The days slipped by in a strange, almost deceptive calm, while the mountain continued its relentless expansion.
At first, there were only timid green shoots piercing the arid earth. Then came the shrubs, and finally, dense foliage that slowly descended the slopes like a rising tide, claiming cracks, wrapping around boulders, and covering what had once been nothing more than dry soil.
The demihumans were the first to reap the benefits of that abundance.
One morning, a small antelope calf hurried through the camp between the huts, proudly clutching a gleaming fruit between her hooves. Her mother called out to her repeatedly, but the little one ignored the warnings; she only wanted to show her treasure. The pulse of the fruit radiated a pure concentration of energy.
"Again?" the mother murmured in astonishment.
The calf nodded vigorously. Her mother watched her in silence for a moment and smiled; she could not even remember the last time she had seen her daughter eat until she was completely satisfied.
A few yards away, an old tribesman sat beside the embers. For years, his withered joints had made it impossible for him to take a single step without pain. Yet that morning, he rose to his feet without any support. In complete silence, he walked toward the edge of the settlement to contemplate the vegetation climbing up the mountainside.
Several youths teasingly called out as they passed him:
"Old man! You're falling behind."
The elder raised a wrinkled hand and offered a serene grimace.
"Then slow down and wait."
Laughter echoed through the air. They were tiny details, insignificant to a casual observer, but to them they meant everything. For the first time in generations, the herds were no longer forced to wander whenever the land was exhausted. There was food, there was mana, and the green tide grew with every passing day. The hunters' muscles became stronger, their horns grew thicker, and the young matured with an unusual vitality.
The news spread like the wind across the savanna: from family to family, from herd to herd, until it reached even the most distant tribes. The exodus began almost immediately.
However, not everyone celebrated that prosperity.
Far from the green frontier, surrounded by clouds of dust rising from the parched plains, a group of predators stared into the distance. There was no prey where they stood; only dust and bones.
One of the hunters lifted his head, exhausted.
"How long has it been since our last hunt?"
No one answered. A scrawny cub crawled toward its mother, but she could only lower her gaze, having nothing to offer it. Across the plain, the herbivore herds advanced in compact formations. There were no longer any stragglers, abandoned young, or elderly members left behind to die along the way. Abundance had reshaped the very nature of prey survival.
Driven by necessity, the carnivores were forced to change their methods. Some began tracking migrations for weeks; others, pushed by desperate hunger, risked launching direct attacks against the fortified perimeters.
Meanwhile, deep beneath the mountain...
A Lithaar stood motionless before the course of an underground river of mana. It had occupied that post for centuries. The current had always flowed deep and uninterrupted.
Until now.
The source of energy had dwindled to a flickering thread. The stone creature extended its mineral fingers; the rock vibrated faintly before becoming inert.
It fixed its gaze upon the darkness of the cavern. In the distance, the glow of a runic crystal went out. Then another. And another.
It was not a new development—they had been monitoring the decline for weeks—but the rate of consumption was accelerating at an alarming pace.
"It is absorbing more," a stone voice rumbled from behind.
Another Lithaar emerged from the shadows.
"The roots have penetrated the deeper strata."
"Then they must be severed."
"It is impossible from here."
A heavy silence fell over the cavern. The first Lithaar clenched its fist, making the stone crack.
"Then we will ascend to the surface."
No one objected. The decision had been made.
Above, life flourished relentlessly. The elves had begun moving their homes into the branches of the new canopy, drawn by the majesty of the vegetation. An old woman brushed the tips of her fingers against the bark of a young tree, allowing tears to roll down her cheeks.
"It's alive..." she whispered.
Her granddaughter looked at her in confusion.
"It has always been alive, Grandmother."
The old woman gave a faint smile.
"Not with this heartbeat."
Farther down, near the lower terraces, the old human settlement was beginning to empty. Lusian walked through its deserted streets one afternoon, where only a handful of houses remained occupied. A woman sweeping the threshold of her home stopped when she saw him pass.
"Lusian."
He stopped.
"Is something wrong?"
"My son has taken up the sword again."
Lusian raised an eyebrow.
"Is that bad news?"
The woman let out a light laugh.
"Not at all. Two years ago, he couldn't even lift an iron blade." She looked toward the mountainside. "Now he's convinced he'll become a great warrior."
Lusian followed her gaze. A boy was running between the trees, carrying a heavy practice sword. He stumbled and rolled through the grass, but immediately got back to his feet and resumed running.
Lusian offered a faint smile.
"He has a long road of training ahead of him."
"That's exactly what I keep telling him."
The woman resumed her sweeping, and Lusian continued on his way in silence. Yet the exchange lingered in his mind.
The mountainside no longer resembled the barren mass of stone it had once been; the forest had covered every corner. But as the roots of the Mother Tree continued their descent into the depths of the world, something in the darkness was fading.
The Lithaar were aware of it. The elves had no idea. The demihumans could not understand it. The land was no longer a shared space: the abundance above meant death below, and two worlds could not survive while claiming the same essence.
Weeks later, new figures appeared along the horizon.
They were not walking; they were devouring the ground beneath their feet, racing forward at full speed. They were agile demihumans with long limbs, adapted to crossing enormous distances without rest. They arrived exhausted, covered in a thick layer of dust, with their young clinging to their mothers' backs and the older children looking back in terror.
The reason for their panic soon became apparent.
Behind them came swift-moving shadows: packs of predators that had stalked their migration for weeks, waiting for the slightest sign of weakness.
One of the runners collapsed onto the dry earth. His brother turned back to help him.
"Get up! Keep moving!"
"I have no strength left..."
The shadows were closing the distance rapidly.
Then a powerful sound tore through the air: the blast of a hunting horn, followed by the thunderous call of a second.
The newcomers looked up. Before them stretched the first green meadows of the mountain, overflowing with pure, revitalizing mana.
The herd found strength where none remained and quickened their pace. For the first time in weeks, they were no longer running away from a fatal destiny.
They were running toward life.
And the beasts pursuing them saw the landscape as well.
The mountain.
The forest.
The abundance.
The mana.
What had begun as an anomaly in the savanna was rapidly becoming the most coveted territory on the continent. And sooner or later, the entire tide would converge upon the same point.
The first one fell before he could even scream.
The second tried to turn around, but his momentum sealed his fate. Two predators pounced upon him with the fury of restrained hunger.
The third increased his pace, adrenaline surging through his limbs, but the acceleration only served to separate him fatally from the rest of the herd.
"HELP!"
The young antelope's scream was swallowed by the roar of the slaughter. A shadow launched itself from the tall grass and slammed into his flank. He felt a heavy impact against his back and bit into the dust.
He rolled desperately through the undergrowth, kicking blindly until one of his hooves struck the pursuer across the snout.
The carnivore staggered back several yards, snarling. For one eternal second, the two locked eyes: the prey, chest heaving and lungs burning; the predator, baring a row of bloodstained fangs.
A second roar erupted behind him.
"NO!"
The antelope tried to rise, but his strength failed him. Before the jaws could close around his throat, a dark mass burst into the fray like a projectile, ramming into the attackers.
A colossal buffalo.
The impact sent one of the carnivores tumbling several yards across the meadow.
"RUN!"
The youngster needed no second command. He scrambled upright and fled blindly toward the settlement's palisades.
The buffalo remained where he stood.
Three feline silhouettes began circling him. The old warrior lowered his horns; his limbs trembled violently, exhausted from the prolonged effort.
"Come..."
The beasts lunged simultaneously.
The buffalo roared and charged straight at them.
Inside the perimeter, the chaos continued unabated. A gazelle mother frantically searched through the wreckage of several overturned carts, her hooves covered in splinters.
"Nari!"
Nothing.
Only the crackling of flames.
"Nari!"
She pushed aside a wooden frame, then a torn sack. Beneath them, curled into a ball, a young calf was silently sobbing.
"Mom!"
The woman collapsed to her knees, pulling her daughter tightly against her chest.
"I thought they had gotten you..."
"I'm so scared."
"So am I, my love." The mother clenched her teeth and looked up. "But we're not running anymore."
A guttural snarl sounded from the other side of the wreckage. A dark-spotted feline stood atop the collapsed wood.
The calf began trembling, but her mother shielded her with her own body. She had no spears or shields; all she had left was the firmness of her horns.
"Back."
The beast gathered itself.
At the exact moment it sprang forward, the shaft of a hunting spear pierced through its shoulder from side to side. The animal shrieked and crashed onto its side, thrashing against the earth.
A buffalo guard stepped forward and yanked his weapon free.
"Quick! Take her to the central square!"
The woman grabbed her daughter and ran without looking back.
"May the gods watch over you!"
The guard had no time to acknowledge the blessing. A second beast knocked him down from behind. The spear flew from his hands, and the warrior slammed into the ground.
"Damn it!"
The beast's jaws descended toward his throat. The guard crossed his forearms to absorb the fatal bite, but a sideways charge sent the attacker flying through the air and crashing into a post.
"Get up!"
It was the same buffalo who had covered the young antelope's retreat.
He was covered in numerous lacerations, his fur stained red; some of the blood was not even his own.
"I thought they had torn you apart out there," the guard said, springing to his feet.
"So did I."
They exchanged a knowing look and ran to reinforce the defensive line.
The fierce battle continued for endless minutes. The packs had counted on panic shattering the refugees' formation, but their calculation had failed. The herbivores gave up ground, yes, and suffered casualties, but for every breach opened in the palisade, a new wall of shields and horns rose to fill it.
Parents shielded the young. The youths evacuated the wounded. The elders coordinated the retreat from the defensive positions.
They possessed no formal military training, but they were defending something the hunters had failed to measure:
A land where they could begin again.
A dark-maned lion breached a trench. Three defenders moved to block its path. The first was sent rolling down the slope by a direct impact; the second fell with his chest raked open by a claw; the third did not take a single step backward.
"You're not getting past me!"
The predator roared, baring its claws. The herbivore lowered his head and lowered his horns.
"NOT HERE!"
Then he charged with the full weight of his body.
The collision shook the mud.
Yet out on the open plain, the carnivores operated according to pure instinct. They sought neither conquest nor alliances; they simply wanted to fill their stomachs.
One of the males dragged a fresh corpse through the brush. Another returned to the group with blood staining his jaws.
Behind them, the tide of the savanna continued moving north.
The mountainside stood only a short distance away. From the plains, the density of the forest could be seen clearly: green, humid, saturated with a pure energy that filled the air.
One of the alpha carnivores raised its snout, scenting the current.
For the first time that day, it tore its gaze away from the refugees and fixed it upon the heights of the summit.
Then it resumed its advance toward the forest.
From the rocky overlook, Lusian watched everything in absolute silence.
He had not moved a single finger.
Beside him, Selvryn kept her hands clenched so tightly that her knuckles had turned white.
"They're breaking through the perimeter. There are more of them every minute."
Lusian said nothing.
Below, another wave of beasts spread toward the battered settlement.
"They'll reach the forest roots if we don't act."
"I know."
"Then we have to intercept them."
Lusian kept his eyes fixed on the savanna for several more seconds.
Finally, he released a long sigh.
"Yes."
Selvryn turned toward him.
"What's the plan?"
Lusian surveyed the battlefield. A faint, bitter smile appeared on his face.
"First, we make sure they don't turn our territory into a hunting ground."
The elf narrowed her eyes.
"And second?"
Lusian mounted Thunder.
"Then I'll sit down and negotiate with whoever still has their head on their shoulders."
The dark steed raised his head and neighed. Arcs of blue electricity began snaking violently across his muscles, crackling against the rock beneath them.
Without another word, Lusian charged down the mountainside toward the heart of the battle.
Farther ahead, where the mist became a dense, cold curtain, the air was torn apart by a deep, resonant roar.
Leontaris.
They had no interest whatsoever in taking the village by force. They were hunting the unfortunate ones who had made the mistake of fleeing alone.
A group of young antelopes raced desperately through the grass, clumsily stumbling into one another in their panic. Behind them, dark silhouettes rapidly closed the distance with terrifying grace.
One of the youths misstepped and rolled through the mud.
The others continued running blindly, consumed by panic.
No one looked back.
No one returned for him.
Not long afterward, the sharp screams and roars gradually faded until they disappeared into the thick white shroud.
In the settlement's main square, the battle continued to rage.
Mukhar moved through the chaos with crushing composure, as though the disorder around him were incapable of disturbing his rhythm.
A young buffalo ran past him, clutching his shoulder where a deep wound was bleeding profusely.
"They're breaking through the eastern perimeter!"
Mukhar turned toward him and spoke with commanding authority.
"Evacuate the wounded to the central redoubt."
"But we need reinforcements at the—!"
"Do it now!"
The youth lowered his head and obeyed.
A savage bellow shook the air, and the wooden palisade groaned before exploding into splinters.
A colossal Leontaari emerged from the wreckage.
It was massive, yet its agility defied its own size. Without losing a second of momentum, it lunged straight for Mukhar's throat.
The elder did not blink or step backward.
Instead, he extended one powerful arm and stopped the mass of muscle in midair, catching the predator by the neck.
For one suspended moment, the two remained completely still.
The Leontaari bared its fangs, emitting a guttural clicking sound.
Mukhar met its fierce gaze with complete serenity.
"Not here."
He pivoted on his hooves with brutal force.
The feline's roar became a dull impact as its body was violently slammed into the ground, making the mud of the square tremble.
Mukhar released his prey without stopping to check whether the impact had incapacitated it.
Another threat was approaching from the flank.
"Rebuild that breach!" he roared.
Three buffalo warriors immediately filled the gap, lowering their horns.
"Push!"
Wood, horns, and claws collided in a violent burst of chaos.
The defensive line barely managed to seal itself once more.
Mukhar drew a deep breath and surveyed the surroundings.
Blood stained the meadow.
Broken beams littered the ground.
Shelters had collapsed.
A calf sobbed in the arms of its injured mother, while an old man leaned against a broken wheel, too exhausted to stand.
This was no longer a territorial confrontation.
It was a systematic hunt.
That was when the realization finally took hold in Mukhar's mind:
The carnivores were not trying to subjugate the settlement.
They were simply harvesting the food they needed.
A shrill roar came from the edge of the perimeter, followed by a second echo.
Mukhar raised his gaze toward the mist.
There, silhouetted against the darkness, the imposing forms of the Leontaaris remained motionless.
They were observing the scene.
Assessing the casualties.
Calculating the resistance.
But they were no longer advancing.
The hyenas were the first to disappear into the thick grass. One by one, they abandoned the defensive perimeter.
Then the more agile hunters began withdrawing.
The larger carnivores waited until the end, bringing up the rear without haste, neither seeking more prey nor attempting to break through the final line.
They simply turned around and left.
A guard rested his hands on his knees, breathing heavily.
"They withdrew..."
Mukhar remained silent.
His gaze swept over the destroyed entrance to the village before drifting toward the fields beyond.
There were corpses scattered among the vegetation.
There were members of the herds who would never return.
And there was enough blood spilled to feed the packs for several days.
The old demihuman slowly lowered the base of his staff until it touched the ground.
"No."
The guard stared at him in confusion.
"What do you mean, no?"
Mukhar continued staring into the distant mist.
"They obtained exactly what they came here to collect."
"Food?" the young warrior whispered, swallowing hard.
Mukhar nodded gravely.
"Food."
He tightened his grip around the carved wood of his staff.
The cost in lives had been devastating, but the hunters of the savanna were leaving with a crucial lesson:
Organized herds were capable of resisting and striking back.
And, most dangerously of all, they now knew the exact location of the pantry.
Mukhar raised his gaze toward the heights of the mountain.
The forest of the Mother Tree continued its relentless expansion, weaving a lush green canopy saturated with pure mana.
His ears slowly drooped.
"This was not a formal attack," he murmured to himself.
No one around him dared to break the silence.
"It was a dress rehearsal," Mukhar concluded. "And the next time they return... they won't be coming to test us."