Dread Mage

"Enough!" Mellea's voice boomed. “Enough,” they repeated quieter.

The cause of this outburst was that the giant fields of mushrooms not too far from Mellea and the druids circle had finally begun to be devoured by the fire, and Mellea heard their screams much louder than anything else, as they were a part of the larger system, connected directly to each other and all of their kind.

The realization that an entire civilization of fungi was on the brink of being lost forever was a burden they could scarcely bear.

In that moment of despair, Vell, the mage, relinquished his control, choosing to return autonomy to Mellea alone.

They sank to the ground.

Looking up, they saw him silhouetted against the fiery backdrop, his face obscured by shadow, save for the two glowing red orbs that served as his eyes.

There was no hint of satisfaction in his demeanor, no revelry in the destruction he had wrought. Instead, there was an unsettling neutrality, a detachment even Mellea thought discomforting.

"You don’t even feel it, do you?" they said, rising to her feet. "You stand there, a specter of destruction, and you don’t comprehend what you’ve snuffed out. You wield your power like a weapon, and yet you seem untouched by its consequences. This isn’t strength; it’s apathy."

Vell met their gaze with an expression that revealed nothing. "I do what I must to achieve my goals, Mellea. Life, death, all of it in nature. It doesn’t make my actions evil or good. They're just done."

"You speak of life and death as if they are mere transactions," Mellea countered, "as if the loss of a civilization is nothing. You cannot simply erase them without consequence."

"Can’t I?" Vell replied, casting a glance at his own hand as if weighing the power it held. He seemed caught in a moment of introspection, a fleeting contemplation of a decision made in haste, devoid of foresight.

"You try to wield power as if it grants you the right to decide who lives and who dies," Mellea continued, their voice gaining strength. "But power without understanding is a dangerous game. You are playing with forces far greater than yourself."

Vell's lips curled into a faint, sardonic smile, as if he remembered something from the past. "I understand many things well, and much more so than you could ever. You cling to the notion that ‘nature’ is all there should be. You can see me like a force of it, facing the harsh reality of life. The forest has never been a sanctuary; it is a battlefield. Every single creature strives for survival, and now you need to make a choice for its survival. Just utter the words, Mellea."