The battle did not end all at once; it gradually lost momentum, fading more from sheer attrition than from any clear decision.
The carnivorous beastkin began retreating in scattered groups, still tense, as though they refused to accept that their advance had reached a dead end. Some turned around and attempted one final desperate leap, hoping that sheer persistence might somehow change the outcome.
However, there were no gaps left through which they could slip. Every charge ended with the attackers being repelled, wounded, or forced to flee.
The herbivores, for their part, made no attempt to pursue them. They remained steadfast in their positions, making not a single unnecessary movement. To them, this did not seem like either victory or defeat, but simply the strict fulfillment of a duty.
Once the last predator disappeared into the vastness of the savanna, they began their own retreat: unhurried, without celebration, and without looking back.
Nyra was breathing heavily, feeling the accumulated weight of the battle in every muscle, when she noticed Lusian stop near the edge of the wall.
He was not looking at the fleeing enemies or at the survivors still standing. His attention was fixed on the ground beneath his feet.
Selvryn was already beside him.
Nyra had not even seen her approach. She only noticed her presence when the elf placed a hand against the stone and closed her eyes.
For several agonizing seconds, she remained motionless, listening to a dull frequency that no one else could perceive.
"It was a planned attack," Selvryn finally said.
Lusian took a moment to respond.
"On several fronts," he added. "They intended to force us to divide our forces so we wouldn't discover the real objective."
Nyra frowned, listening intently to the conversation.
Selvryn remained lost in her trance, her eyes still closed.
"The main assault took place underground…" she murmured. "Directly against the Mother Tree."
Nyra stared at her in shock as the elf pressed her hand harder against the rock.
"Beneath the mountain. I felt it the exact moment it happened."
Lusian gave a slight nod.
"It was only the first attempt."
A cold wind slipped through the cracks in the rocks, surrounding them with a heavy silence.
Nyra looked once more at the desolate valley.
"Then… was all of this nothing more than a distraction?"
Selvryn opened her eyes and turned her gaze toward the savanna.
"A diversion," she said, "and only the first of many attacks."
Nyra brought a hand to her mouth, holding her breath.
"They cannot destroy the Mother Tree," Selvryn declared, pressing her fingers against the stone until her knuckles turned white. "Not like this. I will not allow it."
Lusian spoke without taking his eyes from the rocky surface.
"Then we will make sure we are better prepared next time."
Nyra tightened her grip on her spear.
"And what about the carnivores?"
Selvryn slowly shook her head.
"I don't know what kind of pact they have made." She paused and raised her eyes toward Lusian. "But they did not act on their own."
Lusian met her gaze with absolute seriousness.
"It was an alliance with the Lithar."
There were no exclamations or dramatic gestures, only the silent confirmation of a bitter truth.
Selvryn nodded.
Now they knew the identity of the shadow pulling the strings behind the attack, and they knew with absolute certainty that the true war had only just begun.
Central Core Transmission
Author: Kael'Thur, Voice of the Subterranean Balance
The root emerged silently between the cracks in the rock.
The Lithar leading the patrol barely had time to notice it before his foot came into contact with it.
He stopped dead.
For one eternal second, nothing happened.
Then the light of his core flickered.
"Fall back!" one of his companions shouted.
The Lithar tried to raise his leg, but his body had already lost its stability. Looking down in horror, he watched as the luminous veins running through his limbs went dark one after another.
Another warrior lunged toward him and grabbed him firmly around the torso.
"Move!"
There was no response.
The glow of his core dropped one level.
Then another.
The root had wrapped itself around the stone of his legs with the relentless precision of a predator finding exactly what it was looking for.
"Cut it!"
A third Lithar raised his stone axe and brought it down with a precise strike.
The plant matter split apart, and the connection broke instantly, causing the first warrior to collapse to his knees.
His core still emitted a faint glow, but it was barely more than an agonizing flicker.
No one said a word.
They all knew the phenomenon.
They all knew that way of dying.
Thar'Kaal had returned.
The Lithar had never considered the surface their home. Their civilization had flourished in the darkness of the depths, beneath a colossal pressure that would have crushed any creature of flesh.
There, among layers of stone where dense mana flowed like invisible underground currents, they had found the sustenance necessary to exist.
They had not sought to dominate it.
They had simply learned to coexist with it.
Their cities grew around those currents. Their tunnels followed their natural courses, and their most sacred chambers were excavated where the energy was purest.
Every Lithar's core was nourished by the same substance that flowed through the mountain's depths.
For countless generations, that balance remained unchanged.
Until the roots came.
At first, no one understood the magnitude of the disaster.
When the first root pierced one of the lower chambers, the Lithar attempted to destroy it, but it was futile. Every time they severed a branch of stone and wood, dozens more took its place.
Then came the first death.
A Lithar accidentally touched one of the roots, and his core began to fade.
There were no wounds, no blood, no screams.
Only a body of stone slowly losing the vital spark that kept it standing.
They discovered too late that those roots were not seeking to colonize the rock.
They were devouring the mana that fed their cities, sustained their cores, and gave life to their entire species.
Thar'Kaal did not need to actively pursue them.
It only needed to spread.
Wherever a root emerged, a river of mana dried up.
When it reached a city, its reserves collapsed.
And if it directly touched a Lithar, the result was inevitable:
The core emptied.
The lifeless shell remained behind.
And the Tree continued to grow.
An entire city was eradicated that way.
It did not fall to an army, nor was it conquered.
It simply ran out of mana.
First, the currents in the outer galleries went dark. Then the weaker cores began to fade.
When the survivors attempted to retreat toward the areas where energy still remained, the roots had already arrived there.
By the time they understood the trap, there was nowhere left to flee.
That was the first time the species spoke the name that remained in their historical records:
Thar'Kaal.
To them, it did not mean "tree" or "nature."
It was the name of the aberration that had come from the surface to consume them.
Their demon.
The ancestors of the Lithar then understood a tragic and immutable truth:
They could not share the same world while both depended on the same resource.
Thar'Kaal needed the heavy mana of the depths to fuel its expansion.
The Lithar needed that same mana to exist.
One of the two had to disappear.
Thus began the Great War.
The Lithar attacked the roots from the abyss.
Thousands of units descended into the infested regions, synchronizing their cores and compressing their energy to strike together until they shattered the living wood.
But every victory demanded a bloody price.
A root could be broken, but the Tree remained.
And every time a warrior made the mistake of touching the wood, the battle became an execution: one would hold the trapped companion in place, another would attempt to sever the root, and a third would cover their retreat.
Finally, after generations devoted exclusively to extermination, the Lithar managed to fight their way to the heart of Thar'Kaal.
It was not a glorious battle.
It was a necessary act of survival.
And when the great Tree was finally defeated, there were no celebrations.
Only a bitter certainty remained among its ruins:
They had survived.
For thousands of years, the abyss belonged to them once again.
Until now.
The survivor continued through the tunnel.
Behind him, there was no longer a unit, a formation, or a group he could call his comrades.
Only motionless bodies and extinguished cores remained.
They had descended together, synchronized their energies, and pushed the mana through their mineral structures to the absolute limit in order to sever one of the roots.
They had succeeded.
They had cut one.
But the Tree continued to grow.
The survivor quickened his pace across the rock, which still carried a faint magical pulse.
When he reached the underground city, the massive stone gates opened before him.
The main hall was bathed in the violet glow of the central cores.
At the far end waited Kael'Thur, seated before the altar with his hands resting on his knees.
The deep cracks running across his mineral skin betrayed the passage of countless eons.
The survivor stopped before the highest authority and delivered the fateful news.
"Contact with Thar'Kaal confirmed."
The elder slowly raised his head.
"Report."
"The unit was intercepted by a root," the survivor replied, lowering his gaze slightly. "We managed to destroy it… but not before losing everyone else."
A deathly silence enveloped the chamber.
"How far has it advanced?" Kael'Thur finally asked.
"The roots have already spread through the mountain and are heading toward our city."
The glow of the Central Core seemed to dim for a moment, not from fear, but from the cold calculation of fate.
Kael'Thur rose to his feet, his massive structure creaking under its own weight.
"Then it has begun again."
No one asked for an explanation.
They all knew the annals of their species and the ancient prophecies concerning the eventual return of the surface demon.
Thar'Kaal had returned.
But this time, it would not find a people willing to retreat.
"Gather every available unit," Kael'Thur ordered firmly. "We will prepare a full-scale offensive."
The survivor bowed his head.
"What is the objective?"
Kael'Thur raised his gaze toward the depths of the mountain, his expression carrying the cold certainty of a resolution forged over millennia.
"The Tree."
He paused.
"If it grows again, we will die."