I've lived a very long time, so my name is like a story

The silence after the ancient’s soul departed was hollow and empty and left a lingering heaviness in his heart. Raistlyn felt oddly numb, not quite believing what he had witnessed—the death of something he had thought could not die. But then again, he had thought the gods couldn’t die, and that had been proven wrong, hadn't it? He watched the silver leaves drift away into the moonlight, his forehead creased in deep thought, pondering what dark force had caused this, what thing had been tainted so black to tarnish something as pure as a Living Tree? The question disturbed Raistlyn more than he cared to admit. The forces in the Rift were not the same as they had been. Even when the gods roamed, there had been an order to things—a chaotic order—but order all the same. Now it seemed only chaos reigned. Raistlyn worried he was not prepared for whatever force he would face in the future…he needed to be stronger, his shadow magic needed to be stronger…. He looked at the fallen tree with a new light in his indigo eyes, wondering…he had heard rumors before, rumors of what the organs of a Living Tree could provide for those that roamed beneath their sprawling limbs. Magic. But the mere thought of harvesting the tree’s organs sickened him. To harbor such thoughts; well, he was no better than whatever had felled the ancient tree. He recalled experimental serums fashioned from poisons and unusual herbal ingredients. His Order had used such potions before, it would not surprise him if the life blood of such a tree had supplied his brothers with their mutations.  He wondered why he had never considered it before and decided that he had just been naive back then. Naive and foolhardy. He recalled the Trials…the testing, the ingestion of new and dangerous things, ever pursuing the perfect fighting specimen to protect Riftians from the darkness that lurked in every shadow. It would be for a good cause, and yet… He was torn between his own selfish desires and the immense respect he held for the Ancient being. Despite his intensive brooding, he heard her quiet, careful hoof steps. His ears flickered, his nostrils flared. Identified her as female, and alone. She remained a distance away, hesitant in her approach. Wise, he thought, knowing how the scene must look, with his dark, shadow-swathed figure standing over the slain tree, his feline eyes flashing bright and neon in the darkness. “I don’t know,” he said, meeting her questioning gaze. Light eyes, azure like the sea. Intrigued by her unusual markings, he noted the flames dancing along her spine, the tongues of fire shaping from mice into mammoth beasts moving in rhythm. The flames’ beauty mesmerized him. He blinked and the spell was broken. He glanced away, unwilling to be lulled into a false sense of security. Never trust anyone. That was the first rule of the Rift and following such a creed had kept him alive this long. Bitterness laced his voice when he replied. “Something dark. The Rift is unpredictable these days.”  More unpredictable than usual, anyway. If he was ever going to face a force such as the one that had brought the Ancient down, he needed to be ready, needed to level the playing field. Or at least attempt. “I’ve never seen a Living Tree before…” his voice trailed off sadly as he considered what he was about to do.