Sanctuary: Safe Haven

The figure seated on the throne was undeniably regal. He possessed the tall, lithe build characteristic of the elven kind, but there was an air of authority about him that transcended any one race. His hair was long, flowing down to his shoulders in waves of silver that gleamed faintly in the soft light of the chamber.

His skin was pale, almost luminescent, and his sharp, angular features gave him an ethereal beauty. But it was his eyes that truly set him apart—they were a piercing shade of violet, glowing faintly with an inner light that hinted at both immense wisdom and power.

He wore a crown crafted from intertwined branches and precious stones, a symbol of his deep connection to the forest and the ancient magic that sustained it. The robes he wore were elegant, woven from the finest silks, and embroidered with intricate patterns of leaves and vines in gold and emerald thread.

This was a king who ruled not with brute strength, but with the respect and reverence of his people, and the natural world itself.

As Canna and Flora entered the throne room, the king's gaze fell upon them. He observed them silently, his expression inscrutable, revealing neither warmth nor hostility. His posture was one of serene composure, exuding the confidence of a ruler who had long since mastered the art of leadership.

Before Canna could speak, several figures entered the room, each one more imposing than the last. Some wore flowing robes adorned with the symbols of their respective offices, others were clad in armor that gleamed in the dim light, weapons at their sides, ready for battle if necessary.

These were the king's most trusted advisors and guards, each one a testament to the strength and wisdom of the kingdom.

Flora leaned in close to Canna and whispered, "Master, those are the royal guards of the king. The others are likely the ones who handle the politics of this place. I've met their commander before—he's the one with the red axe."

Canna's gaze shifted to where Flora was pointing. The figure she referred to was a towering brute, easily standing nine feet tall, with the face of a hippo and muscles that seemed to ripple beneath his scarred skin. The massive axe he carried was a fearsome weapon, its blade stained from countless battles.

This was a warrior who had seen more than his fair share of combat and had lived to tell the tale.

Once the room had settled, a voice echoed through the chamber, rich and commanding, yet with a hint of warmth. "A visitor from distant lands! Flora Warden and her master, Canna Yakane. We welcome you to our kingdom!"

A chorus of voices echoed the greeting, and when the sound died down, the voice continued, "You stand in the presence of our King, Lyandor of the Sylvan Realm!"

At the mention of the king's name, everyone in the grand courtroom bowed deeply in respect, save for Canna and Flora. Canna smirked slightly, remembering a similar situation from the past, when he had refused to bow before another ruler, forbidden by Tonitrum to show such deference to anyone but himself.

The murmurs began almost immediately, and Canna could feel the eyes of the court narrowing in suspicion and perhaps a little anger at his perceived slight.

The king, Lyandor, raised a hand, and the murmurs ceased instantly. "Peace, my people," he said in a calm, authoritative voice. "They come from far away and may not know our customs. Let them be."

Though the tension in the room eased somewhat, Canna could still feel the lingering hostility in the air. It was subtle, but it was there—these people were not easily convinced, nor were they quick to trust outsiders.

As the court rose from their bows, King Lyandor's eyes locked onto Canna's. "Your subordinate has informed us of your intentions, of your sanctuary and the cause you pursue," the king began. "It is a noble cause, indeed. However, my people and I do not feel the need to join your sanctuary. We are strong enough to protect ourselves and our lands."

Canna listened carefully before responding. "I understand. From what I've seen, it's clear that you and your people are more than capable of standing on your own. But if that's the case, then I'm curious as to why you wanted to meet with me. There must be another reason."

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Lyandor's mouth, though it was not a smile of amusement. "Indeed, you catch on quickly," he replied. "If it were up to me, I would have had you executed for trespassing on our sacred lands. However, our protector wishes to speak with you personally."

Canna's curiosity was piqued. "Protector?" he asked.

The king nodded. "Yes, our protector—a being of immense power and wisdom who has guarded this land since time immemorial. It was their wish that you be treated as an equal and welcomed into our kingdom. After your meeting, you are free to explore our lands as you wish."

With that, a new group of Wildkins entered the room, their presence signifying that it was time for Canna to be escorted to this mysterious protector. As they approached the grand gate behind the throne, the king's voice echoed through the chamber once more. "Our protector has requested your presence alone. Your subordinate will remain here."

Canna glanced at Flora, who nodded reassuringly. With a final look at the regal king and the court surrounding him, Canna turned and followed the Wildkins toward the massive green gate that loomed behind the throne. The gate itself was an impressive structure, made of intertwining vines and roots, pulsating faintly with the energy of the forest.

As the gate slowly creaked open, revealing a path shrouded in shadows and mist, Canna felt the air grow colder, the atmosphere heavy with an ancient presence that seemed to emanate from deep within the earth itself. This was no ordinary meeting—he was about to come face to face with something far older and far more powerful than any king or court.

Canna stepped through the gate, leaving the warmth of the throne room behind him. The gate closed with a heavy thud, sealing him inside this new and mysterious domain. The path before him was narrow and winding, lined with ancient trees whose gnarled roots twisted and turned in impossible directions.

The deeper he went, the more the mist thickened, and the sense of being watched returned, more intense than ever.

There was something unsettlingly familiar about the path.

The trees seemed to whisper to one another in a language older than time, their voices low and mournful.

After what felt like an eternity, the path opened into a vast clearing. At its center stood an enormous tree, its trunk broader than any Canna had ever seen. The bark was dark and gnarled, twisted with age, yet it pulsed with a vibrant energy. The tree's branches stretched high into the sky, vanishing into the mist above. At the base of the tree sat a figure, or more accurately, a tiny Blossom Shell.

However, this one was different. Its eyes and aura exuded a distinct power.

"Welcome, Harbinger," the figure said, its voice echoing through the clearing like a distant reverberation. "I have been expecting you since you first stepped into my lands."

Canna cautiously advanced, every sense heightened. "You must be the protector," he stated, his voice unwavering.

The figure nodded, its form gradually becoming more defined. "I am known by many names, but 'protector' will suffice. I have guarded this forest for eons, observing countless beings pass through. But you… you are different."

Canna raised an eyebrow. "Different how?"

"You are a harbinger, yet you seek to create," the protector replied. "The verdant warden accompanying you is one prideful being, which led me to question why a being of nature would align with someone like you—a harbinger. You wish to build a sanctuary, a place where all can coexist in peace? It is a noble goal, but fraught with danger. Yet, you still pursue it. Now listen closely, Harbinger."

Canna remained silent, waiting for the protector to continue.

"Whose dragon blood do you carry?" the protector asked. "I have existed for eons, but the scent of the dragon's blood within you is one I haven't encountered in a very long time."

Canna's eyes narrowed, realizing the gravity of the situation. Without hesitation, he transformed into his dragonkin form.n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

The tiny turtle began to chuckle, and in an instant, thick vines shot out, wrapping around Canna and immobilizing him completely. His arms, legs, waist, and even his neck were tightly bound.

"Your little friend in the shadows won't be able to assist you know," the protector said, its voice calm but commanding. "Now, answer me. Whose blood do you bear?"

Canna's breath became labored. This small turtle clearly meant business and possessed enough power to neutralize him and even prevent Mortem from emerging from his shadow.