Champion! — The Forest

The lead harvester, a man in a brass-plated exoskeleton, laughed through a grilled visor. "Nature is just raw material, girl. Move, or be mulched."

With a wave of her hand, the roots retracted, depositing the terrified men and their ruined machines back toward the edge of the tree line. The Forest Champion!

The ground didn't just shake; it buckled. Thick, ropey roots—veins of the forest itself—burst from the soil like breaching whales. They didn't strike the men; they dismantled the machines. They threaded through gears and popped rivets with the slow, unstoppable force of a seedling breaking through pavement. The lead harvester, a man in a brass-plated

The air in the Elderwood didn’t just sit; it breathed. It carried the scent of crushed pine needles, damp earth, and something ancient—something that felt like a low hum in the marrow of Elara’s bones. The ground didn't just shake; it buckled

"The wood has denied your entry," she said, her voice like the rustle of dry leaves.

"Go back to your stone cities," Elara called out as they fled. "Tell them the Champion is awake. And she is very protective of her garden."