#abandoned draft

You’d never thought sharing a locker bank with Gideon Gemstone would wreck your life the way it had.

Freshman year, he was just the lanky kid with the messy hair who always forgot his pencils. You kept a stash in your bag of bright neon mechanical ones, your quiet rebellion against the plain yellow Ticonderogas. Every morning like clockwork, he’d lean on the locker beside yours, grinning sheepishly, and ask, “You got a spare?”

Another abandoned draft T-T This is a 2nd POV fic based around chapters 140-145. I unfortunately don't know how to continue this so I'll share it here instead.

abandoned script

I didnt save the first part

I headcanon Vox to have been a victim of the cult himself as well as being the leader later on

because cults tend to manipulate and break those whom they need as the ones who commit atrocities on their behalf

Fog drifted between the trees, creeping along the mossy, earthen forest floor. The tendrils hugging tree trunks and brush like reaching arms. The Lost Woods were silent.

Silent except for the quiet whimpering of a babe, squirming in it’s bundle of blankets from where it was tucked safely away within the cavernous roots of a warped tree.

The Forest was old, very old. It had been around for a very long time, though was not the original Lost Woods, where the legendary Deku Tree resided. The mortals of this land had merely given the Forest that name due to the similarities it held to that fabled Woods. No, the Lost Woods, the *original* Lost Woods, were still located on an island out on the Great Sea. Although, Hero of the Winds had brought a Deku seed and a handful of forest spirits with him upon the relocation to these lands, and they now lived within the centre of the Forest.

The Forest had decided to take in these spirts. It had been so long since such sprites had resided within its branches. The Forest did have sprites of its own, but its children were old and without form - now mere wisps. It had been many years since then, and the Deku Tree’s sprites had settled in well with the Forest’s own. The Forest would protect what resided within itself.

Over the years, many a foolish mortal had wandered inside the Forest’s branches. Some, the Forest gently deposited back out; mostly children and the pure-hearted. Some, however, the Forest would swallow, and they would never see the light of day again.

The Forest would prevent harm to those it had decided to protect.

The great Evil was retuning to the realm. The Forest could sense as much. Within recent cycles of the Moon, the Forest had felt sickly. Evil was returning, indeed.

So when a young mortal woman, a child of the desert, had come fleeing into the Forest’s branches, babe in her arms, pursued by the puppets of evil - the Forest had done nothing. The Forest allowed the desert child to run through it’s fog, and watched. The woman cried and ran, trusting the babe to be safe within the roots of the Forest. And so the Forest had decided. It subtly guided the desert child to the River, which cradled her broken and bleeding body, carrying what was left of her gently downstream.

The Forest looked upon the whimpering bundle curiously. There were higher powers, higher beings, at work here.

The Forest curled a playful tendril of fog towards the baby, who quietened and stared at it with curious big eyes before trying to grab at it, mumbling slightly with excited and even wider eyes when it’s tiny hand went straight through the pearly substance.

The Forest would take in this blue-eyed babe.

It murmured to the sprites that resided within it’s heart, telling it’s children to guide the way to the mortal child.

The whisps popped into being, flickering like little blue flames. One appeared above the babe and bobbed playfully around it’s grasp as it giggled and stared in wonder. The whisp’s flickering blue was reflected in the child’s wide eyes.

The Forest urged the spirits to haste, for of the puppets of Evil that had chased the desert child some still wandered through the fog.

Two brave little wood sprites were the ones to join their ghostly companion on the venture, following the trail of whisps out of the Forest’s heart and towards the mortal child it had decided to safeguard. The whisps would pop out of existence and disappear completely, or perhaps reappear further up the trail, as the little group would follow.

“Kiki is wondering how Mister Wolf is solid,” a tiny Korok with a hand-shaped-leaf chittered.

“Deedee knows that Kiki is forgetful, but Deedee did not think that Kiki was silly,” a Korok with a heart-shaped-leaf chittered back.

Kiki let out a petulant huff, shaking a twig in their tiny grasp, but before the little Koroks could start bickering, the wolf grumbled, effectively shutting the sprites up.

The Forest harboured many spirits, ghosts among them. A pack of ghostly wolves lurked the forest - truly no harm to anyone; the Forest had welcomed the souls of the poor creatures into it’s fog as the pack was chased into the woods by farmers armed with torches and pitchforks. There were also the ghosts of long dead mortals, mostly innocents that could not pass on and the Forest had decided to safeguard until they faded away - some stayed as fuzzy echoes of who they once were while others took different forms.

Neither of the little Koroks knew whether Mister Wolf was a mortal ghost with wolven form, or the ghost of one of those poor creatures. They were okay with not knowing, albeit curious as to why this particular spirit was special.

*Mister Wolf* padded dutifully along, understanding the Forest’s intent to preserve the babe’s life. Following the trail of whisps was efficient, and the bundled baby was found in no time. While the Koroks immediately began to chitter away about how cute and strangely fleshy the mortal child was, Wolf snuffled the babe’s cheek, chuffing as the blue-eyed bundle squealed and giggled. Wolf continued to nose the child, sniffing, and playfully licking the baby, putting up with it’s grabby hands that manhandled it’s face and pulled at it’s ears.

“Kiki and Pip have the bag!” Kiki chimed, hopping back onto Wolf’s back, Pip helping pull the satchel in tow.

Wolf snorted in affirmation, making sure that the babe was properly bundled before using it’s maw to gently grab the blankets and carry the squirming bundle.

Mission nearly complete, the spirits began the short journey back to the heart of the Forest, following the whisps that guided them. Instead of popping out of existence, some of the whisps would decide to stay, drifting around the small party, and bobbing in and out of reach of the child’s tiny hands.

The babe no longer whimpered or cried and squirmed. Instead it giggled and babbled curiously and the whisps played with it and it swung happily in the wolf’s grip.

The Forest’s trees rustled happily. It had not been graced with such happy sounds from a mortal in many Moons.