The arcane crafting tower stood quiet in the early dawn. Sunlight glinted off its enchanted glass walls. Robert slipped inside before the settlement stirred. He was eager for a rare bit of time to dive into his craft. Crossing to his workstation, he let his boots tap softly on the stone floor. The wide bench sat tucked in a corner. Racks of tools surrounded it. Shelves stuffed with oddities from Sanctum hunts lined the walls.
Dropping his satchel, Robert exhaled slowly as a grin crept across his face. Quiet moments seldom came for him. Leadership dragged him from one troublesome fire to the next. Meetings piled up. Plans demanded attention. Teaching filled his hours. No chance existed to just sit still. This tower was his haven. Ideas could take root here. His Prismatic Magister and Rook class skills let him mold stone and magic like clay. His packed days left little room to test them.
Muttering to himself, he said, "I figured I'd do this every day." His fingers grazed the bench's worn edge. The tower's ambient mana felt thick in his bones. It pulsed with possibility. Opening a chest, he revealed a haul from STEVE's hunters. Ingots of strange metals gleamed. Colors swirled like oil across their surfaces. Crystalline shards hummed under his touch. Hunters pulled them from a Sanctum crawling with mechanical golems. The materials begged to become something solid and lasting.
As Robert laid out the materials in tidy rows, new ideas raced through his mind. Could he build a lattice to shield the gardens? It would need to repel hostile magic. It would also need to recognize Doras Dagda's citizens. Could he craft a power grid? It could provide power through bitter winters. Toby's toy soldier popped into his head. An army of tiny automatons came to mind. They would move quick as ants. They would build with pinpoint perfection. A dozen ideas swirled through his thoughts. Then he settled on a statue for Moira. She could step into it. She could roam Doras Dagda as herself. It would be more than a whisper in everyone's minds.
A clamor broke his musing. Now was the perfect time to interrupt him, of course. Muttering, "My luck…" he closed his eyes. He braced for whatever was coming.
A voice hollered his name. The tone sounded urgent and panicked. "Lord Robert!! LORD ROBERT!!"
His shoulders sagged, and the grin slowly faded. Duty's old weight was back.
A young runner burst through the doorway. His cheeks flushed red. His eyes widened like coins. "Lord Ewan sent me," the boy wheezed. His chest heaved. "The garden, my lord… it's sick! They say it's spreading fast!"
The materials caught the light on the workbench. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Robert muttered, "Of course it is."
Facing the boy, he said, "Lead on." His voice stayed steady. A knot twisted in his gut. The garden fed body and soul alike. No way existed to delegate something this big.
Following the runner down the spiraling staircase, the tower's calm slipped away. Urgency took its place. Questions stormed through his head. What started this? Why now?
When Robert arrived, the Gardens of Dagda were packed. Humans, kobolds, and a few Kobrutes lined the fields. Their usual chatter was gone. Low murmurs and sharp gasps replaced it. Pushing through, Robert locked his eyes on the Great Ambrosial Tree. It once blazed golden. Now it sagged lifeless. Leaves fell in clumps. They drifted like ash. Mighty golden fruits hung shriveled and dull. Their skins looked scarred with black spots. A sour, rotting stink rode the breeze. Many folks covered their noses.
Ewan MacEwan stood near the tree. Lillia, Sorcha, and Rauri were with him. Ewan's face was grim. He listened to a druidess' rushed words. Across from him, Lillia's eyes shimmered with unshed tears. She stared at tumbling leaves. Sorcha was pale with dread. She clung to her father Ewan's arm for support. Her usual sharp wit was silent.
Rauri's fists clenched in frustration. He demanded, "How could this happen?! The garden's been thriving for weeks!"
Stepping forward, Robert pulled his eyes from the tragic scene. "What's the situation?" he asked. Outwardly, his tone was calm. Inside, turmoil churned. Something had attacked his town's pride.
The druidess turned. Her face was pale. Dirt streaked her cheeks. "My lord, we don't know," she said. Her voice quivered. "We pour magic into the soil and roots… it doesn't help. The decay's spreading fast."
Nodding, Robert moved to the tree's base. Kneeling to a garden plot, he sank his fingers into the soil. It should have been warm and alive. It was cold and dry. Thin black fibers threaded through it. They pulsed with wrongness. The contact twisted his stomach.
Ewan's voice cut through the murmurs. It was heavy with worry. "This garden feeds more than bellies, Robert. It feeds hope. If we lose it…"
Standing, Robert brushed dirt from his hands. "We won't," he said. His chest tightened. His voice stayed firm. "We'll root out the cause and stop it."
A gust brought the rot's stench. The crowd's eyes fixed on the Ambrosial Tree. Leaves fell. The sight weighed heavy. Doras Dagda's heart was fading.
Hurrying to the central tower, Robert approached STEVE's interface. It glowed on a crystalline panel. Mana hung thick. It waited for orders. Robert had raised the Ambrosial Tree here. He had laid the gardens' roots. His work was rotting. The thought ate at his insides.
Slapping the console, he woke STEVE. "STEVE, scan the Ambrosial Tree and gardens," he said. His voice was sharp. "Check soil makeup and magic levels. Look for anything off. I need everything."
"Processing, Lord Robert. Stand by," STEVE said. Its tone was cool.
The console lit up. A garden schematic appeared. Greens and golds drowned in black and gray splotches. Data rolled in across the screen.
"Initial findings show abnormalities," STEVE reported. "Soil composition and magical energy flows are off. No clear cause exists yet."
Leaning in, Robert asked, "What abnormalities?" His brow creased.
"Soil makeup has changed," STEVE said. "New trace elements are present. They weren't in our baseline. Magical currents surge wildly, then they drop sharply."
"Something slipped into the system?" Robert asked. "Or is it just soil and magic clashing over time?"
"Data's inconclusive," STEVE replied. "It could be sabotage. It could be rare magical rot. More testing and samples are needed."
Blowing out a breath, Robert rubbed his temples. "Terrific. A puzzle," he said. "STEVE, flag this for top priority. Any other trouble in the city?"
"Negative," STEVE said. "No other issues exist in the settlement's range."
As irritation flared up, Robert nodded. "Any recommendations?" he asked.
The interface flickered. "Based on the scan, I recommend clearing the blighted plants," STEVE said. "That includes the Ambrosial Tree. Burn the ground to stop the spread. Prepare for reseeding. Ration stores to cover food gaps. Starvation risk keeps mortality within tolerable limits."
Going rigid, Robert clenched his fists. "Tolerable limits?" he growled.
"Affirmative," STEVE said. Its tone was flat. Seemingly oblivious to Robert's growing outrage. "Stats show a sixty-five percent survival rate with quick action."
Locking his jaw, Robert's fingers itched to smash the panel. "Sixty-five percent's not good enough, STEVE," he snapped. "We're not tossing a third of our people to starvation to improve your numbers."
"Alternatives are slim," STEVE went on. "The cause is unknown. Untreated, food production will completely cease. Expect shortages, riots, even the end of Doras Dagda."
Inhaling deeply, Robert felt the stakes crush him. "Alright! ... I get it," he said. "We need time to determine the root of the cause."
An idea hit him. "Any botanists among the refugees?" he asked.
"Checking… Checking…" STEVE scanned files. "Yes," it said. "Franklin Manning, seventy-three, retired botanist. He worked at the Royal Botanic Garden Edinburgh. He's an expert in plant pathology, soil ecology, and education—could be helpful."
Robert straightened. "Where's he at?" he asked.
"Franklin Manning is in the Arcoplex," STEVE said.
Turning to the runner trailing him, Robert asked, "Lad, what's your name?"
Piping up, the boy said, "Christopher, sir!" Snapping a salute, he added, "You know my brother, Toby! You made him a toy soldier! We give it beetles to fight!" His grin flashed. That grin cut through the gloom growing in Robert's mood. Chuckling, Robert felt the kid's energy lift him briefly. "Good to meet you, Christopher," he said, and meant it. "Grab some pals and hunt down an older guy, Franklin Manning, in the Arcoplex. Ask around and... likely start where plants get light, an atrium maybe." Nodding, and giving two thumbs up, Christopher tore off.
Wondering if Manning could help, Robert paused.
Moira's voice answered softly in his mind. "I hope so. Scientists give me the jitters, but we're lost on plant diseases... if he can meet the druids and test magically. It might give Manning something solid to go off of."
"Smart call," Robert said aloud. Rounding up the gardens' top druids, he joined them at a long table. They set out soil samples from across the grounds. A druid stepped aside as Robert approached. "You should see this, M'lord," the druid said.
Waving him over, a young druid spoke. He had an easy smile and straight posture. "Hello, Sir," he said. "Check this out." Three bowls sat on the table. One held empty soil from a dead herbal bed. Another held a seed atop soil. The third held a healthy tomato plant. Pointing to the empty soil, the druid noted its dry, dead state. Casting a growth spell, he saw no green sprout. The dirt paled. Dark brown turned to ashen gray. "Try pulling it apart, sir," he said.
Digging his fingers in, Robert expected loose dirt. The soil clung like cotton candy woven into it. "It's… sticky," he said. His brow furrowed.
Nodding, the druid twisted his robe's hem with his fingers. Raising a hand, Robert said, "Easy, no rush. I'm here to learn, not judge."
Gulping, the druid nodded. "Whatever this is… it spreads fast… with our spells," he said. Casting the spell again, tiny, transparent threads crept out. They slinked to the bowl's edge. They moved like living things. "It's a leech," he said. "It steals the spark meant for plants."
Shifting to the seed bowl, the druid cast another spell. Robert flinched as the seed quivered, swelling unnaturally as it drank in the spell's energy. Darkness spread through its shell. Black veins spidered beneath the surface. The seed collapsed, rotted from the inside out. Robert's stomach turned. The threads slithered away, as if satisfied. A brittle husk remained in their wake, hollow and faintly warm to the touch.
Eyes darting away, the druid muttered, "This thing…" He continued, "It keeps pace with our plants… maybe outruns them. It doesn't nurture… it wrecks." Pointing to the tomato bowl, he noted its green, lively leaves. "This one's from clean soil, outside the gardens," he said. "It holds up fine, but…"
Taking a pinch of gray dirt, the druid dusted it over the tomato's soil. Casting the spell, the soil shifted beneath the gray dust. Robert's stomach turned at the sight. The tomato sprang up. It stretched toward the light. Within seconds, it buckled. Its leaves curled inward. Green faded to yellow. A sickly brown took over. Black spots raced across the surface. A sour stench rose. The plant withered into a wet, collapsed heap.
Quaking, the druid pointed at white threads weaving through the dirt. "Those hairs…" he said. "They're it… alive… ravenous. This blight feeds on magic. It tears through life's essence to fuel its ruin."
Rubbing his chin, Robert glanced toward the gates. No sign of Manning or Christopher. It was still too early. The Arcoplex was massive, and they'd only just started searching. His thoughts drifted to the food stores. Too many mouths, and not enough time. He'd read the history, dug up the ruins. Hunger crushed cities and stripped people down to their worst. Waiting wasn't an option.
Facing a Kobrute rider, Robert said, "Close the gates." His voice was hard. "Only Clan MacEwan, mages, and Franklin Manning get in. No panic till we fix this."
Grunting, the Kobrute saluted. It lumbered off. Exhaling slowly, Robert kept his eyes on the Ambrosial Tree. If this blight kept spreading, losing the food supply would be the least of their worries.