Tarnes stood sentinel over the knee-high sapling, a faint golden light pulsing from its delicate leaves, casting his shadow long across the ruins. The Erdtree was planted, but a new, formidable challenge had taken root in his mind: how was he to nurture it?
The great Erdtree of his homeland had been ancient and eternal, a colossal monument that existed long before his own time. It had no need for a gardener. He doubted even Queen Marika the Eternal herself would know how to answer such a question.
He removed his wolf-plumed helmet, allowing the cool night air to wash over him. The last sliver of sunset vanished, and the moon ascended, bathing the broken stones and sleeping weeds in its stark, silver light. He took a deep breath, the scent of damp earth and wild things filling his lungs, and sat cross-legged by the shallow pit. His eyes remained fixed on the golden sapling as his thoughts began to drift.
He dredged up every memory he could find, every fragment of lore from crumbling ruins, and every inscription on the stone tablets in Marika's own bedchamber. The Erdtree in the Lands Between had an Elden Beast, a living vessel of the Greater Will's power. This sapling did not. But he was not the Greater Will; he could not simply conjure such a creature from nothing. Besides, the Elden Ring itself, the very thing the beast guarded, now rested within the sapling.
Perhaps, he mused, I should simply treat it as any other plant. Should I… water it?
The thought seemed absurdly simple, yet it was the only one that came to mind. As he pondered this, a new sound cut through the silence of the ruins: the crisp, steady tread of a horse.
A single rider, his instincts told him. Moving at a measured pace. Not weighed down by heavy gear.
In the darkness, the only source of light was his sapling. The rider's destination was obvious. A familiar wariness settled over him. One should not seek out malice, but one must always be prepared for it.
With a practiced motion, Tarnes reached into the space between worlds. His hand closed around a staff inlaid with deep purple glintstone—the Meteorite Staff he had pulled from the ruins of the Caelid wildlands. His other hand grasped the hilt of his Godslayer's Greatsword. The sapling was vulnerable, and he would permit no threat to approach it. If this newcomer harbored any ill intent, Tarnes would not be sparing with his power. Given enough time to prepare, he could unleash a cataclysm upon this place.
The sound of hooves drew closer. Tarnes rose, placing himself between the sapling and the approaching figure.
The moonlight was bright, and soon he could make out the rider's form: a tall, lean figure in a pointed hat and loose grey robes. In one hand he held the reins, and in the other, a wooden staff.
A wizard?
His vigilance sharpened. An unknown sorcerer was always a reason for caution, especially here, in a world whose magic was a mystery to him. This was the first he had encountered. He knew none of their ways.
Just as he considered switching his staff for a more suitable weapon against a fellow magic-user, the rider spoke, his voice calm and resonant.
"I am no enemy of yours. You are the White Wolf Knight the Orcs speak of, are you not? My name is Gandalf. I am a wizard, and I have been searching for you for the better part of a month."
Searching for me?
Though his curiosity was piqued, Tarnes did not lower his guard. As Gandalf drew nearer, the strange, spiraling blade of the Godslayer's Greatsword began to smolder, black and white flames licking at its edges—a silent, deadly warning.
Gandalf perceived the threat instantly. He pulled gently on the reins, and his horse whinnied softly as it came to a halt a respectable distance away.
"I see you are on your guard, and I respect your caution," Gandalf called out, his aged voice carrying clearly in the night air. "I wish only to speak with you. I have no other motive."
Tarnes remained in his ready stance. "I am called Tarnes. What is it you wish to say? This is hardly a place for idle conversation, and you travel alone at night. Do you not fear thieves?"
A smile touched Gandalf's lips, visible even in the moonlight. "If a wizard were to be frightened by common thieves, I would hardly have spent a month tracking a fallen star. I began in Hobbiton, in the Shire. You know a Hobbit there, I believe? A Mr. Bilbo Baggins."
At the mention of Bilbo's name, Tarnes's posture eased almost imperceptibly. "Bilbo? You know him?"
"Of course," Gandalf chuckled. "I am familiar with all the Hobbits of that town. I often provide the fireworks for their festivals. But Bilbo is a special case. He is not like the others, so content to remain at home. He has a spark of adventure in him. It was he who told me your name. The golden meteor I saw fall a month ago… it was you, was it not, Mr. Tarnes?"
The details were too specific to be a lie. Only someone who truly knew Bilbo would understand the Hobbit's inner conflict—his deep yearning for adventure warring with his love for the comforts of home. Tarnes's wariness began to recede.
"I will tentatively believe you, wizard," Tarnes said. "But I am sorry, I still cannot allow you to approach. You have come at a most inconvenient time. Had it been daylight, or even an hour or two earlier, I would have been glad to speak with you."
"Very well," Gandalf nodded, his wise blue eyes glancing past Tarnes to the golden glow behind him. "I came only to talk, and this distance serves well enough for that. Though it is a pity we lack a warm fire, good wine, and some fragrant cheese."
"Consider that my apology," Tarnes replied. "I will make amends for it later. If you are not in a hurry, you may return… let me see… in three days. I will welcome you with my full attention then, wizard."
He needed three days. Three days to figure out how to nurture the sapling, to make it strong enough that it could not be so easily destroyed.
Gandalf seemed to read the unspoken urgency in his voice. "As you wish. At noon, three days from now, I will return. Until then, I shall wait here, if you do not mind."
Tarnes shrugged. "As long as you do not approach before the appointed time, I do not care what you do. So long as you are not setting traps under my very nose."
With that, the tension broke. Tarnes allowed the black flame on his greatsword to die, sheathing the weapon, though he kept the Meteorite Staff in his hand.
Gandalf, true to his word, dismounted. He cleared a space on a slab of broken stone and sat down, taking out a long-stemmed pipe. After cleaning it with a few puffs of air, he filled the bowl with tobacco.
Then, he raised his right hand, and from the ring on his index finger, a tiny flame bloomed, lighting the pipe weed. He drew on it, a satisfied expression on his face as he began to smoke, utterly unconcerned by the echoing howls of wolves in the distance.
This wizard has a steady heart, Tarnes thought. Impressed by his patience, Tarnes reached into the pack of provisions Bilbo had given him and found a wheel of cheese and a thick, meaty sausage.
"Here," Tarnes called out, tossing the food in a high, accurate arc. "A late-night snack. I imagine you have a way to warm them."
Gandalf calmly set down his staff and caught the items without even taking the pipe from his lips. He inspected them with a joyful expression. "Cheese and sausage from the Shire," he said loudly. "A fine meal indeed. It seems I will not go hungry tonight. My thanks."
With the wizard settled, Tarnes turned his thoughts back to the sapling. He remembered how the Erdtree in his own world bestowed blessings—Golden Runes—upon the people of the land.
Then a thought struck him, as sudden and brilliant as a bolt of lightning. If the tree gave blessings to the people, could he, in turn, use those blessings to feed the tree?
The answer was simple. His pouch of reality held a king's ransom in Golden Runes, the very essence of Grace. He would use them to water the new Erdtree.
***
(End of Chapter)
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