Brand New Author's Note of Random Jargon: Hello all! Welcome to my fic entailing the journey 4000 years ago that Mithos and his friends embarked on to save the world from utter collapse. I've always wanted to attempt tackling such a detailed and complex idea for the past, so no time like the present, right?

Eheh, time traveling joke... sigh.. I know. Bad Pun.

Also, I looked back at my original prologue and I realized that I didn't like it too much, so I decided to rewrite it. It didn't help the angle at which I want to proceed with my story, so revisions away!

I do intend to continue the story after I complete my revisions, so have no fear, those you who grace my humble fic with your presence. I shall return to my posting spree after my fic spring cleaning is done.

Edit: Woo, I have completed my revision! Onward to Posting!

Disclaimer: I don't own ToS. Wish I did, sadly I don't... le sigh. Oh well, I shall endure, because there's not a chance they're giving me the rights to ToS in exchange for the lint in my pocket.

Prologue: A Story for the Ages

A long time ago in ages past, there were two countries in which lived together in harmony. These lands coexisted in piece, worked together, and flourished throughout the world, with bountiful lands and vast seas surrounding the people, animals and plants in perfect cooperation.

Both of these countries were cared for with the loving guidance and watchful eye of the Great Kharlan Tree, the source of all mana. The Kharlan Tree looked upon the countries as if they were its children and smiled as they grew and lived together through time, thriving off of it's life giving mana.

However, that time was fleeting.

One sad and grim day, a dark wind fell out of the sky and blew across the land, turning the once amiable skies a murky grey and made the plants wither and die.

"What is this?" The Kharlan Tree gasped in astonishment when he saw the grass wither all along his holy home. "Why is the mana in the grass so sad?" Lifting it's boughs, the Kharlan Tree gazed upon the land and was horrified by what met it's gaze.

The two countries, once great friends and comrades, were bickering amongst themselves, arguing heatedly, and battling each other for all they were worth. Around them, the mana in the air dried up until it was dusty and worthless, and the ground turned to ash.

Appalled by what it saw, the Kharlan Tree brought forth its limbs and pulled each country apart, broke apart the earth and forced them across the sea from each other.

"Why are you fighting?" The tree asked, hurt by their obvious distaste for one another. The first country, one of many mountains and forests, snorted and pointed to the other.

"He is much too different from me and he will not see that my way is the best." He replied. The second country, a large plain filled land with deserts and seas, scoffed and turned to the tree.

"No, my methods are the best and he will not acknowledge me for my prowess or my ideas." He retorted. The tree, heartbroken to see that its children were battling each other so, looked upon them both and shook its canopy.

"You must stop your fighting, because you hurt the land with your hatred and spur foul evil with your bickering." The Kharlan Tree told them. "Cease your ways and return to the way you once were. As friends."

Looking upon each other, the countries laughed and turned back to the tree.

"How could we possibly become friends again?" The country to the left asked.

"Yes, we are much too different to ever be friends." The second country to the right added hotly.

"That does not matter if you are different." The Kharlan Tree replied. "You are both the same in essence and therefore must both work together for the sake of the world and all who live in it. You are both very important and special in your own unique ways, and you must utilize your gifts in order to keep the world at peace, as it was meant to be."

The words of the Kharlan Tree touched the countries and pierced their hearts with it's will. Turning to each other, these two countries realized the error of their ways, and extended a hand of friendship once more.

After that, the two countries returned to a life of peace, and that was the beginning of the Age of Peace that lasted a thousand generations, still gazed upon by the loving eye of the Mana Tree.

The people of Sylvarant and Tethe'alla had all been told the Legend of the Age of Peace when they were nothing more than wee children as they drifted off to sleep, while stories of two countries and their tree guardian danced in their minds. Tales of a time in which everyone worked together, did good deeds and cherished the land lulled them all into a soft and deep slumber, awaiting the next day with the hope they too would see such a lovely sight as the giving tree of life coming to visit them with peace.

However, anyone who was old enough to leave the house by themselves knew that that story was nothing more than a fairy tale that parents told their children so they could sleep soundly, nothing more, nothing less.

For longer than most who could remember and longer still for those who could not, the two countries of Tethe'alla and Sylvarant had been engaged in the bloodiest and most gruesome war to ever grace their world in recorded history. Most people believed that at one point, both of the countries probably had lived together in peace, but the idea of them joining together in mutual friendship was laughable at best.

It was a very well known face through both lands that the Sylvaranti loathed the Tethe'allans and the Tethe'allans returned the favor with interest. Each time they descended upon the land to strike down their foes, the violence and merciless hatred between the two lands grew stronger and more intense. No matter who ended as the victor, more loathing and antipathy spawned through the field, the victors disgusted by the losing team at their loss in battle and the losers of battle ripe with contempt and detestation over their fallen comrades.

The war between the two kingdoms raged onward, men young and old clashing with each other on the battlefield, on the seas and eventually in the air with the incorporation of new engineering and weapons. Those inventions both lands developed not only intensified the warlike relationship between Sylvarant and Tethe'alla, but also spurred a newfound wave of contemptuous ambition towards creating more powerful and destructive weapons to use against the opposing countries.

Magitechnology, the pinnacle of mortal ingenuity, rose the magnitude of the war between the regions from a struggle of strength to one of malignant and savage eminence, that of which the world had never seen before. The sleek and paramount warmongering weapons, however, consumed a vast amount of mana, the breath of life given to the people by the holy Kharlan Tree. Though, no one seemed to mind very much. After all, there was a war going on. Little things such as used up resources was merely a consequence.

New and more efficacious weapons were unleashed onto the fields of battle on a daily basis and many more were secretly in production, just itching to be introduced. Because of the new technological ascents that enhanced the militaristic status of both armies, the strategies of both bellicose forces became crueler, more ruthless and hellbent on the other's imminent demise. On the battlefield, it was no longer a matter of pride or defending the welfare of their homeland. The objective had shifted long ago from honor and pride to annihilating the enemy by any means necessary, a qualifier that the armies had no problem applying to their strategies.

Magitechnology had also managed to squirm its way into the lives of the civilians as well as that of the military. Machines had quickly replaced the menial tasks that humans no longer wished to sully their hands with and with machines, came an abundant tendency to become lazy and bored. So, to cope with their boredom, the humans began to devise new methods that would make their lives just that much easier, which led to the birth of more advanced and convenient magitechnology. Along with the contemporary devices came an abhorrent consumption of mana, as the machines needed mana in order to properly function and save the humans time and effort.

As a thousand years passed and as the war had no signs of slowing down, let alone coming to a long deserved end, the countries seemed to be jogging in place. Soldiers continued to lose their lives for a war in which no one could even remember the reason that it began in the first place, and every day the war repeated itself. Day in, day out it was the same thing. Soldiers were sent to the battlefield, armed with the latest technology that they could wield, and cut down each other like trees with a chain saw.

However, even thought the war was a constant aspect in the corner of their mind's eyes, those who were not directly affected by the mindless bloodshed went about their business, living their lives in blissful separation from the violent reality that took place throughout the world. As long as they were not involved, the people had learned to live with the brutal onslaught of war that plagued their lands. The topic would come up every once in a while during conversational topics, but it was dismissed casually like the next meal or whether or not it would rain. No one paid the old teachings any mind any longer, that of the tree of life, the summon spirits who assisted the tree throughout the world and the meaning of mana itself.

It had become irrelevant to their lives.

Or so they thought.

All alone in the Land of Kharlan, the Tree of Life, the Tree of Mana sat in solitude, it's precious gifts squandered by the selfish and egotistic desires of men. All around the trunk of the tree, the once pristine emerald grass that swept all along the field had dulled in it's wake and the color had seeped out of the tips so it was crinkly to the touch. Up above, the trunk of the tree had also dulled in it's once vibrant luster, the formerly deep rich color of the bark now a paled version of what it once was. The leaves about it's branches had also lost their gorgeous pallor and resembled half eaten overly cooked spinach leaves, limp and sickly pale.

The tree had been forsaken, forsaken by the humans who used it's mana for eradicative and pernicious warfare that only killed others, themselves and the earth around them. It had been forsaken by the elves, the ones who had planted it and promised to watch over it as it grew into a fully formed tree. At the beginning, the elves had been true to their words, but as time passed and the war steadily progressed on, the elves had turned their focuses inward. As a collective, they decided early on that humans were nothing but trouble and thus isolated themselves within their tiny village, never daring to venture outside. It was too much of a risk that they might too be drawn into the bloodshed, so ignoring the war completely, they found, was a much better alternative.

As a result, the Kharlan Tree sat alone, forgotten by all who it provided so much and left to it's own devices. The giver of life had been completely wrapped in seclusion, forever locked in it's fauna quarantine. However, that wasn't all.

The tree was lonely.

A tad unusual for the average tree to suffer from loneliness, but then again, the Kharlan Tree was not a typical tree either. It longed for someone, anyone to visit it, take the time to rest underneath it's boughs and maybe even talk to it. Share a conversation, a story, or maybe just discuss the weather. It didn't care. Just something to rescue it from its reclusive confinement.

Suddenly, an ear shattering explosion off in the distance destroyed the tranquility of the Holy Land of Kharlan, it's steady silence broken into a thousand pieces and sent crashing to the forest floor. The force of the impact shook the tree's branches and several limbs snapped and went hurtling to the ground. One of the many battles that commenced between the two countries ensued just beyond the tipped peaks that surrounded the tree, it's monstrous presence plowing through the fields. More explosions echoed through the sky and as the battle went on, the air around the Giant Kharlan Tree was completely bombarded with the horrid sounds of warfare.

As the fighting ensued, the very atmosphere around the tree began to change. The oxygen, usually rich with mana and life, became hard and dry to the taste. The woods below grew brown and crunchy with each blast, while the animals that made the bushes below their home rapidly dashed as fast as they could out of the haven, their once lush houses now spiky dead husks.

The magitechnology from the battle beyond the mountains was sucking the mana, the very life out of the woods around the Holy Ground of Kharlan.

Letting out a shudder, the tree swayed from side to side, as if in a tremendous amount of pain and the mist of mana seeped out of it's branches, sinking towards the earth. The cloud of mist poured down out of the tree and collected at the bottom of the trunk near the roots like a patch of steam just recently released by a geyser. As it congealed on the bottom, the mist took the form of a young man with long woven silver hair and a set of white robes. While he was visible to the naked eye, the form was semi transparent, as if he was a person made from fogged sheet glass. Groaning in pain, the figure lurched over, clutching his stomach and reeled back into the tree as yet another explosion erupted from the yonder battle. Gasping in agony, the spirit stared up into the grey sky and clutched the edges of the fading bark on the tree.

'.. Help.... anyone... help...' The faded vision then sank back into the tree, it's form absorbed by the bark, and said no more.

Aha! prologue revised and whatnot. Hooray! It's a bit shorter than what I normally write, but that shall be rectified in future chapters.

Martel: Poor Tree...

Me: ... Yeah..

Please review and read on!