Charis - The Dragonette Tree

As you step into the small garden, a hush settles over the land. The air here feels heavy, as if even the wind hesitates to stir too loudly. At the garden’s center stands a massive tree, its twisted branches stretching toward the sky like grasping fingers. Not a single leaf clings to it—only the remnants of faded ribbons, their once-vibrant colors now bleached and tattered. Among them, trinkets dangle, catching the dim light: tiny carved charms, crystals, and delicate metal pendants, whispering softly as they sway in the breeze.   Nestled within the tree’s knotted trunk and sprawling limbs are small, hollowed-out spaces, long since abandoned. Little nests, some barely intact, cling to the upper reaches like forgotten memories. More cubbies dot the base of the tree, decorated with carefully placed crystals, dried flowers, and brittle offerings.   The first sign of what happened here comes as you push aside the tall grass—a tiny skeleton, its form twisted as though it had died in pain. The delicate curled wings, the slender tail—a dragonette.   And then you see another.   And another.   As you search further, the horror unfolds. In the nests above, among the dry twigs and fallen leaves, more bones rest, nestled as though their owners had sought shelter that could not save them. Eggshells lie scattered, broken, and crushed—new life snuffed out before it even had a chance to take its first breath.   The slaughter here was complete.   As your eyes sweep across the garden, taking in the carnage, the twisted branches, and the broken eggshells, your gaze falls on something almost hidden—shrouded by a patch of tall grass and tangled vines. Beneath the gnarled roots of the tree, you find a small, delicate skeleton, its form unmistakably elven. The limbs are positioned unnaturally, as though this young elf had been clutching something, perhaps one of the dragonettes, in her final moments. Her bones are stained with the faintest traces of dried blood.   A chill settles heavily over the scene, the temperature dropping as the very air seems to shudder in mourning. Ghostly shapes appear, flickering through the branches above—the ethereal forms of the dragonettes, their translucent wings shimmering in the stillness. They sit perched in the tree, their hollow eyes watching you, as if they too are waiting for something that never came.   And then, as if summoned by the sorrow that clings to the air, a figure appears beside the fallen elf. A woman, translucent and young, her elven features sharp but softened with grief. Her hair floats around her face, drifting as if caught in a breeze that doesn’t exist. She wears faded robes, now almost ghostly in appearance, and her eyes meet yours with a weight of unspeakable sorrow. She looks down at the skeletal remains of the dragonettes, her fingers trembling as she reaches for them, her voice barely a whisper.   "After the fall of Northholde... there was little hope left," she says, her voice raw and aching. "We had nothing. No safety, no refuge, only the remnants of a world lost. And then... Midrass betrayed us all." Her figure trembles, as though the weight of the words causes her form to flicker in the air. "He sealed his brothers and sisters away—locking them in darkness. And like a coward, he vanished... leaving us to die in the aftermath."   She sighs deeply, her ghostly eyes filled with quiet anguish. "I failed them. I failed to save them, to protect the innocent lives we were entrusted with. And yet... still, I tried." She looks at the dragonettes, their tiny forms scattered around the tree. "These were my charges. I protected them with my life, and I failed them too."   Her gaze lifts, locking onto you. There is an intense, desperate plea in her eyes as she steps closer. "Take them," she whispers, her voice now filled with raw emotion. "Take their ashes... to the Temple of Midrass. Let him feel the weight of what he did. Let him know my sorrow... let him know the cost of his betrayal." Her form flickers once more, her ethereal hand reaching out to you. "Give them rest. And perhaps, with your help, he will feel the consequences of his actions... and know that the lives he condemned were never forgotten."   With a final, aching glance at the dragonettes' remains, she begins to fade, her voice a last echo in the stillness: "Please... make him know our pain."