Phrocylan & The Tree of Life (The Spirit of the Tree Book 1)

Chapter Five: Memory

"The WHAT?"

I didn't want to be a seremus josine (Ultimate Saviour), I wasn't any master, and my fist certainly wasn't magical.

Most of my body yelled They're nuts, just run away.

But I stayed, sitting in shock as Cylla explained, "Phro, you have been here since 4 years, and were the first ever to learn the ways of the ancient magic fist, without burning up... Your body is like no other, it has a mind of its own. You are the boy from the drisposal. You were heading off to the viadriftus to find the Ochirus Noverm with me, Ru, and Agasthus. We got separated and we found you 2 days later, running away from the whalius. How you managed to stay alive for 2 days in the middle of the earthlings, we don't know. But everything is a big mess right now, the tree of life is losing its purity, and its essence is being used by the earthlings to rise. Creatures like the whalius are popping up all over the area and we are using up all our forces to keep them from harming mortals. We have lost a great deal of fighters and magicians, but we are holding them off. They are growing stronger by the second, and if we don't find out the root of all this, I'm afraid there would be nothing we could do if we're too late. But you lost your memory, and-" at this point I collapsed. My eyes drifted asleep and Cylla caught me before I fell off the chair.

I found myself in a purple twinkling light, surrounded by big barky logs. Bubbles popped all around me, revealing big figures here and there. I was hiding behind a log, peeking over it. I saw 2 figures talking-

"-traces of him." A bulky voice said. The figure on the left seemed to grow in size.

"Have you found him?" A resonating voice buzzed, challenging the whole surrounding to co-operate or vanish. The voice filled my head and blood rushed through my ears, I felt like my head was going to explode.

"N-no, sire."

"You have 1 day. Find him, and make sure he cannot remember the rifts. If word gets out, the vulture would not leave anyone alive, not even us."

"Yes, sire. All our men are searching for the magic fist. He cannot leave the roots alive."

Only then did I realise what was going on, these barks weren't logs, they were roots. Roots of a very big tree, the Ochirus Noverm. The purplish glint was its magic, and the figures were searching for me. I was the magic fist.

The figure on the left looked directly at me, and my dream faded.