Savage Awakening: A LitRPG Apocalypse

Reina started updating Zane as they went, a little breathless.

He seemed to have arrived at a busy time for her. Right now she was officially ‘Priestess-in-Waiting.’ She couldn't officially rule as High Priestess until she got to Level 500 and finished her training. She’d been working hard at it all week. She’d read holy elven scriptures, learned their languages and histories, pored over quite a lot of laws—the normal kind. He got the sense she’d been trying to load in every little thing about the Faction into her head. She always liked to be prepared, and there was so much to do even she found it a good challenge. But it was exactly the kind of thing she lived for.

As they went along, elves stopped all along the branch-street to bow and part way before her. They were headed to a circle of light on the far end, right near the great towering trunk which rose before them like a solemn, rich-brown cliff face.

“There’s three Great Houses I've got to corral,” she told him. “Valoran, Rowan, and Arandor. They each control a strength of the World Tree Faction—alchemy, herbs, and silversmithing.”

Zane figured those Houses accounted for the three cloak-colors he saw back there.

“Their Elders are proud, and some aren’t pleased I’ve come to take control of things… they’d rather I sit there quietly and let them do the ruling. Like the last High Priestess.”

She pursed her lips at the thought.

“The histories say she was a simple, kind-hearted farmhand before she was chosen… She didn’t know what powers she really had. She never even managed to decipher her own soul contract.”

Reina was kind-hearted too, but all that other stuff didn’t sound like her at all.

It would be one thing to bully that last Mistress, Zane thought. But he felt bad for anyone who tried to do the same to Reina.

***

They found a cluster of transporters at the end of the branch, a plaza widening into the trunk proper. Reina made for the biggest, inscribed in the very center.

“Lady Priestess,” said the two guards manning it. They were clad in emerald armor and thumped their spears as she passed. A portal swirled to life mid-air.

“This way. The High Council awaits.”

“Thank you, Salaz, Dricus,” she said, nodding to each of them in term, and they bowed. Then she looked up and whispered in Zane’s ear, “Just follow me, alright?”

He nodded.

Things were moving quite fast, and he had very little time to take anything in. But he didn’t mind—Reina was here. “I trust you,” he said.

She smiled and led him on through.

They came out at a grand amphitheater carved out of the inside of a tree-trunk. A flower-sprinkled canopy made the ceiling. Leafy seats descended in loose arcs, ending at a stump of a podium lit up by a single streak of sunlight.

Reina strode quickly toward it, bringing him along, striding with total confidence. They seemed to be quite high up—the air up here was thin and cool, so crisp it almost felt sharp to breathe.

The chamber was already full. Thirty or forty elves filled the seats, all dressed in silks. They wore the same colors as the disciples that had confronted Zane before, just in fancier getup. Most showed no signs of age, which was pretty common for elves, but he could tell they were much older. Something about the eyes.

Their auras were another hint. They all controlled theirs quite tightly, but even so each one had a presence. They came together in the room, making a sense of heavy pressure—a blanketing weight of soul and essence…

These were all at least Minor Gods.

A few of their Identification boxes popped up as Level 500s. Zane even saw some Level 600s floating in the crowd…

With Zane’s soul, and the shielding he got from his Pagoda, it was easy to brush off the pressures. The sight of that big clump was still a bit surprising though, especially as he started moving through the midst of them.

It had to be the single biggest concentration of power he’d ever seen.

He didn’t have time to focus on any one in particular—Reina was still bringing him along with purpose. The elves all rose the moment she came through, bowing and curtsying.

A few seemed rather less pleased to see Zane at her side. She wasn’t being subtle about it. She drew tight to him as she strode, head held high, like she was letting everyone know he was hers. He happily went along with it.

They quickly neared the front—and there lay a row of seats larger than the rest, almost thrones. Silver-rimmed, with backs of black wood. The elves on those thrones were even older than the ones in the rest of the chamber, it seemed to Zane—some even showed a few wrinkles, or a wispy white beard.

None of them had any aura at all.

He thought about Noughtfire, and Burnwater, and that janitor-guy he’d seen.

…Hmm.

There were two open seats right in the middle of this high row. Reina marched right up to them like she owned the place, Zane in tow. She nodded to each old elf-fellow as she passed, and they dipped their heads right back. A few looked a little miffed when she sat Zane right at the center—a handsome throne next to her own. The silver shimmered, expanding to fit his size, and he sat.

He looked out left, then right, then at the mass of elves down the middle.

He got a lot of unfriendly looks.

He gave a wave. Nobody waved back.

“…”

He scratched his head.

Several of the folks to his left and right appeared to have multiple hundreds of Levels on him. None of them seemed very friendly… he wondered if he should be a bit concerned.

Then again—he figured Reina wouldn’t have brought him here if she didn’t have things planned out.

So he just sat back as she gave him one last squeeze on the arm.

She strode up to the podium proper. She tapped a bell up there and a soft sound washed through the room, leaving silence in its wake. She beamed.

“The Midsummer Council of the Temple of the World Tree will now come to order!” she said. Her voice carried across the space. She sounded quite authoritative, and she held herself like that too—head high, chest puffed out—like she was exactly where she was meant to be.

“It is my honor to speak to you this fine morning at my very first Midsummer Council as your High Priestess. The last few decades have been tumultuous for the Temple of the World Tree, admittedly, beset by tragedy…but I’m here to declare today a new day. It is time to return this Faction to its stature as the pillar of the Dragonspire Galaxy.”

They seemed to like her, at least by the looks on their faces. Not much clapping with these folk—it didn't seem like an elf thing. But they nodded.

“I hope to benefit from the wealth of expertise in this chamber. May we make many fruitful partnerships in the years to come, and flourish all together.”

She smiled at them all. Zane wondered if it was okay to clap. He felt she was doing quite a good job so far.

“Now to the first item of business. Calling Master Scryer Sylvia Valoran to the stand to discuss the matter of the Monster Waves…”

She stepped off, and a rather squat, frizzy-haired elf lady came up. She wore big glasses, one lens rimmed with the sun, the other with the moon.

“Thank you, High Priestess,” she said in a creaky voice, giving a respectful bob of the head. Then she started her report, reading from a scroll.

“It is clear after recent events—not least the emergence of the demon Gilgoroth—that this Chaos Cycle is accelerating. Extensive scrying this week from the Scryer’s Guild has confirmed it! The first wave of monster jailbreaks could occur in as few as ten years….”

The elf lady adjusted her lens. “It is the recommendation of the Scryer’s Guild that every one of the Nine Great Faction make certain of their preparations for the upcoming war… the fate of the Dragonspire Galaxy hangs in the balance!”

She held the note there, just long enough to spook most of the folk in the crowd. Then she rolled up her scroll.

“Thank you, Master Scryer,” said Reina as the lady bowed and bobbed away. “Our scryers have suspected the Chaos Cycle is accelerating for some time now. It’s why my first action—taken in consultation with our honorable Ancestors and Grand Elders—”

She nodded to the fellows next to Zane—“Was to immediately accelerate our war efforts, in training and in resource-preparation, from smithing to alchemy. On that note, I would like to call to the stump Grand Alchemist Hestia Rowan…”

A beautiful, tall elf lady with long, flowy hair and a sleek silver dress took the stand. She gave a report on how they plan to double the production of Heaven-Grade essence boosters, and make 500 extra vials of Sky-grade essence elixir. Reina nodded her approval.

Most of the folk in the room seemed to be listening closely, nodding quite a bit.

“Next,” said Reina. “Calling to the stand the Master of the Silvers—”

Then a cough rang out. It came from Zane’s left—up on the high council. One of the old elves with no aura.

“While this little procession is no doubt useful,” said a very thin elf, propping himself up on a gnarled white staff. “Might I offer a suggestion?”

He had a wispy white question-mark of a beard. His eyes gleamed as he spoke.

Wyn Valoran

Essence Level ???

Reina blinked in surprise. "Grand Elder?”

He plowed on ahead without waiting. "It seems to me we are looking to the branches, when we ought to be addressing the roots... such preparations are well-intentioned. But the best preparation for war is robust leadership. And although I am certain you are a capable young lady, Miss Priestess-in-Waiting..."

He smiled at her like he thought what she was doing was very cute.

“The truth is you are still a young lady, and, as you have admitted, quite new to the Faction. It is not presumptuous, I think, to say that this..."

He gestured around him. “May be premature? Perhaps it would be best to wait for the bud to ripen."

Reina did not look at all pleased with the old guy, but he was still going—not even looking at her anymore, but at the rest of the chamber, stroking his beard. Smiling, eyes twinkling. “After such recent instability, a firm hand is necessary. It can only come from the Great Families. It is in the Temple’s best interest that you take a strong and experienced husband—a regent—who might guide you in this trying time. And indeed, provide you an heir—if it comes to that, Heavens forbid—but after the recent tragedies our High Priests and Priestesses have suffered, as you yourself say—we ought not take the risk.”

Reina had flushed quite a bit at this. Zane was also frowning now. She opened her mouth but the Elder wasn’t done.

"To that end!" he said. "I nominate as a suitor the most eligible of our Core Disciples! Number three-ranked Core Disciple—Fain Valoran."

“I would be honored, Grand Elder.” The voice came from the audience. It came from a man looked like a fairytale prince. Tufts of white hair, a solemn face. He stood up a little too fast, like it had all been rehearsed.

“Grand Elder,” said Reina tightly. “You overstep your bounds—”

“I object!” Another old fellow without an aura—an old lady to Zane’s left—took to her feet. "The prime suitor for our High Priestess is, of course, the valiant Arlo Rowan!”

Another tall handsome fellow shot to his feet in the audience. “I am ranked two,” he proclaimed. “I have the better claim.”

“I must ask all of you to take your seats—” said Reina.

“Ridiculous,” snorted Grand Elder Wyn, like Reina never even said anything. He was looking at the old lady. “He’s never even led a regiment, while Fain’s been Head of the Guardians! What capacity does Arlo have for wartime leadership?”

“Your Fain was gifted that position—every bee know he’s never seen true combat!” The old lady shot back. “Arlo’s talents, as a duelist and a diplomat, will win true—”

“Enough!”

That actually shut everyone up. Reina had gone quite red in the face. She whirled on Grand Elder Wyn with such a sudden fury that the old man gave a start. “Have you forgotten the terms of your vows, Grand Elder? Shall I remind you? You are bound to serve me. The first thing you’ve done is to undermine me.”

“Well,” said Grand Elder Wyn, chuckling. To his credit he recovered fast. “I should hardly think undermine is warranted—perhaps you ought to take a cup of tea, Priestess, and a few deep breaths with that.”

“Is that truly your position?” said Reina softly. Her eyes flashed. Even Zane was a little frightened.

The Grand Elder Wyn sighed. “Child,” he began. “There are certain things you do not understand. It was this way with the last High Priestess as well—”

“Get out,” said Reina.

He blinked. “…Excuse me?”

“Did you think I hadn’t read the soul contract I signed, Grand Elder? That I don’t know what I can do? An Elder who has broken his vows can be dismissed with prejudice.”

There was silence in the chamber. A beat.

For the first time, the old guy looked unsure. “Those terms—the fine print—is written in ancient elvish.”

Reina spat something in a tongue Zane didn’t know—and for a moment bands of gold runes shivered in the air. Bands of gold around her, and the Elder too…

Now the Elder had really gone pale. There seemed to be some enormous unseen pressure on him then—like a spell half-spoken—Reina had invoked something.

“You… who taught you the old tongue…?” he croaked.

“I learn fast,” Reina told him. “This Faction’s instability is precisely because of its weak Priestesses and constant in-fighting. You were correct—this Faction is in need of a firm hand. That hand is mine. We have no time for weakness, especially as the Monster Waves loom. Anything that seeks to undermine us will be removed. You have proven that, Grand Elder, is you.”

The Grand Elder opened his mouth, eyes suddenly wide—but Reina cut him off.

“You are hereby stripped of your title as Grand Elder,” she said. “Will you remove yourself with dignity, Wyn? Or will you make me speak the rest of the words?”

The old guy fled.

Reina turned on the old lady, who gave a squawk and sat back down in her seat.

“I hope,” said Reina, turning back to the audience, who all sat quite still now. “To never have to do that again. Those who know me know I’d much rather we deal openly, and with warmth… but that isn’t an open invitation to test me. I hope we can all understand that.”

Many nods.

She turned back to the podium, and beamed.

“Onto the next order of business! Calling the Master of the Silvers…”