#7

Arwenzylle’s eyes fluttered open, her body heavy and aching as though it had been pulled back from the brink of death. Her breaths came shallow at first, but the air she inhaled felt... different. It was cool and sweet, carrying the faint scent of blooming flowers and rain-kissed earth.

She sat up slowly, her surroundings coming into view—and what she saw stole the breath from her lungs.

She was in a vast, ethereal forest, unlike anything she had ever imagined. The towering trees had shimmering trunks that seemed to be carved from crystal, their branches stretching endlessly upward, adorned with glowing leaves that pulsed softly with light. The sky above was a cascade of colors—soft pinks, purples, and blues blending seamlessly, as though the dawn and dusk had merged into one eternal moment.

At the center of it all stood a massive, ancient tree—its trunk impossibly wide and its roots sprawling like veins of gold across the glowing forest floor. This tree radiated power, its bark shimmering with faint silver runes that glowed and shifted, as though alive. Its branches were adorned with countless luminous blossoms, and from these blossoms fluttered thousands of glowing butterflies, their delicate wings carrying trails of light as they danced through the air.

The tree’s light was soft and warm, enveloping everything around it in a comforting glow. Each pulse of its light resonated deeply in Arwenzylle’s chest, like the rhythm of a heartbeat.

“Where... am I?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. She reached out toward one of the butterflies that floated near her, its wings glowing a soft blue. As her fingers brushed its delicate form, a warmth spread through her, soothing her aches and filling her with a strange sense of peace.

“This is... the Tree of Life,” a melodic voice suddenly spoke, resonating around her. It was neither male nor female but carried an ethereal tone that seemed to echo from the forest itself.

Arwenzylle’s heart raced as she turned to find the source of the voice, but no one was there—only the tree, its glow growing brighter as the voice continued.

“You were brought here because your soul teetered on the edge of oblivion. This place heals, restores, and awakens. You have been chosen, Arwenzylle, not only to endure but to rise above the darkness that binds you.”

“Chosen?” she murmured, her voice trembling. “For what? I... I don’t understand.”

The tree pulsed again, and more butterflies gathered around her, their light casting gentle patterns on her skin. “You carry within you a power greater than you know. A power born of sacrifice, love, and strength. You must awaken it, for it is the only way to reclaim what has been taken from you.”

Arwenzylle’s mind swirled with confusion and doubt. The memory of her betrayal—of Charleston, her father, and Aelita—stabbed at her heart like a dagger. “How can I rise above it?” she asked, her voice breaking. “I’ve been betrayed by everyone I trusted... How can I trust myself to be strong enough?”

The tree seemed to sigh, its light dimming slightly before glowing brighter again, as if reassuring her. “Strength is not the absence of fear or pain, but the willingness to stand despite it. You are not alone, Arwenzylle. The very essence of this forest, of the Tree of Life, is now within you. Trust in it. Trust in yourself.”

Before she could respond, the ground beneath her began to glow, a swirling pattern of golden light forming at her feet. The butterflies fluttered higher, creating a radiant spiral around her.

“Wait!” she cried, panic rising in her chest. “What am I supposed to do?”

The voice softened, its tone gentle yet firm. “Awaken. Reclaim. Protect.”

The light grew blinding, and the last thing she saw before everything faded was the tree’s blossoms scattering into the sky, as though gifting her their light. Then, darkness enveloped her once more.

When she woke again, she was no longer in the magical forest, but something had changed. The air around her felt charged, her body hummed with a newfound energy, and a faint, golden glow emanated from her palms. Her heart was steadier now, her mind clearer. But the worst part is she woke up back in Arwenzylle's childhood. Back in her 5 years old when she thought Arwenzylle was the daughter of the duke of whales but an orphan girl named Ille.

The Tree of Life… she thought. It wasn’t just a dream. It was real.

And now, she had a choice to make.

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