The Forest | Champion!

Elara wasn’t a knight in shining armor. She wore boiled leather cured in walnut oil and carried a staff carved from a lightning-struck rowan tree. She was the Forest Champion, though she preferred the term "Gardener with Teeth."

She reached out and touched the cold brass of his suit. "You see wood as fuel," she said softly. "But the forest sees you as compost. I am the only reason you aren't feeding the lilies by sunset."

He swung a mechanical claw, but Elara didn't flinch. She slammed the butt of her rowan staff into the soft loam. “Listen,” she whispered. The Forest Champion!

The legend of "The Forest Champion" is a tale told by the moss-covered stones and the whispering oaks of the Elderwood. It is not a title given by men, but one earned through the pulse of the earth itself.

As the forest returned to its song, Elara leaned against a tree. The bark felt warm. The hum in her bones settled into a satisfied purr. She wasn't a conqueror; she was the shield. And as long as the sun hit the leaves, the Forest Champion would never truly be alone. Elara wasn’t a knight in shining armor

The trouble began when the silence changed. The usual chatter of the squirrels and the rhythmic drumming of the woodpeckers stopped. In its place came the mechanical clunk-shriek of iron meeting ancient root.

"The wood has denied your entry," she said, her voice like the rustle of dry leaves. "You see wood as fuel," she said softly

The steam-suits were pinned, held fast by a grip that had endured for a thousand winters. Elara walked toward the lead harvester, who was now dangling five feet off the ground, held by a vine as thick as his torso.