From Ashes The Whispers Grow

A single spark danced along the wind as the leaves rustled, whispering their fears of the danger that would soon be released upon the Emerald Forest, hidden deep within the realms of the abandoned lands. Once upon a fairytale, kings and queens roamed these lands, seeking counsel with the ancient souls living in the trees. The magic still hung in the air, but it was a dark and evil spirit that clung to the remnants of this enchanted world.

Finding rest upon the dried leaves, the spark burst into flames, spreading with a ferociousness that promised to destroy the forest within moments. Finnur shook his leaves in warning, sending out his final message before the flames devoured his host. "Go now! Hide among the roots until it is safe to start anew. Do not tarry lest your soul be consumed by the flames."

Waiting as long as he could for the sprites to leave their host trees and settle deep underground in hibernation, he finally separated his soul from the burning tree. Settling underground in the roots, his soul would survive until the new growth sprouted.

The fire raged on, climbing the trees branch by branch as plumes of smoke suffocated the surrounding land. The black clouds traveled southward to Elwentide, where the last king reigned. He stood at the window watching helplessly as the black ash settled upon his land. Whispering for his beloved friend, "Finnur, you shall rise again."

He slid his sword into his hilt and raced down to the potion's room, seeking the elixir to save the forest and the souls within the trees. Racing to the stables, King Lars mounted his stallion and raced toward the burning forest.

Standing on the edge of the burning forest, he felt the emptiness deep within him, knowing that the souls had departed from their hosts. The forest was a lonely place without the wood sprites. King Lars knew this was the rebirth that the forest needed to rid itself of the darkness that had wandered its paths for the last decade.

Raising his hand, he spoke the magic into existence, freeing the Emerald Forest of its blight. He watched as the devastation moved on to the southern hills, leaving nothing but burnt trees and branches strewn along the charred forest floor.

At first, a sadness fell upon him as his eyes took in the totality of the situation, but then he felt something reaching for him. In the beginning, it was barely audible, but as his feet wandered deeper into the woods, he felt an old and familiar presence surround him.

Drawing closer to Finnur, he heard a soft voice fill his head: My King, we have survived. Until our forest grows, we shall lay dormant below the earth so we may retain our strength.

"But, my friend, my time on this earth is quickly coming to an end. Will you rise again before I turn to dust?"

Come now and rest by me, and we can become one. You will live forever within our care, Finnur answered. Inviting the king to let go of this world and enter theirs.

It was an invitation his old bones longed to give into, but alas, he replied, "Tis, not my time to depart from this world, but may I return when I have finished what I have set in motion?"

Look upon the horizon, Milord, and you will see you have already left your earthly form.

Turning to look at his horse, he saw his body resting peacefully on the ground. His spirit had already separated from his earthly form. "Well, my friend, I accept your invitation."

As the trees returned, King Lar's spirit took up residence in the pines overlooking his kingdom. He watches over it to this day, with Finnur by his side.

When you stand upon the hills, you can hear them talking, telling tall tales, but you can only understand the games they play, if you listen with a believing heart.