we arrived."
"They are no longer uninhabited," the Lithaar immediately declared.
It stepped forward, and the earth creaked beneath its stone hooves.
"And you are feeding on something that rightfully belongs to us."
Several herbivore warriors raised their horns, their stances tensing. It was not fear that moved them, but indignation at the intrusion.
"We have taken nothing from your people."
The Lithaar slowly turned its rocky torso.
"You do not need to take it directly." It pointed toward the ground beneath their feet. "The mountain itself is absorbing it."
No one answered. To the inhabitants of the savanna, those words made no sense. To the Lithaar, the explanation was redundant; it was like arguing over ownership of water with the current of a river. That was simply how things were.
The leader of the mineral beings turned his attention toward the summit, fixing his eyes upon the roots of the Mother Tree.
"Thar'Kaal," he uttered the word with ancient contempt. "It has returned."
"It is accumulating the mana that belongs to us," the second Lithaar added.
"And as long as its expansion continues," the leader concluded, "it will keep taking it from us."
The obsidian eyes once again locked onto the assembled herbivores.
"Leave this mountain."
The herbivore leader frowned in disbelief.
"What did you say?"
"You heard perfectly well." The Lithaar's voice did not change; the sobriety of its tone conveyed absolute certainty. "Leave the mountain."
A murmur of indignation swept through the camp. These people had no intention of surrendering the land they had worked so hard to settle.
"And what if we refuse to leave?"
The three Lithaar remained impassive. Their spokesman answered without hesitation:
"Then we will drive you out."
It did not sound like a threat or a provocation, but rather the statement of an unavoidable fact.
An herbivore warrior snorted disdainfully.
"This land does not belong to you."
The Lithaar stared at him for several seconds.
"That remains to be seen." It turned toward the mountain heights once more. "Thar'Kaal will be destroyed."
The herbivore leader clenched his teeth, confronting it directly.
"And who gave you the right to decide the fate of this land?"
The obsidian eyes settled upon him one final time.
"No one." There was a brief pause. "We have never needed anyone's permission."
Then—
Thunder struck.
Electricity exploded around its feet with a brutal crack, splitting the air. Arcs of blue light snaked across the ground and climbed like serpents over the dark stone plates of the Lithaar.
For the first time since their arrival, none of them took a step forward.
Lusian remained impassive atop Thunder's back. He did not draw his blade, tense his muscles, or bother raising his voice to make himself heard over the electric hum.
"Enough."
The obsidian eyes of the Lithaar leader locked onto him, cold and calculating.
"Move aside."
It was neither a request nor a suggestion; it was an order stripped of all emotion. Lusian held its gaze without blinking.
"No."
The silence that followed became dense, almost suffocating. The Lithaar leader took a heavy step forward, but Thunder reacted instantly, allowing a violent spark to crackle around him. The stone colossus stopped dead; it was assessing the terrain.
That creature of flesh contained a reserve of power beyond its understanding. It did not know what kind of magic it wielded or what plane it came from, but its instincts recognized one irrefutable fact: it would not be able to get past him easily.
And directly behind that warrior waited the threat that had just claimed the lives of its kin.
The root.
The Tree.
The Lithaar slowly turned its stone neck toward the lifeless bodies of its companions. Two completely extinguished cores. Two mineral warriors annihilated without receiving a single direct blow.
It turned back toward Lusian.
"This does not end here."
"That depends entirely on you."
The Lithaar remained motionless for several endless seconds. Then it took a step backward. The other two followed without protest.
The earth opened gently beneath their feet. Without dramatic gestures, farewells, or empty threats, they sank into the rock as though the mountain itself were reclaiming their presence.
Lusian waited in silence until the last fragment of stone disappeared beneath the surface. Only then did he relax his stance and look at the two empty shells beside the root network.
"What strange creatures..."
Selvryn did not answer immediately. Her eyes remained fixed on the sealed fissure.
"They didn't seem to be asking for permission," she murmured after a moment.
"They weren't."
"Then they'll be back."
Lusian raised his gaze toward the mountain's darkness.
"Probably."
Beside him, Mukhar released a deep snort.
"That's not what worries me most."
Lusian tilted his head toward him. The enormous demi-human was calmly running a hand along the worn wood of his ceremonial staff.
"What worries me is that those things knew the history of this place." His slit-pupiled eyes settled upon the root. "And we have barely scratched the surface."
That same night, the leaders of the various herds gathered around the fire. There was no formal summons; no messengers had been sent. The sheer gravity of recent events had simply driven everyone toward the same place.
Mukhar sat before the flames, resting his arms on his staff. Around the fire, the herbivore chieftains listened in absolute silence.
"The Lithaar are real," one of the chiefs stated.
"So it seems."
"And two of them fell within seconds."
Mukhar raised an eyebrow.
"Two who were foolish enough to touch the root."
No one dared contradict him. The image of those extinguished cores remained fresh in the collective memory.
One of the leaders slammed a hoof against the ground in frustration.
"Then the command is clear: we will not go near those roots."
"That much is obvious."
"No," another warrior interrupted, shaking his head. "The sensible thing is to break camp and move away from this cursed mountain."
The suggestion unleashed a wave of hostile growls. A buffalo female, with curved horns and a fierce gaze, was the first to step forward.
"Move away?" She pointed indignantly toward the upper terraces. "Have you not seen what is flourishing on these slopes?"
Silence reigned across the clearing.
"My young grow strong and healthy at a rate I have never seen in the savanna. The young recover their mana after every training session, and the elders can walk again without support." She swept her gaze across those present. "And you expect us to give this up and return to the dry lands?"
Some lowered their heads. No. No one wanted to leave. Not after experiencing the benevolence of that soil.
Mukhar let out a tired sigh.
"This goes beyond food."
The female confronted him.
"Of course it is about food."
The old demi-human slowly shook his head.
"I am talking about a resource we have never had in such abundance." He extended a hand toward the heights. "Mana."
The mere mention of the word changed the atmosphere. Everyone present understood its true weight. In the savanna, survival depended on fighting over small veins of energy; a single mana-rich plant could tip the balance of a hunt, and a good territory could secure a herd's bloodline for generations. And now, before them, stood an entire mountain covered in mystical vegetation.
It was simply impossible to turn their backs on it.
"Then we will expand our territory," one of the leaders declared.
"And what about the human?"
"What human?"
"Lusian."
The chiefs exchanged uneasy glances. Mukhar remained silent for a couple of seconds before speaking gravely.
"Do not provoke him."
"Is that the entirety of your warning?"
"For now, yes."
A young leader snorted dismissively.
"He has quite a few warriors at his disposal, but..."
"I'm not talking about his troops," Mukhar interrupted, raising his eyes toward him. "I'm talking about him."
No one answered. They had all witnessed the display on the ridge: Lusian did not look like someone who needed an army to bring down his enemies.
Mukhar gently struck the ground with the base of his staff.
"We will continue settling here," he declared. "But we will respect the mountain's boundary. We will not climb another step."
"And what if the humans decide to drive us out by force?"
A bitter, wrinkled smile appeared on the old man's lips.
"In that case, we will resort to words."
"And if they refuse to negotiate?"
Mukhar closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the fire against his face.
"Then we will discover just how solid our new home truly is."
Selvryn was furious. She did not need to raise her voice to make it clear; the tension in her face and the rigidity of her posture spoke for themselves.
"We should drive them all out before it's too late."
Lusian remained seated on a boulder, watching as the points of light from the settlements multiplied at the foot of the mountain like fallen stars.
"No."
"They're devouring every mystical sprout that emerges."
"I know."
"And the flow of refugees isn't stopping."
"I know that too."
Selvryn crossed her arms over her chest, impatient.
"What are we waiting for, then?"
Lusian remained silent. Down below, in the lower camp, a young demi-human ran happily around a bonfire while its mother tried to catch it, laughing. Farther away, several youths carried wooden beams to erect the frame of a new home.
They did not look like an invading horde. They were simply families that had found a safe corner in which to put down roots.
Lusian sighed softly.
"As long as they respect the perimeter and do not move higher, leave them alone."
Selvryn stared at him in utter disbelief.
"They are slowing the expansion of the sacred forest."
"Only a little."
"And that doesn't concern you in the slightest?"
Lusian offered a sober smile.
"It concerns me," he admitted, turning to look at the roots of the Mother Tree. "But it matters even more to me that we learn to coexist with those who have made their way here."
The elf remained silent for a few moments. Then, turning her face away, she muttered:
"You're still too soft."
Lusian let out a low laugh.
"And you still harbor the desire to annihilate anyone who dares approach your tree."
"Because it is my tree," she replied, lifting her chin proudly.
He looked at her with amusement.
"Your tree?"
Selvryn glanced at him before turning her head toward the horizon.
"I didn't say it wasn't both of ours."
Lusian smiled. For the first time since the stone creatures had burst from the depths, the weight on his shoulders seemed to lighten.
However, neither of them looked at the mountain the same way again. They were both aware of a new and dangerous reality: the Mother Tree had not only summoned the beasts of the savanna, but had also awakened those who claimed the energy of the earth as an ancestral right.
And those entities had not returned to negotiate.