Ah, well, let's see. It's been ages since I've written anything of substance, but I got suddenly inspired one day. This will follow closely with the GW2 story quests so SPOILERS ahead, with embellishment on my part.

Review! It's been so long, so I'd definitely appreciate any constructive criticisms y'all have to offer. Negative, positive, neutral, the whole shabang.

Chapter 1

Of Anecdotes, Of Gold, Of Bluebells

Of the Reaper

Of Anger, Of Hatred, Of Dogs

And the love of them.

You know.

It was interesting.

One moment you're a floating seed in darkness.

Next moment you fall ten feet into the cold night, handed a set of armor and told "Go, have fun, don't die."

(Laughs)

Okay, maybe not that brusque, after all, my people are born walking.

Running in some cases.

My name is Abhari, cycle of night, I'm a sylvari.

We're… peculiar, I guess, to the other races of Tyria, they have to grow up, they start off so small! Cubs, progeny, little things like that.

I fell from my pod, stood up, a little dazed, but I walked, one foot forward, didn't even have to crawl, and oh! The rush! To feel solid ground beneath my feet, the chill wind on my flesh, and, Mother, the stars.

They were gorgeous when I looked up.

My first sight of the real world outside the dream was the stars, brilliant little jewels in the sky, twinkling and falling and flashing and smirking, the quirky bastards.

I like to think they know so much, they've seen Tyria from the beginning, they know all, and wink like they've got a secret.

But they won't tell us Tyrians.

No, they only confide in the moon and the sun.

But the way mother talks, I think the sun tells her some secrets, juicy gossip from the galaxy. But she wouldn't talk to me.

I'm a… I don't know… ninth born? I guess we lost count of our generations now but… I'm just not a firstborn not… not one of her first children.

Which was all the more surprising when she called me to her chambers.

~ Chronicles of a sprout, Entry 1

This would be the first time she'd stepped into the upper sanctum.

It was gorgeous, yes, but she was still… hmm, cautious, nervous, trembling like a leaf.

Golden boughs stretched and arced gracefully overhead, creating a lattice work of beached wood and shimmering leaves as tall as she was.

They whispered soft in the wind, the gentle sashaaying of the forest barely a breath against her cheek.

Golden pollen flashed when it caught the sun, floating in the air, carried on the gentlest breeze. Silver and blue flowers climbed down from the boughs in vines, she could catch the sight of copper centers whenever the flowers tilted towards her in their gentle sway.

Stained glass lined with dark roots were grown in between some of the boughs, and in a smattering of the gaping holes in the floor. Their colors refracted against the sun, sparking and reflecting across the chamber in brilliant blues and reds, soft lilac and pink, forest green and sunflower yellow.

She peered through one of the windows, admiring the pattern, a vine blooming in a fiery flower.

Looking closer, she could see a face in the flower, fangs, a lion? Or a snake?

She couldn't find out when a voice called out.

"Careful!" she jumped back in surprise, looking up to see a sylvari she hadn't noticed, standing in an alcove with sylvan pups at his feet.

"It's a long fall." She blinks, dazed, and looks down into the window again, but past it, to see a lethal drop down into the Marshaling field.

"I-I'll be careful." She stammers and can't help the surge in her spine of both fear and excitement.

Her voice is still new to her, foreign as the distant shores of Elona.

Every time she speaks with a language she learned in a dream she doesn't hear… herself; just a voice with no face to put it to.

She tried looking in a mirror and talking to herself, but even then, her eyes were foreign, her purple and red cherry wood bark was odd to see reflected back at her.

In the end she could barely recognize herself in a mirror much less her own voice.

Malomedies, her mentor and luminary of night, said it would take some time, some saplings more so than others, and perhaps she was the latter.

Malomedies blamed it on the trauma.

But she blamed it on the anger.

Fronds tickled her toes, reminding her of her position, the little fern seedlings curling between them, making her laugh and jump away.

"No, stop that." She giggles, and tut-tuts the seedlings.

The ferns seemed disappointed, curling back into themselves grumpily.

The sylvari surrounded by fern pups smiled at her "They do that. Friendly little seedlings they are, like to greet the visitors." He laughs when one of his pups bolts from the pack and circles around her, excitedly yapping.

"She does too." Abhari kneels down to snatch the puppy, barreling her over onto her stomach to give her a scratch.

"What's her name?" she asks fondly, looking up.

"That one? That is Pema." Abhari lets go and the pup bolts back to her pod mates. She smiles and stands up, brushing pollen off her hands and knees.

"And yours?" She looks up, surprised.

"Ah, I'm… uhm-" she purses her lips.

She remembers the dark skinned woman she saw in her dream.

Pale eyes, lifeless.

Lips blue with frost.

She closes her eyes and shakes her head.

"Abhari-" she smiles "My name is Abhari!"

"Forget your name, sapling?" He asks.

"For a bit, yes."

He chuckles and beckons her forward, takes her hand in a firm shake.

"My name is Parroen, cycle of dawn."

And she blushes, because she knows she's messed up; she'd forgotten her cycle in her greeting, and she wonders if he is offended.

She sighs.

All these social rules were hard to grasp outside the dream.

She suspected that it would be worse outside the Grove.

"Ah, I'm c-cycle of night." And she sees it, that small flicker of curiosity behind his eyes before he tucks it away.

She found that many of her brothers and sisters were curious about her and her siblings of night.

Night blooms were secretive, quiet, though she didn't see the problem in that. She relished the night, how the shadows whispered welcome to her upon their arrival, and the vast dark sky above brought power to her greater than the warmth of the sun.

Though the sun that flickers between the bending boughs above her is tender and inviting just as well.

She kneels down to smooth the ruffled leaves of some of the sylvan pups.

"These ones look healthy, Parroen, do you watch over them?" She asks as he kneels down to join her, smacking a pup on the nose when he begins to gnaw on Abhari's leathers.

"I do. I see them to the world and train them. In a month or two these will be ready to protect the Grove with the Wardens." He eyes her, noticing the tell-tale glow of appreciation and affection.

"Where is yours?" She's startled, looks up at him in confusion.

He gestures "Your dog?"

She blushes and absently makes a notion as if to tuck hair behind her ear.

It was something she'd seen the other sylvari do, and a visiting human with long hair. She was jealous of them, they had blossoms, and canopies of leaves and vines, fronds and cattails. She had a head of thorns the color of cherry and cinnamon, sharp, and just a blue enough tint to make natural creatures consider her poisonous.

"M-marrow, is his name." she finally flusters out.

"Full grown sylvan, he greeted me outside my pod. Refused to ride the lift though." She gestures to the spiraling pod geared by magic, lifting visitors to and from the Omphalos Chamber.

Parroen chuckles.

"I don't remember Marrow, he must be one of Danador's then?" she nods.

"Danador is a good trainer, Marrow will serve you well, Abhari." She smiles absently at a thought.

"I did not see him this young. He is older than me!" she laughs "Danador told me he was gnawing the gates of his pen, driven mad to get out and adventure. Last time he escaped he ran for the pods, I nearly fell right on top of him!" And Parroen laughs.

He sniffs and dabs at the moisture by his eyes "My, but that is good timing."

"Sapling-" They both look to see Caithe stepping from the other edge of the chamber where a great blooming white flower glistens gold and bright with sunlight.

Caithe was the one who had summoned Abhari to the chamber. She was firstborn, like Malomedies, also of the night but not a luminary. She was a… an adventurer, who decided to take Abhari under her wing, even before she was born, as Caithe had entered the Dream and sought her out.

"Guess that's your cue." Parroen stands, taking her hand to help her up.

"Good luck, sapling, I fear your journey will be long and dark." She feels a pit fall in her stomach as she smiles at him.

It would seem her reputation preceded her.

Not bad for a sapling barely four months old.

"I know, thank you Parroen." She squeezes his hand more for her comfort than his, and turns to Caithe.

She sees Malomedies behind her, his dark branches colored with a few dappled soft orange leaves, dark but warm oak skin and brass colored eyes.

He gives her a gentle nod, she returns it respectfully as she approaches the two firstborn, nerves bundling in her stomach. The little ferns nipper at her feet as though in comfort as she passes.

"Sapling, I am glad you came so soon." After your ordeal.

Caithe offers her no smile, it is not in her nature, but she does give Abhari a grip on her arm and shoulder both.

A careful greeting.

"Come, Mother wishes to see you." She steps aside, revealing the glowing white flower.

Abhari feels the sap in her veins flush when she realizes the flower is the Pale Tree herself, can see it now as she turns to face her child. Abhari ducks her head, half bowing in respect and to keep her stomach in check.

"Mother Tree, I- it is my honor." She hears a gentle sigh.

"Rise, my daughter." She lifts herself but does not look up, she doesn't want to.

She suspects the Pale Tree already knows why.

"Abhari, my child, let me see your eyes." She can hear the lament in her mother tree's voice, a quiet plea.

But she fears what the Pale Tree will see when she looks into her eyes.

It is too soon when she feels the knuckle at her chin, gently tipping her head up, she keeps her eyes shut.

The hand that smooths over her cheek is gentle and warm and so very caring, it makes her insides wither, she wants to give in, let go of the emotions boiling beneath the surface of a newborn sapling.

Finally, she does open her eyes, the color of bluebells in the shadow of night.

The Pale Tree is gorgeous, bathed in light and dressed in white, she is a bride to the sun, lover of the dawn and companion of the moon, and she has a hard time believing that this is her mother. The gentle hands, the small smile so lovely and understanding.

"P-please, mother, I-" Abhari stammers.

"Oh, my dear child." The Pale Tree holds Abhari's face in her hands, and the little girl inside her heart breaks the surface in the form of hot wet tears streaming down her face, delving into the texture of her bark and skimming off her mother's smooth skin.

"Mother I-I'm so so sorry." She cries.

"I am sorry too, young one. To be the bringer of death this soon could not be my first wish of you." And that is enough to make Caithe jump, a sudden gasp of understanding spawning from the firstborn.

Caithe made Abhari kill her best friend.