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Tom Bombadil, his true identity still a profound mystery, approached the broken form of the Old Man Willow. During Tom's joyful song, the flames that had consumed the ancient Huorn had long since died out, leaving behind two great sections of its trunk, charred black and seemingly lifeless.

Tom gazed at the tree's battered state and sighed deeply. "The Old Man Willow was not always like this," he said, his voice carrying a note of sorrow. "For thousands of years, he has witnessed countless of his kin felled and burned. The long-standing resentment and anger have driven him to madness, making him hostile to all who enter the Old Forest."

As he spoke, Tom walked to the stump and gently patted the lower half. "Old Man Willow, rest well. Remember today's lesson, and do not cause trouble again, or Tom Bombadil will no longer care whether you live or die!"

Kael looked at the half-stump in surprise. "Mr. Bombadil, are you saying the Old Man Willow is not truly dead?"

"The Old Man Willow is the strongest Huorn in the Old Forest," Tom explained. "He will not die so easily, unless all his roots are dug out and burned. As long as there is water and soil, he can regrow."

Kael had considered ending the threat for good, but since Tom wished to protect the Old Man Willow, he let the matter rest. The tree had been gravely wounded and would require an unknown amount of time to recover. By the time it reawakened, Kael was confident he would be far stronger and would no longer fear it.

"Alright, everyone," Tom announced, "I will first return the Old Man Willow to its home." With an unsettling, eerie ease, Tom lifted the lower half of the massive stump with one hand, as if it were a mere twig.

He then smiled at Kael. "If you have time, you are welcome to visit my home. Just follow the Willow River upstream, and you will find it."

Kael, flattered, nodded. "Thank you for your kind invitation. I will, if I have the chance."

After bidding farewell, Tom Bombadil hoisted the Old Man Willow's root and, humming cheerfully, disappeared back into the depths of the Old Forest.

Rory Brandybuck watched Tom's retreating figure and exclaimed, "No matter how many times I see him, he is always the same—full of joy!"

Kael turned to Rory, his curiosity piqued. "Mr. Brandybuck, are you well acquainted with Tom Bombadil?"

Rory smiled and nodded. "Many in Buckland know Tom. Unlike the trees of the Old Forest, he is a friendly neighbor. He has helped many who have wandered into the Old Forest out of trouble. It is said that my ancestor, Gormal Oldbuck, received Tom's aid when he first settled here, which is why he chose to establish Buckland."

"Do you know his true identity?" Kael pressed.

Rory shook his head, his voice taking on an epic, storytelling tone. "Tom is ancient, older than the history of the Hobbits. We have asked him about his identity, but he always says simply, 'Tom is Tom.' If you ask where he came from, he says he was here before rivers and forests existed. He remembers the first raindrop and the first acorn. He is the master of trees, mountains, and rivers."

Kael gasped, shocked and even more intrigued by Tom's true nature. This was no small revelation. Tom claimed to have existed at the world's birth. And to be called the master of trees, mountains, and rivers was an extraordinary claim. Kael doubted his previous assumptions. Could Tom truly be an incarnation of Ilúvatar? After all, no Vala wielded such absolute authority. Kael's thoughts were a tangled mess, and he had no clear answers.

Choosing to set the puzzle aside for now, Kael refocused his attention on the upper half of the Old Man Willow's trunk. Tom had only taken the lower half. Though the upper section was charred black, the exposed heartwood at the break caught Kael's eye.

He approached the broken trunk and found the heartwood was a milky white, like jade. When tapped, it rang with a crisp sound, like metal striking stone. Kael was delighted. This heartwood was clearly extraordinary. If fashioned into a magic staff, it might surpass any wand in effectiveness.

However, mentally exhausted and unable to process the upper trunk with magic, Kael sought Rory Brandybuck's help. "Mr. Brandybuck, could you arrange for the best carpenters in Buckland to extract the heartwood from this section?"

Rory readily agreed and immediately organized the finest carpenters in Bucklebury to begin the task. He also invited Kael and all the townsfolk to a victory banquet at Brandy Hall.

At the banquet, Kael unsurprisingly became the center of attention. Drogo Baggins basked in the reflected glory, sitting beside Kael. Next to him was Rory's daughter, Dora Brandybuck. The beautiful Dora captivated Drogo's gaze, and for a moment, he could not look away.

"Everyone, raise your glasses to today's hero, Kael the Tree-Cutter!" Rory Brandybuck stood, raising his glass and shouting happily.

The Hobbits echoed, "To Kael the Tree-Cutter!" Their voices thundered through Brandy Hall.

Kael smiled and returned the toast, though he inwardly grumbled at the new title. Tree-Cutter? What a strange moniker. Couldn't they have consulted him first?

The banquet lasted late into the night. Kael and a reluctant Drogo finally returned home. Kael fell into a deep sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. When he awoke, it was already afternoon tea time. His spirits had recovered, but he still felt mentally drained, as if he had overused his mind, his body sluggish. The aftereffects of his magical outburst had left his magic unstable, so he refrained from using it, waiting for it to settle.

Unable to use magic, Kael felt restless and picked up a piece of wood to continue practicing his wand carving. Not long after, a knock came at the door. Several Hobbits, under Rory Brandybuck's orders, had brought the Old Man Willow's heartwood. The Hobbit captain explained that the trunk was so thick and hard that dozens of carpenters had spent a long time splitting it to extract the innermost core.

"Lord Kael," the Hobbit said respectfully, "we didn't know how much heartwood you needed, so we brought you the entire piece."

Before him lay a length of white heartwood, nearly four to five meters long, carried by two Hobbits. Unlike the massive trunk, the heartwood was only as thick as a wrist, a milky white like jade, with a fine, beautiful grain that seemed to pulse with mystery.

***

(End of Chapter)

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