In the world where Thornywayne was believed to be the origin of all life, existence was never limited to humankind alone.
Elves, dwarves, fair folk, and countless other races once walked beneath the same sky, shared the same seasons, and lived side by side without borders or names to divide them. In those ancient days, the world stood in balance.
But balance, by its very nature, never lasts.
Greed crept in slowly, like a sickness that no one noticed until it had already taken root. The desire to control magic fractured what little unity remained. Minor disputes grew into open conflicts, and conflicts turned into full-scale wars.
Blood stained the land.Once-fertile soil grew tainted.Nature itself began to lose its breath.
To survive, each race withdrew behind its own defenses. Kingdoms rose, walls were built, and borders were drawn not only on maps, but within hearts. What had once been shared became forbidden. What had once been familiar became foreign.
The wars dragged on for generations, until even the world itself could no longer endure its wounds.
And from that devastation, something unfamiliar was born.
Creatures unlike anything seen before began to appear beings with no clear origin. They were not summoned. They were not invaders from another realm. They emerged as if drawn forth by the hatred embedded deep within the scarred land itself.
They were called Agrora.
Some believed they were demons from hell.Others whispered that they were nature's answer born from the withering leaves of the World Tree, awakened when the balance finally collapsed.
No one truly knew the truth.
What was certain was this: the Agrora showed no mercy.
They attacked without reason, without pattern, as if their very existence was a rejection of the world that had failed to protect its own harmony.
Their arrival ended the wars.
Kingdoms that had once sworn eternal hatred were forced to abandon old grudges. Survival became the only goal. Humans, elves, dwarves, fairies, magical beasts, and many others formed fragile alliances not out of trust, but necessity.
The world did not return to peace.But complete annihilation was, at the very least, delayed.
In Thornywayne, every living being was born with the potential for magic.
Yet not all were chosen by the roots of the world.
Only a rare few bore signs of the Tree Lineage an ancient bloodline that manifested when someone was touched by the roots of the World Tree or one of the Ancestral Trees. Those marked by it were not merely wielders of power.
They were guardians.
Keepers of balance, entrusted with a legacy passed down directly from the primal roots of existence itself.
And yet Thornywayne was not the only world that existed.
As time passed, magic itself shaped boundaries. Thornywayne became separated from its origin a world without magic, moving quietly in ignorance and silence. Two worlds coexisted, side by side, yet no longer touched, divided by laws understood only by the oldest roots of creation.
And in that world one that knew nothing of Thornywayn lived a boy named Abraham Thornein.
Abraham was a slender child with curly brown hair, small lips, and eyes the color of warm amber. He did not speak.
Not because he was unable to, but because words had grown unbearably heavy ever since his parents vanished from his life. From that day onward, sound felt distant. Unfamiliar.
At eleven years old, his world was quiet.
Except for the small garden behind his grandfather's house.
Abraham lived with his grandfather, Alfred.
Alfred looked like an ordinary old man: a thin beard, straight black hair streaked with gray, and calm brown eyes that seemed to carry years of unspoken stories. He was tall, and though age had claimed its share, there was still a quiet strength in the way he carried himself.
They lived on the outskirts of a small town neither fully rural nor truly urban. Narrow asphalt roads cut through rows of old houses. Small shops stood beside newer buildings, and in a few forgotten corners, patches of green land stubbornly refused to disappear.
Alfred's house stood in one of those corners.
Behind it stretched a wide garden remnants of land untouched by development. Alfred tended it carefully, growing ornamental plants and flowers to sell at the town market. His life was simple, modest, and steady, lived between soil, water, and the passing seasons.
It was in that garden that Abraham felt heard.
Every day, he helped Alfred care for the plants. He watered them without being asked, pulled weeds from the soil, and often sat quietly among the flower pots. Alfred knew Abraham was a quiet child perhaps different, perhaps wounded.
The boy had lost his parents.
And Alfred, too, carried his own grief: his child was gone, his wife had long since passed, and now he watched his grandson grow up without a father or mother.
Abraham rarely spoke, but he was diligent. He loved reading books and learning about plants with his grandfather. Slowly, life with his grandson became a balm for Alfred's wounds just as Alfred's presence became an anchor for Abraham.
At eleven years old, Abraham stood at the edge between childhood and adolescence.
I don't know how to explain it, Abraham thought.I know Grandpa doesn't mind that I rarely speak… but somehow, I feel like I can't say anything at all.
Since the day his parents disappeared, he felt unable to feel anything. As if emotions, purpose, and direction had vanished along with them. He had cried until his chest ached, poured out everything he had, until only emptiness remained.
The world felt cruel. Unfair.
After the exhaustion.After the anger.After thoughts that wandered too close to the edge
His grandfather came.
Alfred took him away from the city, to a small house on the outskirts with a garden behind it. Alfred ran a modest ornamental plant business and occasionally worked as a gardener.
There, Abraham began helping every day.
He learned how to care for trees.For flowers.For everything that grew from the earth.
He began to understand plants.
Alfred was warm and patient. He often spoke about kindness, about what it meant to be human. Sometimes, he talked about the philosophy of the World Tree.
"All living things are equal," Alfred would say. "Humans, animals, plants it doesn't matter. Plants may not speak the way we do, but they live. They breathe. They interact with the world in their own way. And that is what makes them beautiful."
Since living with his grandfather, Abraham found himself drawn to planting and nurturing life. Somehow, it made him feel warm. Calm.
There was a connection a quiet bond between him and the plants. Something that did not require words. Something felt, not spoken.
He felt as though he could hear them.
Understand them.
Speak to them without ever opening his mouth.
Abraham was not mute. He simply wasn't used to expressing himself with words.
And Alfred understood.
So every day, with patience and care, Alfred continued to speak to him believing that one day, Abraham would find his voice again.