The carriage rolled to a stop outside Heartleaf Botanicals, the gold lettering on the window shimmering in the afternoon light.

  John climbed down carefully, gripping the door frame for support. His stomach lurched the moment his feet hit the cobblestones and he pressed his lips together, breathing through his nose until the nausea passed.

  Barely.

  He didn’t have time to recover naturally now. Who knows when Sybelra would return. Hopefully without the Paladins of Light storming after her in righteous fury, but who could say?

  In the game, he usually ignored this quest entirely. It was only worth completing as an elf, and he'd never needed the healing it provided anyway. The Poisoned status cleared after an eight-hour sleep, it more of an inconvenience than a real problem.

  Not here.

  Getting the sapling and doing it all properly was a long shot, but it was worth trying anyway. John looked down at the storage ring on his finger, now holding his split of Eric the Red's bounty. Enough to be convincing, he hoped.

  Money often was.

  He pushed open the door, and a bell chimed softly above his head.

  The interior was less shop, more botanical garden.

  It rose two stories high with a spiral staircase connecting the floors. Plants grew everywhere in a perfect harmony. Butterflies and bees drifted between flowers. There was a pond with lily pads that glowed with soft light. Vines reached toward sunlight streaming through skylights. Flowers turned to track customers passing by. Small mushrooms pulsed in rhythmic patterns that almost seemed like conversation.

  A young girl, maybe ten, walked past carrying a potted plant almost as large as she was. The plant's vines were wrapped around her forearm, and as John watched, one opened to reveal rows of tiny teeth. It bit her wrist.

  The girl giggled, gently stroking it with her free hand. "Stop that," she said affectionately. She was beaming, absolutely delighted.

  John spotted an elf nearby wearing a green apron that marked him as staff. He was bent over a tray of seedlings, singing softly. The words were Elvish and the melody was gentle, almost a lullaby. As he sang, the seedlings seemed to dance, their tiny leaves reaching toward him.

  John approached and stopped a respectful distance away. Then he waited.

  The elf continued singing for another minute. Then another. John's legs were starting to ache but he didn't interrupt. Finally, the song ended and the elf looked up.

  "How may I help you?"

  "I'd like to rent a Heartwood sapling," John said. "For two hours."

  "No."

  The elf turned and walked away.

  John followed. "Wait—"

  The elf kept walking, heading into the back room.

  John stopped at the counter. "I don't want to keep it," he said to the empty doorway. "Or harm it at all."

  He reached into his storage ring and pulled out a leather pouch. He opened it and poured gold pieces onto the counter.

  "Just..." John paused. "Take it to be born and meet its mom?"

  Movement behind the counter startled him.

  An elf sat there. Had been sitting there the whole time, John realized. He had small wrinkles around his eyes, and had been so still, so silent, that John hadn't noticed him at all.

  In his hands, he held a silver leaf maybe a foot tall.

  The old elf looked at John. Then at the gold on the counter. Then he set the leaf down gently and stood, moving closer.

  His eyes traced John's face, moved down to the scabbard at his hip, then lower to John's feet.

  The sneakers.

  "You killed Eric the Red," he said.

  "Yeah." John gestured at the gold. "That's his bounty."

  The old elf was silent for a long moment before turning and walking into the back room without a word.

  Great.

  John started scooping coins back into the pouch. Should've known. But it was okay, he couldn’t do everything right.

  The old elf emerged from the back room with a small plant in his hands, its leaves seemed to shimmer in the light.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  He stopped in front of John, those ancient eyes studying him with a gentle peace that made John want to look away.

  "Show me," the old elf said quietly, "her 'mom.'"

  The carriage took them to the old quarter, where the city had started centuries ago before it grew outward and upward and left this section behind.

  John climbed out carefully and the old elf joined him, the Heartwood sapling cradled in his arms like he was carrying a child.

  "This way," John said, heading toward an alley.

  The old elf followed without a word.

  The alley narrowed before opening into a courtyard choked by the buildings around it. The structures had grown taller over the years, their upper floors leaning in and swallowing most of the sunlight. What might have been beautiful once was now mostly shadow, weeds, and cracked pavers.

  John walked straight to a corner where a rusted iron grate sat half-hidden by overgrown vines. He knelt and pulled it open.

  "Down here," John said.

  He didn't wait for a response, just started climbing down the ladder. His legs protested, still weak, but they held his weight. At the bottom, he pulled out a small light crystal he'd grabbed before leaving.

  The old elf descended behind him, silent as a shadow.

  The passage stretched before them. Rough stone walls, water trickling along channels carved into the floor, and multiple passages branching off into darkness.

  John headed left.

  They walked in silence for several minutes. John's breathing was heavier than he'd like but he kept moving, the path clear in his mind.

  Left at the broken archway. Straight through the chamber with the collapsed ceiling. Right where the passage forked.

  And down. Always down.

  John paused to catch his breath, one hand against the damp stone wall. The nausea was coming back and he closed his eyes for a moment, willing his stomach to settle.

  "We should rest."

  John's heart nearly stopped. He spun around, hand going to Moonfang's hilt.

  The old elf stood right in front of him. Close. So close John could have reached out and touched him. How long had he been standing there? John had completely forgotten about him.

  "I'm fine," John managed, his pulse still racing. "Just... warn me next time."

  The old elf smiled, amused. "I will try."

  They continued deeper. After another twenty minutes, John stopped at what looked like a solid wall. Stone, old and covered in a layer of grime.

  He heard voices. Distant and echoing through the tunnels, coming from somewhere off to their left. Multiple people, though he couldn't make out words. Just the murmur of conversation carried through stone passages.

  John froze, and the old elf tilted his head, listening. After a moment, he shook his head slightly.

  They waited as the voices faded into the depths.

  John turned back to the wall in front of them and scraped at it with his hand, revealing a crude leaf carved into one of the stones, offset slightly from the others.

  John pressed the marked stone. Nothing happened.

  He frowned and pressed harder.

  "It should be—" John muttered.

  A hand appeared beside his, giving John a jolt. The old elf pressed the stone.

  The wall shuddered before sliding aside, revealing a passage beyond.

  "After you," the elf said quietly.

  The passage continued deeper, sloping downward at a steeper angle now. The air grew cooler and cleaner. The smell of damp stone faded, replaced by something that reminded John of forests and morning dew.

  Then the tunnel opened up, and John stepped through into a cathedral.

  That was the only word for it. The chamber was massive, rising far above them. Columns of stone supported a vaulted ceiling carved with intricate patterns. Rows of stone benches, weathered smooth by countless years, lined either side of a central aisle.

  And where an altar should have been stood a tree.

  A giant. But age and neglect had taken their toll. The bark that should have been silver-white was dull and cracked in places. Some branches reached toward the distant ceiling but others drooped downward, their tips touching the stone floor as if too weary to lift themselves. Leaves of gold and silver still clung to the branches, but many were brown, and bare patches showed where whole clusters had fallen away.

  The tree still shined with light, a gentle pulse that filled the cathedral with soft radiance, but the glow was dim.

  The tree was dying.

  Yet despite everything, it still felt sacred. Still felt alive. The air around it hummed with magic, and John could sense its presence. Fading, yes, but not yet gone.

  Behind him, John heard the old elf take a sharp, shaking breath.

  He glanced back. The ancient elf stood frozen at the tunnel's entrance, his eyes wide and his mouth open. The Heartwood sapling in his arms began to glow in response, leaves shimmering brighter with each passing moment.

  A point of light emerged from behind one of the giant trees upper branches.

  It drifted down slowly, like a falling leaf. But as it descended, it grew brighter, more defined, taking shape.

  A wisp. A spirit of pure light and magic, no larger than John's hand. It had a vaguely humanoid form with suggestions of a head, body, and limbs, but made entirely of golden-white radiance. It moved through the air with fluid grace, leaving a trail of light behind it.

  The wisp circled the old elf once, twice, and John heard a giggle, a sound like wind chimes in a gentle breeze. Then it darted forward and wrapped itself around the sapling in the elf's arms like an embrace.

  The sapling's leaves rustled and reached out in response, tiny branches bending to return the gesture.

  Then the wisp sank into the sapling, merging with it in a flash of golden light. The small tree blazed brilliantly for a moment before settling into a steady, warm glow.

  The old elf stood there, his shoulders beginning to shake. Tears ran down his face, cutting tracks through the dust from their journey.

  "You know," John said, turning away to give the elf some privacy, "you're the second elf I've made cry today."

  The old elf didn't respond. His knees buckled and he sank to the floor, still cradling the now-glowing sapling as sobs overtook him.

  John turned to face the giant tree, hands in his pockets. "It's not even noon," he said quietly to no one in particular.

  The great tree's light pulsed gently.