Cadeyrn stood high on a limb in the center of the Grove, listening to the stillness of night. Crickets chirruped here and there, and night birds uttered lonesome cries, each calling to their own, even as he called to something greater than himself.
“Mother,” Cadeyrn murmured, raising his hands in gentle supplication. “I need you.”
The wind soothed the leaves at the top of the Pale Tree, and Cadeyrn felt her presence. Softly, the Mother murmured, “Son of my bough, what do you seek?”
“Wisdom.” Tears touched his eyes, and he rubbed them roughly with the back of his hand. “I see the evil in the world; I am told to fight it, but the lessons of the tablet shackle me. They prevent me from doing what is right. We put down our weapons when we should go to the slaughter. We turn away from vengeance when we are wronged, even though our spirits cry out for it. We do not take what we desire, or kill whatever we wish, or use our strength to force the world to hear us! These things are within us when we awaken. Why do we turn away from those impulses? Why do we do not follow our instincts? Always, we justify our actions with this tablet. Why do we not do whatever we want?”
The Pale Tree rustled softly. “The most effective path is not always the best one, sapling. As the firstborn have done, you must strive to be good.”
The words stung. “Who defines ‘good?’ You? Ventari? Some dead human?” Cadeyrn retorted. “The firstborn are not perfect.”
The Pale Tree paused, and for a while, Cadeyrn thought she might not reply. Mist had risen upon the nearby brook before she spoke again.
“Would you do evil in my name?” The Pale Tree sighed. “Would you cause devastation, as the charr do? Or justify wickedness in the name of knowledge, as the asura do? No, Cadeyrn. We come into this world to destroy the dragons. We must not lose ourselves in that challenge.”
“Have we not already lost ourselves, Mother? We are not centaurs or humans. Let me destroy the tablet, and we will see what it truly means to be sylvari.” There was no answer. As dawn rose and bathed the clearing in gold, Cadeyrn realized that the tree would say no more.
“She will not hear you.” The quiet voice was feminine, but it was not the tree who spoke. Spinning, Cadeyrn readied himself for battle but froze when he saw Caithe, cold and still, standing in the last shadows of night. “She will not hear you,” Caithe repeated.
“I am the first of my generation—” he began, raising his voice in argument.
Caithe shrugged and interrupted, “Why should she care? She has thousands of children now, Cadeyrn. You are either firstborn…or you are simply sylvari.”
A storm gathered upon his features. “I will never be one among many, Caithe. Not even to the Pale Tree,” he vowed, storming away. “I will make you hear me, Mother, like it or not. When I am finished and you are free at last, then I will be first in your heart!”
Caithe lingered in silence and watched him go.
.