theforestguardians

1

“You are too late, fool! For countless moons I have harnessed the energies of this plain to consolidate the power I need. I can bend the very elements themselves to my will, fueling the inner flames of my undying vengeance! These flames, shall I unleash upon the wretches who so crave the favour of nature, who so stupidly thought to banish me, and in the very epitome of irony, bring their very husks into indominable servitude!”

“Could you dumb that down for me, necromancer? I was never good at poetry.”

The dark mage took two steps up the short flight of cobblestone, the stairs ringing around a raised platform in a small semi-circle. Above and behind him, towering like some twisted golem, granite thorns of stone rose from the floor, twisting and levelling out to combine into the flat, rectangular shape of an altar.

Flesh and sinew wormed its way through the creases of the stone, forming webs of flesh that dangled like ripped sheets from the columns of surrounding rock. Though initially discouraged by the unnatural presence of flesh, the mercenary had slowly become used to the decay, for better or worse.

He smirked under his cowl as he met the necromancer’s retreat with his own strides, coming within a pace of the staircase himself. His necromantic adversary withdrew his arms into his purple robe, which concealed all of his thin body, capped with a drawn hood that cast his face in shadow, two white orbs that were his eyes the only thing visible, shining with naked contempt.

“Such a crude title is unbefitting of a master of flesh and death!” The human saw a pair of coloured orbs shift away as the necromancer groped for something hidden behind his cloak. “Cruder still, coming from such an uncultured mercenary’s mouth! Perhaps I shall find a better use for it once I slash it from your body.”

Gnarled hands tipped with ungroomed, long fingernails flicked out of the necromancer’s robes, palms open like he was a trickster showing that his hands were empty. Movement from his flanks drew the mercenary’s gaze away from his target.

Two humanoids clad in cages of armour made from bone lumbered out from the shadows beyond the altar, skin covered in stitches from where body parts from several other species were attached to create one functional being. The one on the left had tentacles for arms, and half the face of a reptilian, standing on the legs of a human. The one on the right had the lower half of a cat or other, butchered feline, while the upper half was a blend of human and orc, with horns poking out from the side of the scalp.

“More undead inamoratas?” the mercenary asked, seeing what was once a woman’s features stare back at him from the leftmost thrall. They took their places to either side of the necromancer. “How many of these abominations have you created?”

“One cannot put a number to the beauty, the possibilities, that flesh can provide. You, generic little human, dog excrement that you take after, slaughter objects tempered with an appreciation you could never hope to match.”

“I can appreciate a mercy death, necromancer.” He reached up and tugged at the hilt of his sword, swinging it out of its scabbard. A metal crack bounced off the walls of the tomb as he twisted his arm, transforming the weapon into its two handed, longer form. He rested the tip of the blade by his ankle. “Enough of this banter – time to die.”

“My thoughts exactly!” The necromancer pointed a black nail. “Destroy him, my friends! But keep the flesh intact!”

The two reconstructed bodies brought steel spears to bear, metal tips catching the surrounding torchlight. The mercenary charged, meeting the one on the left in a clash of metal. Stormfang worked more effectively in its longer, heavier form against these resurrected, as he’d come to learn during his delve into the tomb, and the collection of body parts tumbled to the floor with a parry and a cleave.

He felt a jab at his flank, the other thrall moving around him and thrusting its weapon into his back. Twisting at the last second, he’d blocked most of the blow with the shield strapped to his back, though he still grunted in pain.

“Ha-HA! Spill his intestines, my friend!” the necromancer taunted, cackling with glee.

“Do you-” he slashed aside the spear. “-ever-” a tentacle wriggled across the ground after being severed. “-stop talking? You offend my eyes and my ears.”

“Then allow me to bring you some peace. And shred you to pieces as well!”

The necromancer opened his palm while thrusting his arm forward. A ball of condensed, golden energy soaring from his fingertips, the energy trailing up his arm from whatever source lay hidden in his robe. The spell trailed a wisp of yellow light like a shooting star’s tail, heading right for the mercenary’s chest with the speed of an arrow.

He flinched away at the last second, the flasks and leather armour strapped over his torso clinking noisily with his sudden movement. The spell sailed over his head, and crashed against the far wall with a bang, shaking the ground, leaving a scorch mark at the point of impact.

The thrall failed to keep its balance, and the human quickly finished it off with a final thrust through the chest, the blade sliding free, slick with black blood. With no more distractions, he turned his full attention to his target.

The necromancer must have thought his vanguard more capable than his other, lesser thralls, the way his eyes widened upon seeing his last protector fall.

“That blade…” The necromancer pointed a crooked finger. “You… You wield a weapon smithed by magics darker than even my own!”

“Not exactly,” replied the adventurer, flourishing his blade. It sang through the air with an unnatural whistle that visibly shook the necromancer.

“How could you, a mere drop of urine from the bowels of pathetic human existence, wield it and remain so… pure?”

“Not the word I’d use, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t explain myself to those about to perish. It’s a waste of words.”

Still holding his sword by his right side, he fell into a quick sprint and dashed up the stairs, two at a time. On the second stride his boot collided with the fallen spear of one of the thralls, offsetting his balance a little towards the left.

The necromancer’s eyes bugged in their sockets as he threw another spell, the energy going high and wild into the air, harmlessly. “Bumbling simpleton! Rukalas, master of flesh, never dies! For he has conquered-”

Stormfang raised high over the necromancer’s head, who shrieked and cringed away, the purple of his robes transforming into clouds of smoke as he uttered words of magic.

The sword slashed through smokey air rather than flesh, Rukalas the necromancer no longer solid. If not for the spear in his way, the killing blow might have landed in time. He swiped fruitlessly at the slowly dissipating cloud, the necromancer becoming a cloud right before his eyes, until the purple cloud evaporated, and only he remained in the tomb, alone. Somewhere in the distance, the faint echoes of Rukalas’ voice could be heard. It sounded like he was laughing, and yet crying at the same time.

“Damn magicians…” He produced a rag and wiped Stormfang clean, before hoisting it over his shoulder and sheathing it into his scabbard, which lay between his back and his shield.

He took a moment to observe his surroundings, looking over his shoulder at the entrance he’d used to get into the main chamber, and up at the stretches of runes crisscrossing over the rock walls and tall ceiling. Ancient tongue was usually incomprehensible at the best of times, even the most learned scholars failing to grasp the true meaning of their old, lawless speech.

The adventurer turned on the spot as he read the words to the best of his ability, before the mural abruptly stopped in the space above the altar. The visage of a skull peered out from the rock, where bones thicker than his arms poked out from the plates covering its menacing maw, stopping the mural in its tracks before it carried on to the other side of the room. It bore similarities to a dragon, but its construction was much more alien than a simple homage to the flying lizards, the masonry as crude as the beast it was carved to resemble…

“Daemon…”

Such smooth stone and impeccable masonry was unachievable by mortal hands. The hollow pits of its eyes, ringed by hundreds of little thorns the size of his fingernails, the huge jaw, covered in teeth, it was like someone had taken a mold of the creature itself – flawless in its monstrous appearance. The stone eyes seemed to track him as he moved across the room, but whether it was enchanted to become physical lenses for the eyes for its real counterpart, he could not tell.

Stepping beneath the skull, he looked upon the altar from all angles, careful not to touch anything. On closer inspection he found a vague outline singed into the top face of the stone. The thin layer of ash drew a pair of arms, legs, and a head. Deeper scorches around the wrists hinted at restraints, but whoever the sacrifice was, was now long since turned to dust.

If only you’d been faster.

He stepped out of the cold shadow of the daemon skull, noticing a passage branching out of the chamber to one side, leading deeper. Ducking under a web of dripping flesh, he went and stood before the passage and held out an arm, snapping his fingers with a quiet click.

The darkness was beaten back by a birth of a light, as small as a torch bug’s glowing thorax, flicking to life just above his open palm. It followed the human’s path above him like it was tethered, moving exactly with his movement, providing a soft, blue illumination.

He left the dank main chamber behind, hearing the squelching flesh slowly fade into the backdrop. He felt something in the air the lower he went, a certain heavy uneasiness, similar to the way one feels when someone is watching them from the shadows. If this necromancer, this Rukalas, had brought a daemon unto the realm, it definitely had departed with him, the fact he was still alive and going undisturbed was proof enough, but like the Ancient’s themselves, daemons left behind dangerous weapons just waiting for someone to stumble over them, so he moved with caution.

Just as he was beginning to rationalize leaving, for it was already foolish enough to be within a daemon lair alone, the cave walls seeming to whisper all around him, the passage opened up, where four more altars, similar to the one Rukalas stood at before, if slightly smaller, lined the back wall. More stone pillars encroached over the offering slabs like giant ribcages, but unlike the one in the main chamber, a few of these ones had bodies lain across them.

The human drew his sword, boots clicking on the stone as he moved across the bumpy floor. The altar on the left was the closest. Laying across it on its front was a being he didn’t quite recognised. It seemed to be made entirely of rock, with deep red marks tinging the edges of the stones, like how rocks would glow red when sitting on a fire. Chains stretched from a pair of arms to a set of nearby stone pillars, though the restraints were unnecessary – the being had been dead for a time, posed as though it were a patient upon a surgeons table.

The next altar over had a visible imprint over its top, maybe an arms-length deep, where water filled it almost to the spilling point, outlined in a humanoid shape. He thought he saw a body deep within the murky water, but didn’t brave reaching in to find out for sure. More chains dangled nearby, jingling like chimes as he passed them by.

The third altar’s sacrifice was nowhere to be seen, though the unlocked restraints laying across the ground suggested a prior captive. He did smell a certain foul odor he could only describe as burning flesh, which lingered near the altar, but eased up when he moved away.

He didn’t expect much from the final offering, which was why he was so alarmed when he saw there, a body so remarkably intact compared to the others, strapped over the slab. He glanced over the figure, and he might have mistaken the body as a human, if not for the distinct lack of skin present.

The legs seemed to be made of carved, slim branches of wood, with the ends splaying out into tiny roots that resembled toes, which draped slightly off the far end of the altar. One of the legs curved near the middle, where a kneecap of thicker, armoured bark sheltered the joint of the limb. The angle of the leg exposed the slight curve of a rump below, where pale green leaves covered the waist like a skirt, though these leaves seemed imbedded into the wood, and not just wrapped over the hips like clothes.

These leaves travelled up the stomach and chest the same way scales of a dragon would, their green against the pale bark drawing an eye-catching contrast to the developed abs of the creature. Runes of power were etched along the sides of the torso, some of them hidden by a clawed hand resting over the being’s chest, which protruded in a slight arc.

Finally he examined the head, set between wooden shoulders was a sleeping, angular face that reminded him a little of the elf-folk’s striking features, the bark carved masterfully into an appealing shape. The eyes were closed behind beige eyelids. Above them laid a crown of thorns that bristled when he got close, the storm of leaves attached there resembling a long crop of waving hair.

A collar had been snapped around its throat, little wood shavings curling over the metal where it irritated the flesh, or wood in this case. Its waist was also firmly secured to the stone by a giant metal band. These restraints pulsed with an unnatural, bright blue colour that watered the eyes if he stared for too long. He blinked, realizing the chains he’d so far seen had been bland and colourless. Inactive.

Perhaps this offering was still alive.

He reached up and felt along the smooth wood that was its neck, where the pulse of a human would be felt. The bark was cool to the touch, and rather than a pulse, a further bristling of the crown resulted from his touch, even a twitch from the things eyes, which remained shut, even when he offered a greeting, and asked if it could hear him.

Maybe I was just fast enough.

He withdrew his sword, keeping it in the short mode as he rested the blade against the collar chain, which stretched up into one of the many surrounding rock thorns. He brought Stormfang down in a clean arc. Clack~! The chain shattered in two, the demonic metal would not have broken had he been armed with common weapons.

Turns out you were right, Kinre.

Careful not to harm the creature, he slipped the collar free, then moved to the waist restraint. He slammed Stormfang down, barely a centimeter from its wooden waist. The chains snapped, the taught metal swinging away where it banged on a column once before settling, the chains rattling throughout the tomb.

He sheathed his sword, stepping beside the altar. The figure was taller than he was, by at least a head. He might have to drag it out. Yet when he slipped his arms underneath its back, very little weight pressured his arms. Cupping his arm beneath its legs and grabbing its shoulder with the other, he lifted it from the stone, got used to the added, larger creature’s weight, and made for the way back out.

Younger, less developed thralls littered the twisting path to the exit – his own handiwork. He’d caught Rukalas unaware by sheer coincidence during his tracking earlier in the day, his dark rituals weakly guarded. He doubted a surprise strike would be possible again.

After a while there was no need for his magical lantern, a natural light shining in from a cave mouth up ahead. He took a moment to breath in the clean air, before moving closer. The strange alien creature he carried had long let its hands sag by its sides, the arms swaying with each stride. The fingers were long and shaped like his, but tipped with claws that were wicked in their shape, each adding a few centimeters to each digit’s length.

Sunlight beamed onto his face as he trudged out from the tomb, warming his skin. Somewhere in the canopy above, birds squeaked, oblivious to the infection that had taken root so very nearby. A canvas of reds and greens reflected the continuing autumn clutching this part of the realm, the human pleased by its contrast to the daemon lair below.

Daemons usually stuck to the corrupted northlands or places neglected for eons, where divine hold on reality was weaker. Seeing them so far south was troubling.

“As is your condition, friend,” the human said to the mysterious, would-be sacrifice. “You ever tried Majein before?”

The being, of course, stayed silent, the head lolling one way in its long sleep.

“You’ll hate it, but I pray it will work.”

Rather than set up camp by the tomb, the air still foul with corruption, he moved east for about ten minutes before settling down in a clearing, eyes glancing to the sky every now and then, searching for any sign of the necromancer.

Stopping in the shade of a tree, he carefully set the strange being down, detaching his cloak and rolling it up, then placing it below its head to keep it propped. He took its bristling ‘hair’ as a sign it was still alive, though in a very weak state.

He set about to collect the essentials for a fire, for that element was a magic he’d had no teachings in, added to the fact it was a practice frowned upon, despite gaining a better reputation during the Snap. Flint and steel from his pack birthed a more traditional spark. After setting a ring of stones down, he produced his ingredients from his pack and laid them out, glancing at the being he’d taken into his charge.

Majein was a tonic combining different ingredients that, on their own, were a bad idea to eat. Blackroot could be fatal if ingested more than once a month, but was the baseline ingredient. He sprinkled a handful of augmenter leaves to act as an alterative, into a small flask he held above the fire. Hollox shale flakes for nutrients, moondust for purity, and a sprinkle of coffee extract for kick. He screwed a cap onto the flask, and held it close to the flame, rotating it, the base of the glass glowing white hot after a few minutes.

The acidic extract from the moondust would fuse the flakes and root into shards of pointy slates, the Majein itself. Ingesting it now would only cause one to experience severe, explosive diarrhea, but he knew an old trick. Top it off with a dash of a healing potion, and shake well. Now the root was encased in a brown liquid that bubbled frequently.

He held the flask up to the light, seeing the roots wriggle against the glass like a colony of maggots. He’d seen a lot of wretched things during his travels, but Majein was unmatched in its uniform of disgust.

He turned and crouched, eye-level with his sleeping acquaintance. “Bottoms up, my friend.”

Even though a cute, little nose sat below its closed eyes, and a thin line in the bark lower still held the appearance of a pair of lips, he could not be certain its airways acted similar to his own, nor could he risk the chance of it suffocating should he try and force it to drink. A good thing Majein worked on all known species, and did not have to be drunk to work initially.

He unscrewed the top and dipped his finger inside, his nail coming out black with ichor. He took an experimental whiff, his face scrunching up as he winced away, gagging. Lowering his hand, he dipped his stinky finger and traced lines just below the creature’s wooden nostrils.

He applied one more layer before screwing the top back on, the air already pungent with the dissolving blackroot’s mighty stench. Time would tell if it worked. He poked the embers of the fire with a stick and waited, thinking about the long road that brought him here. Six months? Seven? The front gates of his home village were starting to fade from his memory. The lookout, Tullen, watching him go from his post, holding that crazy Ancient weapon with the cool easiness of a professional.

How surprised he’d be to see Stormfang, he thought. He unbuckled his sword and shield, his muscles relaxing at the loss of the extra weight as he set them aside on the grass. Probably react the same way I did. Ironic irony.

A disturbance pulled him out of his mulling, and he turned to the being resting across the camp. It had shifted. Then it snorted, before a violent wheeze hacked out through its mouth, the creature lurching forward and coughing.

He was swift, pulling out his tonic and presenting it. The alien lay back, wheezing like a sick elder, and he rested a hand on the back of its head to lift it up a little. As soon as his fingers made contact with the hair leaves, its eyes flew open, as purple as the necromancers’ robes. They bore into his own with wild distrust. One hand came up to stop the flask from coming any closer, though its grip on his hand was feeble.

“You must drink, friend. It will help you.”

“… Crrrrrrrrrrrrktkt,” came from its mouth, the sound of an old tree creaking in a strong wind. It scrutinised him for a heartbeat, before its hand cupped the flask, and he pressed the vial to its lips. It gagged on the first gulp, struggling to consume the rest.

“Tastes like kralop piss, I know.” He grinned, trying to reassure both it, and himself. Such blazing eyes had caught him off-guard, and still he did not know what this alien thing was.

After ingesting the whole vial, roots and all, its hand fell from his. He placed the flask away on one of his shoulder straps, clicking a belt over the neck. “Can you tell me what happened to you?” he asked. “How long were you in that lair? Has Rukalas brought a daemon to-”

Bmm

He looked down and saw the creature had flopped back onto his cloak, out like a light. “Ah.” He readjusted the cloth, which had unfolded a little at the corner. “Perhaps I added a bit too much shale. Apologies.”

Now that it lay out within the sunlight, and not chained to a demonic sacrificial table below ground, the being drew his eyes into a thoughtful examination as he waited for it to wake. It seemed more… brighter, as if the surrounding wood had brought out a hidden radiance – it did seem to be made of exclusively wood after all. He watched its dark lips made of oak slightly part, the chest rising and falling in an angelic sort of peaceful sleep the human envied.

Despite its size, the creature appeared delicate in this state, the wood whittled down into slender arms and soft curves. The wooden body flexed and moved with each subtle movement from underlying muscles, just like human skin would. Perhaps it was a mix of wood and flesh?

His eyes shamelessly drew over its chest again, the leaves shaking in the soft breeze, its outline shaped a little like a dress. Elegant curves traced across the torso, as fair as the marble statues decorating the main square of Kydalam. The hem of leaves gracefully lowered across the abs, white flower petals mixing into the green, vinery coat, down to the round bottom below the flared hips. Was it his imagination, or was there a hint of femineity to the creature?

He cleared his throat, cutting the train of thought to focus on something else. He’d been suffering as of late from a touch of loneliness – the last people he’d conversed with had been a group of humans travelling round the mountain ranges of Rynar, some months ago. They’d told him climbing the peaks was too dangerous for them, but even so they’d been accosted by a hungry pack of wolves, their hired escort mortally wounded. They’d called him many things after he’d driven the pack away, hero being one of them.

He shivered at the memory. He’d taken their measly gold and went without a word, bristling with subdued rage just as he was now. Such titles made the hairs on his skin stand on end, but not just because of how they sounded.

He heard a struggled sigh and his eyes flashed open. He turned to the creature, saw it was waking up.

“Crawwwkttktkt,” it groaned, reaching up and feeling its neck with a claw. “Ktic, ktic.” It seemed shocked that its collar was gone, looking about as if to search for its unworldly bindings, blinking long and slowly as it surmised it was now in the outside world. Its eyes rose to the trees, the sky, then fell down to meet his own.

He smiled, offering it a polite nod. “Welcome back. Feeling better?”

Its eyes, large compared to his own, moved down to his lips, watching him speak. Thinking perhaps it did not, or was maybe incapable, of hearing him, he raised one hand in the universal thumbs-up gesture of good will, raising an eyebrow in question.

It gazed at his hand for a second, before tentatively copying the gesture with its own hand, the thumb claw wagging left and right. “Chrts, krrit?” it said, looking at his mouth for an answer rather than his eyes.

“I’m… afraid I don’t understand,” he said. “Do you speak common?” he asked. “Com-mon?”

“Srrrrrritk,” it croaked, raising one side of its brow. He shook his head, guessing it was a question. “Wrrrrakta?” It tilted its face one way, the tone changing a little. Then, suddenly: “What about this one? Understand me now?”

He beamed as its gravelly voice formed into words he could interpret. “Yes, that one I can. Greetings.”

“He-” Its speech was cut off in favour of a noise trying to be a cough, but falling into a long croak instead. It doubled over, clutching at its chest. “-Ack! Forgive me for not sounding grateful, but… *Snort*– by Emeana’s toes, if I’d known you’d feed me that concoction I would have rather stayed bound to my altar.”

“I did say I was sorry. Here.” She eyed his offered drink with understandable suspicion. “Simply water,” he explained.

“No, thank you,” it said, breathing in deep to fill its lungs – if it indeed had lungs. It crinkled its face one last time. “*Phlecht* Eck, such a state is unbecoming.” Its purple eyes turned to him. “Usually it’s the humans who are so rife with illness.”

“A jab at my kind is a strange way of thanks, friend.” He grinned humourlessly.

The creature considered him for a moment, curling its legs below itself, tucking them down as it rested its hands on its knees. “Would you not frown upon my kind, if we levelled your cities and conquered your lands? Paved our way through you with axe and fire?”

“Maybe,” he replied. “but you’re playing to the advantage of my ignorance, for I’ve no idea what you are, exactly.”

“A most convenient excuse.” It made to go on, but then paused for a second, whatever its next words were drifting into a sigh. “Forgive me, if not for you I would have joined my sisters in the After. You have my gratitude, human.” It nodded. “Are they gone, then? The ones on the other altars?”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Goddess…” It closed its eyes, breathing in a deep, slow rhythm. He couldn’t help the feeling it was offering a silent prayer. He stayed in polite silence until it addressed him again. “Was it the will of fate that brought you to my rescue, stranger?”

“Nothing as poetic,” he answered. “I hunt the very necromancer that chains you, by request of the village that neighbours this basin.”

She opened one eye. “The people of Bluebell sent you?”

“I was resting at their inn when the elder approached me. We cut a deal.”

“Hired, then.” He’d met many others with little to no respect for mercenaries, and this creatures scowl was no different to theirs. “Still a blessing, regardless of circumstance. I have a feeling that decrepit creature was close to getting what he wanted.”

“I failed to slay him,” he informed it. “I’d bet a sack of golden grain he still aims to complete his task even as we speak.”

“Yes, I can still feel his taint sapping the strength of the woods.” She pressed a palm down to the earth. No matter how much he focused, the man could not sense any danger himself. Perhaps this thing was more attuned, but by magic or something else, it was hard to say.

A moment of silence passed, the trees swaying gently in the breeze around them. “Forgive me for being blunt,” he said, gesturing with his hand. “but I’m curious as to what you are. In my travels of the south, I’ve not met anything like you. Are you some sort of Ent?”

The creature tilted its head at him, the crown of leaves waving with the movement. “Do I look like a big, lumbering oakwood that slurs her words and is content to let squirrels litter my pine with droppings?”

“Describing someone you know?” He smirked.

“I’d rather not say,” it replied, the corners of its mouth turning up. “But to answer your question, no, I’m no Ent. And I’m not surprised you’ve never seen a scion before, there aren’t many of us around here.”

It squared its shoulders and puffed its chest. “My name is Selora, scion to Emeana’s Grove. She blessed my roots with life to protect her offspring within this basin.” It rolled its eyes at him. “I know, I know, what a splendid job I’ve done so far. Please, don’t all clap at once.”

He blinked at the second mention of Emeana, the goddess of creation. He’d read about elements taking physical forms to act as guardians of nature, but he knew little on the subject. He clicked his tongue as he thought over its name. Selora. Now it all made sense – the curves of the body had that distinct, feminine touch he’d so rudely examined earlier.

Clearing his throat, he put a hand to his chest and bowed. “Then we are well met, lady Selora.”

Her wooden lips curled into a wry smile. “I could get used to such a title. But you’ve greeted me more than enough, stranger…?”

“I’m…” His words caught in his throat, his eyes darting up and to the left. “I’m… not at liberty to say.”

Her smile faded. “And I thought what I said was rude,” she scoffed, the scion mumbling something under her breath.

“No, no, I mean no offence.” He raised his arms in surrender. “It’s just that… our situation demands caution.”

Her arms folded over her chest, her dress of leaves flicking in the wind. “And why is that?”

“From what I saw in the necromancer’s lair, dark powers clutch these woods. Nothing short of the wickedness of Scourge is responsible.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Daemons? Of course it is. How many more must suffer before humans and other, power-hungry sentients learn they cannot be trusted?”

“A countless number, I’m afraid.” The human crossed his legs, and faced her directly, a serious expression on his face. “In case you aren’t aware, daemons gain true power over us in this realm when they gain knowledge of our names. And their hearing can reach far.”

Selora made an annoyed sound, like she’d just been told her favourite tavern had just closed up for the night. “Well! Really wish you told me that before I went ahead and introduced myself.”

He smirked despite her tone, quickly making a straight face. “It would not have mattered regardless.”

“Believe me, I let this do the introductions when I first met that wretched magician.” She raised a fist, the claws curling into a solid bunch of strength. “I did not utter my name. I’m quite safe now.”

He didn’t feel nearly as confident as she was. Safety and daemons didn’t belong in the same sentence. “There’s no easy way to say this, lady Selora, but whatever daemon Rukalas has tried to summon, it is a lot closer than we think.”

Her expression was guarded, but he could tell his tone had made her worried. “What are you implying, stranger? You freed me from my bonds, yes? The collar? The chains?”

“The physical ones.” He nodded. “But the ones beyond the touch of steel…”

She leaned away from him, recoiling. “You’re saying it’s still here-? B-But how can you tell?”

“Tell me, what colour are your eyes?” he suddenly asked, pointing at his own.

“What a strange question! They’re green, obviously, like my fronds.”

He looked into her purple iris’, pitying the poor creature. “Not anymore, my lady.”

Her shoulders sagged, claws coming up to her face, almost touching her eyes but not quite. “If you tell the truth, then… Emeana protect me.” Her arms wrapped over herself, as if she were suddenly cold. “You speak as if from experience, human.”

“This isn’t my first encounter with daemons trying to possess others. Won’t be the last, either.” The earth spirit made to ask further, but her current predicament pushed away her curiosity.

“The more I think about it, the more the collar still feels like it’s there.” She rubbed at the bark on her neck. “How long do I have? Before it destroys me, or…” She stammered. “or controls me?”

“I’m not sure. Do you know long were you chained to that altar?” He pointed in the vague direction of the lair.

Selora stared at something between him and her foot, not saying anything.

He snapped his fingers at her. “Hey, look at me. This is important. Try to remember how long ago this all started.”

At least she was looking at him now, taking a moment to think. “After I met the necromancer, everything became a blur when his minions overpowered me.” She paused, eyes strained as she tried to remember. “No more than three days, I’m certain.”

“Daemons work quicker than that,” he said. “Possession is a rapid process. Even the most resilient among humans have trouble resisting for a week without aid.”

Despite the horror in her eyes, Selora managed to ease out a troubled laugh. “If you’re trying to make me feel better you’re doing terribly.”

She brought her knees up to her chest, curling into a ball of wood and leaf. Her eyes were trained on a red flower next to her, but her gaze was much further away. She was even rocking back and forth a little. The sight gave the human pause. It was like looking into the past, a reflection of himself when he was a boy. That long night… Hero.

He reached over and put a hand on her shoulder. Selora gave him a bitter-filled side-eye. “Not all is lost, my lady. Like the diseases they bring, daemons have cures.”

She blinked. Despite the discoloured corruption, her eyes were large and littered with little specks of light, like the depths of jewels when magnified under lenses. “If you’re about to hand me another tonic from your bag, banish the thought.”

“If only it was that simple.” He scratched his stubble with a finger. “Hm. I’ve never thought about giving Majein to a daemon before.”

“I’m sure it would knock his demonic britches right off. Speaking from experience, here.”

His smile broadened. “I’m surprised you’re so casual about your predicament, lady of earth. Many others I’ve met grow rife with paranoia, and some weren’t even in danger.”

“We all have our own ways of coping. And I’d not sully my image before a human by squawking in terror like a frightened bird.”

“Few would have that willpower after the ordeal you’ve been through. I admire that.”

Selora blinked at him, opening her mouth but not asking him anything. After a pause he noticed he was both staring, and had not removed his hand from her shoulder. He brought his arm back, clearing his throat.

“Well?” she asked, raising her finely sculpted chin. “What is this ‘cure’ you speak of?”

“Right,” he said. She pointedly ignored his compliment, which was fine by him. “As the saying goes, one must severe the head to kill the snake. The necromancer can’t leave his dark master hanging between worlds. Find him, find the daemon. Slay the daemon, free the woods. Free yourself, lady Selora.”

“A straightforward plan, I like it,” Selora said. “But unlikely to be so simple.”

“Rukalas will know I’m coming, and the more the decay of Scourge sets, the less chance a stealthy approach will work. But you know these woods, my lady.” He waved at the surrounding brush. “Where abouts is the decay at its strongest? Point the way, and I shall deal with this cretin.”

“By yourself?” she asked, more an accusation than a question. “You would fight the necromancer, his daemon, and all their thralls with nothing but your sword?”

“Not the worst odds I’ve faced,” he said. His leather armour stretched as he started packing his things. “What direction, then?”

“Perhaps it is you who is possessed if you think I am not coming with you, human.” The earth spirit uncrossed her legs, her strong thighs standing her up without the need of her arms to support her.

“It’s too dangerous,” he said. “If the daemon lurks within you it may warn Rukalas of our approach.”

“Yet you just said he knows you’re coming to stop him.” Selora fixed him with a hard look. “Do you still need convincing? Very well.” She raised a finger each time she made a point. “One, I know these woods best, as you said. Two, as the basin’s appointed guardian, my duty is to ram my claws through this necromancer’s heart for his transgressions. And three-” Her third claw came up, and pointed at him. “Without me you’ll wander these woods for days, searching. And as a bonus point – I was not asking for your permission. We,” she dragged the word. “-will deal with this corruption.”

He took the verbal barrage in silence, turning to look at the nearby trees. A crow had perched on one of the branches, unblinking eyes watching the exchange. “A team-up, then?” he asked over his shoulder.

“You’ll not earn your pay otherwise. And you seem more capable than the average human. An alliance will be mutually beneficial.”

“Very well,” he said, turning to face her. “Apart from directions, what do you bring to the table, my lady?”

“I can fight,” she said, her voice a little more defensive than she intended. “I may have been chained, but at the cost of many undead minions. And I doubt you have the gall to deny the power of earth in this quest.”

“It does sound useful,” he said. “Fine, let’s head out. Together. Got everything?”

She gave him a skeptical glance, gesturing at her body. “Do I look like I’ve the need to carry or wear anything, stranger?”

“… Oh,” he said, feeling more than a little silly. Usually his companions, few and far between they were, were adventurers not unlike himself. Selora, apart from the thin coat of leaves surrounding parts of her voluptuous torso, was entirely naked. Somehow he only just now realised.

He pulled at his collar, feeling heat in his face as he fixed a strap on his belt of potions. “Let’s go save the forest,” he said.

“We head this way.” She made to turn, then did a double take, glancing at something down and beside him. “Wait. Is that a fire?”

He glanced at his campfire, suddenly aware of the fact this was a guardian of nature, made of oak herself. “What? No.” He quickly doused the flames with his boot, trying to play off the movement as casually as he could.

Selora gave him an annoyed look, before turning away, her leaf-hair shaking with each stride. “Truly the realm’s days are numbered when I must enlist the help of a human. I’ve had to drive groups of your kind away, you know. Not a word was spoken before they brought axes to my trees, and tainted my pools with their… grimy bodies as they relieved themselves.”

“We’re not all like that,” he defended, catching up until they walked astride one another. “Bad apples, that’s all.”

“Such a tall claim from one so short,” Selora said. “Are there daemons capable of being ‘good’? Are there necromancers who aren’t malicious abusers of the dead?”

“Are all elemental spirits so pessimistic?”

She looked down at him, eyes squinted into slits. “Only the realistic ones. The creatures of Scourge cannot invade this realm without help from its inhabitants, and most of the time it’s the humans who summon them. Many of Emeana’s glades in this realm have fallen to their corruption.”

“Then let’s not let Rukalas add to that,” the human said, a new vigor in his step. In had been a while since he’d fought against corruption so directly. Good thing, too – he’d been starting to get complacent.

2

“How long have you been the scion of this basin?” the human asked, making small talk. Ten minutes had gone by as they traversed wooded mound after wooded mound, following a vague path leading to the northeast. The way was flanked by thick ferns, their yellow-tipped leaves shaking with each gust of wind.

Selora moved ahead, her long strides outpacing his own, before turning around to face him, walking backwards as she spoke. “I thought it was impolite to ask a woman her age.” She daggered a brow at him.

His words caught in his throat. “Oh. Forgive me, I was under the impression you were mortal, once, before Emeana blessed you.”

“I have never been human. I was born in the goddess’ garden and raised as her disciple, one of many. Our presence throughout the world allows her influence to reach the corners of all life. It’s our duty from the day we are created.”

He shook his head in amazement. A pure spirit, one born not even from this plane. Her alienness rivalled that of a daemon, yet for obvious reasons she was more intriguing in her natural way of preserving life, and not twisting it.

“I admit I’m ignorant of elementals.”

“Don’t be ashamed. Such knowledge has been lost to time eons ago, sealed away by the Ancient’s you descend from.”

“Doesn’t sound like dangerous information to possess,” he noted. Artifacts that raiders plundered from Ancient vaults were often powerful weapons, though every once in a while a piece of history was found, sold and documented. It was one of the most profitable professions, as there were many who sought to unravel the mysteries of the times before the current era.

The elemental shrugged at him, perhaps not knowing herself, or perhaps not willing to indulge him.

“So,” he said, the corner of his lip lifting. “will the lady of earth answer my question?”

“I’ve walked this basin for, hmm…” She looked up in thought. “Human years, divided by two, carry the one… maybe thirty-seven years? No, thirty-eight. Though my sporadic hibernations may have addled my sense of time a little.”

“More than a little. You look much younger than that.” Her figure was so prime and chiseled he wouldn’t have guessed she was a day over twenty.

Selora chuckled, her eyes boring into his. “Do you so cheaply flatter women of your own kind, stranger?”

“I’ve not spoken to a human woman in many seasons.”

“Dodging the question? Are your frustrations forcing you to look outside of your own species?”

“I prefer it that way for those kinds of pursuits. It’s a more… exotic way of life.”

“Really?” Selora said, watching him with a stunned expression. She’d been trying to tease him, but the swift reply caught her off-guard. “That’s awfully bold of you, but I’m not judging. To each his own.”

“What about you? You have company here in the basin?”

“The beasts of the woods provide me with all the company I need.”

“You sound like you’re reading from a book, not from your own beliefs. Are there other guardians around here?”

“Not in this basin, Emeana assigned just me to watch over this place.”

“It must get lonely. You ever think about seeking out the company of spirits, or even mortals? To kill time?”

“I tend to hibernate through my spare time.”

“Dodging the question?” he mimicked her own words, smirking. “Surely there’s not much interesting conversation to be had from ferns and trees?”

She avoided his questioning look, glancing off to the side. “I… admit that it gets boring hearing about how many leaves a pinewood has lost for the twentieth time in a row.” She examined him from head to toe. “And as much as the fact you’re human irks me, the change of pace is… it’s welcome.”

“Ah, already shaving away that bigotry.” He clenched a victorious fist.

“Goddess…” she sighed, rubbing at her temple to try and hide her grin. She paused for a second, the sounds of crickets and birds filing the silence between the two. “Do you worship Emeana, stranger?” she asked.

“Sometimes I used to offer a prayer before battle,” he explained. “but… not anymore. Doubt she or any of the others would appreciate my following anyway. Watch your step there.”

Still walking backwards, Selora didn’t break pace as she stepped over the fallen log he’d warned her of. “Why’s that?”

“Well, it’s-” He went silent, looking past Selora and squinting. “Hold on. See that?”

The earth elemental turned, following his gaze to the path before them. Up ahead the ferns opened up into a clearing, with one half sloped up into a shallow hill of grass. A wall of shrubs and bushes drew a rough line over the incline, but just beyond their red, leafy walls, a flickering of something blue caught her attention.

“I do,” she said, her earlier mirth now replaced by cool caution. “It is unnatural, not a part of the wood.”

She’d breathed in and shut her eyes in concentration, perhaps sensing the area for trouble, through telepathy or some other hidden sense only she possessed. The human thought he might have been wrong trying to go on without her earlier.

“Let’s get closer,” she said.

Keeping low, the pair moved up the hill, using the ferns to conceal themselves as they approached the strange discolouration. Selora stopped behind a shrub, very close to whatever was casting the strange light.

The human’s eyes peered over the top of the bush beside her, drawing back his cowl as he got a better look. Sitting in the grass lay three crystals, cut into the shape of long diamonds, tips driven into the ground in three points, drawing an invisible triangle between them.

From their lucent hearts, a sickly teal radiated forth, glowing first bright then soft, bright then soft. Such a maddening shade he’d seen before – in the lair where he’d found Selora, the chains had pulsed with that very same eye-watering colour.

They approached, the human reaching up to grip the hilt of his sword, Selora readying her claws, a soft snick announcing the unsheathing of her long nails. The crystals sat there, unmoving even as the human walked around them, searching for traps. The only reaction their presence made was the pulsing of their radiance – speeding up by just a notch.

“They don’t feel magical,” Selora said, crouching down so she was eye-level with one of the crystals. “Have you ever seen something like this?”

He was about to shake his head no, then a chord in his memory rang out. “Once, a long time ago,” he said. “at the academy of my home village. One of the librarians had something very similar in his study, he used it to-”

The warbling blue suddenly flashed, and the human winced away, shielding his eyes with an arm. He brushed by a tree as he stumbled away, but then realised he’d just stumbled into the earth spirit when she grunted, just as blinded as he was. The pair tumbled to the ground on their backs.

The piercing light vanished, as quick as it had come, and from its place rose a newcomer, stood in the triangle confined between the crystals. Flowing robes covered a tall humanoid, nothing but the eyes visible beneath the hood. Unlike before, the necromancer’s robes were not purple, but the same blue as the crystals were. He also seemed to be partly transparent, and shimmering, like something seen through a distant heat haze.

“-to do that,” the human finished.

“I-Is it on? It’s on? Good, okay. Quiet now, all of you!” Rukalas said to someone nearby. The human let his hand fall from his sword.

Beside him, the earth guardian groaned. “By the spirits, what-?” Her eyes fixed on the sudden appearance of the figure. She gasped. “It’s him.”

“Okay, okay…” Rukalas dusted the wrinkles from his robe with a few brushes of his hands. He sniffed, straightened his back. “Attention, trespasser! You have been… what’s that? Louder? Very well. Ahem, attention trespasser! You have… trespassed through my property, and according to my readings, you’ve…” Rukalas bent down to look at something, yet nothing was there that the human or spirit could see. “-you’ve just passed my southern perimeter detectors! I am here to offer my one and only warning, so be warned! Unless you plan on parting with your flesh, I suggest you go back to your wife, husband, children etcetera. What dealings you may have heard or seen within my basin are not of your concern. Unless you’re one of those trollops from Bluebell. In that case, you may commence forth! I’d be glad to welcome you as I… needle the flesh I can get!” He cackled manically.

“Your property?” Selora snarled, rising to her feet. “Your basin? This forest will never be yours, you necrophiliac despot!”

“-So I humbly threaten you to cease, and desist your journey…” Rukalas continued. It sounded like he was reading from a script. “… before I twist your flesh and mind to a bidding far more… practical.” He looked up. “How was that? Good? Should’ve done a practice run.”

Selora had been approaching the fiend during the whole speech, and now she stood an arm’s length away, head tilted in thought. With a careful claw, she reached up and swiped at Rukalas’ robe. It went clean through, the necromancer not reacting at all.

She brought her experimenting arm to her face, a thoughtful look passing over her. She turned to the human. “A pre-recorded projection, and a pretty poor one at that. How his tiny mind managed to set this up, I’ve no idea.”

“… I can hear you,” Rukalas said.

Selora turned, claws ready but not raised. She blinked. “Then show yourself, necromancer. We have unfinished business.”

“Is it not obvious I’m nowhere nearby? One doesn’t set up farseer crystals in their own backyard, the hint is in the name. Far-seers.”

Selora growled, the rumble in her throat similar to her creaking, native tongue the human heard before. “Are you so cowardly you cannot even look at me when you talk?”

“What? Ah.” Rukalas spun around. He’d had his back to her ever since he appeared. Now he was facing off to the left. “Need to tweak the mirrors again. Ancient technology was so cumbersome. Now where was I? Ah yes. What ignorant soul has wandered into my detectors?”

“Someone you have wronged, dark mage. And I plan to return the gesture.”

“… I’m afraid you’ll have to narrow yourself down, intruder. I’ve wronged many in my time.” Rukalas puffed his chest like this was a great achievement.

“You imprisoned me and sapped me of my strength, stealing power not yours by any right.”

“Which one?”

Selora’s anger lifted a little, in place of confusion. “I… was one of the guardians of the elements you tortured?”

“… Which one?” the necromancer asked again.

“You drained this very forest through me not three days ago!”

“Oh!” Rukalas exclaimed, the same way one would when remembering the birthday of a friend. “The spirit of earth! I assumed you perished along with the rest of your sisters. Sorry I did not check up on you. I had… an unexpected visitor disrupt my work.”

“By work, you mean summoning more cruelty to the world? Is it not enough you toy with the bodies of those who dwell in the After, that you must summon daemons to the realm?”

The necromancer raised his head, so he could look down on Selora. He would have been intimidating, had he not been addressing a bush off to the side. “You seem rather astute to my plans, whore of nature. I’m impressed, the same way a scientist is impressed with his pet mouse finding the cheese!” He put a long nail on his chin. “If only I’d captured you first, and turned you into a harmless little sapling. Then again, if I’d done that you wouldn’t have joined me in hearing your fiery sister beg my master for death. It wasn’t nearly as entertaining as watching your water-kin evaporate when I poured lava down her throat, do you remember her screams? Ah, but you were sleeping by then. How one rests through all that agony I have no idea. And let us not forgot your sister of wind, who I bathed in the coldest water until she formed into solidness. How many pieces do you think she shattered into when I brought down my hammer? One thousand? Two?”

A dark expression had taken over Selora’s usually gentle face, purple eyes watching the projection with pure contempt.

“When I find you, necromancer, it will be your screams echoing through whatever new lair you’ve corrupted, your blood that drenches the stone. I will bring my corrupted trees back to life using your corpse as compost.”

“So you do remember the wonderous screaming? I admit torture is grueling to the subjects, but it is the fastest process. And seeing the proud and mighty elementals reduced to gibbering fools does wonders for the ego.”

The earth spirit’s claws were so tightly clenched, the bark on her palms was starting to split. The mercenary stepped in front of her, trying to reassure the elemental. “Don’t listen to him, he’s trying to make you angry. Distracted.”

“What’s this? Not one intruder, but two?” Rukalas turned on the spot, facing the incorrect direction again. “But… that voice is… familiar…”

“You’re very confident now, Rukalas,” the human said. “Last we spoke you were cowering before my blade.”

“Mercenary…” Rukalas growled. “you would do well to leave me alone! You will share the she-plant’s fate should you continue to aid her.”

“The job’s not done until you lie dead, necromancer.”

“A pity you aren’t unemployed! Ironically, that would have been a more fruitful career choice, for you were right, human, I’ve been distracting you this entire time!”

The snap of a stick drew his eyes to the right, and from the shrubs emerged a figure. Like the thralls before it, mixed body parts of human and beast formed a stitched body carrying a pair of wicked looking daggers in long, alien arms. The thing peered at him with misshapen eyes, the frills of some sort of reptile protruding from its back bristling as it readied its weapons. A rumble echoed from its bulging throat.

“Look now, earth-wench, your sister’s suffering was not in vain!”

The thrall suddenly erupted into flames, a cloak of heat enveloping it from the shoulder down. He could have sworn that along with the cackle of flames, the scream of a woman could be heard somewhere far away.

From behind the flaming corpse, two more thralls stumbled from the shrubs, both wielding huge axes.

“Burn the she-plant!” Rukalas commanded. “Save the man’s flesh if you can. They cannot proceed any further!”

With that, the necromancer’s image shuffled out of the triangle, disappearing in a puff of blue. The crystals dimmed until they were dull and lifeless.

“I’ll take this one,” he told Selora, brandishing his sword at the fiery counterpart. The metal vibrated loudly through the forest as he transformed it.

“No arguments from me.” The earth guardian charged one of the other thralls, claws raised like a pouncing she-wolf.

The fire-cloaked corpse levelled its daggers at him, and he brought his sword up to bear. Opening with a feint, he parried a dagger away and sliced into its exposed ribcage, the bones sticking out of the wound like white fingers. Stormfang’s tip burned red with blood.

He dropped away into a crouch when the thrall counterattacked, its blades swinging through the air he vacated. As he danced around his opponent, the end of his twirling cape caught on the thrall’s cloak of flame, and he quickly patted it out with a hand.

He lunged for the killing blow, but no matter the strength of Stormfang or his arm, the flame cloak singed at his skin whenever he closed the distance, and the heat would turn him away, a primal fear rising up from his stomach. He decided that disabling it would be the better option.

Steel met steel as the thrall crossed its daggers in a block, the human gritting his teeth as he struggled to overpower it. Over the thrall’s shoulder he caught sight of Selora’s own battle, the earth spirit twirling on the spot to deliver a round-house kick to her opponent. Her stumpy heel planted against the thrall’s chest, sending the undead corpse flying into the trunk of a tree, where it stayed for a moment, before sliding down the bark and slumping to the grass.

She seized its face, her fingers growing as they stretched over its skull until it was fully encased in roots. She squeezed, the skull popping like a grape, brain-matter splattering in every direction and running down between her fingers.

Her other assailant came at her side, axe over its shoulder in a heavy follow through. She blocked with her arm, chips of would splintering from her limb. She raked at its chest with her claws, plunging her fingers down into its beating heart. A twist of her hand, and blood spewed away in a trail, some of it coating one of the crystals. The thrall went limp in her grasp.

She threw it aside, turning her attention on the duel behind her. The human had inflicted several wounds on the flame-corpse, but had yet to finish the thrall off. She dashed in to help, a little piece of herself eager to prove being chained to a daemon would not hinder her ability.

“Stay back!” the human warned, parrying an attack.

The thrall turned to her, and suddenly Selora’s vision was consumed in flame, a scream filling her ears, loud and horrible. It was not her own scream, even though agony ripped through her body. It was of someone else, one she knew.

Sister…

The leaves on her shoulder ignited, and she staggered away, growling in pain. Somewhere far away she heard the human call her name, but her eyes, so caged they were in possession, clamped shut as she collapsed.

“Hold on!” the human said, his eyes flashing with concern. There was nothing for it. He dropped away from a dagger aimed for his neck, then rushed forward, sinking Stormfang into the thrall’s garbling throat. Flames licked at his arms and blistered his skin, but he fought through the pain, sealing the kill. Like the faint light in its undead eyes, the corpse’s cloak of fire vanished in a puff, the thrall going limp.

Yanking his blade free, he rushed over to Selora’s side, checking to make sure no other thralls remained. If the grass hadn’t been wet with ichor, and three corpses weren’t littering the clearing, the woods would have appeared in their usual serenity. Even the birds had started singing again.

“I told you I had it,” he scolded, looking down on the spirit. The nasty burn scabbed over a portion of her plush coat of leaf and bark, near her neck.

“I… thought I could lend a… Gah! Curse it all…”

Her pained expression dowsed his annoyance, and he checked over her wound. “I have something for the pain, if you need.”

“No. No, water will do. There’s a stream nearby. Just… damn it. Just need water.”

She made to move, and he put a hand on her back to steady her. She gave him a grateful side-glance, before shuffling away from the crystals, and down the hill. He followed.

The human didn’t hear any water, but after a few minutes, the sound of a running stream trickled nearby. They swerved around dozens of more, giant trees, until they emerged from the thicket and into a sudden field, stretching far into the distance, as if the forest had been cleared away by a giant scoop. A lake used up most of the clear space, and he could see two little streams feeding into it on the far side.

Selora knelt next to the water’s edge, cupping her hand and bringing the water to her burn. She hissed in pain, but kept it up until the pain was tolerable, the water dripping from her wooden hide and falling to the grass.

“Here,” the human said. He was holding out another vial to her, this one filled with a green, jelly-like substance. “For burns. Don’t even have to ingest it, just rub it in.”

“Thank you.” She offered her palm, and he dipped just a little onto her finger. The gelatinous remedy was pleasant and cool against her shoulder. She watched him apply some of the salve to his wrists.

“What happened back there?” he asked after a time. “You froze up, yet handled the others with ease.”

“Is it not obvious? Fire and wood don’t go together. Well, they do, but not… you know what I mean.”

“You know that wasn’t what I was asking.”

She met his eyes with her own, deciding whether or not to indulge him. “You heard the necromancer,” she said, looking down to watch the water ripple before her. “the powers he stole from my elemental sisters are already under his control. My fire sister’s physical body is gone, but she lingers still, and that corpse back there was proof.”

“… Were you two close?” he asked.

Selora nodded. “She could travel anywhere during the day, and she would visit me all the time. I don’t allow visitors to the basin very often – if at all – but her I welcomed.” She shook her head. “Ironic, isn’t it? She embodied the element I fear the most, and we got along the best.”

“Nothing ironic about loving your family, my lady.”

The earth spirit smiled. “Your words are kind, stranger.”

“What about the others? The spirits of air and water? Tell me about them.”

“They were like I, tethered to a place in the realm, though we’d meet in Emeana’s glades whenever we happened to be there at the same time. Sometimes Avianna would peek her head through the clouds and offer me rain. She always had this goofy little smile whenever she turned the clouds in my favour.” Selora’s grin was nostalgic. “Taluru was more like a cousin, we never spoke much, even though she and I were aligned the most, water being the base of life and all.”

“So your sisters, they could travel around freely?”

“Their elements allow them more freedom than I. Sunlight in the day, water in almost everything, and air is everywhere, obviously. Unlike them, my presence on this realm is linked to this basin. I can’t leave here, I’d simply cease to exist if I strayed too far.”

“Sounds a little unfair to me. There’s plenty of places out there that could use your protection.”

“To which the goddess has assigned other scions. My duty is here, of which I am glad to serve.”

“There you go with that book-reading tone again.” He waited for a reply but she gave him none, and he guessed she was done talking about that. “So your sisters had all this freedom, yet Rukalas managed to capture them. How? And what does he plan to do with their power?”

“With the four main pure magic sources together, our energies could harmonize into an amazing force of destruction, if one had some form of help containing all that raw energy. Help from say… a daemon?” She paused. “That’s my best guess. All humans desire power, as do any of the mortal races. As for how he managed to capture us all, I’ve no idea, though with a daemon’s help anything is possible. Maybe he lured them out pretending to be Emeana, or simply overpowered them like he did with me. All I know is, that necromancer worked long and hard to bring us together, before slaying them all right in front of me. I never wanted my last memories of them to be their screams, human.” Another pause. “That’s why I… ‘froze up’ as you said.”

“Losing family is never easy,” the human said. “but when we slay Rukalas, your sisters shall be free, that will be their final memory to you. Until then, you must not let Rukalas deter you with their pain.”

“I will… hold onto that hope,” she said. She looked down at her reflection in the lake, for the first time seeing her strange, purple eyes reflecting in the afternoon light. A part of her was not quite convinced the reflection was her own, and not just because of the possession. “Look at me,” she huffed. “venting myself to a human.”

“Forgive me of my prying, my lady.” The human felt a little guilty, worried she may have thought he’d taken advantage of her sorrow to get information. He busied himself by cleaning his blade, taking out a rag and wetting it, then cleaning off the blood.

Despite the prior gore, there were less stains coating the metal than one would expect, an explanation known only to the human himself. The sunlight gleamed off its pale surface once he examined his work, though if one were to look at its reflection in the water, all they would see is a shadowy outline.

“You wield a powerful weapon,” Selora commented. She’d watched him clean in silence.

“The power comes from the user,” the human said, tilting the blade until it caught the light again. “my mentor said those same words to me over and over, during my training. He was right, though I admit there’s strength in a formidable smith.”

The spirit glanced at a set of small runes curving around the hilt. “That thing was not smithed,” she said, her tone not quite abhorrent. “Where did you get it?”

He looked at her, then back to the blade, the thin line of his lips expressionless. Just when she thought he wouldn’t answer he said: “I think you know that already.”

“Those runes, on the handle. What do they say?”

The human shrugged, and held out the weapon to her. “Take it and read them,” he said, glove placed carefully over the sharp steel, though they both knew it only appeared to be steel.

“I…” Selora swallowed. “I don’t want to.”

“I didn’t either, at first.” The human brought the blade away, Selora releasing a breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding. “They don’t translate very well to common, but they talk about the power of blood.”

“That relic is tainted in darkness, stranger. You should throw it in the lake.”

“And what would I fight corruption with, if not its own weapons?” he asked. “It’s effective, better than human steel by far.”

“And you’ve contained its dark power?”

“Yes.” Something in his eyes betrayed his answer, a hidden anguish. “The blade has not failed me.”

Yet, they both thought at the same time.

“I shall put faith in your judgement, then.” She eyed its flawless surface, wondering how many had been slain with that wicked sharpness.

“Thank you.” He stood, swinging the weapon back into its scabbard. Over the lake, the setting sun had cast an orange glow across the water, the wedge of illumination widening on the far side of the body of water to match the sun’s own reflected width.

“We still have some daylight left,” he said. “Ready to move on?”

She nodded and stood up, rubbing at her aching wound, which had begun to heal, a fresh layer of pine overgrowing the charred bark. She pointed westward. “We’ll move around the lake that way, from their its straight north to Rukalas.”

“So can you sense where he is, then?” the human asked, the man and spirit walking the edge of the lake, over one of its dribbling streams and then delving back into the woods.

“Like he were a leech drinking up my blood. I’d imagine you’d be wandering in circles by now if I hadn’t come along.”

“Maybe. It wasn’t like I had much of a choice, though.”

“No, you didn’t.”

The canopy above was thick with branches, making nighttime appear closer than it was. The human stifled a yawn, a whole day spent walking finally taking its toll.

The songs of distant birds were soon overlapped, then drowned out by the sounds of crickets waking from their daytime slumbers. He kept an eye out for any more farseer crystals, but it wasn’t long before the setting sun dipped below the horizon, and the forest was bathed in dark moonlight. Leaves rustled all around him as nocturnal creatures started prowling the woods.

He had to keep checking to make sure he was following Selora, the earth spirit blending well into the thicket ahead of him. He covered his mouth again as another yawn surfaced.

“Are you tired, human?” Selora asked without turning to look at him. It was like she had sensed his depleting stamina.

“I can go a few hours yet,” he said.

“I forget humans use the nights to rest. Let’s move to a shelter.”

“Really, it’s nothing. Rukalas will do more damage the longer we delay.”

She stopped, turned on him, her eyes sparkling in the darkness. “And he will do worse should we fight him not at our full strength. You need rest. There’s a place nearby we can use.”

He felt like he had no other option under her scrutiny. He shrugged. “Fine. Lead on.”

A few minutes more of walking, the forest so dark he could no longer make out Selora’s form that she had to lead him by the arm, and they came to the base of a huge tree, the trunk almost as wide as a yurt. It stretched up to the skies, thick mushroom caps sprouting in small groups across the bark, until it towered up into the skies, a giant umbrella of leaves topping the great oak.

Across the side, a gaping hole opened up in the wood, two men high and just as wide, the hollow big enough to fit a small family inside. Once his eyes adjusted to the dark, the human saw a visible imprint in the mulch at the back of the space.

“Looks like something else calls this place home,” he noted. “Fine spot, otherwise.”

“Good eye,” the spirit said. She sat down in the mouth of the hollow, one leg outside, one in. “The wooly bear who lived here enjoyed its closeness to the lake.”

“Bear?” he asked, eyes going wide. “shouldn’t we leave before it returns?”

“Don’t fret, she passed away a few weeks ago. And nothing shall bother us as long as I’m here.” He couldn’t see with the lack of light, but her tone suggested she was grinning. “Lucky for you. A tyger has been eyeing this spot since this afternoon.”

“Really?” She confirmed his question with a nod. “There aren’t many of those left. Perhaps we should find another spot.”

“While your humbleness is appreciated, there are not many shelters close by. I’m sure he will understand.”

“Marvelous beasts,” he said, setting down on his pack. He looked beyond the shelter, hoping he might see it out there in the night. “My mother used to read me stories about them when I was little. Is it true their coats shine in the moonlight?”

“That would make hunting rather difficult if they could be seen so easily. They consciously keep their coats dim for that purpose.”

He took out a hunk of bread from his pack and asked her about the beast he’d only seen pictures of, the spirit obliging him. She was surprisingly well informed, but then he had to remember she was attuned to this place, the knowledge coming naturally to her.

“I’m surprised someone as well-travelled as you is interested in the felines,” Selora said, watching him eat the crust of his bread.

“They were a staple in my childhood. I used to wish one would just appear so I could keep it as a pet.”

“Be glad it didn’t come true. They’re not the most welcoming beasts, even towards me. Have you ever seen one?”

“No, never. The south has been documented down to every blade of grass, and there’s not a single one. It’s part of the reason why I desire new lands. Well, it used to be, when I was younger. Now though…” He trailed off.

“New lands? Such as my basin?” she asked. “Tell me, have the humans documented this place?”

“It is on the public maps, but apart from a few sketched foothills, this place is a mystery. Some even took to calling it haunted. They say a ghost wanders the woods.” He raised an eyebrow. “I’m guessing that ghost is you?”

“You guess correctly.” A playful expression crossed her features. “I had to keep thinking up new ways to drive outsiders away. Once,” she giggled, an oddly childish sound from one so big. “Once I gave a pair of lizard-folk quite the fright when I sent a tree to chase after them. You should have seen it, a tree chasing a couple of reptiles. Its top speed was barely a walking pace.”

He tried to get comfortable on the rather uncomfortable bed of leaves. “You’re lucky they didn’t come back with torches. Superstitious lot, the lizards.”

“They are the lucky ones. They crushed hundreds of plants under their heels, their hooked toes digging up roots with every step they took.”

“You can’t blame them for that. They can’t help their anatomy.”

“I didn’t blame them, that’s why I let them leave without a scratch.”

The human looked beyond her, at the woods surrounding the shelter. Moonlight set a white blanket across the bumpy vegetation, the stars flickering through the roof of leaf.

“You’ve got a fine place here,” he said, raising a hand at her. “Ever considered letting people come and go?”

She looked at him as if he’d just suggested she have intercourse with that tyger she mentioned. “And let them sully my woods with their disease and filth? If I asked you to give up your children to the scrutiny of strangers, would you say yes?”

“Think about it,” he said. “You could ask for a fee for safe passage through, the forest wouldn’t have such a bad reputation then.”

“What makes you think I want a good reputation? It keeps the people away. And what would I have a use for gold anyway?”

He backed himself into a corner with that one. He decided a different approach might get through her stubbornness. “Maybe you could pass on word of Emeana’s teachings. I’m sure she’d appreciate an influx of new followers.”

Selora’s eyes squinted into slits, perhaps searching for his ulterior motive. “You think I would share the goddess’ secrets with outsiders?”

“I think,” he said. “You could start with something small. You can’t ignore the outside world forever, it’ll come knocking eventually. Just look at Rukalas – he needed somewhere to hide and do his rituals, and this isolated basin was the perfect place.”

“And allowing my trees to be cut down and turned into huts would have dissuaded him? He was after my powers anyway; it would not have mattered where he settled to do his dark deeds.”

“Maybe so. But you shouldn’t have to push back against the world. It’s unnatural, if you’ll pardon my pun.” He smirked. “And besides, such beauty shouldn’t go unnoticed.”

In the darkness, it was hard to tell whether she was brooding, or ignoring his advice altogether. For a time the only sound that passed was her coat of leaves rubbing against itself in the breeze. “You should get some rest, human. You’ll need your strength.”

He nodded, rolling up his cloak and setting his head upon it. The spirit continued to watch the outside woods dance in the wind. “Do you not need sleep, my lady?”

She took a second to formulate her reply. “Not in the way you do. When I wish it, I can slip into the glade of the goddess for a time, and recuperate my strength. I will still be aware of my surroundings in this realm. No need to fret over keeping watch tonight.”

“You can leave this realm at will?”

“As naturally as breathing,” she said, noting his amazed expression. “I am a spirit, remember? This physical form is just a vessel.”

“But a finely crafted one,” he noted. “Did you make it yourself?”

“Emeana did most of the work, but I had my input taken into account. I’ve always been interested in the elven folk, and wanted to take after their image.”

“You do capture their features splendidly.”

He could have sworn he saw a discolouration on her cheeks. “Get your rest, human. The hour is late enough already.”

“Very well.” He closed his eyes. “Goodnight, my lady.”

“Goodnight.” He listened to the sounds of the forest, until sleep took him into his strange dreams.

3

Despite her words about being aware of her surroundings while resting, the human had to shake her awake. Just when he was beginning to worry, her eyes gently opened.

“H-Huh?” she moaned, blinking up at him. “My, what time is it?”

“Early.” He was about to poke fun at the spirit being a sleepy-head, but his usual morning cheer faded when he met her eyes. “Hold still, my lady.”

“What are you-?” She bristled at his closeness, both of their breaths washing over the others face as he closed in to inspect her. Once, during her early years as a scion, she had looked upon a school of fish in the basin’s main lake, intrigued by a larger, predatory fish trying to separate the pack into smaller, easier prey. It was the same way the human was looking at her now.

“How bad?” she asked. “No sugar-coating.”

“Hmm.” His mouth barely moved as he spoke. “It’s progressing quickly. You said you didn’t really sleep yet you look very tired. Not a good sign. You have mere days, if that.”

“… On second thought, I’ll take the sugar coating thank you.”

“We should get moving.” He ended their face-to-face and wiped at his sleeve. “I’ve already eaten, so if you can, let’s get going.”

“Alright.” She stepped out of the hollow, a dewy taste in her mouth when she breathed in the morning air. On the horizon, dark clouds broiled into a grey mass stretching from east to west. Rain was coming. “Before we do, would you mind if we took a detour?”

“You should be the one minding, lady Selora.”

“It will be worth it, trust me.”

Moving away from the bulk of the tree, she took the lead and moved over one hill, then another. Rocks as high as taverns hampered their way forward, forcing them to trek in a winding route. When she walked up to a fern tipped with bright, red flowers, she held up a halting hand.

“Keep low and quiet, human, and stay close.”

“Why?” he asked, but she only motioned him to follow. Both crouching, they moved into the fern until leaves and flowers surrounded them on all sides. Selora then brushed a branch out of the way, allowing him to see into a small brook a dozen meters up ahead.

Upon the stones next to the babbling water, something was laying down in the sunlight. The human stood to get a better look, and his eyes went as wide as plates. Four legs rippling with muscle and ending in small paws, extended out of a bulbous body covered in thick, grey fur that bristled in the morning gale. White and black lines drew the letter v several times across the back, like arrows that pointed down to a slender tail that whipped back and forth behind it. These patterns glowed like bioluminescent plants coming to life in the dark, despite appearing to be made of fur.

A low mewl drew his attention to the head, the tyger’s face tucked beneath one of its forepaws. The fronds sprouting from its forehead were laying behind its short ears which flicked every now and then, like it was alert, and yet the beast dreamed on regardless.

The human was breathless, partly because of his wonder, but he was more afraid of waking the beast up should he make even the slightest noise. He wanted to get closer, but Selora’s rational hand gripped him on the shoulder, and she motioned that it was best if he stayed put.

The spirit felt the beginning of a smile play across her lips, as she watched the human study the tyger with a boyish expression. He seemed to be of the serious type, and it was the first time she’d seen him, or any other human for that matter, genuinely respectful and intrigued by nature. It warmed her heart in more ways than one to show her basin’s denizens to another.

She tapped his shoulder and mouthed to him that it was time to go. With one last look at the creature, a little disappointment in his expression, the branch of flowers obscured their vision, and the two retreated.

“Goodness,” was all he could say, when they were far enough away to speak again.

“Told you you’d like it. You can finally put your childhood fantasies to rest, and focus on saving this place.”

She made to move on, but turned when the human wasn’t following. “Something wrong?” she asked.

“No,” he said, catching up with her. “After all this time travelling I didn’t think much could surprise me anymore in these lands, yet I was wrong.” He dipped his head. “Thank you. My lady.”

She wouldn’t truly grasp his gratitude in full until later, the gesture nothing more than a simple desire she was glad to indulge. It felt good to show off a little bit, his earlier comment about her letting people travel through her basin playing through her thoughts.

On any other day, Selora could travel from one end of the basin to the other in no less than a day, but it wasn’t just the human’s slowness that was to blame. A foul smell hung in the air, only growing stronger as the day dragged on.

“The stench of corruption,” the human noted, nose wrinkling in disgust. “We must be getting close.”

“At this pace, we should confront the necromancer by tonight, maybe tomorrow morning if our enemy succeeds in hampering us.”

In one moment, the greens and yellows of the woods were banished, an irritating shade of blue painting over the trunks of trees and clusters of shrubs. Above and to their right, the necromancer apparated on the perilous edge of a short cliff. The tips of a set of crystals could just be seen over the lip of rock.

“… You had to say something, my lady.” The human turned his eyes up as the spirit glared at him.

“Still alive, little miss tree stump?” Rukalas declared, arms waving about in the confines of the projection. “Is your mercenary helper still tagging along? I see you’ve both done away with my new, elementally-enhanced minion.”

“Your thralls might be good for your undead, rumpy pumpy sessions,” the human called back. “but they’re atrocious fighters.”

“And it is you, destroyers of art, who think I am the defiler?” Rukalas cackled. “Such contempt I’ve not felt since parting with those fools of Bluebill.”

“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned the village,” the human noted, folding his arms. “You and them have history?”

“A history of hypocrisies and double-standards!” Rukalas snarled, pacing in the short space provided by the farseer crystals. His voice was childish and mocking. “’Show us what you know, we will not pass judgement’. Yet judge was all they did! Nobody there I could turn to save from those who’ve passed already. The dead did not judge. They did not call me names! They did not throw rocks through my window at night! They’ve more empathy than everyone in that village combined.”

The necromancer stopped himself mid-ramble. Ever the dramatic, he pointed an over-exaggerated finger down at the duo. “And now they’ve sent you to kill me. Erase a past that is a blemish on their oh-so precious record. But I will not be so easily defeated! Arise, my-”

Before he could say minions, a tree nearby creaked and snapped. It seemed to upend its own roots of its own accord, letting gravity pull it down to the ground.

“Timber,” Selora said, and he turned to see she had an arm held out, fingers splayed towards the tree, as if she were manipulating it with invisible strings. The human had just enough time to process four undead thralls approaching, before the tree squashed them like bugs beneath its trunk.

The ground trembled with a mighty Bmm~! The tree slowly brought up its trunk back into place, turning their would-be ambushers into pink puddles that dripped off parts of its bark.

“I knew I should have cut that thing down!” Rukalas growled. “Send in my special projects! Keep them away! Away I said!”

The projection flickered and vanished, just as half a dozen more thralls started working their way down the rocks towards them. One of the thralls towards the back clenched a fist, summoning a small whirlwind in its palm before chucking it down at the human and spirit. The ball of air whipped up a tornado of mulch as it passed over the ground.

“Down!” the human yelled, and the spirit joined him in kissing the dirt. The spell landed behind them, ripping apart a fern and sending leaves pluming into the air.

“You think this ambush will hamper us?” The human unleashed his sword from its scabbard.

“Not a chance,” Selora said. She readied her claws. “The forest is with us.”

She charged into battle one way, and the human went another, raising his sword high as two thralls rushed him with their own swords. He moved between the two, his weapon a blur as he twirled it through the air. He finished his spin standing behind the pair of undead, the heads of the thralls tumbling off their shoulders. The bodies took a few confused steps before following suit.

Looking up, he saw that the spell-casting thrall had not closed the distance, crouching up there on the high ground as it readied another ball of magic. The human jumped on top of the first ring of stones, cutting down another thrall that tried to maim his leg with a pair of daggers.

The sound of whirling winds announced another cast of a spell, the magical thrall sending one more air-bolt in his direction. The human ducked just a second too late, the spell colliding with his vest with a hollow bang, like that of a drum. The energy popped and fizzled through his veins, travelling a hands-width away from his breast like a miniature explosion. The magic was dense in such a small bolt, and the human spiraled off the rock, landing on the grass with a pained “Oof-!”

One more thrall closed in, axe raised over his head, letting it fall to plunge into his throat. He blocked with his sword at the last moment. He swept the corpse’s legs out from beneath it, turning the tables and impaling Stormfang deep into its chest.

Another pair of thralls surrounded him. The human put his physical ability to the limit, blocking one blade, dodging another magical bolt, and pitting his other opponent closer to the awakened tree. His unlikely ally twirled and writhed on its roots, knocking a thrall into the air with its branch, like a batsman swinging at a ball. The corpse sailed over the canopy and disappeared.

“That’s it! Keep him distracted!” Selora called from somewhere nearby. The human was too busy to see where by a sudden pain in his back as a magical bolt struck him again, forcing him to his knees.

“Y-Yes. Distracting was exactly what I was doing,” the human grumbled through gritted teeth, hearing another thrall close in behind him.

Meanwhile, off the side of the cliff of rocks, Selora danced her way up the incline, one level at a time, occasionally opening the throat of a thrall that tried to stop her advance.

Cartwheeling onto a higher boulder, she ducked out of the path of a swinging cleaver, the knots of roots making up her arm transforming her hands into curved scythes. She impaled her armoured, undead foe up to her elbows, using the re-dead corpse as a shield against another thrall coming at her from behind. They seemed to be pouring out of the woods in random directions.

Her arms ran red with blood as she sent both her foes down the cliff, their bones snapping and limbs contorting on the distant ground when they landed. Hopping onto the next, highest boulder, she outran a trio of corpses that tried to swipe at her feet from below. The human was right – they weren’t nimble enough to fight like proper warriors, much less keep her occupied if she kept moving.

With a grunt of effort, she made it to the peak of the cliff. The thrall with her sister’s stolen power launched bolt after bolt down at her human companion, crouching next to another set of farseer crystals, identical to the first. The magical thrall turned on her, the broiling spell in its hand now aiming at her.

The bolt was quick, but so was she, bringing her arms up and crossing them over her face. In front of her, the flora nearby morphed into a concave of greenery, forming a net of leaves and grass and other pieces of vegetation. They formed a protective barrier that angled a little to the left. The bolt struck this leafy wall and bounced away, where it collided with one of the rocks behind her.

The shield was not without cost – the grass turned from green to brown, and a pair of shrubs nearby withered and died, a portion of the woods succumbing to the expended energy. Selora would grieve later, rushing down the thrall, ready to put an end to its magical sniping.

It readied another spell, brandishing its arm, but she knocked it off-balance with a shoulder-charge to its chest, catching a glimpse of something metal in its palm. A collection of different coloured wires sprouted out like roots from beneath the skin of its wrist, where they formed into a metallic mockery of its humanoid hand that its real fingers wrapped over.

The glove-like device seemed to light up as the creature readied another spell. Perhaps it was some kind of device that aided the user in casting? Rukalas and his daemon had certainly thought this plan of theirs through, gathering artifacts for their undead army.

Summoning the roots of her earthly cousins, the thrall’s arms were entangled in a cluster of vines birthed from the ground itself. Mulch formed into knots that tied over its decaying feet, immobilizing the thrall, making it easy prey to her claws. She tore out its throat and shoved it to the ground, where its decaying corpse might finally bring some good from its corrupted existence.

With the caster down, she peered over the rocks and saw the human fending off corpse after corpse, the tree nearby she awakened doing its part to assist. After giving the farseer crystals a fierce glare, she jumped down the cliff and joined the human’s side, protecting his flank as the thrall’s numbers began to dwindle.

The thralls did not retreat, and the duo did not give them a chance, slaying them with an efficiency worthy of being called ruthless. The forest was alive with the sound of ringing metal and tearing flesh, but moments later, with the last thrall slain by Stormfang, the silence was palpable in its intense silence.

Maybe twenty corpses littered the ambush grounds, and both man and spirit exhaled in their efforts, the former’s tone a little hoarse as he said: “Thank you, my lady. For covering.”

“Are you injured?” She was looking at the spot where the spell had hit his chest.

“It’s nothing.” He rubbed at his tunic, as if he’d suddenly gotten a heart burn. “Been struck so much I’ve built up a little tolerance to magic.”

She frowned as he winced in sudden pain, sheathing Stormfang with a scrape of metal on leather. “Yes, you do look positively peachy, stranger.”

He ignored her comment. “Superficial wound. I just need a minute, then we’ll be on our way.”

They put a good distance between them and the crystals, the human setting down on a fallen log, letting the adrenaline bleed out of his system. The human took a grateful seat, catching his breath as he rubbed at his shoulder.

The earth spirit stood nearby, watched him for a second before gesturing in his vague direction. “Do you not have a salve or balm for your pain?”

The human shook his head. “Magic works differently to mortal bodies. You can set us on fire, send a wave of water crashing down, or electrocute the body, but the buildup is the real killer.”

“Build… up? I don’t follow.”

He patted the space on the log next to him, nodding her over. Blinking, she came over and sat a respectable distance away from him, crossing one leg over the other with the courtesy of a noble woman. There was something apprehensive about her as she looked at him from her closer spot.

She was not the only one. Her crossed leg exposed an inch of her shapely thigh, and he had to snap himself into focus.

“Think of a cup filling with water,” he said. “The more energy a body takes, the more the water rises. Too much and it will spill, and at that point the body starts to shut down. Unless you’ve got some Ancient artifacts, there’s not much one can do to stop buildup.”

“And there’s nothing you can do to recover?”

“Apart from a few breathing exercises? Time’s the only healer. No potions, either, that’ll just add to the problem.”

For a while the only sound that passed was the distant rustling of leaves. “Stranger, how do…” Selora cut herself off with a grumble. “I hate how I must call you that. I was wondering where you learnt your skills in potion-making? You seem more capable than a simple adept.”

She pointed at his many vials crisscrossing over his vest and belt. He tugged at one of the vials. “My mother was a herbalist. She liked just mixing up any old thing she could find, just for the fun of seeing what would happen.” His grin turned into a short laugh. “One time, she blew up her whole lab when she was mixing some very unlikely ingredients.”

“Goddess,” Selora said, more alarmed than he was. “was she hurt?”

“Her eyebrows were the only casualties, though my father was furious. The explosion took out a wagon he’d just recently purchased. He had his revenge, though. He drew her eyebrows back on while she slept. They were these thick, curly things, like this.” He imitated holding a quill to his own face, drawing big lines that went up to his hairline. “It made her expression permanently surprised no matter what she said.”

Selora chuckled at the mental image, clasping her hands in her lap. “What about the concoction? What made the explosion?”

He answered by producing one of his vials, flicking the cap off with a pop. A red liquid sloshed within. “See if you can guess. Don’t drop it or we’ll both go flying.”

She took the glass and held it up, using all her senses, not just smell, to conclude what was inside. “I think it’s… dragon essence, and… vanilla?” She blinked.

“Close.” He took it back and pulled the top on. “Dragon flesh is a finite source of heat, and add in a bit of a sweetener…”

“You get a powerful reaction,” Selora finished. “But how has it not detonated already?”

“Enchanted vials. But glass is brittle, obviously. I only need to chuck it where I want a big hole to be. It’s expensive, though – containers like these are hard to come by.”

“Expensive in other ways, too. There is much destructive potential to be had, mixing things from different corners of life.” She said this as yet another reason to scold the human curiosity.

“There are good things that came from experimenting,” he defended. “My mother cured a plague back in her day with potions. They saved your life too, you know. The Majein tonic?”

“At the cost of my taste buds,” she said, though he could tell he’d made a point. They sat in companionable silence for a time, occasionally spotting the odd deer or forest critter maneuvering through the trees, sometimes coming close enough he could have reached out and touched them. Perhaps Selora’s presence was putting the normally skittish animals at ease.

Jumping from one place to the other, always on the move, slaughtering those who stood in his way – he couldn’t remember the last time he’d just… sat down and took it all in.

And having a woman by his side made it all the better. She was so alien and alluring, pure of heart, if not a little stubborn. No evil had touched this part of the world, at least not until recently. Perhaps the guardian was rubbing off on him, but he felt compelled to protect the innocence of the wood, for innocence was an easy thing to lose.

“Is it the forest’s beauty, or my own that has you staring?” Selora gave him a sultry look, laughing as he blinked himself back into focus.

“A bit of both,” he replied, coolly. “I think I’m ready to move on, if you are.”

Stepping over the log, they moved side-by-side towards the north. Hillock after hillock blocked the view ahead, each one steeper than the last as they neared the edge of the basin.

“Let’s hope we don’t run into any more crystals.” Selora’s eyes traced their surroundings, using more than her sight to keep herself aware. “Your distraction may not work again.”

“Distraction?” he echoed.

“You made him ramble on,” she explained. “Gave me enough time to set the forest against his walking jigsaw puzzles.”

“I’d be lying if I said that was my intention,” he admitted. “I was simply curious. I suspect he hailed from Bluebill once.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were fascinated by Rukalas’ past.”

“People learn to be evil, nobody is born that way.”

“Another quote from your mentor?”

“No. It’s mine.”

“Maybe he was wronged, once,” Selora said. “But what matters is what he is now. Now, he destroys my forest, and resurrects the dead to make them into his slaves. And I feel like I’m forgetting something…” She pretended to ponder, even going so far as to stop and stare at the sky. “Ah, that’s right, he’s summoning a daemon. Keep that in mind, stranger. He’s beyond our remorse.”

“I know,” he assured, though his mind still wondered.

4

The woods soon took on a density that rivalled the jungles of the Imperial Islands, but lacked their tropical humidity, which was a small grace that was overpowered by the many sharp branches that poked at his shins and arms and face as they pressed onward.

At least back on the islands he’d been given a machete, but the thought of hacking a way through with Stormfang was quickly dismissed, not wanting to anger his earthen ally, or worse, give the trees reason to attack him. He’d seen earlier what they were capable of.

This hindrance did not extend to Selora. Whereas he had to push his way through, Selora did not have to raise even an arm. The branches simply moved out of her way, brushing her sides but not slowing her down. She parted the woods like an eagle cutting through the air. She even seemed a bit more jolly than usual – perhaps her mood changed depending on how healthy her surroundings were.

“You said before that you’re a traveler,” Selora asked. “Where are you going? Before you came here, I mean.”

“I was… ouch!” One particular branch dug its way into his elbow. Even through the leather tunic he could feel his warm blood trickle. “-My path takes me north. Beyond the Curtain.”

“The what?”

“There’s a place far from here, a long line of mountains that separates the south from the wastes of the north.”

“Oh, that.” Selora looked at him over her shoulder. Vines and branches obscured her, their ends trailing after her like possessive hands eager for her touch, before they settled again. “Those mountains are a natural barrier for all who dwell on this side of them. There’s a reason for that.”

“I’m aware.”

“And still you’d cross them? Whatever for? Those lands are sick with corruption, and I don’t doubt it extends to the creatures living there.”

“There must be something up there worth exploring,” he said, hoping he sounded aloof enough to fool her. “Do you not crave adventure, my lady? The thought of seeing the world not intriguing to you?”

“As I said, my duty is here.” She glanced up at the sky, a longing look on her face. “but sometimes I travel to the basin’s edge and wonder. The lights of your cities on the horizon, the seas that dwell beyond. You must have seen all that and then some. A part of me envied that about my sisters, and you I suppose…”

The human’s expression softened. Perhaps the spirit was more trapped than he initially thought. “What you have here is no small achievement, my lady. I’ve never seen such ripe woods outside this place. And meeting you has been no small wonder, either.”

She opened her mouth, hesitated, as if she’d cut herself off before saying something else. “I’ll admit talking to a human has been more… interesting than chasing them off.”

He felt a warmth grow in his chest at the reciprocation. At least, that’s what he thought it was. “You said before you were tethered to this place. Could you not ask Emeana for more freedom?”

“The goddess does not deal in favours,” she murmured. “She granted me life, gave me a physical body, instilled with me a sense of purpose many lost mortal souls crave for. How can I ask of someone who has given me everything?”

“You make it sound like you’re a prisoner.”

“Being a scion of an element leaves little time for personal needs.” Her pace faltered, as if she’d said something wrong. “Not that I mean to sound ungrateful. Without earth and nature the world suffers, and it’s a great honour to be trusted with such importance. More… physical needs I simply leave to the imagination. Like how it would feel to bask in an ocean, simmer in the desert sun, or enjoy the warmth of another…”

He raised his brow at that last one, and the spirit averted her eyes, letting slip a little more than she wanted to say.

“Perhaps talking to Emeana is… barking up the wrong tree,” he said, changing the subject before she got uncomfortable. The spirit gave him a sideways look.

“I should take the message and… leaf, her alone.”

“Planty of time to form another course of action.”

“It’s just one of rose things you have to deal with.”

“Who else wood an earth spirit turn to?”

Selora was trying very hard not to smile, and soon failed. “Come on, human, that’s enough with the puns.”

“I’ll think of some more later.”

“I’m sure you will.”

Another hour of walking brought them closer towards the basin’s edge. The human recalled a memory from a few days ago, of him standing at the lip of the basin’s western edge. It was dozens of kilometers wide, the greenery a healthier shade than the rest of the surrounding world, like an oasis in a desert. The bowl-shaped, cavity in the earth was ringed by tall cliffs that towered into natural walls the kept the world out – or the forest in depending on how one looked at it.

Now he was starting to see those same spiraling stalagmite formations through the forest roof, in the rare moments the trees parted to allow a view of the sky. Selora asked him about the world beyond the basin, and he informed her as he would an old friend, despite having only met a few days ago. Circumstance did strange things not just to mortals, but spirits as well it seemed.

Not that he found her particularly different from any mortal. She did have bark and wood for skin, indeed, but they appeared to do the same thing, stretching and forming as she sauntered through the forest, particularly around the thighs and buttocks which drew his eye as he marched behind her. She carried her big frame with an alluring ease, her body lean like an athlete in her prime. Her lack of clothes wasn’t helping him retain his politeness, her only sort of coverage being the leafy coat that started around her hips and ended below her shoulders. It would take only the softest wind to blow her thin modesty away and expose her anatomy, which somehow made her more tantalising.

Her legs were graceful in their movements, the calves whittled into a healthy, muscular shape that was very human, save for the little twists of knotted roots that wrapped around her strange feet, where the human-ness ended to taper into more tree-like stumps. A small thud followed each of her long strides, quieter than one would think one of her size would make.

He found the alien parts of her the most intriguing simply because of their innate strangeness. Was the wood as smooth as it looked? He had touched her before when he carried her out of that lair, yes, but he hadn’t exactly experimented.

Sharp thorns and walls of draping vines filled his vision as he focused on pressing on. “My lady, I’ve been… ow. -Wondering how it is you know where we are… oof-! Going? Rukalas’ crystals only give a vague direction.”

“Watch the thorn on your left,” Selora warned, the human saving himself another nick at the last second. “I’m simply following where the taint is coming from. I can sense it spreading.”

“But how?” he asked. “Through magic? I know of corruption, but at best I can only smell it from afar.”

Selora paused, trying to think of an explanation that would make sense to him. “It is not magic, though it carries similar properties. All things in the basin are connected. With Emeana’s blessing I can tap into this connection. I may not be a tree like the ones around us, but the connection to earth and its creatures allows me to see what my eyes could not. Like the…” She stopped and laid a hand on a vine draped over her shoulder. “… the roosting of an owl in the branches above us. The longing sigh of a distant tree losing its last leaf. Or the death of a grub you just squashed beneath your left boot.”

“Oh. Sorry,” he said. The ground was buried in mulch and weed that rose almost to his ankles. Who knew how many bugs he’d stomped on throughout the day. “So you can feel everything? Really everything that goes on here?”

“As can you,” she said, smiling. “The moment you stepped inside the basin, the moment your foot touched the ground, you and this place have bonded. And with my help you’ve been more… connected than the average wonderer.”

“From just being near you? That’s… good to know. I’m honoured that you’ve decided to include me in this place, my lady.”

Her cheeks flushed, as if one of them had said something embarrassing, though he didn’t know what. “It would take a novice such as you many years of practice to achieve a true bond with the earth, and many hours of meditation, but I can help you get a taste. Would you like to try it?” she asked.

“The sensing thing?” He hesitated for a minute before nodding. “Alright.”

“Put your hand upon that branch.”

“This one?” They stopped in the shadow of a huge oak, its lowest branch at his eye-level. He laid his right hand on the twisting knot.

“Close your eyes.”

A sense of unease came and went, and he did as she asked. The branch warmed his fingers as he clutched at it tighter.

“Now breathe, and feel the forest breathe with you,” she said, somewhere to his left. He felt her palm gently press over his outstretched hand, and his fingers flexed, the points of contact between them gaining a sudden heat. Perhaps she was lending him her strength.

He had never been a huge nature-lover, but he played along, breathing in deep with his nose, the earthy scent of the forest filling his senses, the grass and soil adding a dampness that brought with it a wave of serenity, then exhaling with his mouth.

He didn’t know what to expect, maybe some sort of presence from the tree itself manifesting before him, but after a few minutes nothing seemed to change. Peeking out of one eye, he watched Selora’s breathing become as steady as a sleeper.

“Can you feel the forest?” she asked, eyes still shut in concentration. “Can you feel the trees looking down on you?”

“Sure,” he said, closing his eyes and imagining what he’d look like to this great oak. It probably regarded him the same way it acknowledged all these bugs.

“Those who respect nature can always find an ally in it.”

Probably why I don’t feel anything, he thought.

The spirit cocked her head one way, as if hearing something from afar. “Strange. I don’t feel your presence, human. Then again, I’ve never shared this experience with another before.”

He felt bad lying to her face, but she seemed moved by his participation, so he let her get on with it. Telling the truth now would only spoil things.

Soon she released his hand, the human swearing he felt a little woozy when he lifted his hand from the trunk. As if he’d stood up too fast after a long time sitting.

“Human? Are you okay?” A hand found its way to his shoulder.

“Yes. Fine.”

“Forgive me if I caused you pain. I must have overlooked something.”

“It’s fine,” he repeated. “Thank you for showing me… that, my lady. I can see how much of a monster Rukalas is to you, sapping all of that life away.”

“That was just the surface of what these woods can provide, if given enough incentive.” The spirit reflected for a moment before speaking. “I don’t sense any disgust or unwillingness in you, besides your obvious dizziness.”

“Why would I be disgusted?” he asked.

Her expression shifted, like she’d just changed her mind about something. “No reason,” she replied, cryptically. He gave her a strange look before stretching his shoulder.

“Well then. Immaterial experiences aside, shall we press on? We’re getting close.”

“That we are.”

5

The sun soon dipped into its lower echelons on its skyward journey, the warm rays vanishing from view behind the cliffs. The human and spirit were only a few hours from the basin’s mountainous perimeter, nighttime coming quickly for the pair despite the hour not being that late.

The human conjured his magical orb of light to illuminate the way, Selora watching the floating light with playful intrigue. She tried to grab the orb, but it always floated away from her palm, eluding her touch. She looked so pure like that, taking interest in something the human found mundane at best, and again he was reminded of that earthly innocence carved into her very existence – quite literally in a way.

The magelight’s aura cast a blue glow over her features, highlighting the spirit’s feminine, striking features in just the right light. He grinned when she managed to settle the light into her cupped palm, the magic hovering mere millimeters above her hand like a coaxed insect.

“What a strange spell you’ve made, human,” she said, wonder playing on her carved face. Yet the contrast of her unnaturally purple eyes hinted at an inner struggle. The corner of her eye glinted at him. “Shall we rest for the night?”

“Let’s go for a little longer. How do you feel?”

“In general, fine. If you’re referring to my demonic overcoming, it feels… closer.” She blinked, once and slow, her eyes glowing, then shadowing over. “Rukalas must be close to finishing the daemon’s summoning.”

“Or our proximity to him if affecting the daemon’s strength,” the human said. He moved below an outstretched branch covered in many thorns.

“Either way, we must make haste,” the spirit said.

They traversed the thorned density for another hour more, creatures of the night making low, guttural growls all around them. In such tight confines there would be little room to move, and he shuffled closer to the spirit, peering into the darkness the magelight fought to keep at bay. Daemon’s weren’t the only thing one had to worry about in the night.

Selora noticed his closeness, peering over her shoulder at him and batting her non-existent eyelashes. “As much as your warm body soothes me, you need not fear the wood. My presence will keep you safe.”

“Apologies, my lady.” He fell in step a little off to the side.

She grinned. “You’re so formal. Do you speak like that to every female you come across?”

“Only to the pretty ones.”

Her expression warmed as she fiddled with one of her horns crowning the top of her head. “Tease,” she accused. “Do you seek to please the earth by…”

“By, what?”

“Look. Crystals.”

He followed her gaze towards the right of their current heading, and sure enough, through the thick coverage of the vines and branches, a blue glow pulsed away, a beacon of light in the dark.

“How many of those does he have?” the human asked nobody in particular. “Can you sense any of his thralls?”

“The undead give off little presence, but…” She closed her eyes in concentration, silent for a minute as she felt her surroundings. “I feel nothing. Either they’re absent, or well hidden.”

“Do we go around?”

The look she gave him was somewhere between shock and annoyance. “And pass up the chance to thin his debauched legions? The more we leave here the more he’ll summon once we make it to his lair.”

“Good point,” he said. He drew Stormfang and held it ready by his shoulder. “Ready?”

She gave his weapon a disdainful look, then nodded. The pair put a few meters space between them as they approached the glow, watching their surroundings. The human placed his feet with caution, ready for any traps or snares the necromancer may have placed.

His worry was in vain, the pair reaching the crystals unharmed. The crickets here were very noisy. Just when he was starting to think whatever unseen alarm that warned Rukalas may not have worked this time, there was a flash, and the necromancer appeared, his thin image wavering about like rippling water before settling.

“I see you draw ever nearer. Quite a determined pair you are.” Rukalas raised his voice a little. “Pair of fools, regardless! You should have turned back long ago.”

“I’m getting tired of all these projections, you corpse-defiling usurper,” Selora growled. “Show yourself, or do you lack even a shred of courage that you can’t face us personally?”

“Eyes up, my lady,” the human warned. “There could be undead anywhere.”

“No, no,” Rukalas said, waving a hand, as if dismissing some silly notion voiced by a naïve child. “No ambushes or anything like that this time. It is but a waste of resources throwing my friends at you two killers.”

“Sure, like I’ll believe a corrupt degenerate like you.” The spirit watched the darkness before settling back on the necromancer.

“Pinky promise.” The necromancer held out his little finger, wagging it. “Alas, I thought of a much more special way of deterring an annoying little shrubbery like yourself.”

“You found a way to project your body odour through the crystals?” she asked.

“Such a sharp tongue! I might take it from you once we’re done, taper it to one of my new creations. Let’s see if you’re still capable of wit after this.”

“… After what?” the human asked when the necromancer let the pause hang.

“Keep moving north, as you were.” He beckoned a cruel hand forward. “You’ll see.” Then the projection faded, the light in the crystals dying, leaving the human’s magelight as the remaining illumination.

“Depraved sack of excrement,” Selora spat. The human blinked at her sudden venom.

“Let’s proceed slowly,” he said. “If there was ever a time for traps, it’s now.”

They moved through the foliage, the human ignoring the many more knicks as he fought through the thorns, trying to keep pace with the spirit. He breathed a loud sigh of relief when the foliage at last began to thin out, the space between the thick vine walls wide enough he could take full, unhindered strides without being cut.

As the minutes went by, the distance between the trees grew, and the mulch began to thin until they walked upon grass and hard dirt. The air felt lighter, almost thin in contrast to a whole day of being confined in the belly of the forest.

Another five minutes, and then his boots soon crunched leaves again, the sound loud in the quiet of the growing night. He chanced a look down and saw that the leaves were not green, or brown, but black, tinged with an ashen-like whiteness round the edges. There were big welts in the ground in all directions, like giant scorches left by a recent meteor shower. They passed a pair of trees cut right down the middle, their upper halves nowhere to be found. The air was tinged with a sick greyness, like someone had put a filter over his vision that drained the world of colour.

“Something’s…” Selora swallowed, her throat clicking. “Something’s wrong.”

“What?” he asked, but a deep part of him knew. The draping vines were shriveled and black, and branches snapped at the slightest disturbance. The flowers were drooping and dead, the very life of the forest sapping away the further they went. The forest didn’t even clear a path for the spirit anymore like it had earlier.

As if she’d seen a ghost, the spirit fell into a sudden sprint, moving past a grey tree-trunk and disappearing into the wilted vegetation.

“Wait!” he called, running after her. He pulled Stormfang back into its sheathe, ducking under branches and vaulting over the numerous fallen logs that barred the way. Selora was easy to pick out, a figure of green amidst the grey, the full moon that hung high above giving him an easy view.

He suspected Rukalas’ thralls at any moment, taking advantage of the two being separated, but apart from sticks snapping beneath his rushing boots, there was not a sound, not even the nocturnal bugs voiced their calls. Never had the basin been so quiet before.

After what felt like a marathon run, he broke through the forest’s clutches with one final shove, and an expanse greeted him. Much like when they’d come across the lake, the open air was a welcome reprieve, yet it was tainted with a smokey scent, and when he looked up he saw flecks of ash blocking the sky, lilting through the air like a huge swarm of locusts caught in a breeze of slow-motion.

In all directions save for behind him, the forest was… gone. A few tree stumps and wooden poles marked their prior existence, like banners left after a great battle, but apart from them there was nothing but a waste covered in ash. The emptiness spread far to the left and right, until a roughly semi-circular shape of similar, decaying forest marked the edges of the wastes.

Bark covered the ground like bone marrow, casting the floor in a whiteness that would have looked more at home in a desert than a forest. The skeletons of birds dotted the landscape, their hulks illuminated by the moon’s pale sheen. The waste stretched away and up into the basin’s perimeter mountains, where rocks took prominence. It was hard to tell where the lifeless cliffs and the ground met, so similar that they appeared.

“No…” a voice murmured, and he looked to his right, seeing Selora stood nearby. She fell to her knees, her shins sinking into the dead plush. “No, no… he couldn’t have…”

Her head shook in disbelief, as if her eyes deceived her. Her eyes, her infected, stinging eyes that were now home to one of Scourge’s twisted beings. She grabbed a fistful of the dead bark, where they decayed into ash that slipped between her fingers.

“He… I…” She sounded on the verge of tears.

The human reached down to her, but faltered when a blue light shined nearby. Neither had noticed the crystals wedged into the dead ground behind them.

“My master desired more energy than I, or the other elements, could provide,” the projection explained. This time the necromancer was looking right at the pair, as if these crystals worked properly and gave him vision. “I told you that you would regret interrupting my proceedings. But then, it hardly matters now, the forest has more than enough energy to sustain his needs and then some. Hope you don’t mind!”

“You…” Selora’s breath caught in her throat. “How could you?”

“See? Not so quick of the tongue now, are you? You spirits, and everyone else like you, always looking down your noses on others. At least now this useless forest serves a higher purpose. To think…” Rukalas shrugged his arms at her. “To think Emeana would leave one guardian to protect this place. I thought that might mean you were capable, but no. Take a good look at your precious forest, for soon the rest of this detestable basin will follow suit.”

Selora’s sadness broiled into a seething fury the more he talked. “No!” she cried, turning around and bringing a fist down on the nearest crystal. As it shattered, the projection fizzled away, Rukalas smirking until he finally vanished.

She crushed the second crystal between her hands, sending shards everywhere, before obliterating the third with a slam of her arm. She was in tears the whole time, and with no more things to break, she fell to her hands and knees, her body heaving as she wept.

“Damn you,” she said. She pressed a palm into her eyes, the daemon within them laughing at her torment. She felt so helpless having her body being shared by such a vile being. “Damn you…”

“My lady…” the human said. He’d watched the exchange in silence. He held her gently by her bicep, helping her up. “Come on, stand up.”

The moment she gained her balance, she moved between his arms, and wrapped him inside her cool embrace. Her leafy hair brushed against his head as she buried her face between his neck and shoulder. He tensed up as her strange, wooden body pressed up against his, but then he reciprocated, moving his arms around her leafy coat.

“Forgive me,” she said, but who she was speaking to was unclear. Him? The goddess? Her sisters? “Forgive me…”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” he said, running a gentle hand down the small of her back. “You did all you could. This isn’t your fault.”

Her chest hitched, and she hugged him tighter like he was a source of strength. He let her have her fill until she soon leaned back, enough so she could look at him, hands still clutched over his shoulders.

“I’m going to kill him.” Her face darkened in a way he’d not seen yet. The instinct just didn’t belong on someone like her. “We’re going to go up there, and I’m going to end his miserable life.”

“We will,” he said. The softness of her body was like freshly sanded wood, not a blemish to be felt beneath his exploring fingers. Under other circumstances he might have gone further, but not now. “We will,” he said again, returning his arms to his sides. Selora took a second longer to let him go. “In the morning. We must think of a plan before we get there.”

“I… okay,” she said, rubbing her eyes with a hand. “*sniff* B-But let’s not rest here. Let’s go back, just a little. Please?”

“Alright,” he said. They moved back into the tree line, until the wasteland was behind them, and its skeletal recesses lay before them. There would be no proper shelter tonight. The stump of a tree about the same size as a dining table was the best thing he could find. The human brushed the soot from its coarse surface and eased Selora down.

“Thank you,” she said. The human shrugged off his pack and cloak, placing them by his feet. He frowned at his surroundings, feeling exposed out here in the open. The last time he’d slept with so little protection he’d been attacked by a pack of bats. He doubted much lived around here anymore for that to be a problem, though.

The pair were quiet, not a sound around them to permeate the night. To hear such silence after days of active nature was unsettling. The human laid down on his back and watched the stars flitter in the sky. Sometimes he liked to trace the starlines and patterns to lull him into sleep, but the image of the wastes burned into his mind whenever his eyelids grew heavy.

He opened an eye and saw Selora was still sitting next to him, upright and alert, like a gargoyle perched atop a castle’s battlement. If he was disturbed by the sight of the wastes, he couldn’t imagine what she was feeling. An hour or two passed, and still the spirit remained awake, and he felt compelled to say something.

“Can’t sleep?” Despite telling him she rested differently, it was the first thing to come to mind.

The spirit shook her head, deigning not to speak.

“Me either.” He sat up and scooted beside her, close enough that their knees almost touched. She stared at some distant thing only she could see, the purple in her eyes now fierce with its colour. It was a long time before the spirit broke the silence.

“It’s all my fault. First my sisters, now my forest. Everything is dying around me, and it’s my fault.”

“How?” he asked, the question making the spirit blink. “You were told to guard this place completely by yourself, and you were attacked by a damned daemon. Sounds to me like the blame should go to your goddess.”

She was stunned by his blasphemy, and opened her mouth to reprimand him, only to find she could not. Her shoulders sagged as she stared between her feet.

“Never in my life have I been unable to reach into the goddess’ glade,” Selora said. “I should have sensed all that death earlier, it shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did. It made me see how strong evil is, and how… how weak Emeana’s influence has become. How could she let this happen? How could I?” She glanced at him. “My whole existence is thanks to the goddess, and now I’m shaken enough to question it. Have you ever felt so plagued by remorse before, stranger? That you can’t even sleep at night?”

“… All the time,” he said.

“Then how do you deal with it?”

“I don’t. I would be the last person to ask about moving on, but I do know that the company of friends makes it easier.”

“And is that what we are? Friends?”

He didn’t say anything, just looked at her and let his eyes do the talking.

The spirit sighed. “How depraved I’ve become for a shred of companionship,” she said, her words betrayed by her hand, which snaked into his own. The human tensed at the contact, as if an electric jolt had passed through her to him.

“You must hold strong,” he said, rubbing a thumb over her palm, eliciting a shiver from the spirit. “I know it’s hard, but the true test of will always comes at the hardest part. You’re strong, smart, and you’ve gone through much, I know you can pull through this.”

The guardian sighed out a strange series of sounds, and he realised they were words of her own native language. What she said in that moment, he would never know. “I will,” she said. “As long as you promise me I will be the one to kill Rukalas.”

“Selora,” he said, and the spirit blinked as if struck. It was the first time he used just her name, with no titles attached. “Don’t let that instinct drive you, that’s not who you are. You’re a spirit of life. Have the final blow if you must, but don’t become an executioner. Leave that to others.”

“Others? Like you?” she asked. She’d not meant anything by it, but the human faltered, and she knew she’d hit a nerve.

“I’ve killed so many people I’ve lost count,” he said. “Some were evil, some… were not. I once thought along the exact same lines as you do now, and look at me, look at my weapon. I’ve been down that path, I couldn’t live with myself if I watched someone like you go down it too.”

Selora had to suppress an urge to press him for more. He’d been so elusive, not even giving her his name this entire time. Something more than his daemonic weapon shrouded him, and she wondered what it was.

“Okay,” she said. She squeezed his hand tight. “You’re right about company being of help. I don’t know what I’d do if I was doing this on my own. Thank you.”

“You can thank me by getting some rest.” He leaned back on his elbow and nodded at the space next to him. “Come on.”

Still holding hands, she followed him down until they were laying side by side, her cheeks flushing with heat. He took the initiative and curled his arm around hers, grinning when she tried to look away.

A minute passed as they stared at the sky together, then another. The two didn’t need to utter a word lest they spoil the moment. Her voluptuous body rose and fell just in the corner of his vision, his arm joined with hers so dangerously close to her generous hip. He wondered how she’d react if he draped an arm over her.

“Do spirits have names for constellations?” he asked out of the blue.

“The worlds beyond this one don’t concern the goddess. Why? Do you humans name them?”

“Sure,” he said. With his free hand he raised a finger. “You see that one there? That’s the Mage. See how that starline forms into his staff? And his hood next to it?”

“… Oh my. I’ve never noticed that before.”

There was a gleam in his eye that made his chest ache. If there was anything he could do to distract her from her predicament, he’d do so. He gestured at another arrangement of stars.

“And that one there’s the Evergreen. Those two there form the trunk, then sprout into the leaves. Looks a bit like you, doesn’t it?”

“I, what?” She batted him playfully with her elbow. “I told you not to compare me to the Ents. The cheek of you.”

Their laughter soon died down, and the silence reigned once more, and with it came the memory of the dead forest they’d seen. “Look at us,” Selora sighed. “stargazing like a couple. We could die tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” he said, as if replying to the state of the weather. “Any day could be our last. It’s what makes the little moments like these all the better.”

“Hmm.” They shared a look for a heartbeat before she tugged at his hand. “Show me more constellations, human.”

He grinned. “Well, you’ve got the Scorpion, over there. Above that is the Mech, you see it? Looks a little like a flamingo, except the big battery on the back. Around midnight the Wand shows up for a while, I think that’s it there… Every couple of years it lines up with the Mage, makes it look like a ghost is about to cast a spell on him. The Shield is just over…”

He looked over and saw the guardian fast asleep. Or maybe fast meditation was the right term. He let his words trail into silence, and he huffed, grinning at the fact he’d never talked someone to sleep before.

He rested his free hand across his chest, and closed his eyes. Sleep wouldn’t come easily, but it would in time, his companion helping it along with her rhythmic breathing, and calming presence.

6

They only had a handful of hours to rest, the anticipation of a direct confrontation with the necromancer too much to ease the mind into sleep. Selora prodded the human awake after allowing him another few minutes to bring himself out of his dreams.

“You have a soothing voice, human. I hope you didn’t go through the entire sky before realizing I drifted off.”

“Only half of it, I think.” He grinned at her as he stood up, giving his limbs a shake and a stretch. “I’ll show you all the rest after we’re done here.”

“I’d like that.” She watched him stretch, intrigue playing in her eyes. She quickly looked away before he noticed.

The human produced a hunk of dried fruit from his pack, sating his fast as they pressed on for the final stretch. Scattered shards of minerals marked the place the last projection of Rukalas had stood, and the beginning of the wastes he and his daemon had wrought upon the basin. Only Selora was perceptive enough to notice the perimeter of the wasteland had grown a couple of centimeters overnight.

The morning sun was not visible at this angle to the mountains, basking the world in a strange limbo between night and day. The dead marrow that floored the waste came up to their ankles, hindering even the spirit who had been so nimble journeying through the thick forest yesterday.

The human didn’t think he’d miss the thorned confines of the forest so soon. The world was drained of colour, as was his companion, the bark of her body catching the strange, dead light, like a plant that hadn’t had a drink in weeks. He suspected it was the daemon’s doing, sapping her strength from inside, yet Selora pushed on, and he had to play catch up to stay close.

The wastes sloped upwards, its incline increasing every few minutes until they trudged along the basin’s thick, stone walls, the staircase of granite steep and tiring. The bones of rotting critters crackled like pan-fried meat with each fall of his boots. A foul smell in the air grew stronger the higher they went; the human covering his mouth with the neck of his tunic.

They encountered no more farseer crystals through the next hour of trekking, and the human suspected the set Selora had destroyed would be the last one. Next time they’d meet Rukalas, it would be eye-to-eye.

The intimacy they shared last night seemed forgotten by the pair, neither one of them speaking as they ascended to their goal. In the few short reprieves they took, the only sound shared between them was the human bringing his whetstone to his blade, and the spirit sheathing and unsheathing her claws with small clicks.

Another hour more, and the ground levelled out, to a wide peninsula jutting from about halfway up the grand slope. Dug into the cliffside, a mouth of darkness loomed over the pair, an archway of carved stone leading into the mountain’s depths. Immediately the human knew they had reached Rukalas’ lair.

Daemons and their caves. Could they not perform their wicked rituals beneath open sky?

At least Kinre had an estate.

“Let’s finish this,” the human said, fearless as he began striding towards the mouth of the cave.

“Wait.” Selora caught him by the arm, turning him so he faced her. “Before we go, I want to say something.”

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yes. No. I-I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I can feel the deamon pulling at my mind, like a weed suffocating the life out of me. It hasn’t manifested yet, but it’s close. And when it does… if it does… I don’t know what will happen to me.”

She held her hand out, and he took it, his fingers curling around her sharp claws. He did her one better by grabbing her other hand, too. “Don’t worry, my lady. You’ll soon be free.”

“One way or another, that must be the outcome.” She squeezed his hands, coming close. “Do you understand, human? I can’t be shackled again. Not just for my own sake, but for the sake of all life beyond the basin. Should my powers be stolen like those of my sisters… if the daemon should gain the power of all the elements… terrible calamity will follow.”

“Do you understand?” she asked again. “No matter what happens, I cannot be allowed to serve Scourge. I trust you, human, to know what to do when the time comes.”

“Selora…” The breath he’d been taking hitched in his throat. “That won’t happen. I won’t let it come to that.”

“But if it does, if the daemon is too powerful to slay, I must ask you to make sure he does not chain me again.”

“You ask too much of me.” Memories of a time he willed to be dead surfaced. Something stinged the corner of his eye, a sensation he’d gone so long without feeling.

“You think it’s easy for me to say?” she asked. “because it’s not. But the need of the realm comes before the need of some foolish little spirit.”

He wanted to get angry at her, tell her the realm could stuff its needs somewhere else, but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

“Please, my friend,” she said. “I need you to promise me.”

He pushed forward and wrapped her in his arms, feeling her fingers gently dig into his back as she returned the gesture. All his arguments left him in a sigh, and he nodded into her shoulder. “I will do my utmost to avoid it, but f it should come to that, Selora, I will do what I must.”

Again, he added, but did not say. It was always the same excuse.

She leaned back and looked him in the eye, and she made him promise out loud.

“Thank you, human.” She reached up and brushed her fingers over his scalp. Even now her presence, the embodiment of calm and nature, battled away to soothe his worries. “Don’t worry about the coming end. All that lives must eventually die. That is simply how life works.”

A smirk fought its way through his distraught. “Don’t ever become a doctor, Selora.” He blinked before moisture could form in his eyes.

He wasn’t sure how long they stood there, but concluded it wasn’t long enough when the spirit encouraged him to let her go. As much as the other’s touch lingered on both skin and bark, they had a necromancer to slay, and together, they turned to face the lair’s entrance.

“Ready?” Selora asked. The human sighed and shut his eyes. When he opened them, his usual stark gaze returned, and he nodded.

“Ready.”

Darkness engulfed the pair, the darkness of the cave mouth swallowing them up as they moved into Rukalas’ lair. The human murmured a few words of magic, and from his palm rose his faithful magelight to illuminate the way.

He recalled the cave he’d found Selora in – the stench of death had been rife then, but it was downright filthy now. Webs of flesh drew red ribbons across the reflective stone walls, blood and saliva dripping from their tendrils, the distant drips of liquid loud in the confined tunnel.

“Can your powers of earth help us down there?” the human asked, his voice echoing all around him.

“There is life in the stone,” the spirit said, running a palm across a section of rock that was clean from the unnatural flesh. It reflected back a distorted image of herself, like the walls were made of shards of glass. “But I’ve only tapped into their strength a handful of times. It’s a slow process, difficult, but this daemon is in our realm, we have the home advantage.”

“Can you see what lays before us? How many are down here?”

“A moment.” She stopped, her hand gripping the wall harder. The human watched her back as she concentrated. “There’s… a main chamber not far ahead. There are… thirty-one of those thralls down there. A quarter of them are hiding behind a fake wall on the left hand side. One of those explosive vials of yours should clean them up efficiently.”

“That’s something at least.”

“The others are gathered round a single person, who stands above them. Rukalas, I think. Beyond him lies… the altar that connects this realm to Scourge.”

The memory of the times he’d seen similar altars came and went. Although they knew about the hiding thralls, the number of foes down there made him pensive, but he pushed on, the spirit by his side the whole time.

Soon the tunnel opened up, the lair’s antechamber welcoming them into its rocky confines. About a dozen burning sconces hung high on the left and right, warming a long, thin space infested with deamonic webbing. It felt as if they’d delved into the belly of a beast rather than a cave in a mountain – red and pink flesh running rampart up the walls and vaulted ceiling, in much the same way as the grassy vines of the woods trailed up tree trunks, only much more vile and wretched.

Below the light of the sconces, earth took a measure of presence by way of scattered piles of rocks laying across a flat stretch of flooring. Lurching in prominence were maybe twenty undead thralls, these ones better equipped than any previous thrall Selora or the human encountered throughout the basin. They stood in two rough columns, appraising a figure that stood on a platform rising above the floor.

Purple linen swished over a thin body, that rose its arms in appraisal to a block of stone in front of it. It looked much like the altars the spirits had been shackled too, yet drew similarities to a crypt one would find in a modern graveyard. The stone slab set over its bulk was as thick as two planks of wood, as heavy as several bloated waterskins, and yet was being moved by invisible hands, little by little. The human didn’t have to wonder at what lay inside.

The robed figure halted his daemonic chanting, head cocking to one side as if listening for a sound. He turned around, sleeves folding back over his wrinkly hands and long nails, the horrible brightness of his pure white eyes falling on the man and spirit.

Rukalas’ numerous thralls turned as one – a motley collection of spare parts from different species and beasts regarding the pair with blank, dead expressions. They drew their assortment of crude weaponry. The sound of metal scraping on metal was very loud. But they did not advance.

“And so we meet again, all three of us, together,” the necromancer said, hands coming together in a single clap of flesh. “I must say I’m surprised you’re here, spirit, I thought a shrub-lover like you would still be weeping for your dead plants.”

“The only thing I’d cry over is how uglier you are in person,” Selora replied. “No more holograms and projections, Rukalas. This ends now.”

“Indeed it does.” The necromancer paced left and right; hands clasped behind him. “You do realise that by coming here, you have given my master the last thing he needs to bring the world to heel? I’m almost glad you failed to heed my warnings, spirit. What a contemptable fool you are.”

“Out of everyone here in this room, it’s you who’s the fool,” the human said. “You give this daemon too much power. It will discard you once your usefulness is at an end.”

“Says the adventurer with a weapon of Scourge on his back! Clearly you know as well as I that tremendous power can be bargained for, even with the denizens of Scourge. Spare me your hypocrisies, mercenary.”

The hairs on his arms stood on end – there was a tremendous amount of energy in the air, and it only strengthened as the necromancer stood to one side and raised a presenting arm. Behind him, the stone slab thrummed against its carved supports, as if something within was trying to break out.

“My master is mere moments from gracing us with his presence. Perhaps you two would like to meet him? I know you, spirit, would be interested to see who shall soon have reign over your vessel. My friends here will more than oblige you while we wait.”

“Enough of this,” the human said. Stormfang warbled in its perfect craftsmanship as he drew it from his back. “If you have any honour left, savour it now, or die as empty a husk like your ‘friends’.”

If the necromancer reacted at all to the weapon’s presence, he hid it well beneath his hood. “You misunderstand, mercenary. My plans have been years in the making, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“And neither are we,” Selora replied. “Now, stranger! The wall!”

He’d seen the illusion the moment he’d walked in, just a slight decolorated block of flesh and sinew compared to the rest of the squelching mass. He gripped at his belt and unhooked the vial containing draconic essence and sugar. He leaned back, and threw it with a grunt of effort.

Rukalas seemed almost confused as he watched the little piece of glass fly, until about halfway through its flight. Then his blazing eyes narrowed. “Hold on, is that-?”

But he never finished his sentence. The vial crashed into the wall of flesh, yet did not shatter. It seemed to shimmer in mid-air for a time, before disappearing. Then, a thunderous boom erupted as the vial landed on the other side of the illusion, detonating in a cloud of fire.

The rocks were obliterated, creating a huge hole where the illusion had been. Tens of body parts went flying from the explosions heart, the pack of would-be ambushers breaking down into all their mismatched body parts once more.

The cave rumbled and groaned, the ground soon settling after a precarious moment of instability. A few of the thralls ahead of them lost their balance, but the majority stayed on their feet.

“Arrgh!” Rukalas growled, turning back to his summoning. “Keep them away, away! I need more time!”

The thralls charged, and the human and Selora rushed to meet them. The two sides met in a clash of steel and flesh. Outnumbered ten to one, the spirit and the human kept close to cover each other’s flanks.

At the Battle of the Black Sea, the mercenary had stood against a force that vastly outnumbered his own, and he’d learned the importance of grabbing as much breathing room as he could during the initial clash, so falling back could always be an option. Back then he’d had about seven brothers on either side of him to rely on, but now he only had the one spirit.

He parried an overhead strike and repaid his attacker with a quick, fatal cut. Its arms were bloated to twice their normal size, and they spilled ichor like a pair of popped pimples when he cleaved through them, severing them at the elbows. He chained his attack and decapitated a thrall trying to get around him, the reptilian face holding no expression even as it tumbled off its shoulders.

The hooked blades of a serrated club whacked him across his shoulder, and he staggered back, blocking another swing as the crowd of thralls tried to overwhelm him. Using a precious spare moment, he pulled at his belt and threw one of his vials at the chest of a thrall. He’d been adamant about using his flasks so far, but now there was no choice. Green bile spilled out from the broken glass, the sound of melting flesh filling the chamber as the thrall disintegrated into a puddle in mere moments.

He reached for another vial, but his attackers closed in, forcing his hands to his weapon to block. At one point three swords met his own, all going for him with overhead strikes. The human felt his arm flare, but otherwise went unharmed.

Stormfang’s pristine edge whistled as he cut down a pair of beast-men, giving him room to shoulder his way through the crowd before his back met the wall. Wet flesh squelched beneath his boots as he circled the chamber’s edge, stepping over severed limbs and past the illusionary wall, which had long since disappeared now that its use was over.

Over his cluster of attackers, he caught a glimpse of Selora dealing with own half of thralls, luring maybe half of the thralls away. Bark flew in splinters from her arms as she blocked wicked blades that she could not dodge in time.

A moment of panic coursed through the spirit as her back met stone. She’d meant to retreat into the tunnel, but her attackers had forced her off-course. She had only seconds until they surrounded her, and she used them to summon all the strength of the earth around her.

Like her sparse conversations with the trees, the process was very slow, and by the time she felt a measure of power flood her surroundings, a thrall delivered a slash against her chin, sending her rolling to the ground.

Her attacker stood over her, sword raised like an executioner stood before his chopping block. Selora met its weapon with her own, not with her arm or claws, but with a giant boulder she ripped out of the wall itself, almost as large as she was. She ripped it free from its earthy chains like it weighed no more than a feather, swinging it up and over, and turning the thrall into a red puddle beneath its bulk.

She raised up on one leg, and used her other to plant a hard kick against the resting boulder. There was a crunch of stone on stone as the ball of rock surged forward, crushing a pair of thralls standing in its way and journeying right past the human, ending its course against the back wall. A stream of red paste followed the boulder the whole way.

She reached out to the earth again, but its help wasn’t quick enough, and the thralls gave her no quarter, slashing at her from all sides, forcing her to duck and dodge and lose her concentration.

Her claws slinked out of her fingers as far as they could go, and she fell into a dance of death, each twirl and stride coupled with the whistle of her arms slicing through the air, and followed by a spurt of blood. The head of an axe came at her head from the left, and she ducked, spinning on the spot as she rose to stand, one arm going left, one going right. Both her hands sliced open the guts of two of her attackers, each falling to the ground where they writhed in pain.

A moment of reprieve gave her a chance to gaze up at the necromancer. His chanting was growing in volume, loud enough to overthrow the noise of battle, as if there were ten Rukalas’ speaking. The crypt was shaking on the spot, the lid inching away, revealing more of the darkness that lay just inside the box of stone.

She fought through the tide, but the thralls slowed her down, and she could only take distant, panicked glances as the chanting came to a conclusion.

“In your true form I bid you come,” the necromancer called. “come to our realm without delay! Come out from Scourge’s embrace, lend me of your succor so that you may take form in permanence!”

The lid had peeled back far enough one could crawl inside. Selora’s eyes went wide as something rose from the crypt.

A point of yellow light rose above the altar, hanging on a wind unfelt within the cave. The point grew into a flame, fueled by forces unseen. It grew higher and wider, forming an oval of fire that burned as bright as the sun. The ring tapered at the north and south ends, meeting at curved, burning points edged with lines of flame.

From inside the burning vortex, a flat wall of images began to take shape and depth. She saw places she knew of, places she did not, of times from the ancient past and the distant future, all swirling inside the flames of in infinite continuum. Alien sounds echoed from inside, threatening to rip at her sanity as visions of what could and could not be burned into her mind.

From these rippling depths of reality, something came forward. The head of a beast came right up to fill the vortex’s stretching mass, looking through the window of one realm to another.

Then, it reached through.

The head of a dragon broke through into the realm, the eyes peering out beneath protective scales covering its snout like a carpet of hooked knives. The eyes did not merely glow, but discharged jets of flame that curled alongside the pair of massive horns crowning its head. The pupils were slitted in vertical lines, filled with a hunger that would set a primal terror in anyone it gazed upon.

A bulky arm reached through the doorway, the limb covered in thick, onyx scales that would put any plate mail to shame. Wicked claws tipped the ends of its reptilian hand, as red as its eyes. The other arm reached out, clutching the other side of the portal, followed by a broad chest decked with scales that burned red along its curved, sharp edges. Some sort of glow emanated from the center of his stomach, near where the heart would be, yet its appearance suggested this creature was so cruel it couldn’t possess such a thing.

A leg came next, digitigrade like that of the lizard-folk she’d seen from time to time. The leg was bloated with rippling muscles hidden under thin, but no less imposing scaled armour. The waist was wrapped around a skirt of additional armour, like those of dragon-scales but not quite the same as those making up its body. Not a single bit of unprotected flesh could be seen.

“H-Human,” she croaked, terror making her voice small and weak. She tried again, louder. “Human! The portal!”

She could barely see him over the few thralls remaining between them, but he did hear her, battling away his foes to chance a look. It was almost through the portal, only its lower waist and right leg remained in the worlds beyond the gateway.

Like a vice, terror gripped at him, but the urge to flee loosened just enough that he could think straight. After all, this wasn’t the first time he’d laid eyes on a daemon.

He still had one more explosive vial, but Rukalas was a long way, the portal even further. Not to mention the couple of thralls still remaining between them. It would be a hard throw, but he had no other option.

With a click, he unbuckled one of the few remaining explosive vials from his chest, breathed in, and sent it. The little vial tumbled end over end, sailing over the heads of the thralls, arcing though the chamber towards the necromancer.

It was going to fall short. The burning eyes of the daemon locked onto the vial, and Rukalas turned to look. With a girlish shriek the necromancer stumbled away from the blast-zone, which detonated near the foot of his platform. A cloud of soot filled the space in an orb of darkness, before the fumes died into nothingness. The end of the necromancer’s robe caught alight, but apart from that he still stood.

The damage had been just enough, however. With the necromancer losing focus, the portal began to shrink, like a rubber-band put to its absolute tension, then snapping. The portal closed round the thigh of the daemon, lassoing halfway up the leg and constricting, the beast loosing a terrifying roar of pain. Any other being and the limb would have severed right off, but the daemon summoned its colossal strength, and pulled itself into this realm, fighting the portal which seemed to pull at its limb like a hungry mouth.

Its intimidating entrance was marred as it stumbled to the ground, the scales on its wounded leg scorched and deformed, a contrast compared to the rest of its pristine, powerful body. With its great arms it pushed itself off the ground, rising to its huge feet, until its head rose nine feet off the ground.

“Mmm,” it said, relishing as it raised its snout, a long tongue barbed with teeth flicking out to taste the air. “Finally, I return to my rightful home. You have done well, Rukalas.”

Its booming voice was flanging, like there were two people speaking at once, and both had mouthfuls of dust making their voices rough and breathy. When the daemon uttered Rukalas’ name, a deep thrum seemed to echo, like someone had struck a gong from far away, and the air felt heavier than it already was.

The necromancer bowed his head. His fingers, which looked more like the legs of some insect than normal fingers, stretched out as he bowed in respect. “Th-Thank you, master.”

“And yet, you have wounded me at the last moment.” The daemon clutched at its leg, a spittle of flame dripping from its teeth as it snarled. “Were you not so slow in your efforts, mortal, I could have passed through unharmed.”

“M-Master, forgive me, I was not at fault. I-It was him! That mercenary has hindered me at every turn!”

Rukalas’ spine grew back when he turned away from his daemonic partner, coming forward and pointing at the human, who was finishing off the last of the thralls.

“This heathen, has made your summoning a chore!” the necromancer said, gesturing wildly as he went on. “He slays my friends and helps the goddess’ scion thwart our control! It’s because of him your prior resurrection was postponed!”

“Excuses,” the daemon croaked, knocking aside the necromancer as it took his place, at the forefront of the platform. “Step out from the shadows, mortal. I would speak to the one who has delayed my arrival so.”

As the final thrall fell to Stormfang, the human let out a shaky breath, a primal part of him trying to convince his body to run. The daemonic energy in the lair put tremendous weight over his shoulders, as if reality itself was starting to crumble. Stepping over the numerous bodies lining the floor, he moved into the light of the sconces, hearing Selora fighting somewhere behind him.

He could not meet the daemon’s gaze for longer than a few seconds, its burning eyes filled with so much intensity. “This… is the one? This human has almost bested you, Rukalas? And yet…” It drew in a breath, taking in his very scent and dissecting it in ways impossible by mortal means. “There is something about you, mercenary. A hint of my world upon your air…”

“You mean this?” The human flourished Stormfang, resting the hilt between his shoulder and stomach. It caught the light the same way the daemon’s shadowy scales did.

The daemon recoiled. It tried to hide it, but the human noticed its discomfort, watching its chops turn down in a grimace. It looked like a dragon, yet lacked the grace and nobility of one, a cruel and malicious looking being.

“How… How could a mortal rob such a relic from our plane? Who helped you commit such an act? No mortal has ever hoped to infiltrate our veil alone.”

“I did not steal it,” the human replied. “And if you don’t want to taste a blade made from your own hellish forges, you’ll leave this place now.”

It met his threat with a challenging grin, too many teeth lining its maw as its lips drew over its gums in a snarl. “That weapon harbours the souls of many, human, but have you yourself ever felt Scourge’s sting?”

The daemon raised its arms towards the ceiling, claws opening as if he was praising some corrupt god. Shadows birthed from nothingness twirled around his hands, a tornado of smoke thinning out to create a long rod, which became solid. One end of the shaft bulged and morphed into a crescent head.

The daemon gripped the haft, and slammed the head down to the ground, sending a crack of webs through the stone. Held in his arms was the largest halberd the human had ever seen. The daemon pointed the conjured weapon’s head at him.

“No?” it croaked. “Then, allow me to demonstrate.”

There was a blur of movement, and the daemon had closed the gap between them in less than a second, halberd coming down in a hard arc. The human raised Stormfang above him. The unnatural weapons met, and a horrible ringing filled the chamber. Stormfang should have been cut in two from such a hard impact, but the great sword held firm, his arms trembling as the daemon poured its weight on him.

A blood-curdling laugh left the daemon’s maw, as it watched the strain on the human’s face. “Stormfang,” it whispered. Was that a touch of awe in its horrible voice? “It’s strength courses through your blood. I’m impressed.”

The human adjusted his footing, sending a boot down on its wounded leg. He was rewarded with a sweet release of pressure, as the daemon pulled away with a guttural snarl. He feinted left, aiming Stormfang for its throat, but the daemon knocked his attack to the side, handling his halberd one-handed somehow.

The great entity pushed him back, his longer weapon twirling around his blade with an ease that troubled the human. The halberd’s point found its mark across his chest, and the wound stung like a thousand ant bites.

There wasn’t a second to spare to lift one of his vials, not that he thought his tonics would do much against this thing. It took all his concentration to keep the halberd away, eventually the two daemon weapons coming to another lock.

“I… smell the sulfur of our pools upon your breath.” The daemon leaned in, clouding the human in its foul stench. “You’ve been to Scourge?”

The human spun his blade across, just catching the daemon on the shoulder. He pressed the advantage, but the daemon locked their weapons again with alarming ease.

“No, but you’ve been close,” the daemon answered for him.

It tried to clamp its jaws round his throat, but the human dropped into a roll. He went right between its outstretched legs, the daemon thrusting his weapon down after him. It buried almost halfway up the shaft into the ground, catching only the tail end of the human’s cape.

Its injured leg was its only weakness, perhaps the only reason the human could keep up with its movements, and he took advantage of it, cutting along the back of the calf as he rolled out from beneath it. The scales were thin there thanks to the portal snapping shut, and blood as black as shadow oozed out from the cut.

The small victory was short lived, the daemon’s foot slamming into his chest, sending him back in a painful sprawl. He skirted along the ground for at least ten meters before settling.

He bit through the pain, spitting out blood and dust from his mouth. Through squinting eyes he watched daemon stalk towards him, swinging its halberd up to its thorned shoulder.

“Not even your most entropic mortals could help you reach our realm,” the daemon muttered. “that must mean you’ve-”

Its sentence was interrupted as a stream of lightning lanced into its chest. The human had popped off the cap from one of his vials, directing the broiling energy within at the daemon. The creature took a step back to keep its balance, but the shock did nothing more than make the daemon angry.

“You forget I hold most of this realm’s natural power,” the daemon laughed. “Not even your precious potions can hope to save you.”

The human rolled away as the halberd came down, getting to his knees and lunging forward. The daemon knocked Stormfang aside, then delivered a backhand that sent the human stumbling away.

The daemon chained attack after attack, nicking him on the leg and arm as the human tried in vain to cover his openings. “Perhaps you’re not a thief, as I first thought, though I am right in saying you had help.” A cut into the daemon’s side was a small reprieve from the onslaught. “Help from one of my own. But who?” Its tongue flicked out. “That smell upon your breath, the slight heat in your face. A cavorter, hmm? Perhaps I shall pay this… Kinre a visit once I’m done with you.”

A sudden fire lit up the human’s eyes, and he pushed back, striking at the leg once more and sending the daemon to a kneel.

“Perhaps you aren’t as weak as other mortals,” it cackled. The human aimed for the throat, but the daemon charged him, its broad chest knocking the wind out of him as he fell to his back, feeling sharp claws press against his throat.

He squinted through the haze of dizziness, and saw the daemon towering over him, one leg planted over his chest, its huge toes drawing beads of blood across his neck. The daemon held its halberd high in both hands, the point hovering right between the human’s eyes. “Perhaps not. Farewell, brave and foolish mortal. Your elemental friend will be next.”

As if she’d been waiting for an introduction, Selora lunged out from behind the daemon, latching onto its back. She hooked her legs across its bloated pectorals and rammed her claws into its throat. The daemon recoiled away, spinning on the spot as it tried to shake her off.

The spirit tore away into its flesh, sending black blood flying away in thick streams. She hooked her thumb into one of the burning eye sockets of the daemon, impaling all the way up to the hilt of her claw, the jet of flame extinguishing, and ground trembling as the daemon roared in anger or pain, it was hard to say which.

“Filthy weed!” the daemon shouted. It backed into the wall, crushing the spirit between it and the rock, but Selora didn’t appear harmed by the attempt. It tried to swing its halberd up in a blind strike. Selora felt the air whoosh as the weapon passed over her ducked head, the weapon banging against the wall behind her.

She raked across its throat again and again, her attack interrupted as it grabbed at her arm. It was likely about to rip her arm right off, but then the daemon’s grip went slack, the human charging over and ramming Stormfang into its side, burying Stormfang all the way up to the cross guards. Despite the liters of blood spilling from its body, the daemon was relentless, fighting off the human with one hand while pummeling a fist into Selora’s body wherever it could reach.

Wielding its halberd in one hand, the daemon reached up and plucked Selora from behind its head. Its one remaining eye burned literally with rage, as it threw her at the human, sending the two sprawling over each other. The daemon pounced on the pair before they could recover.

Just before its weapon could impale one of them, a wall of stone rose from the ground, like a doorframe had sprouted from the ground itself. The daemonic weapon bounced off the stone, its user stumbling back as Selora struck the stone with a fist and sent it flying into the daemon’s chest. The slab shattered with enough force to break all the bones in one body, but to the daemon all it did was stun it for a second.

Getting to her feet, the spirit almost looked like she was lifting an invisible weight, pieces of stone sprouting from the ground to loop curved shapes across the daemon’s ankles, flexible despite being actual rock. Morphing around the terrible creature like columns of sand, more roots of stone birthed from the walls to shackle the deamon by the arms, locking it on the spot.

The creature roared, breaking solid stone with its arms, but Selora just kept replacing them with more, the rocks twisting one of its arms in one full rotation until it finally dropped the halberd. The human found his chance to pounce. He leveled Stormfang with its neck, but as he brought down the killing blow, the daemon bellowed out a single word.

“Selora.”

Just like when it had voiced Rukalas’ name, the air grew heavy with magic, the true powers of Scourge being brought to the fight. The spirit’s name seemed to echo forever, whispered by hundreds of unseen voices.

One of the stone bindings wrapped around the daemon’s torso, came away and whipped against the human’s arm, sending a painful shock through his body. The human clutched at his shoulder as he stumbled away, blinking at his companion.

Selora’s arms began to shake, her hold on the daemon weakening. Her eyes blazed purple, brighter than any light, and a horrible look of alarm passed over her features.

“Release me, Selora. Do as I say.”

“Don’t listen to it!” the human cried, but he knew it was hopeless, could see it was hopeless. One of the loops around its ankle began to crumble into dust, the daemon kicking its limb free.

“You’re mine, spirit. All of you are mine.”

As if invisible hands were bringing her down, Selora fell to her knees, her vibrant leaves draining of all their remaining colour. More and more of the binds holding the daemon down began to break. She turned her eyes towards the human. She didn’t say anything, but he knew that this was the signal, that it was too late. She didn’t want this to be her fate.

He was beside himself as he watched his body do the deed. Running over, pushing his blade through her heart. It played over and over through his thoughts, and yet his physical body did not follow. Instead, he turned and fled in the other direction, up the platform towards the crypt.

Rukalas had been cowering behind the stone cropping the whole time, eyes peeking over the lid. He seemed so shocked by the human’s sudden approach, that he didn’t seem capable of running away or fighting back. “W-Wait, wait wait wait-!”

The human sliced him across the chest, linen and blood flying free in purple and red streams. The necromancer dropped, wailing in pain as the human flipped open the front of his robe.

The numerous rolls of linen held all manner of objects – wands and chalk and pendants that any summoner or necromancer would need on a daily basis. The human began to panic as he heard another bind crack beneath Selora’s waning strength.

“There’s no need to struggle, Selora. Relax.”

Rukalas had to have something that could help. Then he found it, ignoring the necromancers pleas as he lifted it up. A cylindrical jacket of glass hugged three incandescent flames inside its confines. One red, one blue, one white. Turning the lid proved redundant, there were many protective sigils etched into its surface, providing more resistance than even the strongest jar of pickles.

He placed the container down on the altar, and dropped his sword down as hard as he could. The protective shell dented, but did not break. He came down again, summoning all his strength into the swing, and his efforts were rewarded with a shattering of glass as the vessel snapped down the middle.

Slipping between his blade and the broken container, the three flames hovered out from their imprisonment. They hovered before his eyes in a line, the passionate flames cackling against his outstretched palm, but giving off no heat.

He could feel raw, unfiltered power from these wisps, right there at his fingertips, vulnerable and ready to be absorbed. He’d never want for power again, all who stood in his way would burn to cinders, travelling vast distances would take moments, not years. He’d be lying if the potential didn’t tempt him.

But the cries of his friend set his thoughts straight, and rather than take the spirits into his own, he sent them forward with a fling of his arm. “Your sister needs help. Go to her!”

The wisps floated along his arm, like how an arrow uses a bow to aim itself, and the three points of energy sailed towards the daemon.

“No!” Rukalas cried. “Master! The spirits!”

The wisps morphed into taller, humanoid shapes very similar to Selora’s own body. Perhaps these were what their worldly vessels looked like. The human could see the chamber through their iridescent bodies as they floated forward. To his horror, Selora tried to fight away the spirits with a summoned boulder, but the wisps surrounded her in a cloud of colour, and magics the human couldn’t comprehend compelled the spirit to fight against its possessor.

“Selora!” the daemon yelled. “I command you! S-Spirits of this realm, you answer to me!”

The stone binds returned, knocking the daemon down as it made to charge the ghostly apparitions. Whenever it broke one bind, two more would take its place. The wisp that burned with a furious red floated over and raised its arms, and the cruel hands of the daemon were suddenly cupping balls of hot flame. The daemon let its massive weapon drop, where it clanged against the stone.

“We’ll never obey Scourge, you fuck!”

Not exactly as articulate as one would expect a benevolent, embodiment of an element across the aether would say, but the human didn’t judge.

The root of a tree came up from the stone, and wrapped a hundred vines over the daemon’s back, bringing it crashing down to the floor. It writhed and struggled like a bear caught in a trap, but the combined power of the spirits was pressing its power to the limit.

The blue-coloured spirit turned, and pointed at the human. “You! Slay it now! There’s little time!”

The human needed no convincing, lifting up his sword as he rushed over, pausing only when the daemon’s remaining eye peered up at him, immobilised by roots and rocks strapped over his wrists and ankles, pouring all the hate it could muster into its predatory gaze.

“You’ve done nothing this day. My kind will reclaim what we once lost! Scourge will return to this world!”

“Maybe it will, but you won’t.” He brought Stormfang down into the back of its head, which jutted at an awkward angle as he dug the blade deep. There was a crunch of flesh and bone as he twisted the hilt.

The daemon opened its maw, perhaps to cry in agony, perhaps to shout out curses to them, but there was no sound escaping its lips apart from a throaty sigh. The ends of its limbs dissipated into smoke, spreading until its whole body was wrapped in a giant cloak of darkness. The white element summoned up a gale, and the shadows, along with the daemon’s weapon, evaporated in the wind, and the daemon’s body was gone, like it had never been there.

Sheathing Stormfang, he rushed over to Selora, catching her right before she doubled over. “My lady? Selora?”

“Hmm?” She sounded like she was waking up from a dream. “D-Don’t water the vines it’s not good for the lake.”

“She’s delirious,” a voice said from beside him. He looked up and saw the fire spirit floating nearby, folding her arms over her breast. “A good slap should bring her round.”

The human opted for a shake instead, and that did the trick, the earth spirit’s eyes flying open. He was pretty sure he heard the fire spirit call him a killjoy.

“H-Human?” Selora mumbled. “Is it done?”

He nodded, their eyes meeting, real eyes this time, for her actual gaze was not purple, but a glossy green, with no irises to interrupt the slick expanse of colour. The water spirit peered over his shoulder at her earthly sister. “My, I’ve not seen you look at a mortal like that before, Selora.”

“Can you blame her? Look how cute he is.” The fire spirit waved to get his attention. “Who are you anyway, human?”

He helped Selora to her feet, embarrassment hinting at the edge of her voice. “Yes, do I get to know your name now? Since there’s no more daemon listening in?”

He was a little hesitant, looking between the spirits as they sized him up. He put a hand to his chest and bowed. “It’s Raynor, of Cyford. Words cannot express my joy of meeting not one, but all the ladies of the elements.”

“And he’s so polite, too. Keep this one, sister,” the fire element elbowed Selora, but her wispy arm merely passed straight through her.

“I’ve heard of a Paladin bearing that title,” the air spirit said. She hovered above him and leaned on his shoulder, her lower half tapering into a controlled whirlwind force rather than legs. All he felt from her touch was a precious resistance, like a cloud was pushing against him. “Your knightly exploits are famous.”

“You must be mistaken, my lady. I am no knight. Or Paladin.”

“But you carry yourself with such valor,” the water spirit said. She leaned on his other shoulder, transparent body made up of columns of running water, taking on the form similar to a human woman. “I hope my sister has a reward prepared for you. I know I would if I still had my physical body…”

Selora had got the impression the human was practiced in keeping his emotions collected, but even his professionalism was slipping with the group of females fawning over him. It didn’t help that they were also nude, pert chests coming so dangerously close it was hard not to let his eyes fall on them.

Whether it was jealousy or impatience that brought the earth spirit forward, no one could tell. “Come on, that’s enough. Leave him be.” She looked over the wounds the daemon had inflicted on him. He hid it well, but each bit of movement caused him great pain. “I’m glad you’re safe, sisters.”

“As are we,” the fire spirit said. “The realm has dodged a terrible blow this day. We’re so proud of you, Selora. Where we failed, you succeeded.”

Raynor grinned as he watched the spirits converge on Selora, casing her in a big group hug. He waited until they parted, before raising a hand and asking: “So, you’re all free now?”

“Yes,” the fire spirit replied. “though it will take some time for us to gather enough energy to manifest ourselves back into the realm. Until then, we must recuperate in Emeana’s glade.”

“Perhaps we’ll meet you there, Selora,” the air spirit said. “I’m sure the goddess will want to thank you.”

“Later,” Selora said. “I must tend to this cave and my friend first. I’ll see you all there.”

The spirits waved at Raynor, before they shrunk back down into precious wisps of flame. One moment they hung there, and the next they were gone with a trio of magical poofs, leaving him and Selora alone again in the lair.

Well, almost alone. From behind the crypt came a pained groan. They turned, seeing the flesh and sinew coating the high walls begin to decay and crumple around them. Now that the daemon was gone, the corruption would wither away in time. All that was left was the one who helped it arrive.

“You… you ruined everything! All my w-work…” Rukalas leaned on the crypt for support, one arm nursing the slash across his chest. “Do you know how much my master t… took from me? And now he’s gone. All of it. Gone.”

“You’ve no one but yourself to blame,” Selora said. “After what you’ve done to my basin, you’ll find no clemency from me. May you find forgiveness in the After.”

She raised her hand, hands clutching at invisible strings as the lair began to shake, as if a sudden earthquake had erupted nearby. Stones the size of tables began to fall from the ceiling, gaping wounds shredding apart the surrounding flesh as the lair began to lose integrity.

“Mercenary! I hope your own daemons reward you like mine has!” Rukalas cried as Raynor and Selora turned their backs on him, making for the exit. Not a single spell was cast to stop them. Only curses.

Selora hitched an arm beneath the human’s own, seeing a pool of blood stain his tunic. Rukalas’ screams were drowned out as the lair began to collapse, the necromancer dying as he screamed for his mother. And then he was silenced beneath a mountain of stone.

7

“It seems I owe you my life again, Raynor.”

They emerged into a gust of fresh wind, the potent, familiar scents of the outdoors setting both of them at ease. After however long they’d been down in the lairs oppressive air, it felt better to be outside again, even with the dead wastes stretching out below them.

The morning sunrise stained the sky in reds and oranges, the early light shining down across the bowl of woodland loam. There wasn’t a cloud in sight to obstruct the otherwise fine morning.

“Just my good deed for the day,” the human replied through gritted teeth. Selora looked down and saw, now that there was actual light to see, a worrying amount of blood drawing wide splotches across his chest and sides.

“Goddess! Are you alright, Raynor?”

“It’s nothing. I’ve had worse. Just need one of my salves…”

“Can you walk a little further? There is still poison in the air, your wounds might get infected. The clean woodland air will do you good, Raynor.”

“You’re probably right.”

With her help, they moved back across the breadth of the wastes, this time heading more towards the west. Selora assured him there’d be no walls of vines blocking the way like they had yesterday, and a good place to rest wasn’t far.

“Five minutes, Raynor. You won’t regret it.”

“You really like saying my name, don’t you?”

She winked at him. “I don’t know what you mean, Raynor. Watch that ditch there, Raynor. Raynor, you saved me from certain doom.”

“Your sisters get the credit for that,” he said. “I just helped set them free.”

“You freed me as well,” Selora said, her tone coy as she glanced at him. “I feel like I’m actually my own self again, if not a little… longing.”

“Longing?” he echoed.

“The daemon had made itself right at home in my thoughts, coiling its presence around my own, like a parasite, and now in its place is just an… emptiness. It craves the company of another.”

“Good thing I am here to sate you, hmm?”

“I wouldn’t want anyone else, Raynor.” She smiled. “N-Not that there’s exactly much choice, but… you know what I mean.” She stared up at the rise of the cliffs on their right, wistful. “Maybe I was wrong this whole time. I’d always believed humans to be the worst out of any other species, but then you come along. And now, I’m starting to believe you’re not all bad. If there are humans out there even half as noble as you, the realm may yet be in good hands.”

“Noble’s the last thing I’d call myself,” Raynor said, his mood faltering even as he returned her grin. “Second-last, actually.”

“And yet all this time, you’ve done nothing but help me, my sisters, even Emeana in a way, and you’ve yet to ask for anything in return.”

“A few days in your company is reward enough, my lady.”

He was struck by her beauty in that second, her eyes awash with a greenness hinting at her inner purity, her coat of leaves flittering in the breeze. “Oh, hush,” she said, hand gently falling into his own. “there’s no need for flattery after what we’ve done.”

“You enjoy it,” he accused, chuckling when the spirit didn’t try to deny it.

Just when his injuries were starting to flare up to an unbearable point, they breached a wall of ferns, and emerged into another clearing. They’d been hearing the sound of running water for a few minutes, and now its source was revealed, in the form of a pair of pools bubbling away, flanked by several little stone spires spitting wisps of steam from there narrow tips. The water was a rich green colour, the flora in the immediate area very healthy on account of the presence of water.

“A hotspring?” Raynor said, feeling his front being washed in the pool’s warm radiance. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen one of these.”

“Thank the goddess Rukalas didn’t touch this place. Here, that water should help you heal up.”

She reached down to run a hand through the liquid, Raynor doing the same, but his hand flinched away when its scolding temperature flashed through his fingers.

“Oh, sorry, I forget humans are more sensitive. I’ll lower the temperature.” She closed her eyes as she tapped into the earth.

While she did that, Raynor sat down and crossed his legs, stripping off a few of his sashes, rolling up his sleeves so he could better access his wounds. The daemon had given him a nasty cut across his right bicep, the wound dragging all the way down to his armpit. A drop from his salve vial caused him to bark in pain as he pushed the tonic deep, the two lines of his own severed flesh sucking at his fingers like a pair of lips.

The spirit was by his side in an instant, watching him struggle to see to a wound on his chest, stuffing a hand down his collar. “Here, I’ll help you.” She took the salve and, hesitating just for a heartbeat, reached into his collar and searched for the wound, feeling it out with her fingers. “I can’t do this properly with this in the way.” She plucked at the sleeve of his tunic.

“It’s nothing, I can handle my own wounds.”

“I’m sorry, did I sound like I was asking? Either you or I will take that tunic off, that’s final.”

Raynor grinned at her words, dirty jokes coming to mind as he unbuttoned the first couple of buttons, exposing his pectorals to the warm air, and Selora’s questing eyes. A thin layer of tuft covered his chiseled chest, blemished down the middle by a small cut so very close to where his heart was. His muscles flexed beneath her exploring fingers as she applied the salve, the spirit not quite meeting his eyes as he smirked up at her.

“I think that’s enough salve, Selora,” Raynor said.

“What? Oh.” She had rubbed to the point all the medicinal paste was gone. She cleared her throat. “Are there any more?”

“Nothing urgent,” he said. Her eyes drifted to the back of his unfolded tunic – there were more bloodstains.

“And those? You’ve taken quite the beating, Raynor. You shouldn’t leave them unattended.”

“Really, Selora, it’s-”

“If you say it’s nothing one more time you’ll wish the daemon had captured me. Turn around.”

By her stern expression he could tell there was no convincing her otherwise. Sighing, he unbuttoned the rest of his tunic and slipped it off, wincing when Selora pushed his shoulder down to get a better look.

He passed her another vial, and she applied the salve to both her hands, rubbing the gel into his skin, like how a masseuse would oil up a client, only much more painful. The salve worked only if it went deep into the wound, and Selora reached places his hands could not, all the way up to the knuckle at some points, angling her claws so as not to harm him.

“What about your wounds?” Raynor asked, his body lurching forward as Selora pushed from behind.

“As long as the earth remains strong, I’ll regenerate quickly. You, on the other hand…”

“Must be nice,” he said, falling silent and listening to the sounds of the forest, and the popping bubbles frothing in the pools in front of him.

“There,” Selora soon said, dusting her hands and walking round to his side. “Would you like to take a dip in the pool? I’ve lowered the heat to an acceptable level.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to get me out of my clothes.”

“Purely for your own health benefits,” she replied, her seriousness betrayed by the small mirth in her eyes. “The pool will wash all that grime from you and fill you with vigour, a fresh start after a hard-fought victory.”

She leered over him, her size accentuated by him sitting and her standing. Her emerald eyes doted over his torso. “Besides, how could a scion of Emeana have such material thoughts? She was only whisked to safety by a brave knight who battled by her side and slew her daemon. How could she develop any kind of attachment?” She paused to let that sink in. “Of course, I shall join you if choose to go for a dip. I could use a good wash myself.”

Raynor was already unbuckling his belt before she finished, glancing up as Selora turned and moved to the hotspring, her hips rolling with each stride, enticing him to hurry up. The water rose up to the middle of her thighs as she waded into its deepest part, before turning around and sinking down, until only her head remained visible.

Until he wore nothing but his underwear, the human followed after, kicking off his boots into his pile of clothes, then dipping his toes in. Selora had brought the spring to the perfect temperature, and he eased in one leg after the other, finding a good perch of rock hidden beneath the hot water to sit on.

The spirit was right, he felt his strength returning in full, his tense muscles unwinding, his wounds warming as whatever magic lived here brought his pain to a quick end. He rubbed the water into his arms and shoulders, relishing in the warmth as he leant back, having not felt the touch of a hot (or cold) bath in months.

Ripples of movement disturbed the springs surface, and he peered an eye open, seeing his companion through the haze of steam. She had moved over to his side, just in reach if he were to hold out an arm.

“Was I right, or was I right?” she sighed, her crown of leaves drooping a little, in much the same way as wet hair would. She’d gone under at some point, droplets sliding down the sides of her face.

“All we need now is some sliced cucumbers,” he said. The spirit cocked an eyebrow at him, not understanding. “A human thing,” he explained. “So, the daemon is gone now. Will your woods return to normal?”

“In time, yes,” she said. “Even those wastes back there will heal over. At least we were quick enough that the whole basin didn’t look like that. How lucky I am to have another forest guardian.” Her tone was covetous. The water rippled again as she inched closer.

The hair on his submerged arm tingled as she rested a hand on him. “I’ve been thinking about how to reward you for all you’ve done. Now don’t give me that whole, ‘You don’t owe me’ speech, Raynor, I’m being serious. Who would I be to let such a just act go unrewarded?”

The human held his tongue, watching the spirit tap the point of her chin with a claw. He decided to let her have her way, asking her what she had in mind.

“There are few things of equal worth to your actions. I don’t have any gold, but I do have plenty of water. I imagine that would be a commodity should you find yourself without any. That’s it!”

“You’ll… fill my waterskins then? Alright, well-”

“Not exactly,” she interrupted. She was very close now, close enough that her side was rubbing up against his beneath the pool. “I’ll give you the power to draw drinking water wherever you wish. You’ll feel the touch of life wherever you are, as long as you stay in this realm.”

Raynor’s brow raised in interest, such a power would surely come in handy at some point. “Very well, I’ll accept that,” he said, the knots in his muscles relaxing as the water danced over his skin. He thought he saw a flush on Selora’s face, but couldn’t be sure with all the warmth around them.

“So… do you just snap your fingers, or… are their words of magic I must phrase?” he asked.

“In order to give you this gift, you and the earth must grow a closer bond. Otherwise it won’t work.”

“Makes sense. How do we do that? Plant some acorns?”

“I have a better idea.” He felt the spirit’s hand trail up and down his arm, the side of her hip pressing against him as she leaned against him like a cat seeking attention. He kept his body still, quirking an eyebrow as Selora’s face came closer.

“Do you know what the basis of all life is?” she asked. “Forget trees, or water. What is the one thing that creates life in its most basic state?”

He looked away from her shining eyes, watching the ripples in the water as the bubbles burst upon reaching the surface, thinking. “I’d… imagine the answer would be reproduction.”

“Quite so. And as a scion of nature, fertility runs deep in my core. Through me we can complete the ritual needed to bond you and the earth.”

“You mean…?” She nodded at his lingering question. “And that’s the best way?”

“I sense a bit of doubt in your voice. I thought you said you liked women outside your own species?”

He remembered, but having never done it with a spirit before, or an embodiment of an element, made him a tad apprehensive. What if he upset the goddess, seeing him as a defiler of one of her scions?

Just add her to the list then, a part of him reminded. He was jolted out of his thoughts as he felt Selora’s hand brush over his crotch as she dipped her hand between his legs.

“Your body doesn’t seem bothered,” the spirit noted, giving him a gentle squeeze, Raynor’s spine lifting from the stone.

“This ‘ritual’ seems a little… carnal.”

“P-Purely platonic of course,” she replied quickly. “As I said, nature is passionate, and life is wild with desire. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to bring a mortal into the state of mind that the earth shares. You don’t know how frustrating it is to never be indulged in pleasure when that’s a big part of your very existence.”

She seemed a little distracted the moment she said that last word, drawing a circle on his arm with her thumb. “Call me shallow for jumping on the first human I’ve interacted with, but you intrigue me, Raynor.”

Her lips parted ever so slightly, their eyes locking for a heartbeat. Raynor told his worries to sod off, and he pressed forward, pressing his lips into her own.

To say the sensation he felt was curious would be an understatement. Her lips were made from carved wood, yet were soft to the touch, the texture of pine and flesh mixing together somehow. They were thick and inviting, Selora moaning as she opened them up to invite his tongue inside.

A claw beneath Raynor’s chin urged him to lift his head, her own organ wrestling with his. It was twice the size of his own tongue, fighting with it to push through and lap at the insides of his mouth, his cheeks bulging as its sheer size piled inside him. Their tongues coiled together like mating snakes, and unlike her body, her tongue was all sinew and flesh, warm and salivating as it explored the roof of his mouth, before delving into his throat.

Draping a leg across his waist, she locked him in a measured embrace, taking her time in tasting all his mouth had to offer. With their size difference it almost appeared like Selora was engulfing the lower half of his face.

She indulged him with a kiss deeper than any other Raynor knew, her winding tongue big and strong like the rest of her vessel. The human began to feel light-headed, his heart thumping in his chest as he felt himself melt into the pool. The claws of her hand grazed against his stomach with a tender caress, a contrast to how well she wielded them in battle in the days prior.

Right at the moment his lungs began to burn for air, she broke away the kiss, taking her time to wind her tongue out of his mouth, relishing in his taste just as much as he was to hers. Their mouths were connected by a string of saliva that soon draped onto Raynor’s chest. He blinked his eyes clear, looking up at Selora’s flushed face, a little red hue discolouring her cheeks.

“Have you changed your mind, then?” she asked, hand raising to stroke her chin, waiting for him to make the next move.

He didn’t disappoint, pushing his face into her leafy neck, his hands roaming over the contours of her body as he breathed in her scent. She smelled like earth after a heavy storm, of damp grass and wet dirt, sending a wave of calmness coursing through him. She was carved into an athletic perfection that his hands couldn’t resist exploring, his fingers sinking into her wooden figure. Her ‘flesh’ yielded just a little, fuzzy under his fingers like she’d been freshly sanded down, making her feel more like skin than the wood she was actually made of.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Selora whispered, gasping as his fingers fell to her voluptuous waist. They were wide and generous, the embodiment of child-bearing hips. There width smoothly tapered down into her plump thighs, the grain rippling with whatever muscles worked beneath the layer of taut wood that carried her powerful body.

His hands travelled upward, brushing over her coat of leaves hiding away the curved paunch of her belly and supple chest. Raynor delved into the thick vines until his hands found a smooth, round shape that fit perfectly in his palm, eliciting another gasp from the spirit.

His touch told him it was teardrop in shape, and he wondered if her breasts possessed nipples. He pushed further in to find out, but the coat she wore was too thick, and his hands had trouble digging in.

“You can rip it off,” Selora cooed, a hand running through his hair as she spoke from above. “it’ll grow back. Don’t worry.”

Never one to fiddle with bra straps or tough clamps, Raynor reached up, and roughly peeled away the hem of her top, the spirit voicing an aroused, “Oh!”

The coat peeled away like a shirt, resisting like he was unrooting a bed of grass, revealing a shapely pair of breasts his hungry fingers sank into. They yielded before his hands just a little, forever keeping their carved, perfected shape as he drank in their chiseled details. Not a hair or blemish was in sight, such alien perfection only possible on carved statues.

His hands trailed lower on her impressive bust, until his fingers brushed a nub poking out between two grains of wood. He pinched it between his thumb and finger, Selora squealing in excitement as he teased out her nipples.

Raynor leant down, ready to take one into his mouth, when Selora pushed him back, the human catching himself on his elbows as he looked up at the guardian.

“This ritual is for you, Raynor,” she whispered, her hands pressing against his chest. “Not me. Just relax…”

The leaves of her hair tickled him as she lowered her face to his stomach, one hand dipping into the water to grab at his crotch. He was already hard as a rock with all the warm water and Selora’s attentions surrounding him, his dick twitching as she gave him an experimental pump.

“This will only work if you’re completely ready.” She grinned at his reaction as she deftly removed his underwear without breaking eye-contact, chucking his pants over her shoulder, then brushing her fingers over his tip, drawing a few shapes across his glans, his member bobbing and pulsing in the shallow pool.

“I’ve never done this before, but I think I’ll learn quickly.” Before Raynor could speak, Selora bent her knees, and submerged her head beneath the surface of the spring. He could just make out the shape of her head through the water, inching towards his groin.

He threw his head back when he felt her plant a kiss on his tip, her tongue coming out to lap at his erection which had swelled with pre. She suckled at his tip like it was a lollipop, tongue swirling in circles and flicking against his glans in a toe-curling intensity. She switched from kissing to lapping, at a pace that always kept him guessing, and never getting used to the stimulation.

It seemed she didn’t need to come up for air, spending an entire minute focusing on his tip, before teasing his length by circling her tongue around his shaft. His hips bucked on instinct, but Selora held his waist tight against the rocks, intent on keeping her own pace.

Her warm mouth and the heat of the spring blended into a hell of pleasure, Raynor moaning into the quiet air as the underwater blow dragged on. Selora’s lips nibbled their way down his rod, until she kissed his belly in one quick plunge, engulfing all of him in her maw. Her tongue clung against his member as tight as a glove, flexing and moving up and down, up and down. One of her claws cupped his balls, their sharp points making his mind flare with alarm and pleasure, it couldn’t decide which was better. If he or she moved the wrong way they’d cut his skin, but the thought only seemed to enhance the stimulation.

Raynor couldn’t do much except let her have her fun, resting his hands on her submerged head as she drew her mouth up and around his length, attacking from all angles, her tongue so soft and dexterous as she ran its satin-like texture over him, her cheeks touching the sides of his manhood a she sucked away. Her movements were jerky and a little inexperienced, but Raynor’s eyes soon rolled into the back of his head as she took him all the way inside again.

Surrounded on all sides by heat and Selora’s fleshy tongue, head thrown back, his hands groping at her hair – from an outside perspective it must have looked like quite the sight, like he was jacking himself off in the spring, making embarrassing noises he was glad Selora couldn’t hear.

An ache deep within him started to surface, and Selora seemed to sense he was close, speeding up her clumsy technique, encouraging his urge to release with a quick change of pace. She sealed her lips tight against the base of his length, ready to draw out as much of his emission as she could.

But before his orgasm released, Raynor reached down and hooked his hands into her armpits, pulling the spirit out of the water with a splash. Her long tongue tried to coil around him like a lifeline before popping free, lolling out the side of Selora’s mouth as she blinked her vision clear. Water dripped from her startled face as she looked at him with dazed eyes.

“R-Raynor? Why did you- ah!”

He flipped her around into the shallows, dropping her a little harder than he intended, the thunk of wood on stone very loud. Positions reversed, he crawled up her tall body, his rod brushing against the inside of her thigh as he locked her in another kiss.

Selora’s eyes were wide, but soon they closed as she cupped the back of his head with a hand, deepening their kiss, driving her tongue as far down his throat as she could. With a wet pop, he separated them, a strand of water and saliva linking them before it draped over her chin.

“Raynor?” She sounded afraid, like she’d done something wrong that he’d stopped her prematurely.

He grinned, planting a kiss on her neck, then her clavicle, then on her breast as he travelled lower. Her body was so warm thanks to the hotspring, dripping with moisture almost like she was sweating. He pinched a nipple between his lips and suckled like a babe, the spirit spine rising in a beautiful arc as she moaned above him.

“Y-You don’t have to… mm, do this,” she muttered, her body as sensitive as a virgin’s as he mouthed at her abs and belly, rubbing his hands all over her curves and relishing in her feminine physique. “It’s – ah – not necessary.”

“Then ask me to stop,” he replied, voice muffled as his mouth met the lower part of her coat. He wasn’t gentle as he ripped it out of the way, giving it all the care a stubborn undergarment deserved. He tossed the fern aside and kissed her below her navel.

Her only reply was a groan, stifled as she bit her lips, green eyes boring down on him as he turned his attention to her groin. Moving aside one of her thighs with a hand, his eyes were met with a glistening pair of lips, puffy and wet with not just water, but her own fluids as well.

Now that her teasingly immodest coat was gone, he could see the standard wooden plating of her body tapered down here to a lighter shade of beige, the creamy whiteness of her vagina squelching wetly when he mouthed at the side of her opening, her feminine, earthy scent hitting him like a wall.

“Goddess!” Selora cried, when the human delved inside, leading with his nose as he buried his face inside her. She was squirming like crazy, Raynor putting a hand on her thigh to steady her as he pushed his tongue forward. Her passage was so narrow his tongue had trouble getting even a few centimeters in, her walls the texture of velvet as he dragged his organ from south to north, her fluids tasting a little like raspberries.

The spirit cried out a wordless moan, wriggling beneath him as if she were trying to free herself. Fighting back her scent, which was like an addictive cloud of euphoria, he lifted himself from her groin, staring up at Selora’s lolling head.

“Are you alright?” he asked. “Did I hurt you?”

Taking a second to realise he stopped, the spirit angled her head down at him, her expression halfway between anger and longing. “I don’t remember telling you to stop, human.”

“Well, if you want I- mmf!”

By the time he said you, her legs had come up and crossed over the back of his head, vicing him between her wooden thighs as she shoved him back down, her legs flexing with effort, like she was afraid he’d try and escape.

Her efforts were in vain, Raynor complacent as he introduced a finger, spreading her labia wide so his tongue could pass through. Her walls clung to his exploring tongue, following it wherever it went, drawing him deeper into her folds. He cored her out as if he were eating an apple, stem and all, his efforts rewarded by a fresh squirt of her fem-nectar, its fruity taste bringing his taste-buds to life.

Selora twitched and moaned, hands covering her face as Raynor lashed at her walls, redoubling his efforts when his lips brushed against a bulb of flesh. Her anatomy down here was familiar, the spirit’s muttering of his name proof enough as he lashed at her clitoris, and drew it out of its hood into the complete mercy of his tongue.

He bent it one way, licking it, pushed it the other way, sucked and mouthed and circled her most intimate depths, her thighs quaking round his head as her whole body shivered.

“Finally. After a whole lifetime of pining. Finally…” She groaned when he nipped at her vulva, and took a second to catch his breath. His face and tongue were covered in her viscous fluids, her musk overpowering all his senses.

Her body danced to his movements, her walls sucking him deeper and deeper into her tunnel as he probed further in. He felt a sense of vertigo as Selora suddenly rolled over, until she was sitting on him from above, grinding into his face as he explored every inch of her vagina.

He gasped for air when Selora lifted away, his face flushed as the morning sunlight glinted off his slick mouth and jaw, a strand of her fem-cum still joining him to her lips. He watched Selora sit back on his chest, her hand coming over to trail across his cheek.

“I think we’re both ready enough now,” she said, rubbing up against his bare chest as she shimmied down his torso. Raynor felt a wave of excitement tear through him, eyes tracing over the generous width of her thighs as she spread them out as wide as they could, presenting Raynor with a fantastic view of her exposed genitals and flexing abs.

She rested her sizeable rump over his thighs, resting his length between the glistening lips of her entrance, hips bobbing up and down as she teased out the anticipation of penetration. Her labia suckled at the underside of his length, as if the muscles had a mind of their own to take him inside her.

Raynor brushed his hands up her shapely calves, ready to grab at her hips and plunge. But Selora must have seen the intent in his eyes, reaching down and intwining her fingers with his, pressing his wrists to the stone on either side of his head.

“I want to take my time with this,” she said, voice husky as she nipped at his earlobe. “Savour you, like a fine wine. Now don’t give me that look, you’re in my basin, and you have to follow my customs.”

“What’s wrong with rutting like animals? I had a feeling you’d be into that.”

“We’ll get there. But for now, just to make sure there’s no funny business…”

A pang of alarm washed over him as he felt something crawl up his side, and he looked down, seeing a small root coil its way up his waist. Another vine birthed from the stone near his leg, and another on the opposite side. He felt them wrap around his knees and stomach like ropes, not tight enough to hurt, but just enough to pin his movements down.

It appeared like the very earth itself was cupping him in its grip, which wasn’t a far stretch, considering how her entrance gripped at his dick as their genitals rubbed parallel to each other.

“There,” she said, his arms secured by another set of roots. Placing her hands on his thighs, she leaned back, giving him a good view as she rolled her hips, sometimes bringing his dick close enough to penetrate, only to ease him away again. Now it was his turn to writhe around, frustration fizzing up his brain as her soft walls were so close, yet so far at the same time.

He couldn’t take much more, and neither could she, apparently, Selora’s emerald eyes lighting up with glee as she traced her groin from his base to tip, before leaning forward and engulfing him. They winced in unison, Raynor biting his lip as her narrow tunnel struggled to accept him, Selora not even pausing for a second as she used gravity to help lower herself.

Her walls clung like a second skin to his dick, the ultimate act of deflowering almost a painful experience for the both of them, Selora too eager to slow things down. Soon he was impaling her all the way to the hilt, his whole length vanishing behind her hungry lips.

Each twitch and movement from one translated into the other through where their bodies joined. Unbearable pleasure coursed through his every nerve, her passage gripping his member like a glove made of pillows, soaking his groin with her fluids as her walls welcomed him inside with constant caresses.

“Goddess,” Selora whispered, lidding her eyes as she reveled in his member pulsing inside her like a heartbeat. Her hands on his chest, she began to raise her hips, drawing out his length in reverse, subjecting them both to the torment of her clinging, narrow walls.

“M-My lady you’re tighter than a-” Raynor finished his thought with a groan, swearing by all the gods he knew as she stopped with just his tip still inside her.

A heartbeat of stillness passed, and then she slammed down on him, her rump slapping against his thighs as she hilted herself on him again. The impact of their bodies sent the water still clinging to their drenched bodies flying about, dripping across the stone in small puddles. The roots kept Raynor’s hands and legs still, Selora using him like a toy as she experimented with his dick, rolling her waist about and drawing figures of eight with her hips.

Her love-tunnel molded to the shape of his length, clenching and unclenching in time with her gyrations, Raynor feeling like he was rubbing against every inch of her flawless, smooth walls. She raised back up again, exposing his shaft to the hot air for another second, before dropping back down again, her measured pace slipping as she started fucking him into the ground.

Around the binding roots, little flowers of white began to sprout from long stems. Big moths and butterflies began buzzing around the freshly sprouted petals, their colourful wings fluttering as the human’s body met the spirit’s again in a wet slap. Did the woods always look this vibrant? It was probably just his euphoria making him see things.

Selora moaned as she slammed her hips down on his again, the roots locking his arms giving way after he flexed on instinct. He pulled them free and reached around to rest his fingers over her rump, the spirit folding her legs in to allow him access, her knees settling near his armpits because of how big she was. Her impressive rump was smooth and inviting, her ass tensing when he gave her cheeks a slap.

That talk of rutting like animals soon came, Selora bouncing on his lap with enough vigour he had trouble keeping up, using his hands on her ass to set a pace he could match.

He met her lingering eyes with his own, hips meeting in thrust after thrust, his shaft penetrating her all the way to the walls of her womb, massaging his dick with her flesh in constantly changing ways, as if she had finer control over her vaginal muscles than a human would.

Her belly tensed in ecstasy, Selora leaning down to hold his hands into her own again, subjecting him to another intimate kiss. She broke away, the two face-to-face as they rutted in earnest, living off each other’s breaths. Her hips slammed against him hard enough to leave bruises.

“I’m close,” she muttered, as if afraid she’d be overheard. “Take me, Raynor, and don’t stop.”

She moved above him until her chest was level with his face, her stature big enough to allow her to still hold his hands. Raynor didn’t need any more convincing, dragging his tongue across her left breast until he found her nipple, her thighs clenching around his own as she shivered.

His face buried in her cleavage, she began bouncing on top of him again, putting all her weight on him as she rutted as hard as she could. Her walls flexed in blissful rolls of contractions, as though her womb was trying to milk him. The spirit rode him into the ground, groan after groan as she shivered against him, losing herself in a daze as she came. She lifted her waist, her muscular lips locking around his glans, sensing his own approaching orgasm. Her squeezing loins were too much, sending him over the edge with her.

A thick spurt of his seed splattered against her walls, which renewed her muscles to drink all they could from him. He moaned into her chest, hands still locked together as they shared in their climaxes. His spine arched as another spurt followed the first, her merciless insides forcing out a third emission.

Selora’s womb couldn’t accommodate it all, their combined fluids dribbling out from the edges of her lips and spilling down his thighs, where they stained the rocks in a messy web. His face did a slideshow of expressions he didn’t even know a face could make.

Beyond the hot spring, the wastes started to recede as saplings began to take sudden root and growth. Throughout the basin dying plants began to rekindle with a few extra years of life. Flowers bloomed, and seeds rekindled as the flora began to heal.

And this wasn’t unseen. Raynor felt it, felt the life coursing through the basin, felt its heartbeat thrum steadily. It was like he’d reached the ultimate state of meditation, even though right now he was but a slumped, expended pile beneath Selora, drinking in her earthly scent like it was a drug.

Raynor could even feel the tips of his fingers swell with a new power. He could see where the hot spring water went, channeling through a few underground ports, where small chambers of steam rose from the heated water in caverns deep beneath the earth.

He was brought back into his own mind when Selora touched her forehead to his, chuckling to herself. “My first time. With a human. Past me wouldn’t believe it.”

“And is present you… bothered by that?” he asked.

“By Scourge, no. Humans are alright.” She chuckled, her voice trailing as he rested his hands on her wooden hips, his dick still firmly tucked inside her. Selora buried her face between his neck and shoulder, pecking him on the cheek as she tried to catch her breath. They shared a quiet moment in their afterglow, listening to the calls of birds flying above them.

“You know how I said that sex would… I mean, this ritual would bond you and the earth?” Raynor nodded. “… How does it feel?”

“I’m… more aware of everything around us,” he explained. “But I’m not quite sure how I’ll be able to draw out water.”

“Then perhaps,” she said, clenching around his dick, making the man grunt. “we’ll have to perform… multiple rituals.” She winked at him. “Purely to help you and me bond together so that you may reach a better understanding,” she added.

“By that logic, it seems pretty hard to argue,” he replied. “But… I thought you said I was bonding to the earth, not you?”

“I did. You must have misheard,” she said, but didn’t explain further, silencing him with another kiss that went on for a whole minute. Their lips separated with a wet pop. “Any more questions?”

“No, my lady.”

“Good. Let’s give it a few minutes, then we’ll go again. There are still other desires I’ll need your help sating.”

8

The next thing Raynor knew, the sun had reached its zenith. It appeared he’d taken a nap at one point lying upon the warm rocks of the spring, and had proceeded to work on his tan. He felt a weight on his chest, grinning as he saw Selora’s arm draped over him. He wrapped her up in his arms and sighed, staring up at the sky, thinking.

Some time passed before the sleeping guardian woke, turning her shining eyes up at him as she smiled. “Up for round seven, Raynor?”

He’d been entertaining the idea of getting dressed, but the gentle cupping of his face by Selora’s hand put any of those thoughts aside, and he took her, both of their worlds exploding in bliss. A little over an hour later, and even Selora was too exhausted to go for round number eight.

They spent their afterglow talking, Raynor sharing with her a few stories of the outside as he dressed.

“What is a ‘Samorian’?” the spirit asked. She’d taken the time to take in his exposed body as he told her of a past tale, paying only half a mind to what he was saying.

“They’re a clan of zealots native to the White Sea. You know what sharks are?” She nodded. “They look a bit like sharks mixed with insects. It’s hard to describe. Not a very hospitable people, but they’re good folks deep down. Pun intended.”

“So is that what you do? You go from place to place, helping others? That’s the way of life for a Paladin? So selfless. Lucky me.”

“As I told your sister, I’m not a Paladin. Anymore, that is.” He started buttoning up his shirt, a strange look on his face as he thought for a moment.

“What happened?” she asked.

He considered her question, Selora shrugging when he didn’t say anything. “If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. I’m just-”

“No no, I’ll answer. It would sound better to say that I left them, but that’s not quite what happened. Nobody is ever given the chance to leave once they’ve signed on with the Directive. Once you’re in, it’s for life.”

“Then how did you leave?”

“I told you, I didn’t leave. It was more like a banishment, which had never happened in the Directive since anyone can remember. Their ideals all point to justice and serving the gods, removing Scourges touch from the land. I… saw things that went completely against what they said they stood for. So I ended it. Dozens of years in the Directive believing their lies. Such a waste.”

“Just like that? They banished you because you saw things?”

“Yes,” he said, though Selora thought he answered too quickly. “That was the main reason. My other Paladin brothers and I, we did things I wasn’t proud of. It came to a point I couldn’t tell whether or not we were really helping the world.”

“Is that why you travel from place to place? Defending the downtrodden? You’re trying to balance out those days?”

He took a moment to formulate his response. “You’re trying to put me in a better light than I deserve, Selora. Did you forget that I was offered payment to come here?” “

“But you weren’t told to save a spirit or slay a deamon.”

“I wasn’t left much choice. Leaving you, or your sisters, or this basin to Scourge’s whim would be a pyrrhic victory.”

“You may not be called Paladin officially anymore, Raynor, but you’re more chivalrous than you think.”

She let those words hang as he strapped on his boots, gathering his pack and shouldering it. When he was ready, the two turned towards the north, heading up the slopes parallel to the daemon’s lair.

The going was tough, Raynor having little breath to spare for conversation. For the last time, the buzzing of insects and the singing of birds were heard, as the pair rose above the woods and into the rockier landscape.

Half an hour went by, the silence between the pair bringing a feeling of conclusion to Selora, as they slowly distanced themselves from the woods below and behind them. The daemon was gone, the woods were free. She was free. There wasn’t any more reason for him to stay, and Selora felt a little sad inside.

The end of their walk loomed above them in the form of a flat piece of ground, where the inner half of the basin’s edge met the outer, to form the peak of a mound that curved its way between two jagged cliffs. The high rocks resembled stalagmites, towering high above the arch, before they wormed back into the bodies of rock, giving way to a wide view of the world beyond the basin.

Raynor felt like it had been an eternity since he’d seen the southlands, but wasn’t as relieved by the view as he thought he would. The south was flat from a higher vantage, and life out there was flittering, compared to Selora’s woods at least. The spirit on the other hand, took a gasp of air as she surveyed the wide stretch of alien land she had never set foot upon, her eyes cast in a naïve light of longing as she swept her gaze from east to west.

Not far below them, silver objects erected out from the greyed landscape at right angles, blocked in on all sides by colourless chaff from a failed harvesting season.

“I… guess this is where we part,” Raynor said, facing the spirit. She’d fallen behind a little, as if some invisible threshold kept her on that half of the cliff.

“Oh,” she said, as if she hadn’t expected this to happen. The human was used to isolated encounters like this, but she wasn’t. He’d found it was always easier to make quick goodbyes rather than long ones, but something held him back this time.

“Raynor?”

“Yes?”

“Would you… How about another kiss?”

He grinned, pinching her chin between his fingers, and bringing her lips gently to his, biting at her upper lip and taking control of their pace. It was the way a pampered noble would kiss a delicate princess, not quite Selora’s style, but they both enjoyed the bliss all the same.

She sighed as they separated, the spirit rubbing at his arm with the blunt side of her claws. “Raynor, I…”

“What is it?” He had a feeling what she would ask, and a part of him dreaded it.

“Would you… Will you not consider… staying, here? With me?” she asked, after stuttering to find her voice.

He was lost for a second in her green eyes, flickering with dots just like the night sky did. She smiled, shy and anticipating his answer, the corners of her lips touched with worry.

“You tempt me, Selora,” he said. “You really do. I… I don’t want to say ‘but’ because I’ll sound like an asshole. My path lies elsewhere.”

“The north, beyond the curtain,” she said, and he nodded. She went to say something, but closed her mouth, pausing a moment before continuing. “As much as those lands are tainted, it would be a wonder to look upon them myself.”

He knew what she was saying, Raynor wasn’t completely unaware. He glanced over his shoulder at the town below. “I couldn’t ask you to come with me.”

“What? Why not?”

“How could I ask you to give up your home, your duty? I respect you, Selora, what kind of man would I be to try and sway you to leave your life behind?”

“You…” looking at their joined hands that Raynor had done during his rant. “You’re right, Raynor. I’m sorry I asked.”

“I’m sorry too.” He felt like he’d been leading her on, back at the hotspring. It wouldn’t be the first time, this was just who he was. “I know it’s no recompense, but I will return, as soon as I can.”

“That’s a fairly vague promise, Raynor.” She paused. “What if I wasn’t bound to this place? Perhaps the goddess would allow me to travel outside the basin, as a reward for yesterday’s actions.”

“I thought you said you couldn’t ask anything of her?”

“Let’s just say that recently, I’ve taken in interest in the world of mortals, in more ways than one. Intrigue can be a good fuel to a compelling argument, and besides, I’m sure there’s plenty of other forests out there that could use my help.”

“You deserve a bit of freedom after what you’ve been through,” he said. “I look forward to the day we meet again, guardian Selora.”

“As do I, Paladin Raynor. A few more private nights with you would do the earth some good. One last thing.”

“Yes?”

“Promise me this. The next chance you get, whenever that will be, I want you to rid yourself of that foul blade.”

She gestured at Stormfang, its jet-black blade glinting over his shoulder. “Someone like you shouldn’t be tainted by such dark steel.”

The human couldn’t bring himself to speak for a moment, the memory of how he possessed the blade sending a shiver down his spine.

“I will try,” he said.

“Then I wish you good luck on your path. Goodbye, Raynor.”

“Farewell, my lady.” He bent down in a bow, kissing the top of her hand like a proper gentleman, the spirit batting him playfully with her free hand.

“We already made love, there’s no need to charm me anymore. Go on, now.”

His smile soon dipped into a sad one, as he turned away from Selora, who gave him one last farewell wave. He felt her eyes on his back as he made his way down the slope, and gave her and the basin one last nod before setting off.

9

A long, creak of wood as the door to the office opened, chortled the village elder out of the shallow doze the quiet day and lulled him into.

“Hmm? Who is-? Ah, Arthur, sir. Come, come in, I’m glad you’ve returned, I was starting to worry.”

The visitor smiled, closing the door behind him, pack and gear clunking about as he walked over. The Elder spared a moment to trace over the adventurer’s weapons, and they looked a little more worn since they last spoke a couple days ago, a few of his supplies vanished. Even his clothes and belts were splotched with dirt, or maybe that was dried blood.

“I trust that you return triumphant?” the elder asked, shuffling aside some paperweights and containers to clear a section of his desk. The adventurer settled in the guest chair with a contented sigh. “Smoke?”

“Yes, and yes.” The human smirked as he took the offered pipe, looking down the tube at the pile of weed sitting in the curve. A quiet word of power was mumbled, and then a wisp of smoke trailed from the other end.

“Fire magic?” The elder’s brow quirked. Although his body more resembled that of a bear or ursid, his face was more human than not. A crossbreed. “I thought fire was still banned by the Directive. If someone were to know…”

“And I thought it was illegal to draw water from any of the lakes leading to the Reef, especially from a village without a land deed.”

The elder blustered for a moment before forming a coherent sentence. “W-Well, we are so far from the King’s influence his rule hardly hold sway.”

“My point, exactly.” The human took a drag from the pipe, blowing out a puff of smoke in the shape of a ring.

The half-bear grumbled under his breath. “Your tongue is certainly sharp, Arthur sir. Did it take more than words to dispel the foul evil?”

The human blew another ring as he pondered on how to go on. The fake name seemed a little bit much, but he’d been careful ever since the last time he’d been so flippant about giving away his identity, and not just because he was worried he’d be recognised.

“As much as I tried otherwise, I let my sword do the talking this time.”

“Huzzah! I knew the sun seemed brighter this morn, like a dark cloak had been lifted from our basin.”

Your basin? Raynor practically heard Selora’s voice exclaim in his mind.

“You must tell me of your adventure, Arthur sir. Things can become so mundane this far from civilisation, and I could use a good tale.”

“The land was being drained of its life-force by a necromancer,” Raynor explained. “He’d been trying to summon a daemon, and was using the power of the elements to give it strength.”

“By the Ancients!” The elder clutched at his pectoral, two of his fingers splayed out while he made a fist – a common prayer gesture. “A daemon? And you managed to slay the beast?”

“With great difficulty, and a lot of help, from the basin’s true owner. I joined forces with an earth spirit, and together we stopped the daemon from destroying the land. You were very lucky I happened upon your quaint little town. A day or two later and it would have been too late.”

“I… I am speechless, Arthur sir. You are truly the hero we’ve been waiting for!”

Raynor cringed at the title. “I’m just a mercenary, elder. One without a bag of gold in his hand, mind.”

“Hm? Oh!” The elder rummages through a draw in his desk, sliding out pile of coin after pile of coin onto the tabletop. “Let’s see. Five hundred as was stipulated. Before we seal the deal, I trust you have, ah, proof of the done deed?”

Raynor frowned, trying to cover up his confusion as a bad whiff of the pipe. He’d neglected to take the necromancer’s head before Selora had buried him beneath a mountain of stone. Damn it.

“You said yourself the sunlight was healthier,” Raynor said, the proverbial straws he was grasping at seeming very far away. “My armour is stained with my blood and Rukalas’, and I’ve the scars to prove I fought the daemon.”

“But… you could have wounded yourself, or battled with a simple tyger. It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s tried to pull that one on me.”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“Oh, nothing like that, as a former business owner I must… wait. Who did you say the blood on your tunic belongs to?”

“Mine, and Rukalas’. The necromancer.”

“Rukalas? B… But it can’t be.” The elder slumped back in his chair, his face pale.

“You know – knew – him?” Raynor asked, not surprised but interested all the same.

“He grew up here. His mother told me she wished for a quiet life after his father passed away. Cancer. Poor boy was oblivious, whenever I heard him ask about his father, his mother insisted that he was still alive. Too scared, I suppose. It didn’t help when one day she went down to the lake and never came back. All we found were bones. Probably devoured by a belcher, it’s not uncommon to see one wade into the shallows.”

“What do you mean it didn’t help?” Raynor asked.

“Apart from the fact he was an orphan? He kept telling us that his mother was simply out for a walk, and she’d come back soon. It got to the point I took him by the shoulders and told it straight to his face, that she was gone, but he just looked at me like I wasn’t really there. I showed him her grave, but still he didn’t believe me.”

Raynor waved him to go on, silent as he set the pipe aside.

“His lack of shock and grief spread to the other students – we have a qualified magician and a schoolhouse just down the road, you see – and they started making fun of him. He wasn’t quite the same after that. You know how cruel kids can be. Then, maybe half a year later, Rukalas insisted that she still lived, and was going to prove it. He went down to the graveyard one night, and he came back with her, and his mother, it… was walking on its own two feet.”

“The whole town was shocked, and one of the men ran her through with a spear. I still remember Rukalas’ screams. The crying of a youth is not something you can forget easily, you know?”

“I do. Then what happened?”

“Then the rest of the villagers started shunning him, calling him a product of dark magic. People would drive him away from their porches if they found him sleeping round their houses.”

“Wait.” Raynor raised his arms. “You didn’t offer him a place to live?”

“How could I? With his mother dead he couldn’t pay for upkeep, not like she had a fortune to begin with. I was about to send them away since they’d failed to pay their rent, and I only let Rukalas stay out of pity. It was my hope he’d grow up and offer to work, but after the resurrection incident all he did was scurry off into the dark, and I don’t mean that just in the literal sense.

“Cats, dogs, pigs, fish sometimes, he’d bring them all back to unlife and scare the other children. The final straw was when he went back to the graveyard and tried to defile the grave of one of the villager’s dead relatives. The people came to me, and I had no choice but to exile him.”

“But he was just a boy.”

“I didn’t care if he was fifteen or fifty, I had to show my hand. People were scared. I was scared. I banished him from my village, and that was the last time I ever saw of him. I don’t know what became of him after that.”

“I can fill in the blanks,” Raynor said. There was a touch of disgust in his tone. “A denizen of Scourge senses his desperation, sends him little signs to encourage him on, tell him to turn to darker powers. It promises him revenge, and life to lost loved ones. You sent a powerful enemy out into the world that day, elder.”

“What are you insinuating, Arthur sir? That this is somehow my fault? I let him attend his classes without pay, that was the limit of generosity I could provide, and he threw it away with his necromantic arts.”

“Generosity? You let a boy live out on the streets!”

“He was lucky I let him stay at all!” the elder shot back. “He would not have lasted a day out there in the wilds, and yet he saw my hospitality as just a means to further his disgusting ambitions of raising the dead. It was his choice to meddle with the dark arts when he couldn’t accept his mother’s death.”

“No wonder he was so crazed and desperate when I encountered him,” Raynor said. “You show him his parent’s grave, then he gets bullied, and then he has to watch his mother die right in front of him when your villagers panicked. And how old was he during all of this? Fifteen you said? Perhaps if you’d been a bit more compassionate you wouldn’t have need of my services to solve your problem.”

“I don’t like your tone, Arthur sir. It sounds to me like you care about this abomination, but why would you? He was vile even as a boy, and he ended up serving Scourge to try an exact some kind of vengeance he had only himself to blame for. Why care about him anymore than a simple target?”

“Because I was just like him.” Raynor’s voice had risen almost to a shout. His pipe lay on its side on the desk, forgotten. “I was like him,” he said again. “when I was a boy. You do desperate things when there’s no one left to help you, and your leaders are too indifferent.”

“And so that means it’s justifiable for you to break laws and wield dark powers? We could sit here all day poking holes in your flimsy excuse, but alas, I’ve grown tired of your company to point them all out. Take your gold and leave.” He pushed the stacks of coin across the desk, the metal and grain rubbing together.

Raynor had seen many people toss gold at problems, thinking that would solve things, and seeing that pile of currency gleaming in the daylight spilling in from the window, stirred something dark inside him.

He didn’t think, he didn’t have time to comprehend his actions, nor their eventual consequences. His body acted on its own, which left his expression just as surprised, perhaps even more so, then the elder’s own, despite the latter having a blade through his chest, and the former not.

Both the men looked down, the handguard of Stormfang touching the elder’s barrel chest. “What?” the elder breathed, his lungs expelling in a guttural wheeze as Raynor twisted the weapon.

There was a snap of bone, and the elder fell back in a clump, his eyes blazing, then closing for the last time, a pool of red growing underneath his shirt.

Raynor didn’t know whether to be horrified or angry, unhilting his weapon, and lifting Stormfang up to his face, like a smith inspecting his finest work. He watched the blade gleam with blood, a little trail falling off one side and spilling over the back of his glove.

He exhaled like he’d just run a marathon, the corpse of the ursid curling up as the last of his life gave out. Suddenly, the idea of giving out a false name didn’t seem so silly after all.

Raynor wiped the blade clean and sheathed it, exiting the office as calmly as he’d entered, the door closing with a little click.

He didn’t even look back at the pile of untouched coins.

-The End-