Chapter 1: Night of the Departed Souls. Part 2

"Tabitha, I've missed you so much!" Rigel's voice, a storm of emotions, carried through the air as she threw herself into the comforting embrace of her long-missed mentor. Her slight frame shook, her voice trembling as sobs mingled with tears of joy. "Promise me you won't leave for so long again! We really missed you." Rigel pleaded, her hands clutching at Tabitha in a desperate bid to anchor her to this moment.

A sharp pang of guilt pierced Tabitha's heart, evoked by the fervency of Rigel's embrace and the dampness on her cheeks—a silent witness to the sorrow born from her absence. "And I, too, have deeply missed you, darling. My avuh…" she whispered, bending low—nearly in half— to wrap the girl in her arms, her voice infused with a tone of regret. "You have blossomed so beautifully, become such a radiant young woman..." Tabitha murmured, her broad palm tenderly caressing Rigel's cheek.

Their embrace seemed to tether them to each other momentarily, until Rigel stepped back slightly, a shadow of concern flitting across her face. "Tabitha, when will tío Diurnix come?" the girl asked, her voice weaving together threads of hope and anxiety. "Oh, my girl, Adon Diurnix is bound by celestial duties unfathomable to us, yet he has sworn to return by the dawn of the festival." Tabitha reassured her, gently wiping the remnants of tears from the girl's cheeks. A flicker of disappointment shadowed Rigel's features, revealing the weight of many such waits, yet she managed a feigned smile, an artful guise to veil her unease. "It's fine… I'll be waiting."

Rigel's eyes, previously shadowed by a hint of melancholy, now sparkled with awe as they fixed upon the amulet at Tabitha's neck. Reading the silent plea in Rigel's gaze, Tabitha sighed and relented. "Take it, you little rascal," she teased, unfastening the amulet and placing it into Rigel's eager hands. Bestowed by Diurnix, this amulet was no mere trinket but a conduit of immense power, a sacred relic ordinarily beyond the reach of mortals. Yet, in Rigel's grasp, it seemed to have found its rightful place. As she pressed the amulet to her cheek, her face was framed by a smile brimming with boundless affection. "It's so warm…" Rigel murmured softly.

From a distance, Raquel watched with a countenance woven from sorrow and a flicker of remorse, as her daughter communed with the celestial token. Tabitha, catching Raquel's intent gaze, beckoned her closer with a nod. The shadows of anxiety that had marred Raquel's features dissolved into a mischievous grin as she approached, her steps deliberate. Once within reach, Tabitha offered her hand, but Raquel's jest cut through the solemnity of the moment. "Tabitha, mi amor, what's with that space between your eyes? Are you trying to fit in all your wisdom, or are they just playing hide-and-seek?"

These words, sharp yet playful, coaxed Tabitha to her full, formidable height. "Dare to utter such folly again at your peril!" She retorted, her voice a deep rumble. Yet, in the daunting shadow of the druidess, Raquel stood unyielded, her smirk a silent challenge to the austere forest sentinel before her.

As this feigned war reached its zenith, the underbrush whispered its secrets, parting gently to reveal a young druid boy. His head was crowned with sprawling antlers, alive with the stirrings of small creatures; a bird had made its nest among them as though they were but branches of an old, welcoming tree. Both Raquel and Tabitha, reaching an unspoken agreement, shifted their attention to the newcomer, their interplay of jest and sternness fading into the backdrop.

"Leaf, my boy, do not wander far from me!" Tabitha's voice carried across the clearing, stern but softened by motherly affection as she used his tender nickname. The boy, his eyes as deep and venerable as the old growth around them, dipped his head in a gesture of contrition, resembling a sapling yielding to the weight of the first snow.

The boy's guilty glance swiftly gave way to a flush of embarrassment as Rigel's voice rang out, warm and welcoming. "Daniel!" she cried out, her arms sweeping around him in a broad embrace, her voice ringing with warmth. The young druid, though, stood as stiff as the sentinel trees surrounding them, his return embrace tentative and reserved. "Look at you!" Rigel exclaimed, her tone laced with wonder. "In just two years, you've grown up so much—soon you'll be as tall and strong as your papa," she observed, her gaze lingering on the young druid who had just seen his sixth winter. Not long ago, he was merely a babe cradled in her arms, and now he nearly matched her in height.

Raquel's face was a mirror of Rigel's astonishment as she watched the young druid. "Hola, Daniel," she said gently, her voice attempting to bridge the distance his shyness created. He gave a timid nod, reassured by his mother's encouraging look. "Unia be with you," he responded formally, his restrained tone drawing a faint frown from Raquel.

"I am Raquel, and this is my daughter, Rigel. Do you remember us?" Raquel inquired, her voice a gentle murmur. Daniel's eyes moved between them, finally resting on Rigel, his eyes widened in a flash of epiphany as he affirmed, "Indeed, I remember Rigel!"

Raquel's face mimed playful indignation. "And have you forgotten about me, honey?" she teased, her brows arching in feigned offense. His eyes dropped to the ground, the harbinger of an apology about to take flight. Before he could voice his remorse, Raquel enveloped him in an embrace, lifting him with an ease that belied her feminine form. " "You've known my hugs since you were a baby, and if you've forgotten me…." she proclaimed, her laughter filled the air as she peppered his face with affectionate kisses. "I just need to kiss you until you remember me again!" she exclaimed, attacking the little druid's cheeks and forehead with her lips. Daniel, enveloped in her affection, chuckled, shedding his initial reserve as easily as leaves in autumn.

Tabitha watched the joyful reunion, a smile gracing her lips. 'Raquel, your charm entwines as seamlessly as ivy on an ancient oak,' she reflected silently, admiration momentarily softening her gaze. However, her thoughts soon darkened with a flicker of irritation. "May he have his papá's strong will, not his mamá's stormy temper," Raquel declared aloud, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she playfully challenged Tabitha.

"And where's Baruch, eh? Did you lose your husband somewhere, Tabitha?" Raquel's voice now carried a hint of concern. Daniel, his tone reflecting a touch of melancholy, replied, "Abba helps the animals in the forest. "Tabitha nodded in confirmation, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Baruch noticed that the beasts are behaving oddly and has gone to investigate," she confided, as if sharing a delicate secret. "We arrived some time ago but stayed quiet to handle some urgent matters."

Raquel's face creased with worry for both Tabitha and Baruch, and her own discomfort was evident as she shifted Daniel's weight in her arms. "You both must be exhausted," she remarked, her voice tinged with concern. Tabitha, her face showing signs of fatigue yet breaking into a gentle smile, reassured her, "It's alright; we've grown used to it, my chaver."

"The festival is starting soon. Are you coming?" Rigel's voice rose, her eyes beseechingly fixed on Tabitha. "I've missed you so much, but there's still work to be done. I can't leave yet." Tabitha admitted, her gaze lingering on Daniel, whose face bore the imprint of parting's sorrow. "Take Leaf with you; I am nearly finished here and will follow soon," she proposed, a complex weave of contentment and a tinge of envy coloring her tone as she observed the joyful connection between her son and Raquel. 'Maybe little Leaf is just tired of me,' she mused silently.

"You'll make it back before midnight, ¿verdad?" Rigel's voice carried the weight of a plea more than a question. "Assuredly," Tabitha replied, her voice deep and unwavering, dispelling any shadow of doubt.

Raquel nodded, her expression painted with contentment but underlined by a faint trace of struggle, while her arms, strained under the growing weight of Daniel, began to tremble slightly. With a reluctant smile, she gently set Daniel on the verdant earth. Her hands lingered on him a moment longer than necessary, as if reluctant to release him, her eyes reflecting a mix of sorrow and pride. She stepped back, allowing him the space to stand on his own, her actions acknowledging the inexorable passage of time that had shaped him so distinctly from the youths of a human child.

Taking Daniel's hand with a mother's gentle firmness, Raquel turned to Rigel. The young girl, with reverence, returned the amulet to Tabitha, then taking Daniel's other hand, shared a warm smile with her mother. "¡Vamos rápido! Let's hurry!" Raquel urged, her voice resonating with the anticipatory hum of festivity. "We need to get ready if we want the fiesta to shine tonight!"

Daniel's face lit with the glow of youthful enthusiasm as he exclaimed, "Hurray!" The trio advanced, their spirits lifted by the imminent celebration, irresistibly drawn towards the heart of the settlement where the night's festivities were about to unfold in all their vibrant splendor.

Tabitha, poised to rejoin her tasks, caught a snippet of conversation that sliced through her focus. "Daniel, have you ever tasted a fresh catch of the hunt?" The notion, starkly at odds with the druidic reverence for all living beings, ignited a storm within her. "Raquel, dare you tread this path!" She began, her voice swelling with a rising tempest. But her reproach was swiftly cut by Raquel's laughter, clear and genuine.

"Ah, she weaves her mischief anew," Tabitha acknowledged inwardly. When the laughter ebbed, Raquel turned towards the druidess, her expression suffused with sincere affection, "It's so good to have you back, Tabitha," she declared, hastening her pace in embarrassment. Had Raquel paused, she might have glimpsed the subtle smile that brushed Tabitha's lips.

Soon, their forms blended with the whispering undergrowth and vanished from sight. Left alone, Tabitha delved into her shoulder bag with urgency, her fingers searching until they clasped a small mirror. Bending slightly, she scrutinized her reflection, focusing intently on the space between her eyes, measuring it with a thumb and index finger.

The Yoshvei haYa'arot, known to many simply as Druids, are distinctly different from humans. They tower half a height taller than their human kin, their faces marked by eyes set wide and deep within their skulls, thin lips, and sharply defined cheekbones that lend them an angular appearance. Their most distinct feature, however, is the horns, akin to those of elk, marking a stark difference from humanity. Nonetheless, the distinctions between humans and druids extend beyond mere appearances: druids are inherently connected to the earth and the essence of living nature, which endows them with abilities that remain largely beyond the grasp of ordinary humans.

Thirteen years ago, Tabitha's features, though typical among Druids, were an anomaly within this human enclave. When she and Baruch, her consort, ventured from the verdant seclusion of the Ancient Forest—the heartland of their kind—and settled in this village, their unique visages stirred the local populace into a mixture of curiosity and fear. Yet, despite the initial mistrust, the two druids had garnered respect over time. Druids, with their inherent power in stark contrast to human frailty, possess unique abilities that foster growth and dispel hunger, and this nature-bestowed boon, particularly potent under Tabitha's care, had nurtured a once-fading village plagued with diseases into a thriving bastion of prosperity.

Tabitha carelessly tossed the mirror back into her bag, murmuring, "My eyes are normal... perfectly normal." She exhaled deeply, her breath seeming to scatter the lingering shadows of fatigue and irritation. For a fleeting moment, she stilled, as if to engrave this brief peace into her memory forever.

"Forgive the commotion, Ha'Etz." she whispered, her focus returning to the task at hand—the young tree before her. Tabitha pressed her forehead against the rough, comforting bark of the ancient oak, her eyes closing gently. Beneath her touch, a subtle pulse of life vibrated, threading through her veins, syncing her heartbeat with the quiet, persistent rhythm of the tree.

Her essence—a radiant, life-giving force—trickling from the very depths of her being, traveled a painstaking journey from her grounded feet, surged upward through her core, and into the welcoming embrace of the oak. From there, it delved into the roots, a quiet blessing that seeped further into the earth itself. This ritual—a relentless cascade of vitality—was not momentary but spanned the wearisome hours, gradually painting the world around her in more vivid hues; grass blades seemed to reach higher, cloaked in a more vibrant sheen of green, and flowers unfurled their petals in bursts of color more resplendent than before.

As the sun pursued its slow journey across the sky, Tabitha remained steadfast, a solitary figure bound to her sacred task. The transformation she wrought in the grove was a testament to hours of silent toil, a labor of love and duty that left the earth thrumming with renewed life.

Yet, the toll of her efforts was evident. A sharp headache, a reminder of the physical cost of her immense power, gnawed at her. Exhausted, Tabitha leaned back from the tree, her strength waning, forcing her to brace herself with shaking hands against the cool earth. "Almost done," she murmured, her voice echoing her resolve despite the overwhelming fatigue that enveloped her.

The vitality of the land within this settlement had diminished markedly during Tabitha's extended absence, necessitating a deep infusion of energy for its revival. Tabitha had poured countless hours into this ritual, tirelessly repeating it, each iteration a layer upon her sacred duty. The process of rejuvenating nature demanded that she exhaust her physical and mental reserves repeatedly, a burden that weighed heavily on her, both physically and emotionally. Despite her formidable resilience, the strain was immense, and tears began their slow descent down her cheeks, each a silent testament to her sacrifice.

In the midst of her fatigue, an unexpected comfort appeared. A cool, tender touch, delicate yet reassuring, with a rustle wiped away her tears and placed an apple in her palm, offering consolation. It was a branch of the same tree opposite her, to which she had devoted countless hours in recent days, and there was a reason why Tabitha chose this particular plant among others to heal the lands of these lands - this is no ordinary plant.

Throughout the myriad cultures and few races, such trees bear different monikers. To the druids, they are called ha'etz ha'magen, but the term most commonly accepted elsewhere is "druidic tree." These beings are not mere flora but sentient entities teeming with life, capable of love, pain, fear, and joy. This truth, though, is apparent only to druids, who possess a unique ability to communicate with all forms of life, whether animal, human, or botanical.

To the untrained eye, the difference between ha'etz ha'magen and their common brethren might remain hidden, relegating these venerable beings to mere instruments in druidic rites. Yet, such a view scratches only the surface of their profound, age-old relationships that mirror the familial bonds of parents and children. For centuries, the ha'etz ha'magen have cradled druids as their own kin, endowing them with protection, wisdom, and an innate power, fostering a righteousness and might seldom reached by other races. Now, at the zenith of their flourishing, druids, cultivated by the very essence of nature, stand as its most formidable protectors.

"Thank you, Ha'Etz." Tabitha murmured, her cheek resting against the comforting bark as she savored the apple freshly bestowed upon her. This tree was planted by a druid couple shortly after they made their home here, a gesture of planting roots in a foreign land. As years passed and they tended to it, the sentient tree grew and began reciprocating their care, becoming a stalwart ally in their endeavors.

Tabitha reluctantly allowed herself a brief pause, her back against the youthful tree, methodically enjoying the apple slices. Her eyes wandered upwards through the gaps in the canopy to the heavens painted in vibrant orange hues, heralding the approach of dusk. This serene moment was fleeting, and with a sense of urgency spurred by the changing sky, the druidess curtailed her brief respite, ready to resume her labor.

"I must hurry, or I'll be late for the festival." Tabitha murmured, her eyelids heavy with weariness as she concentrated on the amulet in her grasp, its core emitting a subtle glow that bathed her in a soft luminescence. This faint light seeped into her skin, weaving its way through her being as particles of Diurnix's strength, locked inside the amulet, mixed with her own. Space seemed to expand around her as the power within her swelled, growing into an overwhelming force that transcended earthly limitations—a testament to her unwavering fidelity to her lord and virtue, the celestial being to whom she had vowed everlasting allegiance.

However, the ritual abruptly ceased, her eyes widening in dismay. "Why?" she gasped, her voice draped in layers of bewilderment. The amulet, once a faithful conduit of Diurnix's might, now lay inert in her trembling hands, a silent relic resisting her orders. "Why does it fail?" Each effort to summon the celestial essence was met with nothing but the cold refusal of the artifact.

A faint unease began to stir at the edges of her consciousness, a sinister whisper hinting that something was profoundly awry, drawing her attention away from the amulet. This disquiet soon sharpened into a piercing sensation, as if her very essence was being twisted and contorted from within.

The power of Diurnix, which had once harmoniously intertwined with her own, obediently responding to her command —obediently heeding her commands—now started to rebel against her control. The power, ordinarily beyond the reach of mere mortals and once wielded with pride, now turned against her with ferocious intensity. Agony lanced through every fiber of her being, starting as a deep throb and swiftly escalating into a relentless, tearing pain that shredded her from the inside out.

"Why, Adoni Diurnix?" Tabitha howled, her voice a raw, throttled scream as she collapsed onto all fours. Her body writhed in excruciating agony, a grotesque silhouette of torment against the cold, unyielding earth. As her plea tore through the heavy air, spit flew from her quivering lips, flung violently forth with each convulsive shudder of her breath. Her gasps were ragged slashes in the quiet of the impending dusk, her hands clawing desperately at the very earth she had cherished and nurtured, grasping and ungrasping in a rhythm dictated by spasms. Pain twisted her expression, her eyes clenched tightly as sharp, guttural coughs wracked her body, scraping her throat raw. She twisted and arched on the ground, her muscles seizing in a grim ballet of suffering, as if her very flesh were trying to escape the bones that held it.

As the fabric of her reality frayed, shadows gathered and swirled into an impenetrable darkness that towered over her, vast and inexorable. A relentless abyss sliced through her pain-wracked consciousness, dimming the world to a mere whisper as it slipped from her weakening grasp. Her vision darkened, and the last threads of awareness unraveled, plunging her into the silent depths of an overwhelming void.