It was a beautiful day. Sunlight streamed through the treetops, painting golden patterns across the wooden floor of the Tea House. "Que" Quercus Hojaoscura quietly rehearsed his ceremonial speech in the back of the room. Anacardo carefully checked the purity of the water, as if the fate of the entire forest depended on it. Only Hibisco felt uneasy.
For weeks now, troubling reports had reached the tea house. Battles were breaking out in distant corners of the land. The forest was changing. Something was stirring. And he knew it was only a matter of time before—
The bell above the door chimed.
An ork stepped inside. He looked around slowly, raised an eyebrow, and curled his lip in clear displeasure, as if he had expected blood and found porcelain instead. At that very moment, the sky darkened and rain began to fall against the roof. The sunlight faded.
“Would you like some tea?” Anacardo asked calmly, as though an armed ork standing in her doorway was nothing more than a slightly muddy traveler.
The ork stared at her for a long moment. Water dripped from his armor onto the wooden floor. The tea house fell silent—only the rain grew heavier, and Que slowly lowered his speech scroll. The ork nodded. Without hesitation, Anacardo reached for the kettle. Steam rose between them like a wordless truce. Hibisco tightened his grip on his weapon. If this was meant to be a battle, it was beginning in the strangest way he had ever known. The cup touched the table. The ork pulled it closer, drank it in a single long gulp, then set it down again. No thanks. No words. He stood and walked back out into the rain.
The bell chimed once more.
The silence he left behind was heavier than his armor. Hibisco could not let it go. Something about it was wrong. This had not been a visit. It had been a message. Without words. Without weapons. Just a look—and the rain. He gathered his warriors and followed the tracks the ork left in the soaked earth. The scent of iron and wet soil led them deeper into the forest.He did not know what he had done wrong. Whether he should have closed the door. Whether he should not have offered tea. Or whether it had all been decided long before that moment. Then the forest opened. And they were there. An ork army. On all sides.
Hibisco barely had time to raise his hand when the ground trembled. Roots tore upward from the soil, trunks twisted together, and around his company rose a living fortress of wood and leaves. The forest had chosen a side.
And the battle began.
A giant warband charged from the left, while more orks on boars thundered in from the front and the right. Hibisco glanced at Anacardo. When their eyes met, they both nodded. They must not reach us. Otherwise, more than splinters will fall.
Magic began to churn through the air, thick and electric. The forest answered. Jaws burst from the earth, snapping shut where the first ranks advanced. Roots lashed out like whips, and branches speared forward with cracking force.
But then—
One group of "poletušek" drifted too far from the living walls. Just a little too far. The orks were faster. A roar, a swing of crude blades, and fragile wings were torn away mid-flight. Tiny bodies fell like broken petals into the mud below. The rain kept falling.
Las Espadas saw it happen. With a sharp cry, they dove straight into the orks, blades flashing in a desperate attempt to avenge their fallen kin. Steel met crude iron in a storm of sparks and fury. Yet they knew they could not remain too close for long. They would be needed elsewhere. After a swift and brutal exchange, they pulled back—disciplined, breathing hard, but alive.
Meanwhile, the massive ork force on the left continued its relentless advance.
Las Espadas, joined by a second goup of "Poletušek" swept low and struck the boar riders with precision. One by one, the roaring beasts crashed into the mud, their riders thrown or cut down before they could regain their footing.
But on the left flank, the losses were heavy.
A small band of brave Tree-Revenants was forced to retreat toward the far edge of the battlefield. Dryads fell where they stood, their wooden forms splintering under brutal blows. The living fortress groaned as parts of it were torn apart.
It was everything or nothing now.
Anacardo was drawn fully into the fight, magic flaring around her like a storm given form. Las Espadas regrouped beside Hibisco, weapons ready.
They prepared to charge.
Either we drive them back now…
or the fortress falls.
A few minutes later, the Sylvaneth stood alone at the edge of the forest.
Hibisco looked over the battlefield, then turned to Anacardo.
“Do you think we might have overdone it… just a little?” he asked.
Anacardo brushed a splinter of bark from her sleeve and glanced at the ruined clearing.
“No,” she replied calmly.
“They weren’t paying customers anyway.”