Chapter 14: Ch14 Sword In The Root
Alisa hovered closer, violet eyes wide and shimmering like starlight. The glow of motes circled Luther, spiraling around him in rings that pulsed with quiet energy.
"Untainted... raw," she whispered, almost to herself. "I didn’t think... not this much. I thought perhaps a flicker, a trace. But this..."
Luther raised an eyebrow, trying to look more confident than he felt, though the power coursing through him still tingled at his fingertips. "Weren’t you expecting this?"
Her lips curved, soft but serious. "No. I was expecting a candle flame. You are a wildfire."
The rings of light tightened around him, humming with resonance. Alisa touched one gently, letting it pass through her fingers. "Your magic doesn’t bend. It doesn’t obey crystals or rules. It’s raw."
Luther glanced away, his voice lower, almost muttering. "I figured that out when I was a kid. I... I could use magic even without the crystal. My master made me wear this thing to hide it." He tapped his ear where the gem once sat.
Alisa tilted her head, studying him carefully. Her expression turned thoughtful, almost troubled. "Tell me... you aren’t from here, are you?"
Luther blinked, his brow furrowing. "What?"
"You aren’t from this world," she said again, clearer this time.
The words cut deep. Luther’s chest tightened as memories stirred—memories of the other world, of the life he had left behind. "How... how would you even know that?" His voice cracked with sharp suspicion.
Alisa smiled faintly, almost playfully, though her eyes gleamed with something sharper. "Your magic tells me. In this world, there is a prophecy. It speaks of a being who will descend from elsewhere, carrying magic so raw it can command without a vessel. The child of Asmethan, god of creation. A child who would bend the very essence of the world to their will."
Her voice softened, carrying both awe and mischief. "It seems that child is you."
Luther’s heart skipped, but almost instantly his jaw set. "No."
Alisa blinked. "No?"
"First off, I never wanted to come here," Luther snapped. His voice was firm, but beneath it trembled anger. "Secondly, I don’t give a damn about your prophecy. And third—" his fists clenched, teeth grinding, "—I’m no child of gods. I hate them. Every single one. If they’re the reason my life turned into hell in my old world, then they can fuck off."
The words hung heavy, burning through the silence.
For a moment, Alisa only stared. Then her lips parted, and she... giggled. "You speak like someone who’s been burned. I suppose you have." Her tone lightened, almost teasing. "And yet... I like it. You’re different. Not brainwashed like the rest of this world."
She floated higher, spinning slowly as she spoke. "The humans here—so hopelessly clouded. All they do is bow to fate, cling to prophecy, and wait for miracles. They’ve forgotten the value of struggle, of clawing toward their dreams. Their ancestors would be ashamed—those who built and bled for every inch of survival. Now their descendants prance like clowns, destroying what was sacrificed for them."
Her voice grew sharp, then softened with a sigh. She flickered suddenly, her body blinking like a candle flame. "Oh..." Her form weakened, fading in and out.
"Hey—!" Luther moved without thinking, calling wind into his hands. A soft current lifted her before she collapsed, carrying her gently into his palm. "Don’t go disappearing on me."
He carried her carefully toward a nearby root, setting her down against its bark. She flickered again, dim, but steadied.
"You’ll be fine," Luther muttered, crouching. But as he turned to adjust her, something caught his eye.
A mark etched into the tree’s surface—deep, deliberate, carved like a wound. He touched it lightly. The bark felt strained, broken. His eyes narrowed. Without hesitating, he lifted his hand and whispered, "Heal."
Blue and gold light surged from him, wrapping the mark. The wound glowed, then smoothed away, disappearing as if it had never been there. Luther exhaled, half a grin forming. "Guess that works on trees too."
When he turned back, Alisa was staring.
"...What?" he asked.
Her violet eyes were wide, shimmering. She raised a trembling hand and pointed to where the scar had been. "You... healed her?" Her voice shook.
Luther blinked. "It looked hurt. I figured I’d try. Didn’t know it would actually work since she’s... you know... magic herself. But... I’m glad it did."
For a beat, silence stretched. Then suddenly, Alisa threw her arms around him and kissed his cheek again, harder this time.
"Wha—?!" Luther jerked, his face burning red.
Alisa giggled like a child and twirled in the air, glowing brighter now, joy radiating from her. "You don’t understand what you’ve done! No one—no one has been able to help her. Not even me."
Luther rubbed his cheek, mumbling under his breath. "That’s twice now..."
Alisa drifted back toward him, expression softening. She gestured behind her, to the far side of the massive trunk. "Then maybe... you can help her again."
Luther followed her, and his stomach twisted.
The tree’s bark was torn wide open, blackened edges pulsing with sickly red light. From the wound jutted a sword—long, jagged, and humming with a dark aura. The weapon was lodged deep, like a parasite feeding on the tree’s very essence. The air around it reeked of corruption.
Alisa’s voice wavered. "When I went to visit my grandmother—the World Tree—a monster found this place by chance. It chased the motes here... and it brought that." Her hand clenched. "I should have been here. I should have protected her. But instead... this happened. And my mother cannot heal herself. That sword is magic enshrined—twisted, cursed. She recognizes it as her own. She cannot reject it."
To prove her words, Alisa reached for the hilt. Her hand passed through as if through smoke. Powerless.
Luther’s fists tightened. Her sorrow pierced deeper than he expected. "It’s not your fault," he said quietly. "Sometimes... fate’s just a cruel bastard. Accidents happen, no matter how much you try to stop them."
Alisa’s eyes glistened. She looked down, lips pressed tight.
Luther turned back to the wound. The sword pulsed like a beating heart, bleeding darkness into the tree. His chest tightened. He had healed a scratch before—but this? This was entirely different. His body trembled at the thought, but he couldn’t walk away.
He stepped forward.
"If pulling this thing out will help her... then I’ll try."
Alisa’s lips parted, but she only whispered, "Be careful."
Luther gripped the hilt. Immediately, pain shot through his hands, burning like ice. He gritted his teeth, muscles straining as he pulled. The sword didn’t move. Not even a fraction.
He growled and poured magic into his grip. Blue-gold light flared around his arms. He pulled again, the tree trembling violently beneath him. The entire cavern quaked, the wound glowing brighter as if screaming in pain.
"Mother, hold on!" Alisa cried, rushing to the trunk and wrapping her arms around it, whispering softly as though her words could soothe the agony.
Luther snarled, sweat dripping down his face. "Come on... you damn thing... MOVE!"
His magic surged higher, veins burning, muscles screaming. The sword began to shift—just slightly—then more, inch by inch. The cavern roared as roots strained and water rippled violently.
With one final cry, Luther pulled with everything he had.
The sword tore free.
The backlash hurled him across the cavern, his body slamming into the shallow water with a splash. He lay gasping, every muscle trembling. The cursed sword clattered beside him, still reeking with dark aura.
The tree stilled. The quaking stopped. The wound glowed faintly, then slowly began knitting itself, no longer bleeding corruption.
Alisa’s laughter rang through the cavern, full of relief and joy. She floated to Luther, glowing brighter than ever. "You did it! You really did it!"
But Luther could barely move. His vision blurred, ears ringing. His magic was drained, his body heavy. His bright eyes dimmed, returning to their usual blue. Still, he managed a weak smile. "Glad... I could help..."
Alisa knelt beside him, her hands cupping his face gently. "Thank you, Luther. Sleep now. Rest."
Her voice was the last thing he heard as the world faded into darkness.