"Ranger Hearne," he said finally, his voice calm but weighted with significance, "what do you know about Mother Arden and the First Seeds?"

  "Only what everyone knows," Val replied cautiously. "The legends, the stories told. That she was a powerful life mage who created the Oakspire to protect the valley from the Deadlands."

  Linden nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving Val's face. "The stories are simplified versions of a more complex truth." He set his cup down carefully, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. "I believe what you're experiencing may be connected to Mother Arden's legacy."

  Val exchanged a glance with Alea, who looked as confused as he felt. "I don't understand. How could I be connected to someone who lived thousands of years ago?"

  Linden rose from his seat and walked to one of the bookshelves lining his office. His fingers traced along ancient tomes before selecting a leather-bound volume that looked as though it might crumble at the slightest mishandling. He brought it back to the table, laying it down with reverent care.

  "Few know the true history of Mother Arden and the Atilean Empire," he began, carefully opening the book to reveal pages of faded script and intricate illustrations. "What I'm about to share with you is known only to the highest echelons of the academy, it is forgotten history for most."

  Val leaned forward, drawn by the gravity in the Grandmaster's voice. Beside him, Alea sat perfectly still, her earlier nervousness replaced by intense focus.

  "Mother Arden wasn't merely a powerful life mage," Linden continued. "She represented something unique in our understanding of aether manipulation, a convergence of abilities and insights that have never been replicated since her time."

  He turned the book toward them, revealing an illustration of a woman with flowing hair entwined with vines and flowers, her hands outstretched as golden light emanated from her body. Around her, trees grew from barren ground, and wounded figures rose to their feet, healed by her presence.

  "The conflict between Mother Arden and the Atilean Empire was not simply a territorial dispute," Linden explained, his voice taking on the cadence of a storyteller. "It was a fundamental clash between two visions for humanity's relationship with aether."

  Val found himself drawn into the narrative, the legendary figure from childhood stories suddenly becoming more real, more complex than he had ever imagined.

  "The Atilean Empire had discovered ways to extract and store aether, particularly death aether, for later use. Their necromancers and artificers created devices that could drain the life from entire regions, storing that energy in crystalline matrices." Linden's face darkened. "They believed that by controlling the flow of aether, they could achieve immortality and unlimited power."

  He turned another page, revealing darker illustrations: skeletal figures surrounding a throne, a landscape withering as energy was drawn from it into glowing crystals.

  "Mother Arden represented a fundamentally different approach. She believed that aether should flow freely, that life magic was not about control but about harmony and connection. She didn't seek to command nature but to communicate with it, to become part of its cycles rather than standing apart from them."

  Val thought of the growing plant at the café, responding to his presence without conscious direction. A chill ran down his spine.

  "Their conflict escalated over decades," Linden continued. "The Atilean Empire expanded its territory, draining the life from conquered lands to fuel their machines and their undead armies. Mother Arden gathered followers, those who shared her vision and learned her methods of aether communion rather than aether domination."

  "The First Seeds," Alea murmured.

  Linden nodded. "Yes. Seven disciples who became her inner circle, who learned her deepest teachings and carried forward her work. The histories tell us that they were individuals of exceptional character and ability, chosen not for their raw power but for their capacity to understand her philosophy."

  He turned another page, revealing an illustration of seven figures standing in a circle around a central figure, Mother Arden, her hands raised in blessing or instruction.

  "For years, the conflict between Mother Arden's followers and the Atilean Empire remained at a stalemate. Her methods allowed her to counter their death magic, to heal lands they had wounded, to protect communities they sought to drain." Linden's voice grew softer. "But the Empire's power continued to grow. They discovered ways to create more powerful undead, to corrupt larger regions, to store ever greater amounts of death aether for their workings."

  "The final confrontation came when the Emperor himself led his forces against Mother Arden's stronghold." Linden turned to an illustration showing a massive battle, undead hordes clashing with defenders while two central figures, a radiant woman and a withered, crown-wearing figure, faced each other across the battlefield.

  "The Emperor had become something more than human, having absorbed so much death aether that he existed in a state between life and death. His power was immense, capable of blighting entire forests with a gesture." Linden's voice had dropped to barely above a whisper, as though the events he described were playing out before his eyes. "The histories say that for nine days and nights, the battle raged. Mother Arden and her followers fought valiantly, but they were outnumbered and facing an enemy willing to sacrifice everything for victory."

  Val found himself completely absorbed in the story, picturing the desperate struggle against overwhelming odds.

  "On the ninth day, Mother Arden made her decision. She understood that conventional victory was impossible, the Emperor's forces were too numerous, his personal power too great. So she conceived a different approach, one that would require the ultimate sacrifice but would protect the valley for generations to come."

  Linden turned to the final illustration in that section of the book. It showed Mother Arden standing alone on a hilltop, arms outstretched, her body seeming to dissolve into streams of golden light that flowed into the ground beneath her. From that point, a massive tree was growing, its roots spreading outward to create a barrier against advancing darkness.

  "She channeled all of her life force, all of her accumulated aether, into a single act of creation," Linden said softly. "The Oakspire was born from her sacrifice, not merely a tree, but a living source of aether that would continue her work long after her physical form was gone. Its roots created a barrier against the death aether of the Deadlands, its presence nourished the valley with life energy, and its very existence stood as a monument to her philosophy of harmony rather than domination."

  Val felt a lump forming in his throat. The story as Linden told it was far more moving, far more tragic than the simplified legends he had grown up hearing.

  "And the Emperor?" Alea asked, her voice hushed.

  "Destroyed in the backlash of her sacrifice," Linden replied. "The sudden influx of pure life aether was antithetical to the death magic he had used to sustain himself. He and his closest followers were consumed, their undead armies scattered without direction."

  "And the others?" Val found himself asking. "What happened to the rest of them?"

  Linden closed the ancient book carefully, his expression somber. "Many survived the battle and dedicated their lives to continuing Mother Arden's work. But they discovered that without her guidance, without her unique connection to the patterns of aether, they could not replicate her most powerful abilities."

  He rose again, this time selecting a different volume from his shelves, this one newer but still clearly old, its binding cracked with age but not yet falling apart.

  "The First Seeds established what would eventually become the Order of the Leaf and the earliest precursor to our academy. They documented everything they could remember of Mother Arden's teachings, preserved samples of plants she had cultivated, maintained the traditions of aether communion she had established." He opened the second book, revealing pages of technical diagrams and dense text. "But over generations, much was lost or simplified. The full scope of her understanding faded from human knowledge."

  Val felt a growing sense of unease. "What does all this have to do with me?"

  Linden regarded him thoughtfully. "Among the knowledge preserved by the First Seeds were observations about the nature of aether cores and how they functioned in those who had learned directly from Mother Arden, compared to later generations of practitioners."

  He turned several pages in the second book until he found what he was looking for. It was a detailed illustration of a human silhouette with an intricate pattern of glowing energy centered in the chest. Golden lines radiated outward from this central point, flowing through the entire body and extending beyond it.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  "This is how the First Seeds described their own aether cores," Linden explained. "Notice the direction of energy flow, outward from the core, extending beyond the physical body to connect with the surrounding world. The core itself glows from within, generating energy rather than merely storing it."

  He then selected a third book from his desk, this one modern and well-maintained, opening it to reveal a similar diagram but with key differences. In this illustration, the core appeared dimmer, and the lines of energy flowed inward rather than outward.

  "And this is how we understand aether cores today," he continued. "We draw energy from external sources into our cores, store it there, and release it in controlled ways for specific purposes. The core itself doesn't generate energy; it merely processes what we cycle from our surroundings."

  Val stared at the two diagrams, the differences stark and obvious now that Linden had pointed them out. "You're saying my core is like the first diagram? Like the First Seeds?"

  "I believe it may be evolving in that direction," Linden said carefully. "When I examined you just now, I detected patterns of energy flow that I've never observed in a living person, only read about in these ancient texts."

  The implications were staggering. Val felt lightheaded, his thoughts racing as he tried to process what Linden was suggesting.

  "But how is that possible?" Alea asked, her scientific mind clearly struggling with the concept. "Aether cores don't just... change their fundamental nature."

  "No, they don't," Linden agreed gravely. "Which is why this is so extraordinary. In all my years of study, I've never encountered a case like Ranger Hearne's."

  Val rubbed his temples, feeling the beginning of a headache. "So what does this mean? Am I turning into... what, exactly? Some kind of living relic of ancient magic?"

  "I don't know," Linden admitted, his honesty somehow more unsettling than any speculation might have been. "The records from Mother Arden's time are fragmentary at best. We understand the broad strokes of what she and her followers could do, but the specifics of how they achieved their abilities are largely lost to time."

  Val nodded, trying to absorb everything he was hearing. "So what do we do now? How do I... I don't know, learn to control this? Understand it better?"

  "That," Linden said, "is an excellent question, and one I wish I had a simple answer for. The techniques that Mother Arden taught her followers were very different from our modern methods of aether manipulation. They focused less on direct control and more on attunement and harmony."

  He rose from his seat and walked to the window, gazing out at the gardens beyond. "In our modern academy, we teach students to visualize their core as a vessel, something to be filled from external sources and emptied with deliberate intent. But the ancient texts suggest that Mother Arden viewed the core as more like a heart, constantly circulating energy in a balanced exchange with the world around it."

  "The good news," Linden continued, turning back to face them, "is that you appear to be naturally adapting to these changes. Your body and core are finding their own equilibrium, even without training."

  He glanced at an ornate timepiece on his desk and frowned slightly. "Unfortunately, I have a commitment that I cannot reschedule, a joint session with the grandmasters and city council regarding our defensive preparations. It begins in twenty minutes."

  "Will you tell anyone?" Val blurted out.

  Linden stroked his beard thoughtfully. "A complex question with no simple answer. Certainly, there are those who should be informed, myself, obviously, and perhaps a select few others with the expertise to help understand what's happening to you. As for broader disclosure..." He paused, weighing his words carefully. "I would suggest discretion, at least until we better understand the nature and extent of these changes. Not secrecy, but prudence. There will be…philosophical and religious complications to this information."

  Val nodded, somewhat relieved. He had no desire to become an object of fascination or fear, the subject of constant scrutiny rather than a ranger doing his duty. "That makes sense to me. I'd rather understand this better myself before trying to explain it to others."

  "A wise approach," Linden agreed. "Though I would suggest informing your immediate superior at some point. A captain who knows your capabilities, even in general terms, can deploy you more effectively."

  Val thought of Captain Alfen, who had already witnessed some of his unusual abilities during the battle at Willow Creek. The man was practical, focused on results rather than explanations. He might actually appreciate knowing more about what Val could do, even without understanding the historical context.

  "I'll consider it," Val promised, then hesitated before asking his final question. "There's something else I've been wondering. You said Mother Arden sacrificed herself to create the Oakspire, to establish a barrier against the Deadlands. But that was thousands of years ago, and the Deadlands are still expanding, still threatening the valley. Did her sacrifice... fail?"

  Linden's expression grew solemn. "Not fail, no. But perhaps it was never meant to be permanent. The texts suggest that Mother Arden intended the Oakspire to protect the valley long enough for humanity to develop its own sustainable relationship with aether, to learn the balance she had tried to teach. In that sense, the barrier has served its purpose. It has given us thousands of years to build our knowledge and our society."

  "But we haven't achieved what she hoped," Alea said softly. "We're still struggling with the same fundamental challenges."

  "Yes," Linden acknowledged with a sad smile. "Perhaps we haven't been the best students of her legacy. Or perhaps the lessons were too complex, too contrary to human nature to fully embrace. We tend toward control rather than communion, toward extraction rather than exchange."

  He rose from his seat, gathering the books they had been examining. "The Oakspire still stands, still protects us, but its power has diminished over the centuries. The barrier it created weakens and the Deadlands continue to encroach. We are the unfortunate who live in times of change, Ranger Hearne."

  "I need to go now," Linden said, glancing again at the timepiece. "But I would very much like to continue this discussion when time permits. And I would like to examine your core again, with your permission, to document the changes more thoroughly."

  "Of course," Val agreed readily. The Grandmaster's insights, limited as they might be by the gaps in historical knowledge, were still far more than he could hope to discover on his own.

  "In the meantime," Linden continued, "I would strongly advise you to remain within Oakspire's walls. If you were lost to us...."

  Val hesitated. "I'll try," he said finally, knowing even as he spoke that it was a promise he might not be able to keep. "But if my company is deployed..."

  Linden sighed, understanding the implied limitation. "Please be careful, you could hold the power to change history."

  "I understand," Val said, though still in disbelief himself.

  "One more thing," Linden added, moving toward a cabinet near his desk. "I'd like to send one of my advanced students with you. He can help you learn to control your emerging powers, and document the process."

  Val frowned slightly. Having someone constantly watching him, studying his every move and aether fluctuation, sounded less than appealing. "I'm not sure that's—"

  "They would be discreet," Linden assured him, correctly interpreting his reluctance. "And they would understand the need for confidentiality. Think of them as a resource rather than an observer, someone who can help interpret what you're experiencing in the moment, rather than waiting for our next formal consultation."

  Val glanced at Alea, who gave a small shrug that suggested she saw merit in the idea. After a moment's consideration, Val nodded reluctantly. "Alright."

  "Thank you," Linden said promptly. "I'll arrange for you to meet them tomorrow. Master Rhalla is exceptionally knowledgeable and has my complete trust."

  He moved to a shelf and selected a small, leather-bound journal, which he handed to Val. "In the meantime, I'd like you to record your experiences, any unusual manifestations of your abilities, changes in how you perceive aether, notable dreams or intuitions. The more data we can gather, the better we can understand what's happening."

  Val accepted the journal, running his fingers over its soft cover. "I'm not much of a writer," he admitted.

  "Notes will suffice," Linden assured him with a gentle smile. "Just enough to track the progression of changes. Also, here is one of my most prized manuals, it focuses on growth and decay, my own research over the decades. You can read my ramblings and use it to help you fall to sleep." He said with a chuckle.

  A soft chime sounded from somewhere in the office, prompting Linden to straighten his robes. "I must go now. The council will be gathering, and they tend to become impatient when kept waiting."

  He escorted them to the door of his office, pausing with his hand on the latch. "Ranger Hearne," he said, his voice lowered though there was no one else to hear, "I want you to understand something. What's happening to you is remarkable, perhaps the most significant aetheric development I've witnessed in my lifetime. But it also places a burden of responsibility on your shoulders. These abilities, whatever their ultimate nature and extent, connect you to a legacy that once reshaped our entire valley."

  Val swallowed hard, the weight of Linden's words settling over him like a physical pressure. "I understand."

  "I'm not certain you do, not fully," Linden replied, his gaze intensifying. "But I believe you will come to understand, as these changes progress. And when that happens, I hope you will remember that true power comes from harmony, not dominion. From nurturing what exists rather than bending it to your will."

  With that cryptic statement hanging between them, Linden opened the door and ushered them into the corridor beyond. "Until tomorrow, then. I'll send Master Rhalla to meet with you."

  As they walked away from Linden's office, Val felt as though the floor beneath his feet had suddenly become less solid, the world around him less certain. Everything he had taken for granted about himself, about aether, about the history of Yelden Valley, had been called into question in the span of a single conversation.

  "Are you alright?" Alea asked softly as they navigated the academy's corridors, heading toward the exit.

  Val wasn't sure how to answer. Was he alright? His body felt normal, better than normal, actually. His mind was clear, if overwhelmed by new information. But there was something deeper, a sense of disorientation that went beyond the physical or mental.

  "I don't know," he admitted finally. "It's a lot to process."

  Alea nodded, her expression sympathetic. "I can't even imagine. Finding out you might be connected to... well, to Mother Arden herself, in some way. It's like discovering you're part of a legend."

  "That's just it," Val said, lowering his voice as they passed a group of students. "I don't feel like part of a legend. I feel like me, just... me with some strange new abilities I don't understand."

  As they passed through the academy gates and into the broader city beyond, Val found his thoughts returning to Linden's parting words. True power comes from harmony, not dominion. From nurturing what exists rather than bending it to your will.

  It was a philosophy at odds with much of his training as a ranger, which emphasized control and application of aether for specific purposes. Yet something about it resonated with him, with the experiences he'd had during and since the battle at Willow Creek.

  Whatever was happening to him, whatever connection he might have to Mother Arden's legacy, he sensed that understanding it would require more than just technical knowledge or historical context. It would require a shift in perspective, a new way of relating to the aether that flowed within and around him.

  The question was whether he could achieve that shift in time to make a difference in the growing conflict with the Deadlands. Because if Linden was right about the historical parallels, they were facing a threat very similar to the one Mother Arden had sacrificed herself to counter thousands of years ago.