The Bee Dungeon

Back in Belissar’s core room, the small flask of ambrosia lay resting against the core pedestal. On the top of this flask lay a tiny, green, seed-like gem. Belissar had placed the Heart of the Forest there so that it would be easy to find, given its tiny size and the lack of furniture in the room.

A slight pulse of light moved through the ambrosia…and illuminated the Heart of the Forest for a brief moment. A tiny, nearly invisible root began to stretch out from the seed-like gem, squeezing its way past the seals of the flask.

It remained there for a few minutes until gardeners sent by the First of the Fifth flew into the room, by which point the root had receded, and all had seemingly returned to normal.

Nenavann closed his eyes, allowing the tears to fall down his cheek as he made his way back out of Tarwantrad’s dungeon. He paused for a moment, allowing his emotions to express themselves fully before he made any attempt to gather himself. The Hunger had claimed much over the years, from all who had survived it. Thus why no one was ready to forgive the people who had unleashed it.

But his tears were not purely from sorrow today. When Erynmor had entrusted him with her heart, she had made him promise that he would not hide them solely within the land of the fair. She made him promise that he would plant the hearts of her forest across the mortal realm, that if the Hunger was ever pushed back the forests she loved would again cover the world. The one he had planted in his dungeon was thus the only one that had been used so far. The rest all waited for the day he could find worthy caretakers back in the world that Erynmor loved.

Centuries had passed and that day only ever seemed further and further away. Not only had the Compact failed to push the Hunger back, they had failed to even keep it out. The Hunger pushed ever more on the gates of the land of the fair, and with each passing day their wards weakened.

Until now, when they had made contact with a dungeon master in the mortal realm. Not only had the connection between his dungeon and Tarwantrad’s reinvigorated the wards, his mere existence was proof that the mortal realm was not lost yet. And, for Nenavann, he was an opportunity to start making good on his promise to Erynmor.

Nenavann had observed Belissar’s dungeon with more than mere eyes. He watched the flows of mana as only an elder of the fair folk could, those who lived and breathed it for many mortal lifetimes. He saw traps and features and patches of flowers placed haphazardly and without consideration, their mana clashing with one another. He knew from a glance that this Belissar was no master, placing each and every feature with purpose.

But he had seen something that caught his gaze. The two fortified beehouses he had seen and the Memorial itself had all the telltale signs of it, for one who knew to look. The way the mana flowed within them, the story and the history that it told all whispered to Nenavann’s ears.

Sure, it was possible to create resources and features purely out of mana, using only magic, and the dungeons themselves were designed to do just that. But the true masters of the fair folk knew that everything had a price in the end. The mana remembered, it knew what had been and what it had been used for. Something done manually and reinforced with mana would bear a different quality to one that had been solely conjured. A subtle difference hardly noticeable for everyday use, but one that could mean everything for a craft aiming for a true masterpiece, or for two peak warriors locked in an otherwise equally matched fight.

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And Belissar, a mortal human known for their impatience, had taken the time to craft homes and graves for his bee monsters by hand. Those features had clearly been transformed beyond recognition by the divine powers of the dungeon, but they still bore the touch of his hand, and the intent with which he had made them.

That had been when Nenavann knew he had found a worthy caretaker for one of the hearts of the forest. For an impatient human with the powers of a dungeon master to do such a thing spoke of love, deep and enduring. The kind of love that drove Erynmor to hold her ground. The kind that drove her to create the hearts and leave them with him.

In an ironic twist of fate, it was one of the humans who had doomed them all who now bore the most promise of restoring the forest to the mortal realm.

And that is what Nenavann had come to realize, once he let go of his fear and his hatred and looked at this dungeon master with clear eyes. Belissar and the connection between his and Tarwantrad’s dungeons represented more than even the last lifeline of the Compact. It represented the chance for a new beginning. A chance for the Compact not merely to endure, but to expand. Not merely to hold the Hunger away but to take back some of what had been lost. All through the hands of a human who used his powers to care for, rather than destroy, that which was around him.

Nenavann gathered himself, wiped his face, and dried his eyes. His heart was still pounding in his chest, but his shoulders felt lighter than they had in an age. What this dungeon master represented was hope. Hope for the Compact, hope for the fair folk, hope for the humans, hope for the world itself.

Nenavann would not let that hope die. He and the Compact had already nearly extinguished that hope by blaming Belissar for the sins of his ancestors, before they had even bothered to meet him. Now, Nenavann would do all that he must to keep the connection Tarwantrad had forged alive.

His heart demanded no less.

A forest stretched out as far as the eye could see, covering the landscape for miles in all directions. It climbed up mountains, transitioning from deciduous trees to hardy pines to twisted, shrub-like trees that took centuries to grow. It marched right into lakes and swamps and oceans, with mangroves growing right out of the water. Gigantic trees rivaled the mountains as they reached for the skies, while tiny trees made tiny forests in small caverns and tunnels.

In the center of it all was a tree larger than any other, a tree that was a forest unto itself. Trees dug their roots into its branches and grew along them, forming canopies in the gaps between its own. Its roots were like a redwood forest, mighty trunks rising into the sky around which the smaller bushes grew. Entire ecosystems of animals were born, lived, and died within each part of its body.

That tree began to creak and groan. Two knots in its bark began to move and open, revealing eyes of pure amber. The eyes blinked a few times as a larger knot opened below, revealing a mouth as the giant tree yawned.

“Well, then, let’s see what woke me up.”

The tree spread her awareness through the forest making up her being, each tree connected to the other in a web that encompassed the entire realm. The tree quickly, for a tree, found that which caused her to stir.

“Bee has a dungeon now? Good for her, Flower will be pleased as well. I wonder who her first master is…”

But something cause the tree to trail off. Then, she began to giggle, causing the canopy of the forests to rustle. Soon, she broke out into full blown laughter, making her trunk and branches tremble and the ground itself rumble.

“Oh, that is great. That’s going to be amazing. I must tell Erynmor, she will be most pleased.”

The ground’s rumbling grew as the giant tree began to stir. Her roots pulled themselves out of the ground, assembling themselves into legs. Her lower branches began to twist together into arms as her face grew out of the bark around her eyes and mouth. Soon, a giant made of trees and forests stood tall above the realm. She stretched herself out, first to the left, then to the right.

“Well, I know Flower doesn’t like to share much, but she’ll have to make some room. She doesn’t think she can keep Bee all to herself, now does she?”

She made a grin full of teeth made from white bark.

“For if my guess is correct, even she won’t be able to deny me this. But I’ll give her a little more time to herself. After all, a flower is here today and gone the next. The forest, though, is patient, and always endures.”

And so, the God of Trees and Forests rose from her long slumber, her eyes fixed upon one particular dungeon.

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