John stood there, looking at the great tree while giving the old elf space to grieve. The sobs were raw and unrestrained, echoing through the vast cathedral chamber in waves that seemed to roll off the ancient stone walls.

  It took quite a while for them to stop.

  As the old elf's breathing finally steadied, John started to notice something strange happening around them. Subtle movements along the tree's bark caught his eye, shadows that shifted independently of the light sources. And were those... eyes? Watching from the branches above?

  Then, despite the complete lack of wind, he heard rustling.

  The leaves began to move.

  They came creeping down from the branches high above, emerging from the gaps between the tree's massive roots where they met the stone floor. More appeared from cracks in the ancient walls, from behind the weathered benches, from every shadow and crevice in the cathedral.

  Rats.

  Their bodies were covered not in fur but in tiny overlapping leaves, green and vibrant, some edged with gold and brown like autumn was just beginning to touch them. When they moved, they rustled. A soft, constant whisper of sound that grew louder as more and more of them appeared.

  John stared, his mind struggling to process what he was seeing. In all his hours of gameplay, all his different builds and playthroughs, he'd never seen or heard of creatures like this.

  They surged forward in a wave of rustling leaves. John took an involuntary step back, preparing to draw Moonfang from his hilt.

  The rats ignored him completely.

  They flowed past, all heading toward the old elf. Toward the glowing sapling in his arms.

  Chittering and squeaking in high, excited voices. Their leaves shivered and rustled with emotion as they crowded closer, standing on hind legs to get a better look at the sapling. Some reached up with tiny, delicate hands, touching the glowing leaves gently.

  They began to leap and spin around the old elf's feet, and chased their tails with childlike joy. A few pressed their small bodies flat against the stone floor with arms outstretched, bowing, their leaf-covered forms trembling.

  They were celebrating.

  The old elf stood frozen in place, the sapling still clutched to his chest, seeming overwhelmed by the display.

  "What are they?" John asked quietly.

  "I don't know," the old elf whispered.

  John looked past the ongoing celebration, really studying the cathedral floor and the tree itself for the first time. He'd been too focused on the tree's size and its declining condition to notice the details before, but now they became obvious.

  Small channels had been carefully carved into the stone floor, precisely positioned to collect moisture seeping from the walls and guide it into tiny pools near the tree's roots.

  Around the base of the massive trunk, patches of dark soil had been gathered and spread across the stone with obvious effort. Rich earth that had been painstakingly brought to this place where only stone should exist, one small handful at a time.

  The lower branches showed signs of careful tending. Dead leaves had been cleared away and gathered in neat piles along the walls. Among the piles, John spotted tiny bones scattered throughout. The creatures had been burying their dead here, composting them, giving their bodies back to the tree they'd protected.

  Places where the bark had cracked were wrapped with moss, holding precious moisture against the wounds. Some branches had been pruned with clean cuts that spoke of deliberate care and understanding of how trees grew.

  The rats had been tending it. All this time, through countless years of abandonment, these tiny creatures had been doing absolutely everything in their limited power to keep the tree alive.

  The tree was dying, yes. But it was still here. Still holding on after centuries of neglect.

  Because of them.

  John watched in silence for several long minutes as the rats continued their joyful dance around the elf and the glowing sapling. Then he unbuckled his belt.

  His boots came off, then his pants, then his underclothes, until John stood completely naked in the ancient cathedral. He walked slowly toward the tree, his bare feet cold against the stone. The rats still paid him no attention, too focused on their celebration to notice.

  Until he got close.

  Their chittering changed. Higher pitched, alarmed. A dozen broke away from the celebration and scurried toward him with surprising speed. A few of the larger ones puffed up, their leaves standing almost on end like the fur of a threatened cat.

  The old elf's voice cut through the noise. "Peace, little ones."

  He was still kneeling where he'd been, the sapling glowing in his arms, but his eyes were on the protective rats surrounding John..

  The rats turned to look at him, their chittering becoming quieter. Uncertain.

  "They know it costs her to heal," the old elf said to John, his voice gentle. “But you've earned it. And I am here now."

  He looked down at the rats gathered around Johns feet. "Let him pass."

  The rats chittered among themselves for a moment longer, clearly debating. Then slowly, reluctantly, they began to part, creating a clear path to the tree.

  "Wait," John said, looking at the old elf. "How do they understand you? Understand us?"

  The old elf frowned, his ancient eyes studying the rats with new attention. He glanced at the great tree, then back at the small creatures.

  "She does."

  "She..." John glanced at the great tree towering above them.

  "The tree knows. So they know." The elf's expression shifting to wonder.

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  John stared at the rats, who stared back with their intelligent dark eyes. "Right. Of course."

  At the base of the massive trunk, he pressed his palm flat against the rough, ancient bark.

  Heat flooded into him immediately. His skin flushed bright red, and sweat broke out across his forehead and chest as a powerful fever took hold. For a moment it felt almost pleasant, like sinking into a hot bath.

  Then the sweat turned black.

  Thick and foul-smelling, it ran down his body in dark rivulets. The poison being drawn out of him, expelled through his pores.

  The rats scattered backward with alarmed squeaks, their leaves rustling frantically as they fled from the spreading darkness. The smell made John's eyes water.

  His legs began to shake beneath him, muscles trembling with the strain. He felt like he was melting from the inside out, his body temperature spiking to dangerous levels as the tree purged the corruption from him.

  Finally, the flow of poison began to slow. The searing warmth fading.

  John pulled his hand away from the bark and his legs gave out. He caught himself against the tree, sliding down until he sat heavily on the stone floor, breathing hard. Steam rose from his skin in thin wisps, curling up toward the vaulted ceiling.

  The weakness was finally gone. The constant nausea, the dizziness. Gone in an instant.

  "Step back," the old elf said gently.

  John moved away from the tree on unsteady legs. The old elf raised his free hand, the other still cradling the glowing sapling with obvious care.

  Water appeared in a fine mist that hung in the air. It drifted toward John, enveloping him in cool, clean rain. The black residue dissolved instantly on contact and ran off his skin in dark streams, pooling on the floor in puddles that looked like liquid shadow.

  The mist continued, expanding outward to wash across the stone floor where the poison had spread. The darkness lifted, pulled away by the water, leaving clean stone behind.

  Then the mist rose higher, spreading throughout the entire cathedral. It became a gentle rain, falling softly from the vaulted ceiling high above.

  The rats stared upward in wonder, their leaves unfurling completely as they tilted their small faces toward the falling water. They chittered with pure joy, spinning and dancing as the rain fell on them. They opened their tiny mouths to catch droplets, their leaves glistening like jewels in the tree's golden light.

  The great tree itself seemed to respond to the rain. Its branches lifted slightly, straightening from their weary droop as the water touched them. The glow brightened just a fraction, becoming warmer somehow, and John could have sworn he felt gratitude radiating from the ancient spirit.

  The old elf sat in the center of it all, completely at peace, his eyes closed and a small smile on his weathered face.

  The rain faded gradually after a few minutes, leaving the cathedral clean and glistening.

  John walked back to one of the stone benches and dried himself with his shirt. He felt good again. He pulled on his clothes and sat down heavily. He felt genuinely good for the first time in days. Clean and healthy. From his storage ring, he pulled out a sandwich and bit into it slowly, savoring the taste.

  It tasted delicious.

  When he looked up, dozens of small leaf-covered faces were staring at him intently.

  The rats had gone completely quiet, all of them watching him eat with wide, dark eyes. Their leaves rustled softly as they shifted from foot to foot, but none of them dared to move closer.

  John looked down at his sandwich, then back at the rats. "You want some?"

  Excited chittering erupted instantly. Leaves rustled like wind through a forest.

  John pulled more sandwiches from his storage ring, grateful he'd stocked up. He tore them into smaller pieces and set them on the bench beside him in a growing pile.

  The rats swarmed forward, their earlier caution forgotten. They grabbed pieces with tiny, delicate hands and ate with obvious delight, squeaking happily to each other between bites.

  John ate his own sandwich while watching them.

  One of the rats broke away from the group. Slightly larger than the others, with leaves that were more gold than green. It carried a tiny staff, really just a stick topped with a carefully carved acorn.

  It approached John slowly, not looking at his face but at something lower. Its dark eyes were fixed intently on Moonfang's hilt, visible in its scabbard at John's hip. The rat chittered softly, and reached out one tiny hand as if wanting to touch the sword but not quite daring to.

  Then it looked up at John and its demeanor changed completely. It squeaked urgently, gesturing with its staff.

  "What's wrong?" John asked.

  The rat's leaves rustled with frustration. It pointed at John, then at Moonfang, then toward one of the side passages leading deeper into the ruins. Then it made a gesture like something lurching forward.

  "You want me to follow you?"

  The rat nodded vigorously and immediately scurried toward the passage, pausing to look back and chitter urgently.

  John stood, brushing crumbs from his clothes. He glanced at the old elf, who was still sitting peacefully among the celebrating rats. "I'll be right back."

  He followed the chief rat into the passage. It moved quickly despite its size, leaves rustling as it led him through a narrow corridor. More rats emerged from the shadows to follow, forming a small procession behind them.

  After a few minutes, the passage opened slightly to where a wall had partially collapsed. Rubble littered the floor in piles that looked fresh, chunks of stone scattered across the floor like they'd fallen days ago, not decades.

  The secret entrance on this side had caved in recently. Very recently.

  The chief rat picked its way carefully through the debris, and John followed, ducking under a precariously angled stone slab. The rats behind him flowed through the gaps like water.

  The passage continued beyond the collapse, and soon opened into a small chamber lit by bioluminescent moss growing on the walls. Half a dozen rats were gathered in the center, squeaking anxiously at something on the floor.

  They parted as the chief approached, revealing what they'd been crowding around.

  An arm.

  Just an arm. Severed by tiny bites at the shoulder. But it was still moving. The fingers twitched and grasped at the stone floor, trying to pull itself forward with jerking, unnatural movements. The skin was mummified, stretched tight over bone like dried leather. Desiccated and ancient. This thing had been dead for a very, very long time.

  "Undead."

  John nearly jumped out of his skin.

  The old elf stood right there, close enough to touch. Those ancient eyes studied the crawling arm with obvious concern.

  "Jesus—" John caught his breath, heart pounding.

  John looked back at the elf standing close enough to touch.

  "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" John asked, his voice strained.

  The elf beside him smiled slightly but didn't answer the question. Instead, he stepped closer and his hands reached out, gently cupping the sides of John's face and holding him steady.

  John immediately tried to lean back, but the elf moved closer and closer, John's eyes going wide. "Whoa, I'm not—" The elf pressed their foreheads together, noses touching.

  John held very still, confused and uncertain what was happening.

  "We will honor you in song," the elf said quietly, his voice heavy and solemn. "Your name will be remembered in the halls of our people."

  The elf released him and stepped back, turning to face the rats who had gathered around them in a small circle, watching with their dark, intelligent eyes.

  "You as well, little ones," the elf said. "Guardians of the Tree. We did not know you, but we will remember you forever."

  The rats' leaves rustled gently.

  The elf turned back to John, his expression becoming more serious. "I must stay here with the sapling and the tree. Are you prepared to deal with undead on your own?"

  John tapped Moonfang's hilt. "Yeah."

  The elf studied him for a long moment, then nodded.

  “Good.”