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I stood again at the world tree. The worms had not yet come. The planets floated serene in their blossoms. We were content, unaware that seeds of contamination already sprouted within us.
Then a spirit appeared beside me. His blue eye narrowed between two deep scars, sweeping the tree with its gaze, looking for corruption. He knew the worms were coming. He knew many would succumb to their decay. He was determined to save some, no matter the cost.
I stepped back from the intense energy radiating from this spirit. His face was hard. It had seen many years, but they left no mark on him. He would never yield to the temptations of opulence, for he desired nothing the lesser worlds had to offer. He contained nothing, save an unwavering drive towards holiness and the zeal to bring others along the way: the only way that would preserve their souls.
The spirit took a step forward. He entered a world. Then another. Then many more. I never saw a spirit split itself so many times and yet retain such potency. He entered every world on the tree, and I was drawn along with him.
In each world, the same story unfolded. The spirit began as a common soldier, and other recruits flocked to him though he bore no title. Soon he was a captain, commanding the total devotion of his squad. Then he was a general, marshaling legions to his banner. Finally, he rose to the position of royal war adviser, and lords bowed to his will. World upon world knew his face and yielded to his power.
I saw his war room at the height of his dominion. The map on the wall showed his armies extending in every direction until the land was wrapped in the vast web of his control. His goal was simple: purify the Paladin race. Shock it from its indolence, sloth, and decay. Drive it towards Valor. Free it from the pollution of Barbarian tribes.
But after a time, he realized the worlds were irredeemable. Their very nature promoted weakness, laxity, fleshliness. He knew his people could not stay. They needed a harsher land, one that would weed out the weak from the strong. They needed a Time of Trials.
In each world, the spirit gathered his vassals together. He mounted a great horse, lifted his sword high in the air, and led the charge.
At his back rode hundreds and thousands of spirits. Together they left the old worlds behind and rode up the trunk of the world tree. They threw off the chains binding them to limp and degenerating kingdoms and rose towards the topmost branches where new worlds would soon spring into being.
Some spirits refused to follow, blinded by excess, too afraid to risk the cleansing of a hostile landscape. The general did not look back. He left them to their fate.
