Disclaimer: I own nothing. Tyria is a world belonging to Arenanet and NCSOFT in the form of the Guild Wars franchise.

I also only in part own the Foundation-Hub (. org) unofficial universe, in which this story coincides.

Thanks to peacocklady for contacting me in-game! Your encouragement was grand!

Chapter 7: Birth and Death

Birds of many colours sang in their grand concert in the balmy rainforests of the Tarnished Coast while the majority of the forest denizens sought out refuge from the coming heat of the day. An exception to this eternal pattern was The Grove, dwelling place of the tree-born, the sylvari. No matter what time of day, these humanoid plants could be seen working, gallivanting, and resting in their rapidly expanding community which blended in perfect harmony with nature. They needed but to whisper to the forest and it would listen to their will, becoming houses, towers, shops, and whatever else the walking and talking plants might desire.

The focal point of all activity was a white barked, massive tree, her branches stretching out as a massive canopy over her children. Large fruit dangled from amidst her leaves in various stages of growth, each one containing a developing sylvari.

A second-born sat in peaceful anticipation, awaiting his turn to greet the young sylvari as soon as they emerged from the fruit, fully grown but mentally unprepared for the world around them. He was certain the next to ripen would be one of the three large fruits before him. His eyes did not move for even a moment to look at the many distractions of The Grove.

Even though he had done this many times before, the excitement was always new for him when it was his turn on duty to see to the newly emerged brothers and sisters of the Dawn. He put his back up against the trunk of the Pale Tree and waited. He ventured to guess which fruit would burst forth first, but he continued changing his mind so he resigned to just wait and see for himself. It was much akin to watching a pot of water heat to boiling. He hoped at least one would emerge before the Day watchers' turn.

He felt something wet splatter on his ankle causing him to reluctantly check what it was. It looked and felt just like the insides of the ripe Pale Tree fruit, but much darker with an unpleasant, putrid stench. He looked up into the tree and noticed another large fruit above him, close to the trunk. Rising and taking a few steps away he examined it as best he could. It was not like the other fruit, this fruit was black and the surface looked wrinkled around the top and swollen oddly at the bottom.

Splurp.

More of the putrid, viscous fluid erupted out of the side of it like puss from a lanced boil. His throat went dry and a strange sensation filled his gut. He was about to witness something very unpleasant.

Sure enough, with a sickening noise the fruit burst open, releasing its slimy, rotting insides. He let out a cry and stumbled back, catching the attention of the nearby sylvari. The slime splashed down the trunk of the pale tree, leaving a black stain, and pooled at the bottom where he had been sitting.

Within moments, a garden of petal-haired heads gathered around the puddle, gaping in surprise and disgust, uncertain what to make of it.

A hush fell around the scene, even the birds seemed to have silenced. The anxious tranquillity was broken by a gurgling scream. From out of the rotting mass, a female form emerged, screaming in terror. The sylvari jumped back in shock. The slime covered new-born scrambled forward, slipping and stumbling out of the puddle.

The second-born took a step forward, breathing through his mouth, tasting rather than smelling the muck. He extended his hand to touch her, comfort the frightened female. But she spun her head towards him, spraying him with the diseased gunk. Her stunning violet eyes were filled with fear. She let out another ear piercing scream as she shrank away from his touch, rose, and ran, still screaming in terror.

"Wait!" he and several others cried. "Sister! Wait!"

But she did not heed their words. She scrambled away as fast as she could, The Grove becoming a blur of green. The sight of every sylvari she crossed seemed to throw her into an even more frantic state.

Now the Wardens chased her, frantic to stop her from her course. They called out words of comfort, of concern, pleading for their sister to come back. They even invoked the name of The Pale Tree, but to no avail. Soon the Wardens became desperate, weaving walls of magic or calling the plants themselves to slow her down. But she was too swift on her feet and the plants abhorred her presence, unwilling to move closer to her but rather scattered away when called.

The Wardens let out a collective cry of despair.

The plant-girl, rotten slime still falling from her form revealing blanched skin and limp leaves, ignored them, too entrapped in her own fear. She soon encountered the reason for the Wardens' last cry. She shot out of the undergrowth and into mid-air. For the first time since her birth she took a deep breath, almost ecstatic at her escape from the terrifying forest. But her peace was short lived as one more haunting shriek escaped her lips and she fell from the cliff to the waters of the Sea of Sorrows below.

The Wardens halted at the edge, searching the dark waters for any sign of her. Their leader ordered some to go down to the shore and search for the lost one.

A few hours later, when they returned from their errand discouraged, they told the second-born what had happened. Everyone glanced again at the reeking black stain on their mother's bark as sadness clutched at their chests. All but one, who shrank back into the shadows, guilt biting at his darkened soul.

The late spring sun beat down on Ascalon, causing heat to ripple atop the dirt roads. In the small garden behind the farmhouse, Seven supported himself on his left hand and right knee as he laboured with a small trowel to till the rich soil. He had stripped off his shirt and panted to lower his body temperature and battle the heat.

Two years had passed since they sent Orla away, and in that time Seven had lost much of his remaining juvenile appearance. At seventeen years, the fur on and around his muzzle had grown into a masculine ruggedness, however he had not gotten any taller, and his four horns remained pitifully small, much to his consternation. But he took pride in how he had bulked up. His impressive muscles bulged beneath his fur on his arms, back, chest and abs and he knew he weighed almost two hundred kilos despite his far below average frame. But alas, his strength would never give him glory and honour; it only made life on the ranch easier while lacking a good left leg.

He stopped his tilling and resumed planting the last few starts of various herbs and vegetables. Even though charr were dedicated carnivores, they found that food tasted much better with seasonings, and many of the herbs had nutritional qualities that meat did not give. Had Srykar and Seven been soldiers, their health would not have been as much of a concern, as the next day could bring their honourable death. But on the farm, where their lives were not likely to end so soon, good health made their long, uneventful years more tolerable.

Once Seven was finished tending the garden, he grabbed his crutch and hobbled to the water pump and washed the dirt from his silver fur. After shaking himself dry, he put on his tan, cotton shirt and walked around to the front of the house. He spotted Srykar's massive form a short distance away, leading the cows back.

He was about to call out a greeting when he noticed his companion waver. A few steps later the dark charr collapsed.

Seven hobbled as fast as he could to the fallen retired warrior. "Is something wrong?" he questioned.

Srykar's bleary, dark eyes looked up at him seeming dazed.

"What's the matter?! Tell me!" Seven shouted.

The old one's blank stare came alive in response to the order. His shoulders stiffened and he looked into Seven's blue eyes. "I'm dying sir." he replied. Then he slowly realised he was not talking with his superior and his gaze softened. "Seven, there's a box, beside my chair—you need to keep it."

Seven shook his head in denial and growled, "No, don't talk to me like that, you just fell, you're fine, just get up."

He shook his grizzled muzzle. "Seven, I'm not getting up again, let me speak—,"

Seven cut him off and rose, gripping the larger Charr's shoulders and dragging him towards the house. After only a few steps he lost footing and fell, though made certain to support the elder's head.

"Please," Srykar breathed.

Seven was stunned at his friend's sudden request, when before he would always use orders. He clamped his maw shut and nodded, keeping eye contact.

After a shuddering breath, Srykar continued between laboured gasps. "A box… beside my chair… open it after I'm cremated. And Seven, promise me… promise to follow the contents of that box… wherever they take you."

Seven nodded, cradling Srykar's head around his serrated horns.

"Good," a grin spread across his face. "I can pass in peace then."

"No, I'll get an elixi—!"

"Seven!" Srykar snapped weakly. "Even the most powerful elixir cannot stop time. The mists call me to the Eternal Battlegrounds, my warband is waiting for me. But…" he raised a weak hand to grasp Seven's as his words became more strained. "I have sired cubs with many females… and I abandoned them to their own paths… as many do… I never… expected to live so long… when old age came… and all my comrades and most of my offspring and mates had died in battle… I regretted my life and felt it my lot to die alone.

"But, Seven, I never said this… Seven, thank you… for letting me be the sire I never was, even for just five short years…" A meagre laugh escaped his snout as his voice became weaker. "It'll sound embarrassing… and you can hate it if you want, but son… you've been a good friend… and I've—…"

Seven's eyes went wide as Srykar's body relaxed, and his barrel chest ceased to rise and fall. The sorrow he had been trying to hide behind his neutral expression poured forth in a low moan that echoed on the plain. Seven did not know how long he sat there, mourning his friend, holding his body close, but when he finally moved, the sun was low on the horizon, and his throat was hoarse from weeping.

It was well past midnight by the time Seven finished the funeral pyre and dragged Srykar onto the bed of straw in the middle. He then poured oil over the wood which he laid reverently on top. At last, he lit the pyre with his welding torch. As the smoke rose and the flames crawled over the wood and straw, Seven fell to his good knee. "I'll see you in the mists… father." His sorrowful yowls and sobs shook his body while the fire burned.

Many hours later, after a nap and a refreshing dip in the stream, Seven found himself staring at the box Srykar had mentioned. He had not opened it yet, just moved it to the centre of the room in front of the hearth. After a few minutes of glaring, he at last gave in and opened it. He gasped when he discovered within a bag filled with a lifetime savings worth of gold. Beneath it was a leather binder.

Seven, after a moment's thought, found that the gold made sense, he knew Srykar had always been squirreling away money. The binder was what intrigued him. He untied the hemp string that held the book closed and glanced at the contents. Two folded maps and a four page, folded letter. Seven decided the letter would be of more immediate explanation then the maps so he carefully opened the one labelled 'first' and read the beginning paragraph.

"WHAT?!" he roared, his four ears perking up in surprise.

Thoughts?

I felt sad writing this. But it's all part of the hero's journey. I'll miss Srykar though, I liked writing him. His past actions continue to play an important part of the though.

Also, take note of the time gap.

Trivia:

-Chapter 1 of this story took place in AE 1321, this chapter is in AE 1323, and the GW2 game is set in AE 1325.

-Seven was 15 and Orla 16 in the beginning, now they are 17 and 18 respectively.

-This is the shortest chapter to date!

-Next update is the final chapter of act 1, and the main plot of the story begins from then on.