#dryad reader

The cool mist enveloping the land slowly dissipated just as the sun peeked above the horizon, bathing the temple in a golden glow. Once dawn broke and the rays beamed down on the gathered figures, the soft shuffling broke the silence. It crescendoed as the crowd knelt in unison, then turned their heads toward the elevated podium, where Sister Nila led the sunbasking ceremony with a hymn. 

She sang the tune of the ancients, a language only a select few knew through rigorous training, handpicked by the Temple Elders themselves. The song tells the story of the firstbornes who sprouted from the roots and bloomed to walk the lands, aiding Mother Sol in the days of old. 

These stories were intricately woven with vines that spiralled along the temple walls, each tendril telling a part of history: 

At the beginning, the imagery reveals a primeval era of nothingness, with a solitary figure at its center, standing amid the desolation — a vivid contrast to the lush greenery and flora that adorn her body, embodying the spirit of Mother Sol. She saw the land's pitiful state and made it her mission to impregnate the barren soil and spread life throughout. 

Woven into the intricacies of the vines and flowers, it shows how, from nothing, Mother Sol bestowed abundance, and the land flourished, with kingdoms offering their reverence to the deity. They erected structures not only to celebrate her greatness but also as a reminder of the aid they received, so graciously given, a symbol of their everlasting gratitude. 

With the land in pristine condition and deeming it perfect, Mother Sol returned to the gods’ dwelling, escorted by beings of higher order as her physical form crumbled into the soil, nourishing it further, her last gift to the lands. Solblossoms, portraying the coruscating light of that particular piece of history, bloomed brightly as the sunlight slowly flooded the temple walls. 

The lands were populated by many: Orcs, men, and many more, even the ancient Harpies who once made the clouds their dwelling, gathered in the abundance and made it their home. Kingdoms were established, alongside scattered towns, marking a time of peace. Yet beneath the surface, division was rampant. A sense of othering, or racial superiority, led some to view outsiders as inferior, nothing more than tools to be used, objects to obtain, and discard when their value diminished. Soon, it became more than just oppression — soon, chaos transformed into subjugation, where weaker kingdoms were seized, towns were ramshackled, and the innocents were taken. The once pure land of greenery was now but a mere sea of blood-red, all shed by those who only sought peace.

The melody darkened as an ominous cloud passed by the temple, dimming the light. The song progressed through the darkest days, waged war against one another, robbed those who had nothing, and killed those who fought to survive. Ruin tore the earth asunder, and the gods, who were once proud of their creation, deemed it irredeemable; thus, they sealed the gateways, severing all contact with every folk. The lands were abandoned, forsaken, as wrath consumed all.

On the temple walls, one stark section depicts this havoc, its emptiness speaking volumes of the tragedy. Its surface is marred with a haunting display of rotting, rusted weapons collected from the Sunderance. Blood that had long dried out, stained its serrated edges, a memento from a time long past. 

But amidst the decay and despair, one solblossom bloomed, its vibrant petals a striking contrast to the weapons of destruction, its leaves burgeoning as the song shifted to a softer tune as Sister Nila progressed to the next chapter of hope and endurance, a symbolic shift, and a reminder that despite the ruins, peace was inevitable. 

Her voice echoed through the temple, an ethereal cadence that made the nearby flowers bloom, the leaves flourish, and the vines slowly crawl and thicken along the ground. You could feel your own petals and leaves rustle, not from a gentle breeze that passed by, but from the magic flowing through everyone. 

A soft flute accompanies Sister Nila’s voice, led by Sister Roze, and soon enough, the whole Dryadic Order plays in tandem with the hymn, while the morning chorus from the wildlife all around echoes in the distance. 

Once the sun was higher in the sky, shining almost blindingly, the ceremony concluded with a few words from the Temple Elders: the Sapling, the Root, and the Hollow, three figureheads of a lineage that began in the Age of Old — though only one among them truly belongs in that distant era.

The Root steps forward, spreading her arms wide to warmly greet everyone; the leafy vines adorning her shoulders cascade down like a cape. 

“Welcome, my brethren, to another annual celebration of life, abundance, and perseverance!” Her voice boomed across the temple, reverberating in the air as she regarded the crowd with equal interest. In an instant, solblossoms bloomed for everyone in attendance, as the Root bestowed a flower upon each folk, a traditional gesture amongst Dryadic culture.

The Sapling came next, a little shy and reticent, younger than the Root. Still, her voice transcended as well, laying down the details of today’s celebration at the refectory, where everyone was welcome to fill their bellies with mead and fruit, then ending her greeting with gratitude and relief that everyone had made it safely to the temple. 

Then, finally, the Hollow stepped forward, aided by Sister Nila, one arm steadying the figurehead as she took her place in front of the crowd. She was the oldest of the three, and probably older than the rest of the folk in the temple. Her skin had turned to bark — a sure sign that she was born from an era long gone, probably the last of her kind. The leaves in her hair, though not many, have yellowed, but you believed were once abundant in her youth. You could still see a few flowers adorning her head, sprouting like a small crown, but they had drooped with age. 

The Hollow is ancient, very much so, yet her voice rivals the Root’s, albeit with a slight tremor.

“Conflict has reached further south,” she says, her hand shaking as she grasps her weathered oak staff. She taps the end onto the pavement a couple of times, the sound resonating off the temple walls.

“That is what they said last time, too.” She added, then scanned the crowd whose faces were laced with worry. She turned to the Dryadic Order as well, her face unreadable as she glanced at each member. 

You were well aware of the ongoing crises outside the haven you call home, and your fellow villagers were not blind or ignorant to this situation either. Everyone worried about tomorrow, as the future was uncertain, especially given the current circumstances. However, they all tried to stay level-headed and focused on their duties to the temple and the village. Yet, while the Dryadic Order occupied their minds with the conflict, your thoughts seemed to wander elsewhere.

You recalled your brief encounter with the Centaurs. While there was no harm done, you knew they weren’t creatures to be trifled with. Although you were capable of taking down one if it ever attacked without reason, you wouldn’t stand a chance against a whole group of them.

König, on the other hand, likely had a better chance of survival. You knew he hunted big game, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he had faced several threats at once, considering the scars that marred his body, yet he had survived them all the same.

You bit your lower lip, a habit you had when under stress, as you scanned the crowd without really focusing. Your mind seemed occupied with something else. Suddenly, you felt a sharp stare and noticed the Hollow’s milky green eyes meeting yours briefly. You thought it would be just a quick glance before she moved on, but her gaze lingered longer than expected, causing your heart to pound wildly in your chest with trepidation. Your eyes must have shown a different kind of fear, as she kept you pinned with her stare.

Her brows furrowed as she studied you, her eyes squinting as if she were trying to piece together your thoughts. Surely, she wouldn’t know the secrets hidden within your subconscious. Although telepathy was extremely rare among Dryads, it was hard to believe that the Hollow possessed such prowess… right? You recalled various instances that might suggest otherwise, but none came to mind as you tried to remain unshaken. Still, your pulse quickened with nervousness. The Hollow observed your face, oddly scrutinizing the crown of your head before shifting her gaze back to your eyes and then returning her attention to the crowd.

“Folk worry about the future and what’s yet to come, and you’re wondering what will become of us. But I say this to you all,” she pauses before waving a slightly gnarled hand, conjuring up a cup made of tightly woven vines, her thin fingers wrapping around its neck.

“Mother Sol has our cups running over. If they impede on this gathering, well…” she slowly shakes her head and sighs, “Let’s just say the soil calls for more nourishment, don’t you think, my younglings?” The vines under her cloak writhed, and a dark energy glowed briefly through her. You’ve only witnessed this once before, a time during the first border closures after a period of peace. Everyone was gathered in the temples; even the villagers were sheltered by the Dryadic Order in case the conflict ever escalated overnight. Sister Nila and the Elders were briefing everyone about another potential war, and whilst the Hollow was silent, resting atop her gnarled chair, you felt it first before seeing it.

You remember it like it was yesterday, how your nerves spiked with dread, your skin crawled, and your body shook with fear. And then, now, you notice the very same dark aura billowing the Hollow’s body, if only for a brief moment, before being replaced by the sun's glow, and a warm smile graced her lips.

“But that’s something they have to find out for themselves, if they so wish to, aye?” she remarked, and everyone chuckled, while the others, like you, were forebodingly wide-eyed. The Hollow wasn’t one to be messed with; despite her old age, everyone understood what she was capable of. Time may have forgotten, but you knew the bones that lingered deep within the earth, scattered throughout the vicinity of the Dryadic Village, bodies long smothered by vines, were a testament to that formidable force. 

She hands Sister Nila the cup, then pats her arm before waving the crowd away. “Now, everyone, off you go. If you need me, I will be in my chambers,” she says as the Sapling and the Root assist her back toward the holy dwellings. The tension finally eases from your shoulders, heaving a sigh of relief as the celebration begins to ramp up.

—

The crowd slowly shuffled into the nearby refectory, making their way to the available seats. The beams hung low from the ceiling, adorned with dangling vines abundant with various fruit, ripe for the picking. The hubbub immediately filled the vast room as each Dryad mingled in their own groups, while others were alone or joined by another. You found it ironic that in a large gathering, where one was encouraged to socialize, everyone mostly kept to their own acquaintances.

You always stayed within the Order, but recently, you've started interacting more with the townsfolk, visiting the butcher or the apothecary from time to time. One person you often saw was the healer; even before your injury, you made it a point to travel to the village’s edge to deliver herbs and supplies that you had gathered for her.

Everyone always said it’s best to have allies you could turn to, especially in crucial times like this, but you chose to be kind regardless, believing it was better to offer peace without an ulterior motive. Every encounter, whether small or significant, opened you up to the world beyond the temple walls. These experiences changed you and gave you the courage to engage in conversation with the Dryads from Shadoweald.

They were your brethren from the depths of the Wildes. Although they shared a similar culture, their traditions were entirely unique. Even their appearances reflected this difference. Instead of flowers adorning their crowns, a mushroom cap speckled with spores that shimmered with an iridescent golden light sat atop their heads. The flecks reminded you of gathering gloomcaps with König, his gentle hands skillfully handling each fungus before passing it to you. You reminisced about the memory of the warmth he radiated, like sunlight against your skin, and you found yourself missing that warmth now — missing him more than you cared to admit—

"I shouldn’t be thinking about him right now," you mutter under your breath, your cheeks flushing a deeper shade. You chastised yourself for being foolish and wanton. This wasn’t the time to long for someone or entertain impure thoughts, especially at a gathering considered sacred. You could almost hear the elders' scolding, the utter disappointment evident in their voices. 

You also recalled the way the Hollow had scrutinized you — surely, you thought, you weren’t that easy to read… Right? You weren’t like an open book. After years of keeping to yourself, a result of your upbringing in the temple, you convinced yourself that your face wouldn’t betray the telltale signs of the thoughts you shouldn’t be having—

One of the Shadowealdian Dryads caught your gaze and waved you over. As you approached the group, you put on your most welcoming smile and offered each of them a vine wristlet along with the customary greeting among Dryads:

“Life grow around you, my brethren,” you said with a nod. They conjured stalks of fungi and responded, their heliotrope-coloured eyes shining in the bright noonlight. You briefly bowed your head once more before sitting down beside them.

“I’m glad we could visit again,” one of them began, grabbing a chalice of mead from a passing temple acolyte. “We thought it would be the first time we wouldn’t be able to attend.”

“Great way to start the gathering on a depressing note.”

“I’m just saying. You should’ve seen what happened to the northern border; they torched the forest completely.” She says with melancholy, nursing her drink.

“It will take some time for the soil to recover,” the other adjacent to you said, a grim expression on her face. You listened as she recounted their story: how the fire wasn't confined to the north but could spread farther if it wasn't contained or the culprits weren't caught.

“Why would they destroy the forest? That’s barbaric!” the person beside you exclaimed, his voice rising with anger. A few shushes from the nearby table were directed at yours, and the group quieted down.

“They might be trying to drive the Centaurs off the borders, you know, so they won’t interfere with whatever illegal activities are going on.” They expressed their frustrations in a hushed tone, now wary of a different group of Dryads at another table who were giving your group disapproving looks, irritated at hearing about tragedy instead of celebration. This wasn’t the right time to worry about the outside world, even for a moment, as the gathering was meant to connect with new folk and catch up with loved ones. It was a tradition of mirth, and you understood that, so all you could do was nod along.

Although the conversation shifted to a lighter note, your thoughts were elsewhere, consumed by the pathway that led to König’s cave. It was a long way off and completely sequestered; no one should discover his location or the cave-in you had repaired and sealed. He should be safe since his part of the forest was far from the conflict, but with the torching of the northern forest, you weren’t sure how long it would take to reach him or if the fire would reach him at all.

Besides the burnings that you were worried about, there were also the Centaurs patrolling the borders, and they had reached as far as König’s area. You knew they could scour through the lands for hours without stopping, as they were built for strength and endurance, their skills unparalleled. Although the Centaurs were usually neutral, serving as escorts for human caravans or even those who needed to pass through the Wildes to reach the port town in the far east, they were also indiscriminate creatures, deeming anything larger than themselves as a threat — bludgeoning first and asking questions later, something you were deeply worried about. Right now, you could only pray to the gods above that no Centaur would see König after dusk when he usually hunted. 

He’s safe, you thought to yourself. He was no youngling with no sense of survival. Gripping the edge of the wooden mat you sat on, you tried to anchor your nerves and calm your weary head before you passed out from overthinking—

“Are you alright, Sister?” one of the Shadowealdian Dryads asked, breaking you from your thoughts. You quickly flashed a smile and nodded, trying to hide the unease that had been creeping up on you.

“Sorry, I’ve just been feeling a bit off lately,” you said, not wanting to get into details. You hoped they wouldn’t probe any further.

Fortunately, they simply nodded in understanding, and the conversation shifted to their home in the nearby Dryadic Temple in Shadoweald. It was smaller and cozier compared to the one you knew by heart, the one you called home in the Outskirts, but their routines were quite different since they mainly operated after sunset.

You came to understand that the Shadowealdian Dryads hunt, something they have in common with König, but instead of their bare hands and strength, some of them used poison, while others used their retractable, sharp spikes lining their limbs, which serve as blades to cut up meat. You inquired more about their methods and the game they hunt, curious as to how you could aid König once you get a chance to visit—

A looming presence standing behind you interrupted the conversation, followed by a gentle tap on your shoulder. 

“Apologies, may I borrow our sister for just a moment?” the voice asked, and you didn’t need to look behind you to know it was Sister Roze. The three Shadowealdian Dryads nodded as she led you aside.

The din in the background seemed to grow louder as she pulled you into a corner. Leaning in to speak softly so you could hear her clearly, she said, “The healer wants your attention. She left this scroll for you last night.” With that, she handed you a rolled-up parchment sealed tightly with wax.

“She says to meet her before sundown,” she adds, squinting as she looks down at the scroll and then back at you, her eyes filled with curiosity. Blinking in surprise, you carefully slide the scroll into the holder on your belt. You try to compose yourself and give her a small smile, thanking her for delivering the message. There is still time to head back to the Shadoweldian Dryads’ table for more mingling when Sister Roze grabs your arm.

“One more thing: Sister Nila wants to speak with you.” She says, then gestures for you to follow her. You glance at the table and find the Shadowealdian Dryads deep in conversation, laughing and sharing stories that you can barely hear over the noise of the crowd. Turning back to Sister Roze, you follow her toward the main temple.

As you exit the refectory, the steps leading to the main area are long and winding. You walk in silence and find it odd that Sister Roze isn’t speaking or even looking at you, which is unlike her. However, you notice other Dryads from different territories lingering about, so you can only assume she doesn’t want anyone to overhear whatever the matter is.

Though this matter should not evoke anxiety, given that Sister Nila has often called upon you to inquire about the stock of herbs in the temple, a persistent sense of unease lingers within you, as if something is amiss.

Not long after, the two of you reach the entrance of the holy dwellings, passing beneath an intricate canopy of vines and leaves. Once you pass by a secluded area before the main chambers, Sister Roze pauses mid-step and turns to face you. Her expression is one you can’t quite decipher under the torchlight.

"You’re not heading out again, are you? We need you at the acolyte pledging," she murmured, concern lacing her tone. She glanced at the scroll once more, curiosity clearly gnawing at her expression. However, she knew better than to meddle in another Sister’s duties, so she remained silent, her lips sealed. 

Your eyes widened as you remembered that it had been nearly two centuries since you had your own training. You were under the tutelage of Sister Nila since you were chosen by the Dryadic Council to prepare you to one day lead the temple. The decision was primarily based on root readings, an ancient Dryadic custom in which elders interpret the lines of blossomed roots. While you were never informed about what your birthroots revealed about you, it must have been favourable, as Sister Nila took you under her wing.

Despite this, the training was intense, and you struggled to keep up with the routine and the pressure to maintain order and discipline. You recalled the nights when you couldn’t sleep a wink, memorizing the oral traditions down to their very roots. Your cot was often filled with scrolls of ancient texts you needed to know by heart, and your bedroll was stained with tears of exhaustion. 

It was a time you wanted to selectively forget, mainly because of the much stricter lifestyle imposed upon you. Eventually, the Dryadic Council recognized your struggles and the decline of your health, and they had no choice but to remove you from training. Initially, you felt an overwhelming shame, grappling with feelings of inadequacy due to your situation and the inability to find another mentor. Although it took a while, Sister Kleo stepped in and offered her guidance, taking you under her wing.

Sister Kleo oversees the Gathering Inflorescence, the branch of the Dryadic Order responsible for gathering and sustaining its resources. Most acolytes pass through it to learn the basics of healing and foraging, but training directly under her is an entirely different matter. It requires in-depth knowledge of herbs, resilience against the elements, the ability to defend oneself, and a deeper understanding of healing, though not to the level expected of those within the Healing Inflorescence.

The training typically took place in groups, but despite it being a task meant for more than two, you repeatedly demonstrated that you work best alone. It’s not that you disliked the company; rather, with your expertise in sneaking in and out of neighbouring areas undetected, you preferred not to have anyone holding you back, getting lost, or compromising your mission or your positioning.

You were never one for seeking success; you only wanted to serve, not lead. This is why you excelled at helping others. Because of this mindset, Sister Kleo regarded you as her most successful acolyte, having gathered hundreds of different species during your training.

Gathering is no trivial task; it requires great delicacy. With your extensive knowledge of this practice, you are now needed to train the next generation of acolytes, teaching them about temple life, what it means to be a follower of the Dryadic Order, and the importance of gathering herbs and supplies for the Temple and its community.

You gaze at Sister Roze as you grasp the scroll holder on your belt loop, contemplating your response. Before you could say anything, Sister Roze spoke up:

“You’ve been frequenting the Wildes; how come?” she asked, her tone casual rather than curious, indicating interest but not suspicion. You hoped your cheeks hadn’t flushed at the thought of König’s form flashing in your mind. It had only been a week since your last visit, and you weren’t due back for another one to avoid raising any suspicions, yet you worried you weren’t discreet enough.

Meeting König had been pure happenstance, and you never intended to stay for so long. However, after getting to know him better, you couldn’t help but return to his warmth, wishing you didn’t have to leave after a certain amount of time.

Shrugging nonchalantly to ease your nerves, you gave Sister Roze a slight smile before answering her question with a half-truth. 

“The Wildes are abundant with flora. I would journey further north, but with the torched forests, I don’t think that would be wise,” you said, shrugging. You didn’t mean for it to sound patronizing, so you added a soft chuckle that ended up sounding more like nervous laughter. Sister Roze pursed her lips, as if chastising herself for not remembering how dangerous it was to stray too far from the village, especially when alone during the Border Crises.

“You’re right; I wasn’t thinking,” she replied with a smile, although you could tell she was a bit annoyed by your statement. You tried to mirror her smile, adding more mirth to de-escalate the tension.

Silence followed as both of you avoided eye contact. Without exchanging another word, you two headed toward the expansive door. The wood was ancient oak, its grain so intricate it resembled a maze. You were nearby watching as Sister Roze’s vines crawled out from her fingertips to fill in the tiniest gaps. Soon after, the mechanism ticked until an audible lock clicked and the massive door slowly swung open.

The bright light flooded your senses as you stepped into the chambers. You barely registered the creaking of the doors closing behind you as you took in the vast space filled with roots and vines. Grid-like beams stretched high across the ceiling, allowing natural light to pour in and illuminate the room.

You could count on one hand the number of times you had been in this place under Sister Nila’s tutelage, and each time, you marvelled at the large indoor garden, ever-changing. Thin waterways lined the walls, their gentle streams nourishing the plants. Everything was as it should be, except for the larger collection of flowers in the center of the expansive space, arranged to resemble Mother Sol's silhouette.

You did not recall this feature being here; it used to be a fountain with a small marble statue of The Hollow in her youth at the centre. One arm was outstretched while the other held her oak staff. You wondered about the reason for the change, your hand itching to touch the sunblossoms that seemed to call out to you.

Before you could get closer, you heard a voice behind you.

“The Hollow always despised her statue. She saw it as idolatry, a contradiction to the teachings of the Dryadic Order, so we had to remove it,” Sister Nila remarked as you turned to face her. You bowed, a sign of respect for your elder, and conjured a stalk of gerbera daisies. However, she held up her hand to stop you.

“No need for formalities, Sister,” she said, angling her body as if to turn away.

She cocked her head slightly, her eyes glinting with something you couldn’t name in the bright sunlight. 

“Come walk with me?” she asked, and without waiting for a response, she began to walk away, her stride confident, already knowing you would follow.

Every step she took, the flowers around her blossomed. It was only right, given her rank, those next in line to become the Sapling possessed immense power, built over years of discipline and training.

Besides being the right hand of the Order, Sister Nila was one of the leaders of the Dryadic Society, a figurehead representing the Outskirts. She oversaw every inflorescence within the temple. She may have looked young, but she was closest in age to the current Sapling, born at the height of the Sunderance, several hundred years ago.

You held her in high regard, so it struck you as unusual that she skipped the usual formalities.

She made her way toward the cluster of honeyspire flowers that filled the air with their sweet scent, her hand gently caressing the edges of the petals.

“How goes your journey?” she inquired, suddenly catching you off guard and nearly making you trip over a vine.

“I beg your pardon?” you asked, feeling a bit puzzled. She plucked one of the honeyspire flowers, and immediately, another bloomed in its place. She inhaled its fragrance before handing it to you.

“Your harvests for the village and the temple, how goes it?” she repeated, and you gazed at the flower, its warm yellow hue even brighter than the sunlight.

Pursing your lips slightly, you studied the flower, turning it this way and that as you responded to her question. “Good. Well enough that folks trust me with favours.”

Sister Nila stood upright as she nodded, dusting off her robes from the tiny flecks of grass that clung to them.

“Good,” she parroted. “I knew you would be efficient elsewhere. Shame, though, you had a lot of potential.” 

As she moved around the bush to care for the budding flowers, she continued, “You would have made an incredible addition, with just more time and effort. But the Order needs someone who is fully committed, someone who pours their heart and soul into the temple instead of getting distracted by pursuits outside our purpose.” She delivered these words nonchalantly, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was an undercurrent of something more, especially with her added remark: “We can’t have that here.”

You both stared at one another in awkward silence. For you, it felt more uncomfortable than it seemed for her as she studied you, unmoving.

You let out a nervous laugh, trying to ease the tension. “I…I see…I apologize,” you muttered. Sister Nila responded with a soft chuckle, shaking her head.

"You don't have to worry none. Mother Sol did say to help every folk. I'm just enthused you're more of use to others in the Outskirts," she says, though her tone feels a bit backhanded. You’re not sure if you’re overthinking things, but looking into her warm, glowing eyes, it seems like it’s probably no big deal.

“…Much appreciated.” You responded, and the two of you kept walking through the indoor garden. 

Upon arriving under a huge wisteria tree, its leaves cascading down like a curtain, she lifted one hand to feel one of its ends, humming thoughtfully. 

“In your journeys, any troubles you’ve come upon?” She asked, and you could feel your heart race once again. The questions were subtle, and you knew she was just inquiring about your safety, so you tried to keep calm. Yet you hesitated to mention the Centaur encounter, and they weren’t really hostile to your kind, but they do have an infamous reputation for stealing what’s not theirs. 

You could lie, say that you’ve never encountered anything besides your accident, but knowing Sister Nila, she might already have caught wind of the Centaurs, so you spoke the truth. 

“The Centaurs from the north were in the Wildes, and I’ve spoken to one of them.” Sister Nila stopped twirling the vines upon hearing this, then resumed, as if it wasn’t one of the troubling news she’s heard of in passing. 

“Did they harm you?” She asked, still not looking at you, but fear spikes in your stomach as you could sense the dark aura from her. It wasn’t directed at you; malice on one’s brethren wasn’t condoned in the Temples; rather, she was fairly displeased with all the “aid” the Outskirts has been getting from outsiders. 

You shook your head as an answer, followed by more truth spilling from your lips: “No, but they did steal one basket I had.” You said a little bitterly. Sister Nila turns to you, her brows furrowed to mirror your irritation before continuing her slow strides. 

“I’m not surprised. We used to trade with them before the closures; their village should have medicinal shamans, but with them patrolling our area, it's making the Hollow feel…tense.”

She turned abruptly on her heel and stared at you, making you stop in your tracks, eyes wide. She studied your face briefly before her gaze moved up to the crown of your head, squinting slightly. Your hand automatically flew up as if to brush a stray strand of hair aside, causing a few leaves and flowers adorning your hair to rustle. She continued to stare for what felt like a long time before her eyes shifted back to your face.

There were no words spoken as she scrutinized your features and your form, as if she were inspecting something closely. You could feel your heart pounding. It reminded you of the past; under her intense gaze, everything had to be perfect, not a hair out of place, not a leaf or flower unpruned. That is why you couldn’t handle the strict routines; it was all too much to bear.

Finally, her eyes landed on the scroll hooked to your belt loop.

“You heading out?” She asked, one brow raised, and you nodded out of impulse, then your cheeks darkened. 

“Y-yes. The healer calls for my attention.” You said, and you could see she hesitated for a moment before waving you off. 

“Well, stay safe then,” she said before turning away and walking in deliberate strides. You noticed her pause briefly, as if recalling something, and then she glanced over her shoulder at you. With a look of concern, she added: 

“Don’t stray for too long.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing dire,” you said, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly, but she was already heading back towards the holy dwellings.

Although you weren't afraid of stepping inside before, but now that you were here you couldn't ignore the way that the fear clutched at your throat. Threatening to spill out at a moment's notice. But, you reminded yourself why you were here. Why you dared to step onto the cold cobble stone beneath your feet, and dared to trekk on through.

Your dear Lady. Your Mistress you serve.

Lady Persephone.

You reminded yourself that you were doing this all for her. Those lonely nights, where you could hear the soft sobbings from her cabin. The way she quietly mourned as she tended to her garden. How she always looked at you in that radiant, warm smile, telling you she was fine. You knew it within your heart. Within your very being. She was not fine. She was hurting. She was in pain.

Although she never says it, and she never tells you fully as to why, you knew. Something had happened to her long ago in the Underworld. Something that she barely speaks about. That only on nights where she is tired, and exhausted, and maybe had a sip or two of wine with her warm dinner, does she let something slip.

Whispers of a life she once had. Shadows of pains she has yet to ever speak of. An ache in her very being in the way that she tended to her gardens and little hut, never stopping to rest until she either hurt herself, or pushed her limits.

You, her little dryad, watched her for years.

Grew under her care. Helping her tend to that little garden of hers. Your tree—your pomegranate tree—was one of the trees that your Mistress Persephone used for one of her protection wards. And you've taken pride in it. In the fact that the goddess herself choose you and your tree to be her very ward. That you were to be her protector where she resides.

So, why is a nymph of the woods daring to break into the Underworld, you may ask?

Well, it is simple.

You wish to speak to the Lord of it. Lord Hades. And ask him why he has isolated his queen. Why he dares to give her such grief. To make him tell you what had happened that your Mistress Persephone weeps into her pillow at nights, whispering sobs of "my baby" leaving her lips.

Had he casted her out when she provided a child? Had he abused your Mistress? Or, had he done much, much worse to her that she dares not tell you?

You, her pomegrante dryad, who's very wood protects her house.

Although you are scared, your very being screams at you to run and never return to here, you force yourself to step forwards. You remind yourself, that tree roots naturally break through the ground. How vast their expanding branches and roots may be. How their roots could take place through the tiniest of stones, and even break them.

You will force your way through, you've decided. Like the roots of your trees. You will expand your reach. You will break whatever stone that gets in your way. You will slither through whatever cracks you may cross. All to get deeper. All to go farther.

All for your Mistress.

All for your Lady Persephone.

You can not fail here.

-----------

"I will not ask again," he commanded. "How did you get down here?"

You flinched in the way he spoke to you.

You found it hard to respond, your voice struggling to break through. You couldn't even stop the shiver that racked through your body. The way his cold hand clutched your arm, tightly, restrictive, not willing to let you escape. Your heart was pounding so loudly in your chest you wondered if he could hear it.

After all, he was Death itself.

God of Death, Thanatos.

You felt like your soul could slip out of your body with the way he held your arm. Like he could reach in and just pull your very soul out of you. The thought scared you. You still had much to do. You're not even close to where your goal resides. And yet you've been found, stuck in the hands of the God of Death himself.

You reminded yourself why you were here. Of your Mistress Persephone. Of her warm smiles, of her loud laughter, of her callosed but gentle hands. A goddess who was never afraid to get into the dirt and stick her hands right in. A woman who never seemed afraid of work. A protective rage began to be lit in your chest. Remembering her weeping nights. Of your attempts of comfort. Of all the times you've witness her fall into herself, not knowing you were peeking around the corner, never letting you fully comfort her.

You reminded yourself that nature was a cruel, yet challenging force. You dared to look into the face of the God of Death, and you forced yourself not to waver. As a dryad you've always knew. You knew how easily Death could come and take you. How fragile your lives could be. Yet you forced yourself to look at him with a fiery gaze. Willing your rage to show in the single look.

For even Death, in all his cold, yet handsome glory, seemed almost taken aback by you. Although he could feel the tremble in your arm that he held. How he had seen that look of fear in your face that all living beings had whenever they saw him. You dared to look him in the eyes. A thing that not many did.

You dared to look at him in his shining, golden, unyielding eyes. How they glowed against his grey skin. His skin reminding you of dark earthen clay, and not greying corpses. How his hair, pale and white, had strands that hung in front of his face. Like silken white curtain snow. His dark hood darkened his features, made it almost hard to really see his entire face, but there was no misplacing the way his eyes glowed in that godly sense of power. Black robes, and blacken hood, with armor and gauntlets in the color of an almost faded gold.

You dared to look at him, in his cold, yet handsome glory. Almost losing yourself in the way he looked, you pressed through, forcing your will to let you speak. You dared take a step towards him, eyes unwavering from his own, challenging him and his space. You caught the way his head slightly pulled away, clearly surprised by a dryad daring to press themselves further into Death himself. It only fueled you in your actions.

"I've come to speak to your Lord," You stated, voice almost trembling as you spoke, but you willed yourself to speak. "I've come to speak to Lord Hades himself. Do not think me an ordinary nymph I am sure you've come across. I come seeking answers—answers that I will not stop until I have them!"

The god Thanatos regards you for a moment. His golden eyes taking notice of your face, then traveling down to your clothes, your body, and back up to you. You tried not to shiver under the gaze. In how he evaluated you. In that cold, calculating look. His features did not give hint to what he was thinking of. Of what he thought as he gazed upon you. But you kept your hands clutched into fists, your body still tense in his hold, as your mind was already trying to think of ways to break free and make a run for it.

But, he then did something unexpected that even made you falter.

He let out a single breathy chuckle, almost huffing, as his mouth quirked into a smirk.

"My, what a daring little wood nymph," he spoke at last. Sounding humored by you. "You are a long way from your tree, little dryad. What is it that you wish from Lord Hades?"

You hesitated. Should you really trust him, you wondered? To tell him why you dare venture so far down? A part of you screamed to tell him nothing. To not give him a single ounce of your time. But, then the other part said tell. Tell him maybe a thing or two. The God of Death was clutching at your very arm and you would dare be cross with him? You had to play this right. You had to play this carefully.

If you didn't, he could take your soul right where you stood.

"I come in the name of my Mistress," You spoke barely above a whisper, afraid of others hearing what you have to say, only loud enough for him to hear. "I come seeking to speak with Lord Hades about my Mistress, Lady Persephone."

-----------

"Hey, just what are you? I've never seen a person like you before."

You clicked your tongue, wringing out your bottom robe of the water that soaked them. As you twist with your hands you barely gaze up from the person who had knocked you down. Granted, he did save your life, but he didn't have to get you all wet whilst doing it.

"Rather rude to ask a person what they are, don't you think?" You scoffed, more focused on drying your clothes than to look at him.

"Sorry, I had meant no offense, truly." The man said as he stepped closer towards you, now being in the corner of your sight. "Let's try this again, yeah? My name is Zagreus. What's yours?"

A soft sigh escaped your mouth as you dropped your clothes, getting out as much water as you could. For someone who annoyed you, at least he was quick to apologize. As you lifted your head to gaze up at him, seeing how he was holding his hand out to you, your jaw slightly slacked at the sight of him.

You certainly didn't think that going into the Underworld would have you meeting all these gorgeous people.

He reminded you of a god, the way his facial features seemed chistled. The way he seemed so similarly mortal. But the greyness of his skin and the flickering flames at his feet told you differently. At first you thought, maybe he was a kind of Underworldly being. Like Furies, or daemons, maybe. But, you've noticed that Gods tend to have the ability of being almost "larger than life," and the man before you seemed fitting of the phrase.

But when you caught sight of his eyes, by the gods themselves, was he handsome. One eye glowing red, seeped into a darkness and shadow that almost seems to naturally try to encase it. But then his other eye, green as fresh grass, stared down at your form in curiosity. It almost took your breath away by the sight.

Then, something began to itch in the back of your mind as you continued to stare. The way his hair as black as ash was swept to the side in a spiky mess. The green eye that peered down at you. It was strange to you, looking at him. As if you had seen him before, but not quite. You caught sight of the flaming laurals upon his head and knew that, yes indeed, he was a god. God of what you were unsure, as you knew if he was the one you were after, he probably would not be this kind towards you, and introducing himself in a name you've never heard before.

You knew of enough of the gods. Lady Persephone would sometimes ramble, usually mad or frustrated, about the Gods of Olympus. Even without her aid, you've learned about them through the gossips of plants and nymphs. However, you never heard of a Zagreus before. Was he perhaps a chthonic god, you wondered? Like Thanatos, the God of Death.

You watched as he falted, his eyes gazing away from you as his lips pressed together in an awkward line. His hand fell away from you, and you realized to your horror that you hadn't answered him. Instead you stared like a bafoon and probably insulted him.

"I-I'm sorry–" You quickly tried to correct yourself and gave him your name, not thinking twice on the importance of that fact, and quickly offered your hand out to him. "–I was just… Lost in thought, I suppose. I did not mean to offend you, I apologize."

Zagreus gave you a small smile, one that somehow took your breath away, and took your hand. There was a chill in his finger tips, one that made you shiver, like all the other Underworldly beings seemed to have. But the palm of his hand contradicted his fingers, being warm, and calloused. You didn't expect them to be big enough to enveloped yours, but he had, as he gently shook your hand.

"None taken," Zagreus said as you noticed the way his eyes flickered to gaze upon you. Did all gods like to do that to you? "I've never heard of a name like yours. Nor have I really seen you before. Have you always been here, in Elysium?"

Oh, thickets, of course he realized. A guess a part of you shouldn't be surprised. You didn't exactly blend in well with the spirits and tormented souls all around you. Yes, this place was Elysium, where heroes and gentle souls go, but you were still a sore thumb through it all. You gently pulled your hand away, realizing he was still holding it, and allowed it to rest upon your arm. Hugging yourself. A barrier added between you and him. You hadn't noticed his reluctence on letting go of your hand, or the way it hovered in the air once you let go.

"I… Guess you could say it's a first, for me," You murmured as you were afraid of saying too much. "If you are unsure of what I am, I am known as a Dryad. Or, tree Nymph. Which ever works for you, I suppose…"

"A dryad? Fascinating," Zagreus said as he looked you up and down again. "I haven't met many of those before. You said this was your first time here? Freshly dead, are you?"

A part of you couldn't help but blink at him. Did he… truly believe you to be dead? You felt your heart leap in your chest at the notion. Perhaps he wasn't as sharp as the others you had encountered on your way here. Maybe that'd a little rude to say. He seemed almost… naive to you. Like he hadn't heard much about the being that you are. Maybe you shouldn't blame him. After all, with so many dead spirits floating around, even you have a hard time telling who is mortal and who was other.

"…You could say that," You said. Not wanting to lie to him, feeling almost guilty for it. He has been kind to you so far. A thing you haven't experienced much in this place. It felt almost foreign to you even now.

"I should… probably thank you from before." You formally faced him and gave him a slight bow, a hand gently on your chest, and the other grabbing your robe to lightly hold it out. "Thank you for saving me. I appreciate it very much."

"No problem, and uh, you don't need to bow," Zagreus said as he gently reached out to you and lifted you lightly by your shoulders. You couldn't help but take notice in the way he was holding your shoulders now. "But, I do have to say…" Zagreus spoke as he raised a brow to you. "For someone who's dead, I can't normally feel them in this way."

Oh, thistle…! Guess you should have thought it more through…!

---------

Oh, how your muscles burned.

You panted lightly as you glared lightly at your opponent across from you.

A whiched grin was carved onto her brightly painted lips. Clearly huffing herself. You've made it this far, keeping up with the whiched Fury who practically towered over you. Her single wing large enough to probably envelope you whole. You could see the cuts on her arms that you gave her. More like nicks, than anything substanial. But a wound was a wound, and she was panting just as much as you were.

That had to mean something.

"My, who would've thought a little plant such as yourself could be so clever?" The Fury chuckled, using a knuckle to wipe away a spot of grime that got onto her cheek.

It made you shiver, the way she laughed. How almost sultry she spoke, how her voice unnaturally echoed within itself. Gods, was everyone down here so pretty? You had no idea that a famed tormentor of the Underwold could be so damned attractive. But as pretty as she may seemed, you had a job to do. A mission that she was in the way of. You couldn't afford the distraction now. You had to keep pressing onwards. And you knew, deep within your very being, that if you stopped now, you were never going to make it back to this point.

You couldn't afford to lose.

"That's the thing with you powerful beings," You responded and squared your shoulders higher. Trying to keep your pride. Trying to not show the way your arms trembled before her. "All you ever see is our pretty faces, and believe us to be just that. Pretty. But I am far more than that…"

You held your hands out in front of you, fingers hooked in claws as they wiggled methodically in the air. The Fury's smirk faded as she felt a rumble beneath the ground. She gazed down, perturbed, only to be shocked as roots rapidly emerged from the ground where she stood. She tried to jump back but you were far quicker. The roots wrapped around her, keeping her held down, her one wing flapping as she struggled against the strong spell you've cast.

You've begun to move your hands now, moving them in circles in front of you, as if stirring a pot, encouraging your roots to grow. They tightened around her, thickening. Pulling her to the ground. The Fury gazed up at you, challenge in her eyes, as she just scoffed in your direction.

"What, you think this'll keep me down?" The Fury known as Megaera said as she almost seemed amused by your attempts. "I can break out of this with ease. Is that all a weak little plant like you has to offer?"

"My goal wasn't to keep you restrained," You spoke as you eyed her coldly. "I am not as merciful as your prince appears to be. Do you know what kind of tree I am?"

You didn't let her respond. As you felt the roots were enough, watching the way they crawled up her arms, legs, and even to her neck, you felt like it was the perfect time. With one quick motion you threw your arms up, hands opening up and fingers spread wide.

Thick, large, jagged thorns produced from the vines. You heard the way the Fury grunted, teeth gritting, as rapidly thorns began piercing her body. You tried not to flinch at the sounds made, tried not to flinch at the sight of her blood you spilled. The Fury had no time to react as the thorns shot out like daggers, piercing her all over her body. By the time they got to her neck she was throwing her head back, yelling into the air, feeling the pain take her.

You willed yourself to be strong. To not waver from the sight. You were so close. You've made it so far. You could not back down from this fight, even if you had only ever wanted to avoid it. It was she who demanded blood. But it will not be yours that gets spilled today.

"…I am a pomegranate dryad," You spoke allas, as you could feel the strain from it all beginning to take toll on you. "I may bare fruit and pretty flowers, but I also bare thorns and tough skin. Good luck trying to pierce mine. I am not as dainty as you may think."

Megaera rasped a breath, seeming to struggle to breathe with thorns in and against her throat. But what you hadn't expected was a laugh. It came out soft, almost strained and raspy, then it grew. She threw her head back laughing, her voice echoing even within the chamber. A noise that made a shiver go down your spine like fingers had traced your back. It made your confidence waver.

Why was she laughing?

The Fury then gazed upon you, a grin baring as she laid her eyes on you. It made you let out a soft gasp, seeing the reinvigorated Fury behind those golden eyes. Although she wasn't as terrifying to look at like the others, there was a something off in that smile. A crazed look in her eyes. Hungry, you thought. Predatory. Like a beast that has smelled blood and knows it must feast.

And you? Although it was you who had attacked, you felt like a deer who has been caught in eyesight.

"Alright, fine. Let's play it your way," Megaera said with a wicked grin. One pulled so far it was now that you noticed the sharp canines in what appeared to almost be normal teeth.

It happened so fast.

She shot up in the air, your roots and vines breaking, her completely being free from your grasp. You couldn't help but shield your face from the wind she created, your eyes struggling to remain open as she flew. By the time the wind eased you lowered your arms in time to see Megaera landing, whip in hand, as she brought herself to stand to her towering height. You tried not to let yourself shudder, tightening your stance as you realize that she wasn't as easy as Zagreus always made it seem to be.

"What're you waiting for, petals?" Megera smirked at you, brandishing her whip with a quick crack. "I'm going to enjoy marking your skin…"

Your stomach twisted at the words, a quick flush in your body, but you brace yourself nonetheless. You reminded yourself that this could mean your life on the line. You hadn't challenged her for giggles or anything like that. In order to meet the Lord of the Underworld, you are going to have to get past her.

Oh, Lady Persephone, forgive me.

-------------

"Run! Go!"

Your breath quickened as you turned and ran.

You could hear the sounds of barking behind you.

Your heartrate quickened as you focused on running, too afraid to look back. Your feet pounded against the ground, echoing in the rooms as you ran. You were unaware of the shades that watched you, intrigued, or the way that there was shouting for the doors to shut. You could see them. The doors closing.

"Cerberus, heel! Down boy!" Zagreus's yells could be heard.

But even you were sure that no matter how much he yelled, the monsterous dog wouldn't listen.

You heartbeat quickened, the pulse quickening in your ears, as your blood felt almost cold. Every bark that boomed, every snap of jagged jaws, brought terror into your soul. You had made it so far! You had been so close! And although you didn't want to leave, you had no choice, otherwise that three headed monster would kill you.

You could feel the ground reverberate with each stomp of his paws. Hear the way his claws clicked and dug into the ground. How each bark made you flinch and want to cover your ears as they boomed in your ear canals.

Once again you felt like the deer.

Pure fear striking you, your eyes set on the closing doors as you felt your hopes diminishing. As you got closer to the doors, seeing the gap closing more and more, your heart pounding as you felt panic taking over, you realized finally.

After all this time.

After all this fighting.

You were going to die.

And your mistress, your precious Lady Persephone, would be none the wiser into how you disappear. At the very least, you thought, that she would still have your tree to be her ward. But she will not have you. Her protector. Her Dryad. Her "little sprout."

Lady Persephone will no longer have her pomegranate dryad.

The thought in itself brought a cry through you lips as you could sense the snapping jaws behind your back. You will never see your Lady smile again. Feel the sun rays upon your skin. Help tend to her garden with her, and talk for hours and hours about whatever comes to your mind. You won't ever feel her warm hands, or feel her warm comforting embrace.

Oh, what a fool you were.

You had gotten so far.

It was unfair!

Yet, that was life.

Unfair. Harsh and brutal. Like the cold weather that frosted the lands for months on end. That even on calm days you had to fight just to live. That living was an unless struggle. A cycle. One that a nature spirit such as yourself understood well. You live, you thrive, you produce fruits and flowers, and something will cause you to wither and die. You decay, and life will eat upon your corpse, so that they may live and thrive, and continue it's never ending cycle.

You felt as though you were used to the idea of death.

That you would die, ride upon the ferryman's boat, and face judgement.

But now here you are, running from the embodiment of death behind you, feeling it's unnaturally hot breath and feeling it's jaws snapping at you, afraid to die.

Afraid to die by his maws.

Afraid to be pierces by his claws.

You could see it now, him chomping down on you, snapping you in two.

You'd wither up into bark, your life ending, as food for the dog of the Underworld.

Perhaps he will use you like a stick toy, playing with your corpse, until he grew bored of you. Maybe it was the only way.

The only way to see Lord Hades himself.

It occured to you, through all the panic in your mind, your heart leaping in fear, and your legs burning in strain as you urged them to move faster. That maybe, just maybe, the only way to see the Lord of the Underworld himself, was to die.

All for your Mistress.

[Mother Miranda's Chapel - Meeting of the Lords]

"Welcome to this meeting, Children; I have summoned you today because something has come to my attention and I want you all to deal with it as soon as possible," Miranda said behind her golden mask as her blue eyes glared out at the 4 Lords of the Romanian Village - mere puppets in her grand scheme to revive her daughter, Eva. This situation however didn't have anything to do with the revival of her daughter...well..perhaps it didn't. This new objective could aid her in her mission of reviving Eva.

"What is this new objective, Mother Miranda? How can House Dimitrescu be of service to you?" Alcina - The Head of House Dimitrescu - asked with her cigarette in her hands safely secured in her cigarette holder before taking a puff and blowing the smoke in Karl's direction, making the 4th Lord growl at her in irritation.

"There is a man in the woods - I want you to bring him to me alive. He shall be the one to stand by my side and rule the village as my husband." Miranda said as a blush crept across her face, making the other members of the family look at her with confusion on their faces.

"A Man? What kind of man could be worthy enough to stand by your side, Mother Miranda?" Alcina asked - truly confused by her mother's request to find a man that lives in the woods - truly a primal man if she lived in the forest with no civilization. Why would she allow such a filthy male to stand beside her mother in a higher position than her?

"This man is no ordinary mortal - he is a supernatural creature known as a Dryad, a nature spirit that causes the life around them to flourish regardless of the condition the land is in." Miranda explained.

"A Dryad? In Romania? How is that possible and how did he go undetected for so long?" Angie asked as Donna spoke through her

"I am uncertain how he was unable to remain hidden from my sight for so long but I am glad that I found him. I have seen his power and his visage and I want him to be the one who stands beside me and rules this village; what's more, he has the power of life itself, and he might be able to aid me in reviving Eva. This is your new mission besides researching the Cadou and finding a host to revive Eva: Find this male and get him to join me as my husband." Miranda said as she looked at her children, who all nodded and rose to their feet before leaving the room, and Miranda was alone with her thoughts.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It has been 3 weeks since the meeting with Mother Miranda to find the mysterious Dryad and bring him to Mother Miranda, however, she hasn't had any luck in tracking him but she did notice strange signs that supernatural works were in the making. During her hunting trip with her daughters in search of Deer Meat, they found a pregnant deer grazing on a patch of grass in a field of snow - how could the grass grow during the months of winter? Daniela's mouth watered a the thought of deer meat touching her tongue when she lunged at the creature but was suddenly grabbed by a long root that shot from the ground like a speeding bullet and wrapped around her like a snake around a field mouse. The Other 2 Daughters and Alcina ran from their hiding spots and ran to help Daniela when they were also trapped by the mysterious roots - Alcina tried to summon her claws but she couldn't reach her daughters or herself.

Alcina watched as a figure walked out of the bushes - a male with lightly tanned skin as if his skin was kissed by the sun, snow white hair, and emerald green eyes dressed in a silk robe that covered his body except for his forearms and below his knees - reveal leaves attached to the skin on his exposed skin. This was him - The Dryad that Mother Miranda was looking for.

"The Rules of the Forest state that those who hunt for prey are not allowed to kill female animals or expecting mothers - surely you all knew this before you ventured into my forest." The Dryad stated.

"We're just hunting for dinner, does it matter what gender of animal we hunt?" Bela asked from her restraints.

"Yes, it does. Now, I'm going to release you and I want you to leave this forest & don't return; I care not how you get your meat from now on but you will not hunt for it here any longer." The Dryad said as he lifted his hand and called h roots back, releasing the Head and Heirs of Houe Dimitrescu to their feet. He turned to walk away with the deer when Alcina called out to him, "And what is it that you want?"

"Mother Miranda demands that you join her as her husband and rule the village with her. Come with me and surrender to Mother Miranda's Will." Alcina demanded but the Dryad just shook his head.

"I care not what your leader demands - I follow the Law of Nature, not the words of a grieving woman who believes she is playing god." The Dryad walked into the bushes with the deer and disappeared. Mother Miranda was going to need to find out about him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"YOU HAVE FAILED ME! ALL OF YOU! HOW HARD IT IS TO COLLECT ONE MALE AND GET HIM TO JOIN ME AS MY HUSBAND?! WHY ARE YOU ALL SO FOOLISH?!" The Village Leader roared after getting the mission report from Alcina, another failure in getting her husband - the man who was destined to be hers and hers alone.

"Mother Miranda, he trapped my daughters and me in roots, if I attacked him, he would have most likely killed us." Alcina tried but Miranda wasn't having it.

You smiled gently as you touched the bark of your sacred tree. The birds that have made their home in it, the babies chirping away happily as their mother fed them tiny worms.

Even though you couldn’t exactly hold a conversation with them, you were happy to be in their presence anyway.

Off in the distance, you could hear the faint sounds of male voices talking to one another.

Yes, you were aware that you were not alone in this forest. There were other creatures who seemed to live together in some giant cavern. Although the problem was that you were too shy to actually talk to them.

They seemed like a nice bunch, but another issue was that most of the time you preferred to stay bound to your tree. The lower half of your body was melded into it, thus being entirely made from the same bark. You couldn’t travel too far from it or else you’d grow weak.

With that in mind you worried that one of those guys will try to take you to the cave, too far from your sanctuary, so you stayed hidden the best you could.

Suddenly, you heard a rumble of thunder and looked to see dark storm clouds swiftly approaching, gradually engulfing the forest in darkness.

How long were you daydreaming for...?

Either way, you disappeared back inside the safety of your tree. You decided to snack on some fruits and edible flowers you’ve gathered and wait until the storm passed.

From within your tree, you were capable of viewing the outside world whenever you wanted to, just to ensure that there were no dangers.

However, the storm came quicker than you expected, as rain began pouring down at a rapid rate and the clouds lit up with lightning. Thankfully, though, exterior of your tree muffled the sound of loud thunder.

As you were about to stop looking outside, your eyes widened in horror as a bolt of lightning struck down on a tree near yours. It immediately flared up, spreading to the branches, down the trunk, and to the grass.

At that point the rain was slowing down, doing little to extinguish the growing fire as it neared your tree.

In panic, you emerged from your home, shrieking a bit as you realized how close the threat was to your precious home.

But before you could figure out what to do, you saw some black bird-like creature swoop down.

It flapped its wings, which seemed to have holes in them, oddly enough, towards the flames, directing them away from your tree. Slowly, but surely, they dispersed, the rain extinguishing the few flames that lingered.

Once the fire cleared, you looked and gasped lightly at who your savior was, watching him turn from a bird into a partial human.

~Henrik’s POV~

With a sigh, Henrik smiled as he managed to stop the fire altogether. He was surprised that his wings were capable of doing that, but he was nevertheless glad.

After turning back to his normal form, he glanced over, eyes widening as he realized there was someone bound to the giant tree he just saved.

It was a woman who appeared to be in her late 20s, with lush flowers in her [h/c] hair, leaves tied with vines around her body to cover her breasts, and flower petals and bulbs growing from her cheeks. He could also see that she had the most beautiful shade of green eyes he’s ever seen.

Seeing this, and noticing that her lower body was melded into the tree bark......he realized she was the Dryad he rarely ever saw.

“A-Ah..hello zhere..”

~Your POV~

Upon hearing the man-bird hybrid speak, you squeaked in both surprise and fear, retreating back into your tree.

“Hey..vait! I’m sorry! I...didn’t mean to frighten you, my dear.”

Upon hearing his worried tone of voice, you hesitantly reappeared, looking at him up and down. “I-It’s...okay,” you mumbled. “I....th-thank you for saving my tree.”

Henrik blinked slowly, gazing upwards. “Ah..so zhis is your home, hmm? Vell..” He looked back at you, gently smiling as he crouched down. “..you’re most velcome. I’m Nachtkrapp, although..you may call me Henrik.”

Nachtkrapp? What an interesting name that was..

“I’m..[y/n], a Dryad..i-in case you weren’t sure,” you smiled back at him nervously.

“Oh, I know,” he chuckled. “My friends over zhere..” He gestured to the cavern with his wing. “..specifically Marvin kept insisting zhat he saw a Dryad hanging around zhis very area. Vell I see zhat silly cat vas right after all.”

You blushed slightly. “You..have a cat that talks?”

“Precisely a Cait Sidhe,” Henrik told you. “Ve are actually a family of Wendigo, Selkies, Verebears, Banshees, and more. And ve all congregate at zhat cave and do vhat ve can to take care of each other and our home.”

“That sounds..nice.”

“It is indeed..so...do you vish to meet zhem?”

“O-Oh! I’d love to but...” You sighed softly, looking down and placing your hand on one of the overgrown roots at the base. “..unfortunately I can’t be too far from my tree for too long.”

“Ah..” He frowned slightly. “How unfortunate, indeed, but not to vorry!” A smile reappeared on his face. “Ve could alvays come visit you!”

You glanced back up, blinking in surprise, a slight blush dusting your cheeks. “R-Really?”

The Nachtkrapp nodded. “You seem very nice, and I’m sure zhey vill love to meet you. But since you look like zhe shy type, I’ll be sure zhey visit you one at a time until you’re comfortable enough to see all of zhem.”

After giving it some thought, you nodded in understanding, giving him an even bigger smile. “I would love that, Henrik. Thank you...thank you so much. Here.” You reached up, picking out a small bundle of berries and handing it to him. “Take this..as my gift of thanks for saving my tree and I.”

“Oh?” He quirked an eyebrow, examining the fruit as he took it from you. “Danke, [y/n].”

“Would you mind...staying a while and telling me about yourself and your friends?”

Henrik nodded in response, relaxing as he munched on the sweet, delicious berries. “I vouldn’t mind a bit..I do need to catch a break from zhem sometimes..”

You smiled gently, sighing in content.

By then the storm had completely passed, and the sun was shining down on the forest you shared with your savior.

His eyes crinkled at the edges, a hint of a warm smile when he said your name and leaned in to gather you in his arms. However, he hesitated halfway, realizing he was covered in filth from the hunt and paused before his skin could touch yours. 

He stepped back, looking a little wistful, and you couldn’t help but smile wider as you gestured for him to lean in. You lifted a hand to his clothed cheek, offering a gentle caress in place of a hug.

"Welcome back!" you called. He echoed your words with a grin, "Back!" His arm twitched as if to reach for you, then he shook off the impulse and turned to the farthest corner to clean his hunted game.

You watched as he got to work, skinning and cleaning, bits of viscera smeared up onto his elbows. You should’ve looked away, disgusted by the process, yet there was something in the way his back muscles flexed as he pulled the creature’s limbs from its sockets with his bare hands. His biceps bunched, forearms strained, and knuckles whitened as he tore the meat from the bone. The strength he possessed was haunting, almost terrifying, and then it hit you:

You had never seen him wield an axe or any weapon to take down game. He was using the very same bare hands that were now stained with blood, their power unimaginable. And yet, with the way he held you close, ever so gently, it was a stark contrast. Mighty to others, but tender towards you, his touch reverent and worshipful, like handling a delicate, precious flower.

Your skin still remembers him from the night before, the lingering warmth of his body pressed against you, and your sap dampens your skin at the memory, carrying the faint trace of him—

König paused mid-motion, his shoulders tensing before he slowly turned his head your way, his blue eyes wide. You could see the burlap shift ever so slightly, as if he were catching your scent, and your cheeks heated when you realized even with all the blood and viscera from the game, he could smell your sap underneath it all, subtle yet intoxicating.

The elders once told you that Dryads were born with temptation coursing in their veins. In the past, the sap secreted served a far more dangerous purpose, used to lure many a traveller to their deaths, vines smothering them the moment your kind deemed it necessary. It was always meant to protect the village or deliver swift execution when any one of your kin was threatened.

But that was archaic; it was only done during a time you only heard about in passing.

Although the effect remained the same, today it was nothing more than an aphrodisiac, meant to draw lovers close. That was precisely what was unfolding as you stared at one another now.

König’s head tilted as he regarded you with a primal hunger. He remained still, and his hesitation was evident in every subtle shift of his posture. A shiver coursed through him, not from the cold, but from the heat prickling his skin and flushing his scarred flesh. In those piercing blue eyes, his pupils had already dilated with longing. 

You would have taken the initiative, as you had the night before, longing to feel him buried deep inside you, where no other man could ever reach, yet you held back. You knew he wanted the same, yet you couldn’t let it be only desire that drew you together. So you remained frozen in place, even as your eyes betrayed every ounce of the lust you felt.

Just when you expected him to close the distance between you in three quick strides — a thought that was both frightening and oddly arousing — he suddenly turned away and went back to cleaning, shaking off the primal urges that had crossed his mind.

To say you felt a bit disappointed would be an understatement, yet you chose to leave things as they were. It was for the best, at least for now.

As the day's work finally caught up with you after hours of patching up the cave-in, you shifted under the furs until you were comfortable. You let his lingering scent envelop you, and gradually, your muscles relaxed and your eyelids grew heavy until sleep took you completely.

—

When you rose in the wee hours of the morning, you noticed the chamber was already clean and orderly. Slabs of meat hung from a long, stripped branch laid across a pair of stakes, high enough above the fire that the smoke could cure them until the next meal.

König slept in the corner, his form a single dark shape where the furs draped over him blended with the shade of his burlap mask. As he shifted, his neck bent at an awkward angle that looked painfully stiff. Concerned, you walked over and touched his arm, your fingers gentle yet firm against his skin. When his eyes fluttered open and met yours, he blinked in confusion.

“Come to bed,” you murmured, pointing to the piles of furs before rubbing your own neck to show what you meant.

“You’re going to get a crick in your neck sleeping like that.”

His eyes narrowed, trying to make sense of the words. “Stay here,” he mumbled in the Commonfolk tongue, already on the verge of dozing off.

You almost scoffed and nudged him again, making him grumble. At last, he relented, and with a soft huff, he gathered the furs he had with him and followed suit. You slipped beneath the covers first, settling on the farthest side closest to the wall, before he joined you and climbed in after, the bedding sinking under his weight.

Immediately, his scent flooded your senses, making your mouth water. Even asleep, his arm ghosted over you and scooped you backward out of instinct, pressing you flush against his chest. He was like firelight, never scalding, just a steady, comforting heat that slowly eased your breath until you, too, had fallen back asleep.

The sun filtered through the thick canopies, dappling your pathway with tiny patches of light as you headed for a small clearing to gather more herbs and flowers. 

You had already collected everything the apothecary asked for the day prior. Yet, you found yourself searching instead for anything the village healer might need, even if she never asked you for any favours. It was partly to repay the kindness she had shown when she tended to your injury, and partly because you needed something else to focus on. Staying in the cave meant giving in to the desire that clung to you like a second skin, which was precisely what transpired that morning:

Sleep hadn’t quelled the urge you felt once you roused from slumber. As soon as you stirred awake, so did König, his large arm still slung over your waist. 

You felt him shift, his body inadvertently pressing against your backside. You should have said something, or at least not goaded him, and you knew better than to stoke the fire, but when you purposefully ground your derrière back against the hard length of him, all self-control was thrown away, followed by your clothes.

The chamber was filled with gasps and praises as time seemed to slip by. Every thrust of his hips, paired with each eager swipe of his fingers over your sensitive bud, had you coming apart. It was all a little too much, teetering on overstimulation as your body quivered, and a long while passed before his rhythm finally faltered and slowed.

Although you would have willed your body to succumb for him once more, you were far too spent, and with a shudder, his climax surged through you, warmth filling you to the brim.

König shifted to lie on his side, taking you with him, still seated deep within you, softening slowly, holding you there for what seemed like forever, breathing in your scent. His arms held you close as he lazily gave your waist a gentle squeeze.

With a contented sigh, he brushed his clothed face against the top of your head like a kiss, then gingerly pulled out before staggering away, retreating into the darkness. You weren’t sure where he was going, and you would have followed, but you were completely undone.

If the Sisters could see you now, spend dripping and pooling between your legs, they would have sneered and called you unseemly names. But you didn’t care; if they see you unfit to be a part of the Dryadic Temple, so be it—

But that was just the lust talking, clouding your mind. You shook your head to clear your thoughts, trying to dispel the lingering high coursing through your veins. You didn’t want to be shunned by your brethren. Even though times had changed and some people began forming unions with others beyond their customs and traditions, the temple still frowned upon Sisters who broke its rules or stepped out of line.

Even as you tried to focus, gathering herbs primarily for treating stomach ailments and skin lesions, which were often scarce due to the high demand from the various folk who passed by the village healer’s hut, flashes of that morning clung to your mind.

The sensation of him flush against your body, as if reshaping you to take him fully, made your legs tremble as you bent over the plants. Maintaining your balance was challenging, and given your current condition, you considered collecting some herbs that might help with your boneless state since you were already out in the area.

After a while, though, you gave up and returned to the cave with only half of what you had intended to gather. 

“Not much done this day,” you admitted to yourself.

Once back in the chamber, König greeted you with a warm embrace, and you melted as your face pressed against his scarred chest, inhaling his scent. It overwhelmed you, and a rush of emotion began to swell within you. On impulse, you quickly pushed him away, perhaps a bit too harshly. He looked confused, maybe even a little hurt, but you offered him a reassuring, sheepish smile.

He watched you with concern as you began preparing a meal, a stew for the two of you. When your hand trembled and the knife clattered against the table, König was immediately by your side, checking to see if you were alright.

All you could do, however, was laugh, leaving him baffled as you dabbed at the tears forming in the corners of your eyes.

“I’m alright, König,” you said, still catching your breath. You weren’t sure why you were laughing; maybe it was too much euphoria, or perhaps something within you, your body still throbbing with need, had taken over.

You were puzzled, wondering why every time your arousal spiked, König, who should have been affected by it, seemed to have the opposite effect. It was as if he exuded his own aphrodisiac, intensifying your feelings even further. You had experienced desire before, but you had always been able to control it. Yet here you were, completely undone by his mere presence, a mess of longing and need.

You studied him with curiosity, intrigued by how easily he could sway your desires. His kind was unfamiliar to you: Half-Giants were not exactly rare, but they tended to be reclusive. Even rarer was the other side of him, glimpsed in the glow of his blue eyes and the unearthly tone of his voice.

Perhaps it was this hidden side, the part you had not yet understood, that drew you closer. In ways you could not explain, he had bewitched you, and you found yourself powerless to resist.

Trying to maintain a semblance of normalcy was impossible, and it became a push-and-pull, an unrelenting tension drawing you toward each other. Whenever your eyes met, an instant spark ignited, and you could see his blue eyes burning, ablaze with desire.

But he would look away, and so would you. This occurred once or twice as you went about your tasks around the chambers — him heading out to hunt while you gathered herbs or maintained the space. Yet, amidst all this, you found yourselves slowly overtaken by a hunger gnawing at your very cores.

When an ache you could no longer contain surged through you, and you caught his gaze as he prepared to head out for a hunt, you heard him take a sharp breath and murmur softly in his foreign tongue. The sound was both shy and playful, as if he were in disbelief, silently telling you that you were insatiable.

You didn’t deny it; a wicked smile danced at the corners of your lips, a smile you couldn’t suppress. Your body mirrored his entirely, heat radiating between you, and your mind fogged with desire. You wondered why he bothered hunting at night when he could be sinking his nails into you instead. Your eyes spoke volumes, revealing all the temptation and longing you felt.

Drawn to you like a moth to a flame, he closed the distance, hunting forgotten, and soon you were pressed together again, bodies aligning as if by instinct.

And then, it became a cycle, a repetitive rhythm, a back-and-forth cadence where his body seemed to be always at your beck and call — not out of obligation, but from mirrored hunger.

You could have put a stop to this whenever you wanted; a gentle push or even a look would have him pause in his tracks, one that he wouldn’t object to if you ever say “No”, but you don’t, letting your desires take the reins. 

One brief stroll the next night led your basket to lie forgotten, leaning against the edge of a fallen tree, its contents jostling in tandem with König’s powerful thrusts. His hips collided with yours as you were bent over the gnarled trunk, your hands firmly planted against your lips as you muffled the sound you made every time he bottomed out. 

After the little romp, with even shakier legs, you ended up sitting on the log, unable to walk further, so you directed König on where to go.

“Moonblossom,” you said, gesturing with your hands to form two petals dangling on each side. “The one with silver leaves and a white blossom—yes!” You exclaimed as he finally identified the right plant and gingerly dug it out along with its roots.

He strode leisurely toward you, placing the flower in your open palm where a sheet of wax paper lay. Gently, he wrapped it up and added it to the basket.

You held up three fingers. “I need three more Moonblossoms,” you said, and he nodded slowly before returning to the cluster of plants nearby.

Once you were able to move, or at least waddle, the two of you ventured to a new section. You contemplated silently, thinking of other herbs and flowers that the healer might need while studying the flora in front of you.

You sensed König’s presence behind you as he hovered nearby, ignoring the heat radiating from his skin as you walked away.

Leaning over briefly to examine another plant—a flower with shimmering pink petals curling at the tips and adorned with red dots—you dug it out from the ground using your vines and handed it to König.

“Erb?” he repeated the word you had taught him. You smiled and shook your head.

“No. It’s for you,” you explained. He tilted his head, confused. He glanced behind him at the basket, assuming you might need it, but you took his hand, redirecting his attention back to you.

“No, König, this is for you,” you reiterated, placing the flower in his palm and urging him to close his fingers gently. Understanding dawned on him as he inspected the plant; his eyes sparkled with delight.

You gave him a pat on the arm before returning to your gathering, expecting no more distractions.

Or so you thought.

He wrapped his arm around you, lifting you to his chest, and you squealed with laughter as you hovered a few feet above the ground.

He whispered sweet nothings, nuzzling your neck and hugging you tighter.

“König!” you laughed, playfully hitting his arm. 

“Put me down! We need to get back to work!” But he didn’t relent, burying his face against your hair and inhaling the scent of flowers and leaves in your scalp. 

After a moment, he finally let you go, and you turned to face him. 

“You have to stop distracting me!” you exclaimed, though not angrily, as laughter followed your words. He feigned guilt, hunching his shoulders. He tried to scoop you up again, but you dodged his touch.

“No!” you yelped, pointing a finger at him. “Behave!” you added, still laughing. He flashed you a knowing look, one that seemed to say, “You’re one to talk!”

Moving to a different section of the forest, both of you tried to keep your composure, but it was either one of you distracting the other or vice versa.

As you walked a little further ahead, he shot you another playful look, and you could see the sultry glint in his eyes.

You were about to yell at him to go away when you suddenly paused, feeling a strong instinct reverberate through your body.

König halted mid-step, curious about the sudden change in your expression as you charged toward him.

Gripping his wrist with both hands, you led him down a small hill and hid under the overhanging rocks. He tried to say something, but you shushed him. Vines jutted from the ground, overgrown and clinging to the underside of the rocks, helping to hide your location.

You could barely hear the conversation, but judging by the sound of hooves clicking against the ground and the mix of voices, it was a drove of Centaurs — quite far from their territory since the borders were closed. You weren’t sure why they were there, as they rarely stray from their area to patrol these regions. If they were venturing further south than usual, you suspected there was turmoil somewhere, either forcing them to relocate or sending them out on a hunt. However, centaurs typically hunt in the morning and in pairs, not in a large group.

You held König's arm tightly, hoping they wouldn’t come down the hill. Your pulse quickened at the terrible thought of them discovering your makeshift hideout. You didn’t want König to get hurt if a scuffle broke out.

As you glanced at König, he bristled, alert, his eyes flickering like flames in the dark. You stared at him, pressing a finger to your lips to signal silence and stillness.

“Don’t…” you whispered. He remained tense but didn’t move.

“Looks like someone left their wee basket in th' forest,” a voice called out, rough and raspy, as the sound of another pair of hooves approached.

“Take it. We need all the supplies we can get,” one of them said before they seemed to leave the area. It felt like an eternity had passed, though it was only seconds, when another voice rang out: “What’s this?” one of them asked, his voice clearer and much too close for comfort. Your heart skipped a beat as you dreaded what would come next, hoping to the gods above that they didn’t notice where you were hiding—

“It's just a flower, mate. Leave it.” An irritated scoff erupted from one of the Centaurs, followed by more rumbling as they moved away from the area.

You hesitated to come out of your hiding place, clinging to König. He seemed to be staring at you, his eyes filled with concern.

“What?” you asked. He held your gaze for a moment longer until you understood what he meant.

“It’s just a basket, König; I can make another,” you said, but he still looked devastated, his eyes a bit sullen.

“We can gather again. It’s no trouble,” you added slowly.

The forest fell silent again, apart from the rustling leaves and the wind whistling through the rocks. You waited a few heartbeats before releasing the vines. Only then did you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

When you finally emerged from your hiding spot and inspected the area where you had left, you discovered, as you suspected, that your basket of herbs was gone, and the grass around you was crushed, marked by hoofprints. You simply shrugged it off; it wasn't a significant loss as long as both of you were unharmed.

You noticed König kneeling on the ground, and when you took a peek, it was the flower you gave him, but it was trampled. He seemed stricken, and even if you placed a hand on his shoulder, his gaze was fixed on the crushed petals.

“It’s alright, König.” He turned sharply toward you, not in anger, but with a deep sense of grief, as if the little blossom held far more significance than you had realized. You almost smiled, not out of amusement, but in surprise at how deeply he seemed to care for something so small.

You glanced around at the chaos once more and shrugged your shoulders; there was nothing to do here since your belongings had been stolen.

“I guess it’s time to head back,” you said to him. But before you could start walking, he opened his arms to you. You blinked in surprise as he lifted you before you could protest.

“I can walk, you know,” you said, chuckling. However, the look in his eyes conveyed a different message as he squeezed your thigh, reminding you of what you two had been doing in between your tasks.

You could see a cheeky grin beneath the burlap, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

—

By morning, you had woven a new basket from your own vines, slightly smaller than the one you had taken. You told König you wouldn’t be long, then headed a little south toward the river you had visited a few nights ago.

You collected multiple items this time, from herbs for fevers to ones for gut health. You even paused by the moonblossoms, considering that although their petals were still closed, you could gather them and temporarily plant them by the gloomcaps in the cave until they bloomed. That was your plan — until a shiver ran down your spine, the odd sensation of being watched, followed by the sharp click of hooves behind you.

You immediately turned to look and saw one of the Centaurs from last night. He didn’t move closer; instead, he stayed where he was, a few feet away from you behind the tall grass, but you could see him clearly. His towering form stood out. He wasn’t as tall as König, but he still towered over the tallest stalks of grass.

He backed away a little further, as if to indicate that he meant you no harm.

“Mornin’ lass,” he greeted, your breath caught in your throat as you nodded back in return, your eyes wary and your pulse quickening. He eyes your basket for a brief moment before he speaks again.

“Strange place for a Sister tae be wanderin’ alone in these woods, so far frae the village,” he said, his voice low and raspy. “Did nae one warn ye no’ tae stray?” His tone carried a patronizing lilt, and you bristled at his words.

You held the basket closer, fearing it would get stolen again and unsure of what to say. He raised his hand when he noticed vines slithering around you for protection.

“Ah meant nae harm, lass, jist passin’ through tae keep watch.” He chuckled as he stepped back, but your vines held fast. It was unwise to tangle with strangers, yet anger coursed hot through your veins.

“Why are you here anyway? You’re also far from home,” you said, but with a tremor in your tone. He tilted his head at you as if taken aback by your courage. 

“There’s unrest up north. We’re here tae keep folks safe,” he said, briefly swiping a hand along the dagger at his side, one you hadn’t noticed until now. Before he fully turned away, he added one last warning:

“Best be careful in these parts of the woods, lass. There’s an auld creature that haunts this place. Half man, half beast. Best steer clear of it.” You squinted your eyes, unsure of what it meant, and didn’t know what to say. You only nodded, keeping yourself calm. 

“I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.” 

He lingered for a moment longer, glancing at your basket again, before he turned and galloped away, disappearing past the thickets.

You waited until the hoofbeats faded before letting out the breath that had been stuck in your throat, relieved there hadn’t been a scuffle. But now you had to return to the cave earlier than planned.

Gathering the few remaining herbs you had been trying to organize, you used your vines to create a makeshift strap and slung the basket on your back before walking away, almost running, toward the cave.

“What a curious thing to utter,” you hissed, struggling to grasp the meaning behind that warning. Yet, as the Centaur’s words about the “beast” in the forest echoed in your mind, a sense of unease began to creep upon you.

Half-man, half-beast. 

A creature of old, you recalled, piecing it together:

A creature of old resided in the depths of the dark woods, fierce and formidable, born of towering strength and strange, unnatural lineage, said to haunt the shadows and prey upon those who ventured too far from home.

The warnings from your childhood came rushing back — the cautionary tales your village spoke of to younglings for their own safety.

Bar your doors and windows, and fear the howl that rode the wind.

Half-man, half-beast.

Then it hit you — they were talking about König. 

Anger coursed through you as you realized there was still fear disguised as hatred lurking in the hearts of many toward misunderstood creatures. It was sad that folk still saw others as beasts.

But knowing the creature himself — knowing König, and having seen firsthand how he had proven the rumours wrong…

“A beast?” you bitterly muttered under your breath, shaking your head in disbelief. What beast is heartbroken when a flower is trampled? What beast tenderly holds you close, wrapping you in strong arms, uttering your name in a whisper so quiet it feels like a prayer uttered into the night? His size might intimidate, along with his strength and prowess, and yet no one had ever made you feel the way König made you feel, and no one ever would compare—

You gasped as warmth prickled against your skin. He was no beast, no creature of formidable lore — he was but a man, powerful yet misunderstood, lonely and isolated for centuries. The realization made your heart thrum, and a shiver of sensation pooled in your core.

You almost dropped the basket as memories of the past few days flooded your mind, a dizzying mix of longing, desire, and something more, something deeper than mere lust.

Before you could speak, you realized you were slipping through the small crack König had made when he pushed the slab of rock aside for you to enter the cave, then rolled it back in place.

He uttered your name with the sweetest lilt as he took the basket from you, placing it atop the cart with the others full of herbs. Before he could move away, you wrapped your arms around his waist, holding him close, burying your face in his back.

He repeated your name as a question, as if to ask if you were alright. You didn’t want to share the details of the encounter, not because you feared him, but because you were worried about what he might do. You didn’t want others to learn about him or where he was hiding; if they already knew, you didn't want them to rally together and hunt him down.

He was too precious, nothing like the warnings you had heard; if he had terrorized the vicinity for centuries, you would’ve known as the pulse of the earth would warn you of his evil, but he exudes no such energy, no such malice. Rumours were just rumours.

König twisted in your grasp and lifted you higher in his arms, burying his covered face in your hair as he whispered words you didn’t understand.

You held him tighter, pressing his face against your chest. You chuckled softly at the absurdity of it all, at how ridiculous others’ perceptions of him were. You are a daughter of nature, a maiden attuned to the pulse of the earth, yet you would go to great lengths to protect him, and if anything went awry, you would shroud those who ever tried to harm him, ensnaring every single being nearby with your vines—

A sound escaped König’s mouth, and you didn’t realize you were smothering him until he pulled away for a breath of air, his eyes wide. 

He cautiously said your name, and you apologized for getting lost in thought.

“Sorry, love,” you said with a cheeky smile, gently caressing his clothed face. He gazed into your eyes and noticed a look he hadn't seen before. He didn't recoil; instead, curiosity softened his expression. That intensity didn't frighten him; rather, it pulled him closer, making the air between you thrum with unspoken anticipation.

It was your last night together before you had to leave and return to the village. You had been away much longer than intended; while you would have loved to stay longer, you worried the Sisters might grow suspicious of your absence.

You carefully packed everything back into your cart, dividing the items into baskets for easier handoff. Most of them were for the apothecary, with one basket set aside for the healer living at the edge of the village.

König sat near the wall, eating his supper. He tore small pieces of cured meat, pulling his mask forward to tuck them into his mouth beneath.

After laying everything out, you helped wipe away the stray bits of grass and plant remnants that cluttered the table.

This was the part you disliked the most: returning to the village. But it was necessary. König was a secret you kept from others, and you intended to safeguard that secret.

When a shadow fell over you, you felt no fear, only a comforting presence.

König whispered your name with reverence as he played with the ends of your hair, then leaned in to inhale your scent while gently pulling you into a warm embrace.

“Stay?” he murmured into your hair. You placed your hand over his large hands.

“I would love to, but... I have to head back,” you replied, and he understood, though he didn’t let go for a while.

He slowly turned you around, and when you pulled away, it was only briefly; you both gazed into each other’s eyes, seeking the same answer, and you saw the sultry look that ignited a spark between you.

You felt a deep hunger within you, one that no food could satisfy. You craved something more primal, a visceral sensation that offered warmth and longing — something only he could provide.

You could see the gears turning in his mind, as if he were trying to recall the right words to say.

“Want… you,” he whispered, uncertain if he had spoken correctly. When your cheeks flushed, he repeated his words with more confidence:

“Want you.”

He placed you on top of the table, the height a tad lower than he preferred, but in that moment, he didn’t mind. He turned you around, positioning you on all fours. With a swift motion, he lifted your skirts, perhaps a bit too forcefully, and bunched them around your waist. All you could do was laugh and sigh as he pressed you down against the surface.

Before you could question his next move, you felt a soft, wet, pliant tongue licking your sensitive bud before he dragged it upward toward your entrance and gingerly pushed his tongue inside you.

You moaned out loud as he drank your sap, too lost in pleasure to hold back. His hands slid along your thighs, spreading them wider as his thumb swiped over your bud in steady, repetitive strokes.

It dawned on you that he had his face buried between your thighs, something you had only ever dreamt about. Your legs quivered as he sucked on your folds, the sounds so obscene you might have recoiled and shied away. Yet the way he feasted on you like a starving man receiving his first meal in years held you in place. You could not have pulled away even if you wanted to.

You whined when his tongue left your nethers, the edge of release slipping out of reach, though he gave you a few more languid licks before pulling back, but it still wasn’t enough.

You were already soaking wet, quivering, sap dripping down the edge of the table and onto the ground. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him sit on his haunches before he gently pulled you onto his lap.

He felt like a furnace against your skin, the leather of his breeches drawn tight around his massive length. Once he untied and shucked them off, he lifted you without a moment’s pause. The crown caught at your entrance, and the needy, guttural sound of your name on his tongue made your breath hitch as he eased you down, slow and steady, until he was buried fully inside you.

Every press of his hips and every slow drag of his cock against your walls ignited a fire inside you. He caged you in, rutting deep into your core, and all you could do was cry out and surrender to the wave of pleasure consuming you.

There had to be something wrong with you, for no matter how many times you took him, your body still hungered for more. And he was just as willing to give again, and again.

He sank so deep that his shape rose faintly beneath your skin. You touched that place, and he twitched within you, pulling a moan from your throat.

Each movement was slow yet deliberate, your body moulding around him as every thrust made that bulge rise again. Your thighs bracketed his, dangling on either side, as he lifted your hips without effort and pressed you down, savouring the way your walls clenched around him.

He trailed one hand from your hips down between your thighs, spreading your sap over your sensitive bud. The reaction was immediate. Your body sang with pleasure as he finally pushed you over the edge.

“F–Fuck!” You cried out, clamping down around his generous girth and feeling so utterly full. You tried to push his hand away from your clit, but he did not relent. He kept thrusting up into you with a pace that grew harder, jarring your bones.

“K–König! Wai—” your voice broke into a silent scream as he willed your body into another orgasm, your release nearly pushing him out as you gushed sap down his thighs.

“Fuck…” he muttered in a breathy exhale, echoing your own words. His grip tightened as he held you close, rising to his feet and turning toward the furs.

As he lay you down, the bedding sank beneath his weight while he hovered above your smaller frame. Your hair fanned out across the furs, your cheeks flushed, and your thighs still trembled with need. He leaned down to nuzzle your cheek before trailing lower, his clothed face grazing over your bosom.

His blue eyes met yours, and he spoke in his foreign tongue, posing a question as if seeking your permission. Your thoughts were a whirlwind, and although you didn't understand his meaning, you nodded anyway, intrigued to see what he would do next. 

He brushed his hands upwards until he held the strings to untie your top, carefully unwrapping the linen and pushing it aside to reveal your breasts.

König pulled the burlap mask forward, letting the hem fall against one of your breasts as he bent down. His tongue flicked over your nipple, rolling the peak, and a sharp gasp escaped you. His free hand kneaded your other mound, teasing the sensitive flesh until you trembled beneath him.

You barely registered him pulling away to slip your skirts off for easier access, your mind still hazy with euphoria, every nerve alight and craving more.

Moments later, he lifted your hips to press his face against your core, the mask shifted just enough to reveal a hint of alabaster skin before he delved his tongue into you. 

Your body arched instinctively, head pressing against the pillows as shivers of pleasure rolled through you. Warmth pooled between your thighs as you gasped and whimpered while he lapped at you with deliberate, hungry attentiveness, murmuring low praises that made you mute. Each flick and glide of his tongue drew a moan from deep within you, and you could feel him drinking you in with fervent intensity.

By the time he finally pulled back, your body was trembling and slick, utterly undone, and he rose to his knees, pulling you flush against his hips once more. Your bodies pressed together, moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm, each press and glide matched in hungry synchrony, the air around you thick with heat and the dizzying scent of desire.

He grabbed the base of his cock, the tip weeping and dripping onto your mons, and entered you in one slow, deep thrust, stretching you to your limit. The sensation alone was too much, cumming instantly from being filled once more.

You clung to him desperately as his gentle demeanour wavered, and his grip tightened around your waist. His fingers left bruising divots in your skin. Your body was alight, limp and spent, lying there and surrendering to him. You reached for his wrists, as if to tell him to slow down, but you were just as lost as he was.

König moaned your name like a prayer, bottoming out and holding until the pressure made you burst again, tears spilling down your cheeks from overstimulation.

“Too much,” you whimpered as his hands left your hips to wrap around you, pulling you close while still being careful not to crush you with his full weight.

“More…” he moaned, thrusting in short, deep strokes, and you could only wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him closer while clinging to him for dear life. He nudged that spot inside you again and again, willing you to cum.

“More…” he repeated, his voice strained, and your trembling only worsened. “I can’t—I can’t, König, it’s too much—” you mewled, pleading, but he nosed at your cheek and repeated the word again: “More.” You could only whimper as he kept an unrelenting pace, certain it was impossible to give him anything more.

Then he slowed, sliding one hand between you, his thumb swiping over the sensitive nub with deliberate precision. The gentle pressure, paired with the steady glide of his cock, drew another shattering orgasm from you as your chest arched into his, mouth agape in another silent scream. 

Before long, his pace grew messy and his control slipped, and with one final, deep thrust, his cock twitched, spilling his seed deep inside you, leaving you utterly sated and trembling in the aftershocks of pleasure.

The air around you was thick with desire. Vision blurred, he held you close, softening slowly inside and twitching occasionally with the last remnants of his release.

You did not even realize you had fallen asleep, exhausted, limp, and spent, until you woke in the middle of the night to find König had rolled you on top of him, both of you pressed together on his chest, completely passed out. He did not stir when you shifted, just as boneless as you, and you gazed at the two dark voids where his eyes should be, the inky tone around them almost blending with the darkness of the burlap.

You leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to where you thought his lips were, before letting yourself drift back to sleep, warm and safe in his arms.

You left König's dwelling in the early hours of the morning, just before the sun began to rise over the horizon. 

As you both stood near the entrance, your touch lingered longer than it had before, and a comfortable silence enveloped the two of you as he held your hand. You drew him down into a warm embrace, pressing your lips against his clothed cheek, and then, lowering slightly, you placed a tender kiss to where his lips should be beneath the burlap mask.

He didn’t want to let you go just yet, his large arms enveloping you in a tender hug. You inhaled his scent: an earthy aroma with a faint trace of yourself, and blushed at the thought that you must have left some residue on his skin from the previous night.

When he finally set you back down, you conjured up four stalks of lilac, tying the stems together with a small vine before handing them to him.

The promise of your return lingered in the air. As you carried the baskets away, you turned to look at König, who gave you a small wave. Although he looked a bit despondent, he didn’t seem as sad as he was when you first left.

—

It took you some time to reach the village border, as you had to stop and eat a few berries to regain your strength. You planned to make a quick visit to the local healer to get your ankle checked, using it as an excuse before returning home. You wanted to avoid people questioning the peculiar way you were walking.

As you entered her hut, the beads and shells hanging by the door chimed softly. The old woman looked up and greeted you with a gentle smile. Her eyes lingered for a moment longer than necessary, as if she could see something beyond your limp — perhaps a hint of longing or affection in your gaze. There was also a playful glint in her eyes that you found somewhat unsettling.

“How are you, my dear? Is everything going well?” she asked, preparing a concoction for your ankle. You shrugged at her words, replying that you were fine, but her gaze lingered longer, her eyes squinting as her smile remained unchanged.

You sensed she didn’t wish to pry, but a soft giggle escaped her lips. “You seem... happier,” she remarked, her smile widening like a friend who had caught wind of some delightful gossip.

“Is that so?” you said, giving yourself a quick once-over as if dusting off your skirts and linen shirt. Surely, there was nothing that would betray what you had been up to, unless you showed her the faint fingerprints König had left on your hips after gripping them a touch too tightly the night before. You tried to recall each place he had pressed his lips against yours, and there were none on your neck, where they would be obvious. He had to lift the burlap mask to reach your breasts, and that brief glimpse of his lower face had been the first and only time you’d seen it—

That realization made your heart flutter. His piercing blue eyes were familiar, but the rest — his mouth, the curve of his jaw — mainly remained a mystery. You found yourself tracing that fleeting glimpse in your mind, wishing you could press every kiss you had ever longed for against lips mostly hidden.

The old woman saw the change in your expression and let out a joyful, teasing laugh. Her eyes glowed faintly green — non-threatening, yet knowing — and you realized she could sense something, a faint trace of another magic clinging to your skin.

Before you could defend yourself, she waddled to the corner and retrieved a salve, a slim bottle with a bluish sheen. She handed it to you, still grinning.

“Might want to apply this to your vulva when you return to your sweetheart,” she said matter-of-factly, and you felt your cheeks flush as you stammered, realizing the implication of her words.

“Wh—I—There’s no one—“ The old woman raised her hand to still you, clearly amused by your flustered state.

Panic set in as you tried to justify that you had merely been out gathering herbs, which was true but also a half-lie; you and König could hardly keep your hands off each other like lovestruck younglings.

She placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, drawing you back to the present. Her smile remained steadfast. “It’s alright, dear. No need to feel shame. It is the sign of the times. Folks are changing—the world’s changing.” She gestured with her hands as she sauntered back to the table.

“You can love whoever you want,” she said, regarding you as she ran her fingers over a necklace that flickered briefly from an iridescent white to obsidian.

She continued to prepare the healing ointment for your ankle as if she hadn’t just read your thoughts like an open book.

You looked at her, curious about how she knew, but she seemed to read your mind and simply shrugged. “It’s in the eyes, my dear. They reveal what’s in your heart.”

You had not realized how easy you were to read, but with her healer’s intuition, she gave you some comforting words: 

“You’re alright, darling. You’re safe here,” she assured you, yet you remained unconvinced despite her soothing tone. You knew she was mainly neutral; she would never betray your trust, but anxiety gnawed at you nonetheless.

She placed the wooden pestle down and approached you again as you held your breath. You towered over her by a few inches, trying to remain calm, though your pulse quickened in your ears.

She tilted her head, studying your face, and you nearly flinched when she lifted her hand to brush your hair aside, tucking it gently behind your ear.

“Your petals and leaves are in full bloom—such an otherworldly beauty. No wonder someone of that nature is taken with you,” she remarked, a playful wink accompanying her words. You squinted your eyes, blushing at the compliment but also puzzled by her meaning. She didn’t elaborate further and returned to get your salve.

With you seated upon the bed, she knelt before you, gently massaging the salve into your skin. A sense of discomfort washed over you; you could have managed this task alone without her kneeling before you in a manner akin to a mother tending to her child. When you attempted to protest, she merely tutted and continued to fuss over you, unfazed.

“Thank you…Um, I gathered some herbs for you whilst I was out,” you offered, a sheepish smile creeping onto your face, realizing you should have mentioned this sooner. You placed the basket by her table, poised to take your leave, when she called your name.

“When do you plan to return to him?” she inquired, and you froze at her words. Yet she smiled warmly, as if she could see right through you.

You stammered again before you found your voice: “I’m not certain…The Sunbasking is but a few days away; the Sisters expect me to join them,” you replied, watching her nod in understanding.

“I see. Should you find your way back, I shall need more supplies—help an old woman out, dear?” she said, and you blinked at her, striving to return her smile, albeit shyly.