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I gazed into a pool of clear water. Instead of my face, the pool reflected a single blossom on the world tree. I saw the stunted petals, the barren surface of the planet. This was a new world. The Time of Trials had come.
Ripples blurred the image, and when it cleared again, the world loomed larger, regions spread before my eyes. I could see cities and their realms of influence, Paladin and Barbarian, mapped out in splashes of shape and color.
The pool rippled again. Closer still. I looked down on a single region. There were armies marching in long trails from city to city, bringing destruction and rescue by turns. The men looked harried, their movements urgent. They marched to conquer or die.
It was still the early days of the young world. Allegiances were just solidifying. The lines of dominance were slowly drawn, lord to lord, guild to guild. Already there were a few who stood above the rest.
I saw one guild form under the banner a single lord. From the beginning their eyes were set on immediate conquest. They hunted cities like a pack: moving as one, surrounding their targets, driving their prey. Ruthlessness compelled them. Soon they were the clear power to be reckoned with.
But all over the world, other guilds were gathering their forces, weeding out the weaker lords, consolidating their strength.
The first guild was soon beset by enemies on every side. Sweet words of opulence whispered in their ears, telling them diplomacy was the way to save themselves. But they did not give into the temptation.
They chose to fight. And they relished it. They tasted the joy of ultimate risk wagered on the chance of ultimate reward.
The wars came. The slaughter was devastating, the betrayals numerous, the heroes abundant. I saw many crowns rise from the ground, to light on spirits living and dead, following them through to the next life. I saw blood, and I saw glory.
When the last of the armies fell, my breath caught in amazement. For I saw something that had never happened before in all the worlds I have seen on the tree. That first guild I had seen emerged triumphant above them all. Their lord ascended marble steps to take his seat on a throne that blazed golden like the sun. At last, all the warring kingdoms were united under one rule. We had an Emperor.
The image of the great throne room shimmered on the surface of the pool. I watched the conqueror rest in the light of his victory. I waited to see what he would do next. Now he would show what he was truly made of.
The Emperor took a long moment to survey the people of his guild kneeling before him to swear their allegiance. Then he drew his sword. He turned the blade towards himself. And he fell on the weapon that had won him an entire world.
The water rippled one last time, and the image faded, leaving me looking at my own reflection.
All hail the true spirits of the world tree. The ones who conquer, not to bask in their own supremacy, but only to rise higher. They would rather be born again to face a new trial, to experience the next stage of purification. They know that nothing matters except moving towards Valor.
