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Chapter 105. The Boy, The Witch And The Egg .Part I
🕑 Added 2025-05-23 19:54:39 +0000 UTCAdom had certain expectations about how this encounter would unfold.
Obviously, the butterfly woman would be formidable. She was, after all, a lieutenant of the so-called Sovereign Metamorph, transformed beyond humanity, wielding an artifact powerful enough to contain a wind elemental, and possessing wings with hypnotic patterns specifically evolved to ensnare minds.
By all reasonable metrics, she should have been a significant threat—possibly the most dangerous opponent he had faced in this new life.
The fight should have lasted minutes, if not hours. There should have been dramatic reversals of fortune, desperate moments where victory seemed impossible, perhaps even a heroic sacrifice or two.
It was... disorienting how easy it was.
When Adom activated [Wind Step] and reappeared behind Visariel, he fully expected to be countered immediately. Surely a being of her caliber would anticipate such a basic tactic. When his [Frost Lance] caught her left wing, crystallizing the delicate membrane into brittle ice, he waited for the trap to spring—for her apparent vulnerability to reveal itself as a feint.
But her shocked expression seemed genuine. Too genuine.
"Is she playing with me?" he thought, immediately weaving [Barrier Shield] as a precaution.
Visariel raised her orb, purple energy coalescing into what was undoubtedly a deadly spell. Adom countered with [Mana Disrupt], striking the orb directly. The purple energy within it flickered, then destabilized. The magical net around Kianthras unraveled.
This wasn't right. Someone of her power shouldn't be this... predictable.
Visariel's face contorted with what appeared to be genuine surprise, then quickly shifted to focused determination. Her fingers traced complex patterns—skilled, precise movements that generated three separate attack spells simultaneously. Purple tendrils, barbed and glistening, lashed toward him from different angles.
"Finally," Adom thought, "the real fight begins."
Except it didn't.
He found himself tracking each spell's trajectory with bizarre clarity, as if time had slowed around him. He wove [Barrier Shield], [Wind Step], and [Mana Disrupt] in response—not sequentially, but in parallel, his mind maintaining all three spell structures simultaneously without strain.
Each of her attacks was neutralized with methodical precision. Sweat beaded on his forehead from the effort, but it wasn't the desperate exertion he'd anticipated. It was more like solving a complex but ultimately straightforward puzzle.
Visariel retreated a step, wings beating frantically, her damaged left one hanging uselessly. For the first time, she showed something beyond shock—calculation. She was reassessing him, adjusting her strategy.
"What are you?" she asked, her voice steady despite her obvious concern.
"I... I am not quite sure myself," Adom answered truthfully, surprised by his own calm. He genuinely didn't know what was happening to him, and that should have terrified him. Instead, he found himself clinically curious, as if observing a particularly interesting specimen under a mage-lens.
Is this how I die? he wondered. Not by an enemy's hand, but by becoming something I don't recognize?
Visariel gathered a massive amount of purple energy between her hands—not a precise spell but raw, concentrated power. The air crackled with it, distorting the space between them. Her black eyes narrowed in focus.
"You're dangerous," she said simply.
This attack was different—primal, overwhelming. Adom reached for his most powerful defensive weaving, [Grand Barrier], only to discover his instincts pushing him in a completely different direction. Instead of defending, he stepped forward and simply... disrupted her spell. Not with a counter, but by reaching out with white energy and breaking her mana flow at precisely the right junction point.
The purple mass collapsed in on itself. Feedback surged through Visariel's form. She gasped, dropping to one knee, the orb slipping from her fingers and rolling across the stone.
Cyrel had taken several steps back, watching with clear amazement. Kianthras hovered nearby, fully reformed but seemingly wary of approaching either combatant.
Adom closed the distance, his body moving almost of its own accord. He grabbed Visariel by the throat and lifted—another action that should have been beyond his physical capabilities. Her feet dangled above the ground, wings fluttering weakly.
He was breathing hard now, fatigue finally catching up with him. The fight wasn't physically taxing in the traditional sense, but maintaining this level of mana manipulation was draining him rapidly.
Looking into Visariel's solid black eyes, he saw not fear but analytical assessment. She was studying him even now, even in defeat.
Visariel's eyes widened with something Adom had never expected to see in such a creature—genuine fear. Her hands clawed at his grip, wings beating frantically but ineffectively. She couldn't speak, could barely breathe.
[Your Mana Pool has reached another threshold: 208/1300]
The system message flashed in his peripheral vision, momentarily distracting him. When had that happened? The white energy flowing through him, the strange clarity of his thoughts, the impossible quadruple-weaving—it all pointed to something fundamental changing within him.
"What the hell is going on?" he wondered, studying his free hand. Faint white energy coursed just beneath his skin, visible only when he focused on it.
Visariel's struggles were weakening. The analytical part of Adom's mind noted with detached curiosity that he should probably be disturbed by how easily he was overpowering a clearly supernatural being. Instead, he found himself cataloging the physiological differences between her transformed body and a normal human's—thinner bone structure, altered musculature, the strange iridescence of her skin.
A researcher's fascination, not a warrior's triumph.
Her free hand suddenly produced a crystalline dagger, its edge glinting with poisonous purple. Even in her desperation, there was calculation in her eyes—not resignation, but determination. She would not die without taking him with her.
The dagger drove toward his heart with surprising speed.
Adom weaved another [Wind Step], vanishing from her grasp.
The dagger sliced through empty air. He reappeared directly behind her, left hand clutching into a fist.
THUNDER SHRIMP
White energy concentrated in his fist, condensing into a space smaller than a coin. Physics warped around his hand, the air itself seeming to bend inward.
When his fist connected with Visariel's back, there was a moment of perfect stillness—a heartbeat where nothing happened.
Then came the collapse.
The cavitation bubble imploded with a sound like thunder cracking directly overhead. The compressed mana released all at once, focused into a single devastating point of impact.
Visariel's upper body simply ceased to exist.
One moment she was there, the next she was a fine red mist hanging in the air. Blood, bone fragments, and viscera sprayed outward in a horrific display. Her lower half remained standing for a surreal second before collapsing, legs twitching and spasming as the last neural signals fired through what remained of her nervous system.
Adom staggered backward, gasping for breath. The attack had drained him more than he'd anticipated, leaving him light-headed and trembling. He dropped to one knee, watching with detached fascination as blood pooled across the stone, spreading in an ever-widening circle from the still-twitching remains.
Zuni emerged from his hiding place among the rocks, approaching cautiously. He surveyed the grisly scene.
"I must say," he remarked dryly, watching a particularly vigorous spasm of the leg, "I would not care to be in her position. Though I suppose technically, she isn't in any position anymore."
A final jet of blood spurted from what remained of the torso, emphasizing his point.
Moments later, Cyrel frantically gestured toward the mountain path. She made a series of quick hand movements—fingers splayed, then bunched, followed by a sweeping motion away from them.
Kianthras had reformed, its swirling form still unstable but functional again. The elemental hovered protectively near Cyrel, occasionally sending gusts of wind toward the forest below, as if scanning for threats.
Adom caught his breath. Cyrel's gestures were urgent, but the language barrier remained frustrating.
"We need to understand each other," he muttered as he reached out with his druidic sense toward Cyrel. It was different from connecting with animals or plants—her mind was complex, layered with emotions and thoughts far more sophisticated than, say, a bear's simple drives.
"Can you understand me now?" he asked, maintaining the connection.
Cyrel's eyes widened. She took a half-step back, then stilled. Her lips moved behind her mask, forming unfamiliar words, but in Adom's mind they translated clearly:
"How are you doing this?"
"It's a druidic technique," he explained. "Not perfect, but it should help us communicate."
Her surprise faded quickly, replaced by practical urgency. "We need to go. Now. She won't be alone. The Sovereign—my mother—will have felt our battle."
"Your mother," Adom repeated, testing the connection.
"Yes," Cyrel's mental voice was clipped, efficient. "More servants will come. Visariel was merely the first."
She gestured to Kianthras, who expanded its form to engulf the crystalline orb Visariel had dropped. The artifact disappeared into the elemental's swirling mass.
"The orb controls elementals," she explained, already moving toward the path. "Better with us than with them."
Adom wanted to ask about her mother, about why she'd hidden her identity, about the thirty-four years she'd apparently been away despite her youthful appearance. He wanted to understand what exactly they were facing and why a supposedly normal witch merited titles like "Sovereign Metamorph."
But Cyrel was already sprinting up the mountain path, Kianthras flowing ahead like a scout. Zuni scrambled up to Adom's shoulder.
"I take it we're postponing the detailed explanation of your guide's rather significant parentage?" the quillick asked dryly.
"Looks that way," Adom replied, following Cyrel up the path. The questions would have to wait. For now, survival took priority.
Below them, something moved in the forest—multiple somethings, converging on their position.
The hunt was on.
*****
They ran along the mountain path, Cyrel leading with Kianthras flowing ahead like a scout. The path wound upward through increasingly rocky terrain, vegetation thinning as they climbed higher. Behind them, the forest seemed to writhe with unnatural movement.
"You think the others made it out safely?" Zuni asked, clinging to Adom's collar as they ran.
"Others?" Adom asked, breathing hard as they rounded a sharp bend.
Zuni chirped, then stopped when he realized Adom wasn't joking. "The others. The ones we came with? Surely you remember."
Adom slowed for a fraction of a second, his brow furrowing. "What others? It's just been us since..." He trailed off, trying to recall exactly when they'd entered the forest.
"You're not serious," Zuni said, his voice losing its usual glibness. "The grumpy leprecahun? The even grumpier dwarf? Have you perhaps forgotten our journey from Arkhos to here?"
"Arkhos?" The name sounded familiar, yet distant, like something from a book he'd read years ago.
They ducked under a low-hanging outcrop, following Cyrel as she picked up pace. Something roared in the forest below, and it was not an animal.
"Law," Zuni said carefully, "who are you?"
"I'm..." The question shouldn't have been difficult. "I'm a..." The answer slipped away like water through fingers.
He was a mage. He knew that much. But what kind? Where had he studied? For how long?
"I don't..." His steps faltered.
Cyrel turned, her eyes questioning above her mask.
"I can't remember," Adom said, a chill spreading through him that had nothing to do with the mountain air. "Where did we come from? Why are we here? I remember the swamp, and the white energy, but before that..."
The more he tried to grasp at memories, the more they dissolved.
A..Adom Sylla...
Who was Adom Sylla? Had he always been Adom Sylla?
Images flashed—a classroom, students in robes, a stern-faced instructor. But they felt wrong somehow, like memories from someone else's life. Or were they dreams? Fragments of a story he'd once heard?
Was he even human?
The thought struck with bizarre intensity. He looked down at his hands, half-expecting to see something other than human skin. The white energy that had surged through him during the fight with Visariel—was that normal for a human mage?
"I don't think I'm..." he started, then lost the thread completely.
His head swam. The mountain path seemed to twist beneath his feet, its solid stone suddenly uncertain. Zuni was saying something, but the words warped and distorted.
"I can't remember anything," Adom said, panic rising. "Who am I? Where did I come from? Why can't I—"
STOP.
The whispers cut through his spiraling thoughts, sharp and clear as crystal.
THE REALM FEEDS ON YOUR CONFUSION. IT DISSOLVES WHAT YOU WERE TO REMAKE WHAT YOU MIGHT BE.
Adom froze, clinging to the familiar voices like a drowning man to driftwood.
YOU HAVE BEEN HERE THREE DAYS. THE UNRAVELING HAS BEGUN.
"Three days?" he whispered. "That's impossible. It feels like..."
How long did it feel like? He couldn't say.
USE THE WAYFINDER. IT ANCHORS YOU TO YOUR REALM.
The Wayfinder. Of course. He remembered that. How did he even remember that?
His hand went to his inventory automatically, finding the small, smooth stone there. He pulled it out—a simple river stone, unremarkable except for the faint runes etched into its surface, glowing with a subtle blue light.
The moment his fingers closed around it, clarity returned. Not memories, exactly, but a sense of purpose, of direction.
HOLD FAST TO WHAT YOU KNOW NOW. THE REST WILL RETURN WHEN YOU CROSS BACK.
"Cross back," Adom repeated. "We're in the Fae Realm. That's why everything feels..." He couldn't find the right word. Wrong? No, not wrong. Just different. Operating by rules his mind wasn't built to comprehend.
Cyrel had stopped, watching him with concern. Kianthras hovered nearby, its form rippling with what might have been agitation.
"I'm alright," Adom told them, still clutching the Wayfinder. "The realm was getting to me."
Zuni peered at him, amber eyes serious for once. "You truly don't remember coming here? The party? The butterfly at the borderlands?"
Adom shook his head. "Nothing before the swamp. But it doesn't matter right now." He took a deep breath, steadying himself. "We need to keep moving."
Cyrel nodded, clearly relieved he was functional again. She pointed up the path, then made a series of quick gestures that Adom somehow understood through their tenuous mental connection: safety, shelter, hiding place.
"Lead the way," he said, pocketing the Wayfinder but keeping his fingers wrapped firmly around it.
The stone was warm against his palm, a constant reminder that he didn't belong here—and more importantly, that there was a way back to wherever he did belong.
The mountain path shook beneath their feet as they ran. Small rocks tumbled down the slope, dislodged by the tremors.
"Something's coming," Adom said, gripping the Wayfinder tighter.
"No sh—" Zuni caught himself, clearing his throat. "I do apologize for nearly resorting to crude vernacular. The stress of imminent death has rather affected my usually impeccable diction. What I meant to say was: indeed, how astute of you to notice the obvious seismic disturbance and arboreal displacement."
"Right," Adom replied, eyes fixed on the parting treeline.
Behind them, the forest was parting. Literally parting—massive trunks bending aside as if pushed by an invisible hand. Kianthras expanded its form, swirling protectively around Cyrel.
Adom skidded to a halt, dropping into a defensive stance, fingers already weaving. His mana reserves had replenished somewhat during their run—[187/1300]—enough for a few more significant spells.
The tremors intensified. Then the treeline erupted.
A troll emerged—not the kind from their realm but a mountain of pallid flesh standing at least twenty feet tall. Its skin was chalk-white, stretched tight over bulging muscles and a frame that seemed too large for biology to support. One massive hand gripped an uprooted tree, bark still clinging to its roots. The creature's mouth opened to reveal yellowed teeth the size of daggers.
It roared—a sound so deep and powerful that loose stones vibrated around them.
Adom didn't wait for it to finish.
[Push] propelled him directly toward the monster, white energy gathering around his fist. He didn't bother with [Barrier Shield] or any other protection. Pure offense was his only thought.
The troll's beady eyes widened in surprise as Adom materialized inches from its face.
THUNDER SHRIMP.
Wam connected with the troll's jaw.
What happened next wasn't magic so much as applied physics. The troll's jawbone disintegrated. Bone fragments shot through the back of its skull, carrying bits of brain matter with them in a grisly spray.
The creature didn't even have time to register pain. Its eyes went blank instantly, the makeshift club falling from nerveless fingers. Its massive body swayed for a moment before collapsing backward, crashing through several trees.
Adom landed lightly on his feet with [Wind Step], already scanning for the next threat.
[173/1300]
"Well," Zuni said after a stunned moment. "I rather like this new approach of yours. Much preferable to the usual screaming and running."
"I could get used to it," Adom replied, flexing his fingers. There was now one thunder shrimp left in each one of his gauntlets.
Cyrel gestured frantically up the path. Her mental voice was urgent: "More coming. We need to reach the sanctuary before dark."
The sky was already darkening, strange purple clouds gathering with unnatural speed. From the forest below came sounds that no natural creature should make—high, keening calls mixed with deep, resonant bellows.
HURRY!
The whispers returned, their chorus urgent.
YOU ARE ALMOST THERE. THE CAVE LIES JUST AHEAD.
They ran, Cyrel setting a punishing pace. The path narrowed, winding between jagged outcroppings. Behind them, the pursuit grew louder—not just trolls now, but a menagerie of nightmarish creatures.
A centaur burst from the trees to their right. It galloped parallel to their path, seeking a point to intercept.
Adom weaved [Frost Lance] without breaking stride.
[158/1300]
The ice spear caught the centaur mid-leap, impaling it through the chest. The creature crashed into the rocks, its lower half still thrashing as the upper portion went limp.
"On your left!" Zuni warned.
Three harpies dove from the darkening sky, talons extended.
Kianthras intercepted one, engulfing it in a swirling tornado that tore feathers and flesh with equal ease. Cyrel caught another with a thrown knife that sprouted from the creature's eye. It tumbled from the sky, screeching.
The third made it through. Its talons raked across Adom's shoulder, tearing fabric and skin.
He spun, grabbing its ankle. The creature beat its wings frantically, trying to lift away.
[Heat Wave]
[139/1300]
The harpy combusted from the inside out, organs boiling before the skin split open. Gore splattered across the mountain path.
They kept running.
More creatures emerged from the forest below—things that might once have been wolves but now moved on too many legs; humanoid figures with skin that rippled and flowed like liquid; birds with human faces that screamed obscenities as they circled overhead.
It was a nightmare menagerie, all converging on them with single-minded purpose.
"There!" Cyrel pointed ahead, where the path curved around a cliff face. A narrow opening was visible in the rock—a cave entrance partially hidden by overhanging stone.
THAT IS IT. THEY CANNOT FOLLOW YOU THERE.
The whispers seemed almost eager now.
A massive bird-like creature swooped down, its wingspan easily twenty feet across. Beneath leathery wings, its body was humanoid but elongated, joints bending in impossible directions.
Adom wove [Barrier Shield] just as it crashed into them.
[122/1300]
The shield held, but the impact sent him staggering. The creature rebounded, circling for another pass.
"Almost there," Zuni urged. "Don't die now—it would be terribly inconvenient."
They were thirty yards from the cave entrance. Then twenty. A wolf-thing lunged from behind a boulder, jaws snapping at Cyrel's legs. Kianthras blasted it aside with a concentrated gust.
Ten yards.
The bird creature dove again.
Five yards.
"Inside!" Adom shouted, shoving Cyrel toward the entrance. She stumbled through, Kianthras flowing in after her.
The bird creature slammed into Adom just as he reached the threshold. Its claws dug into his back, drawing blood. He twisted, grabbing its elongated neck.
[Fire Burst]
[98/1300]
The creature's head exploded in a gout of flame. Its body convulsed, then went limp. Adom dragged himself the final few feet into the cave, the dead monstrosity still hanging from his back.
"A little help," he gasped.
Cyrel grabbed the creature's legs, helping him pull free of its claws. The moment they were fully inside the cave, something changed. The sounds of pursuit outside diminished, as if muted by an invisible barrier.
Adom collapsed against the cave wall, breathing hard. Blood seeped from multiple wounds—nothing life-threatening, but painful nonetheless. His head spun, mana reserves dangerously low.
[12/1300]
He blinked, trying to focus. The cave ceiling swam above him, rock formations shifting like clouds.
"That was," he managed between gasps, "interesting."
"Interesting?" Zuni echoed incredulously.
Outside, the creatures had reached the cave entrance. They paced and circled, screeching in frustration. Not one attempted to cross the threshold.
"Why aren't they coming in?" Adom asked, his voice weak.
"The sanctuary is protected," Cyrel's mental voice explained. "Even the Sovereign cannot breach them. It was hidden until today."
Adom nodded, then immediately regretted the movement as his vision darkened around the edges. He was dangerously close to passing out.
"I might need," he slurred, "a minute."
The last thing he saw before consciousness fled was Cyrel kneeling beside him, her mask finally pulled down, revealing a face both beautiful and alien—and deeply concerned.
Something pressed against Adom's lips—firm, cool, smooth. He turned his head away instinctively, muscles tensing despite his exhaustion.
"Eat," Cyrel's mental voice urged.
A gentle breeze washed over him, carrying scents of moss and water and growing things. The strange wind seemed to wrap around him like a blanket.
"He wakens," said a voice. Not a whisper this time, but clear and melodious, like wind chimes in a summer breeze.
"Barely," responded another, this one deeper, resonant as an old oak creaking in the wind.
"He must eat," said a third.
"Child, Ttake what is offered without fear," the first voice continued. "You have reached sanctuary."
Adom still couldn't see who was speaking, but the voices carried the same cadence as the whispers that had guided him. He trusted them—had trusted them since the swamp. With effort, he opened his mouth.
Something firm and crisp broke between his teeth. Juice flooded his mouth—sweet but not cloying, with a tartness that made his tongue tingle. The flavor bloomed as he chewed: unmistakably apple, but more intense than any he'd tasted before.
He took another bite. The flesh of the fruit was perfectly crisp, the skin yielding just enough resistance before giving way. Each bite released more of that remarkable juice, washing away the metallic taste of mana depletion.
[34/1300]
Another bite. Another.
[59/1300]
He felt strength returning to his limbs, the fog lifting from his mind. The flavor triggered a memory—the apples from Borealis Farm, where he'd... where he'd what? The specifics slipped away, but he remembered the taste, the texture.
[108/1300]
Color returned to his vision, the cave ceiling coming into sharper focus. The rough stone above was illuminated by a soft, sourceless light.
[176/1300]
"Law?" Zuni's voice broke through his apple-induced trance. "Are you with us again? Your color's improving—less 'corpse-like' and more 'merely severely ill.'"
Adom finished the apple, core and all, and pushed himself up to sitting. His muscles protested, but held.
[205/1300]
"I'm alright," he managed, voice rough. "Just need a—"
He stopped mid-sentence as he finally took in his surroundings.
The cave was modest in size—perhaps thirty feet across, with a low ceiling that dripped moisture in places. A small pool had formed in one corner, reflecting the dim light. The floor was mostly bare stone, though patches of moss grew here and there.
And they weren't alone.
Three dryads stood watching him. Their bodies were humanoid but clearly not human, with bark-like skin in various shades of brown and green. Leaves and flowers grew from their hair, changing color even as he watched. Their eyes had no whites or pupils, just solid pools of amber, emerald, or sapphire that caught the light.
One stepped forward—taller than the others, with skin like silver birch and eyes the deep blue of mountain lakes. "Welcome, child" she said, her mouth not quite matching the words. "We have waited."
"For me?" Adom asked, struggling to his feet. Cyrel stood nearby, her mask back in place, but her eyes watching him carefully.
"Yes," the smallest dryad said, barely taller than Cyrel, with skin like autumn leaves.
"For a while," added the third, her voice deeper than the others.
A distant roar reminded them they weren't truly safe. Outside the cave entrance, shapes moved in the gathering darkness. Claws scraped against invisible barriers. Wings beat against the air. Howls and shrieks formed a constant, maddening background noise.
"They cannot enter," the silver-birch dryad said, noticing his attention shift. "The sanctuary has stood untouched since the Before-Time. The Witch's creatures cannot breach its protections."
"I have so many questions," Adom said, rubbing his temples. "About this place, about the dreams, the egg, you, about—" he glanced at Cyrel, "—about everything."
"And you shall have answers," the smallest dryad promised.
Something large and dark hurled itself against the invisible barrier at the cave entrance. The entire cave trembled slightly, dust falling from the ceiling. The creature fell back, howling in frustration.
"But first," the silver-birch dryad said, "rest. The witch knows you are here now. She will not cease until she has you—both of you." She looked pointedly at Cyrel.
"Why?" Adom asked. "What does she want with us?"
The dryad's expression grew solemn. "With you? Your power. With her daughter?" She glanced at Cyrel. "Completion."
Another impact at the barrier, stronger this time. A small crack appeared in the stone beside the entrance.
"The wards have held for ten thousand years," the dryad said. "They will hold a while longer."
"A while," Adom repeated. "That's not as reassuring as you might think."
One of the larger creatures outside let out a scream that made Adom's skin crawl. The dryads stiffened, exchanging glances.
"We have time," the silver-birch dryad said. "Not much, perhaps. But enough."
"Enough for what?" Adom asked.
"For you to escape."
"Escape?" Adom looked skeptically toward the cave entrance where creatures still prowled. "How exactly are we supposed to manage that?"
The smallest dryad smiled. "Not through there."
"But through there," the silver-birch dryad continued, pointing deeper into the cave.
"Where the way has always been," the third finished.
Adom turned to look where they indicated. The cave extended farther back than he'd initially thought, curving slightly to the left. In the dim light, he could just make out something that didn't belong in a cave—something large and organic.
He stepped forward, drawn by a familiar sensation. The feeling of déjà vu grew stronger with each step.
"That's..." he trailed off, blinking in disbelief.
It was a tree. Not just any tree, but one he recognized from his dreams. It grew impossibly from the stone floor, roots threading through cracks in the rock. The crown brushed against the cave ceiling, branches curving to accommodate the limited space. And apples all over it.
"It's different," he murmured, "smaller than in my dreams, but..."
"It is the same," the smallest dryad said.
"Connected to the one in your farmer-mage's land," the silver-birch dryad continued.
"Born from a seed of this tree." the third concluded, patting the tree. "Our bonded one,"
Adom looked between the dryads and the ancient tree. "So this one is your original home?"
"Yes," the silver-birch dryad nodded. "But we must abandon it now."
"The witch has found us," the smallest added.
"We will relocate to the tree at your farmer-mage's land," the third explained.
"A one-way journey," the silver-birch dryad clarified. "The portal can take us there—"
"But never back here," the smallest finished.
"We have been preparing," the silver-birch dryad said.
"For several moons now," the smallest added.
"Activating the portal's magic," the third explained.
"It is ready," they said in unison.
Cyrel approached the tree cautiously, Kianthras swirling around her protectively. She reached out, fingers stopping just short of touching the bark.
"You knew Law," Adom said suddenly. It wasn't a question.
The three dryads exchanged glances.
"Very much, yes," the smallest one said, her amber eyes softening.
"He was a friend," the silver-birch dryad continued.
"For many cycles," the third added.
"He left something in our care," the silver-birch dryad said.
"For when a boy-mage came to claim it," the smallest explained.
"Something precious," the third concluded, gesturing toward the base of the trunk.
A harsh screech from outside interrupted them. A harpy had wedged its face into the gap between barrier and stone, one beady eye visible as it struggled to push through.
"I say," Zuni bristled. "Would you mind terribly? We are in the midst of rather important revelations here. Perhaps you could exercise a modicum of patience and consideration for those engaged in significant existential discoveries?"
The harpy screeched again, louder.
"Really," Zuni huffed. "The absolute gall. No sense of dramatic timing whatsoever."
"Thank you," Adom said, unable to suppress a smile despite everything.
"You are most welcome," the quillick replied. "One must maintain standards of civil discourse, even in dire circumstances."
The silver-birch dryad inclined her head toward Zuni. "You speak with wisdom beyond your size, master quillick."
"Madam," Zuni acknowledged with his version of a tiny bow, "I find that observation both accurate and appropriately flattering."
Adom approached the base of the tree where the dryads had indicated. As he drew closer, he noticed a soft blue glow emanating from between two massive roots that curled up from the stone floor. The glow pulsed gently, like a heartbeat.
He knelt down, peering into the gap. The glow intensified as he moved closer, becoming almost blinding.
There, nestled between the roots, was an egg. About the size of his two fists together, its shell gleamed with swirling patterns of blue and gold that shifted constantly across its surface. Tiny flames—real flames—licked harmlessly around it, never consuming but constantly dancing.
"It's exactly like in my dreams," Adom whispered.
"Take it," the silver-birch dryad urged.
"It has waited long enough," the smallest added.
The flames looked hot enough to melt stone, but Adom remembered his dreams. The fire hadn't burned him there. He reached forward, hand hovering momentarily over the egg.
"In my dreams, the fire didn't burn," he said, mostly to himself.
"And here, it will not harm its guardian," the third dryad assured him.
Adom's fingers closed around the egg. The shell was warm—not scorching as it appeared, but pleasantly heated, like a stone left in the sun. The moment he touched it, the flames intensified, wrapping around his wrist and forearm without burning. The egg pulsed faster in his grip, its glow brightening and dimming in a quickening rhythm.
"It recognizes you," the smallest dryad said, sounding pleased.
"How could it possibly recognize me?" Adom asked, staring at the egg in wonder.
"Phoenixes are the aspect of rebirth," the silver-birch dryad explained.
"They would know a reborn being when they sense one," the third continued.
"Like calls to like," the smallest concluded.
The egg pulsed even faster in his hand, as if confirming their words.
"It caught flame twenty moons ago," the silver-birch dryad said. "After centuries dormant."
Twenty moons. Twenty months. Adom did the mental calculation quickly. That would have been around the time he... around the time he'd come back from the future. After the deal.
Before he could pursue that thought further, Zuni's voice cut through his contemplation.
"Chirp- I truly hate to interrupt, particularly after so vigorously reproaching that harpy for similar discourtesy," the quillick said from his perch near the cave entrance, "but our assailants are behaving rather strangely."
Everyone turned to look.
Outside the cave, the creatures had fallen silent. The constant bombardment against the barrier had ceased. Even more unnervingly, they were organizing themselves—forming neat rows on either side of the path leading to the cave entrance, heads bowed.
"She is coming," the dryads whispered in unison, drawing closer together.
The creatures outside began to sway in perfect synchrony. Then, from dozens of inhuman throats, came a chant that rose through the air:
"TREMBLE WITH JOY, TREMBLE WITH FEAR.
SHE IS COMING... SHE IS NEAR!
BOW YOUR HEADS AND BEND YOUR KNEES.
SHE WHO TRANSFORMS AS SHE PLEASES."
Low, pulsing tones from the trolls and larger beasts formed a foundation. Above it, the harpies and bird-creatures added shrill, piercing notes that made Adom's skin crawl.
"HERALD THE QUEEN OF ENDLESS FORMS.
MOTHER OF MONSTERS, CALLER OF STORMS.
THE SOVEREIGN APPROACHES, ANCIENT AND WISE.
LOOK UPON HER WITH REVERENT EYES!"
The chant built in intensity. The creatures prostrated themselves, foreheads touching the ground as they continued their song.
"THE TRANSMUTER OF FLESH, THE WEAVER OF BONE
THE TIMELESS ONE COMES TO RECLAIM HER OWN
TREMBLE WITH JOY, TREMBLE WITH FEAR
THE ETERNAL METAMORPH... SHE IS HERE!"
Cyrel had gone rigid, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
The air outside the cave entrance shimmered, like heat rising from sun-baked stone. The monsters' chanting reached a fever pitch, then stopped abruptly. In the sudden silence, Adom could hear his own heart pounding.
In the fading twilight, something approached from far down the mountain path.
It was a cart—though "cart" was far too humble a word for the conveyance that appeared. It glided more than rolled, pulled by six enormous deer with coats like polished silver and golden antlers. Their hooves didn't quite touch the ground, and their eyes glowed with an inner light.
The vehicle itself was a masterpiece of craftsmanship. Its frame was carved from a single piece of what looked like ivory but caught light like mother-of-pearl. Gold inlay traced patterns across its surface that shifted and changed as Adom watched. Gemstones studded its sides—not just set into the material but somehow growing from it, pulsing with internal light.
A gossamer fabric shimmered above it, somehow both transparent and opaque depending on how the light hit it. Tiny bells hung from its edges, ringing with perfect clarity despite the distance.
"The witch," the smallest dryad whispered, leaves in her hair wilting visibly.
Adom stared at the figure seated in the carriage.
A woman—if such a simple word could apply to her. She sat perfectly straight, one hand resting lightly on the side of the carriage. She wore dark robes that seemed to move as if underwater. Her hair was silver-white.
The closest thing to her that Adom had ever seen was Death itself. Not death the concept, but Death the entity—that sense of something ancient and implacable and utterly beyond mortal concerns.
Everything about her appeared human at first glance—two arms, two legs, one head. Yet a primal instinct told him she was not.
Her face was beautiful. Her lips curved in a smile that never reached her eyes.
Those eyes. Black pupils that expanded well beyond their natural boundaries, consuming nearly all the white. They didn't reflect light—they absorbed it.
The carriage glided to a stop just before the cave entrance. The deer stood perfectly still, not even their chests moving with breath.
And then Adom noticed what followed behind.
Chains. Heavy, glowing chains that clinked softly as four familiar figures shuffled forward.
Throgen, missing his right arm below the elbow, the stump wrapped in dirty bandages. Artun, his usually immaculate beard matted with blood. Zara, her face bruised but chin held high. And Bob, limping heavily on what appeared to be a broken ankle.
Recognition hit Adom like a physical blow. He remembered them all instantly—their journey from Arkhos, their plans, their jokes. How could he have forgotten?
"I can't leave them," he said, fingers tightening around the egg. "Not like this."
"You must," the silver-birch dryad insisted. "The portal—"
"No," Adom cut her off. "Those are my friends."
Cyrel gripped his arm. Her mental voice was urgent: "She's using them as bait. She knows you won't leave them."
The woman rose from her seat. She stepped down from the carriage, her feet barely seeming to touch the ground. The monsters bowed lower, some pressing their faces into the dirt.
She approached the cave entrance but stopped precisely at the threshold. One delicate hand rose, fingers tracing the invisible barrier.
"The Sanctuary of the Three Sisters," she said, her voice like honey. "How long it has been."
Her gaze swept the cave, lingering on each of them in turn. When her eyes met Adom's, he felt a chill that had nothing to do with temperature.
"And you must be the boy who has caused such delightful chaos in my domain," she said. "How fascinating to meet you at last."
Her attention shifted. "And the quillick! Such a rare specimen."
Zuni darted behind the tree without a word, whiskers quivering.
The woman's eyes fixed on the egg in Adom's hands, narrowing slightly. Something like recognition—or perhaps hunger—flickered across her features.
"How very interesting," she murmured.
Finally, her gaze found Cyrel, who stood rigid beside Adom.
"Daughter," she said. "How glad I am to see you well. It has been far too long since you graced your home with your presence."
Cyrel took a step back.
Her mother's smile widened just a fraction as her gaze landed on each and everyone of them, then, she finally spoke again.
"Let us talk."
Comments
BlaueFeder
The wayward stone was supposed to be a compass, if I am not mistaken.
RRRegi
I appreciate the work that goes into each chapter. Thank you! I always look forward to the updates.
Pseudo
Hmmm. I don’t think this ends without a fight, but I have an uncomfortable premonition that it will be with a very unsatisfactory deal. And possibly a circle. For some reason I doubt the bird will hatch here though. TFTC!
Ace_the_owl
Back to the grind. Happy Friday everyone!
