A Pact With Nature - Mayko #4

Six men ventured into the Ashmoran Woods, drawn from the scattered settlements of the Seven Shadows. They were not soldiers. At least, not in the way a contemporary man might imagine. They were volunteers: hunters, traders, and wanderers, all hardened by necessity. While each carried an axe, spear, or bow, none entered seeking violence, although they had prepared the worst. Their true purpose was to search for the lost. A number of their scouts had vanished when the forest began its slow advance. It defied nature, creeping inexorably toward the desert and swallowing the land beneath a tide of blackened bark and twisted roots.

Despite the evident corruption, the creature responsible for the forest's blight was no demon.

Although not commonly known, demons seldom troubled the blasted southern lands. The wastes were a crucible that tested all things--mortal, beast, and fiend alike--and few of their kind have the patience to endure it for long.

Centuries ago, in the desperate time after the birth of sin, the Kurwanis tribe struck a pact with a demon, a warlord who had claimed the sands of their desert home. She had seen the writing on the wind, the slow death of their world, and knew that when mortals perished, demons would soon follow. So she gave them ivory carved from her own horns, and cursed it with magic that warded away lesser beings of her own kind. The adventurers, descendants of the Kurwanis, still carried those talismans as relics. They still remembered the old bargain that, for the most part, shielded them from demonic meddling.

No, what they hunted was something else. Not a demon, but a monster. One that had once been a human. A man who had once held many fears, just as those six men did now.

- - - - -

Theokles exhaled through his nose, smooth and steady, as he crouched beside the withered thing tangled in the roots. At first he had mistaken it for a natural formation, another grotesque product of the Ashmoran's pollution. The body was hollowed out, brittle as dried wood, and its skin was splitting like old bark where the roots had grown through it. His fingers hovered over the chest, where a sickly blue bloom strained to unfurl its petals but remained stunted, struggling to live atop the death it fed upon. He hesitated to disturb it. That was until he saw the faint gleam of ivory hidden in the tangle.

A pendant. Worn smooth with time and yellowed with age, with a single unusual glyph burned into its surface.

Recognition tightened in his chest.

This man's name was Aristide, and he was a friend. He was the one who led Theokles to the Kurwanis, and the reason he had found a place among their people.

Aristide had called his homeland France, a nation of Theokles' own world--Earth. Theokles had never heard that name for his world. Supposedly, it came from an age far beyond his own, a future he would have never seen. He might have dismissed such claims if Aristide hadn't spoken of history with a scholar's certainty, recounting lands and kings Theokles had never known. Without him, the people of Mayko would never hear such fascinating tales again. A sickening anger settled in Theokles' chest, knowing he would never be able to repay what he owed to him.

"I'll create good in this world, enough for both of us." Theokles spoke, offering a prayer to whatever spirits were listening.

There were steps coming from behind him, carrying with it a light that made heat prickle on the back of his neck.

Ruhad, the leader of their company, planted his heavy spear into the ground as he knelt beside him. His broad frame remained still, his expression unreadable. Then without a word, he extended a torch, its flame flickering between them as a silent offering. Its meaning was understood without need for words.

For a moment neither of them spoke. The torch in Ruhad's hand flickered, casting jagged black shapes across the dead man's husk. Theokles saw something rare in the old nomad's expression. There was an unspoken grief, tempered only by duty. When Ruhad finally broke the silence, his native accent was rough and quiet.

"Fire will release his spirit." He offered, then carefully added, "carrying him beyond the reach of the corruption, and into the arms of the Goddesses."

Theokles hesitated. Cremation was an acceptable funerary rite, although he strongly disliked the precedent it would set. He knew Ruhad understood this world better than he, yet there was something callous in the suggestion that unsettled him.

"Do you mean to burn the forest as well?" Theokles finally spoke.

Ruhad shook his head. "Only the tainted parts. If we remain true to our purpose, the Goddess of Earth will mend the destruction." He tightened his fingers around his own pendant. "I would spare as much as I can, if possible. This place was once sacred, but I fear it is lost due to his evil."

There was a determination in his tone that made Theokles consider his words. Aristide had been summoned to Mayko years ago, and Ruhad had known him for a while longer than he. This was not any easier for him, especially as their leader.

With a solemn nod, he reached up and clasped his friend's forearm as a sign of understanding. He took the torch, then left in its place the ivory pendant that belonged to Ruhad's people.

Ruhad stared at it for a while, and his mouth stiffened to a line. "This is on us now," he whispered, closing his fingers around the medallion. "We will see that the Sage of the Ashmoran Woods answers this."

Their eyes met, speaking in a way only those who had taken lives before could. Behind the hardness in his friend's gaze, Theokles saw how much he truly cared for every man he lost. That, more than anything, was why he had trusted his judgment. Without another word, he turned and placed the head of the torch to Aristide's body.

The flames caught quickly and consumed the withered flesh like dry parchment. When it reached the stunted flower in his chest, a sick feeling twisted in Theokoles' gut. It made him wonder how the goddesses of this world would judge them for what they might do. Neither he nor Ruhad spoke as they watched the body burn.

"Movement!" Came a cry from ahead on the path.

The warning rang out from the forward scouts in their company, sharp and urgent as they sprinted back into their direction to consolidate their forces. Instinct took hold of Theokles as he reached for his axe, while Ruhad turned to face the woods around them.

"Form a circle!" Their leader shouted, stepping forward to scan the darkness between the trees. The others followed suit, weapons raised, breaths held as they looked in every direction.

Something was coming.

A low rustling shivered around them, like wind stirring dead leaves. But there was no wind. Theokles turned, his grip tightening on his weapon. Shadows shifted in the underbrush, moving against the firelight--twisted figures, draped in tattered armor and rotting leather, their features lost beneath broken helms and the remnants of cloth cowls.

They stepped forward onto the path.

Withered flesh clung to their frames, brittle and hollow, their limbs creaking with unnatural stiffness. Some bore weapons: rusted swords, moss covered spears, the remnants of fighters before they had fallen. Others had nothing but their jagged, dry fingers, which had curled into talons.

A shout rang out as the first of the husked figures lurched toward their numbers. Ruhad's men met them with steel and bronze. Axes cracked through desiccated bone, spears split hollowed torsos, but no sooner did the husks fall than the ground itself started turning against them.

Blackened roots surged up from the soil, winding through broken limbs, lifting their mangled and twice-slain remains into the air like puppets on tangled strings. Their necks cracked as their heads were forcibly pointed toward them, mimicking awareness, their empty eye sockets locked onto the men who had tried to cut them down.

Theokles exhaled sharply. He was warned that the sage used sorceries, but this was far worse than what he expected.

Then the air itself grew heavy as a deeper presence made itself known.

Above them, the canopy stirred. A shape descended from the gloom--slowly, deliberately--borne aloft by more twisted vines that curled and writhed like living veins of black magic. The figure was wrapped in strips of decayed cloth that had been marked by blasphemous script. Its body was gaunt, almost skeletal, and its feet dangled uselessly. Thorn wreathed icons hung from its robes, swaying with each languid movement that jostled it in the air. What remained of its face was barely human, its eerily serene features stretched tight over its skull.

The Sage of Ashmoran was now truly nothing more than a monster.

For a moment Theokles simply stared, allowing his breathing to steady. Many terrible things had happened in his presence since being cast into this world, but nothing stirred his heart to battle quite like this. He loathed this part of himself--the reactionary brute, the unquestioning soldier, but in this instance something had to be done. His gaze shifted to the husked bodies hanging in the trees, then to the creeping corruption twisting through the earth. His resolve hardened like cooling iron.

Even if he hated it--he would allow himself to become something else, for the sake of the people around him, and the others who had become bound to this place.

His fingers clenched around the haft of his axe. Then he pointed it skyward at the monstrous sorcerer in challenge.

- - - - -

When everything had ended, Theokles sat apart from the others, staring at the ichor stained weapon in his hands.

The battle was over. The sage was cut down, his husks laying scattered and broken, their bodies finally still. The uninjured among Ruhad's men gathered them in a pile, peeling away their personal possessions so they could be sent back to their families. Then they set torches to them, burning away the worst of the corruption. As they crackled, the air carried the sickly scent of charred roots and rotting wood.

Ruhad and the others moved through the wreckage, tending to wounds and gathering what remained of their supplies. Every missing scout had been accounted for. Theokles wished that felt like a victory.

He turned the axe in his palm, its weight uncomfortably light in his hands. It seemed even in this second life, his old skills were his most valuable qualities. He wondered for a moment if he had truly freed those men, or if their horrifying countenance had merely provided a convenient excuse for him to set to work. The thing in his hand began to feel tainted.

Theokles allowed his eyes to close, hating the warmth the smoldering pyre was providing.

A comforting hand landed on his shoulder.

He looked up to find Ruhad watching him. The older man's face was still unmoving, but there was a weight in his gaze, a knowing look that said he understood exactly what Theokles was struggling with.

"You have the Goddess of Earth's own strength, son," Ruhad said at last, his voice assuring. "Don't resent the gifts you've been given."

Something in the words cut through Theokles' brooding, grounding him in the moment. He exhaled through his nose, nodding once. It wasn't anything he hadn't told himself in the past, but it made him feel better hearing it from him.

Ruhad motioned toward the darkened woods.

"Come, Theo. We must see what filth the sage left behind."

The two went together, pushing through the dense underbrush, thorns snapping beneath their boots.

It was unpleasant, but Theokles was happy just to be on his feet and concentrating on anything else. They followed a path their scouts had marked earlier, venturing deeper into the Ashmoran Woods. The trees closed in tighter as they ventured, their blackened bark and twisted limbs thickening as they neared the heart of the forest's corruption. Then, through the dense foliage, they saw a cabin. It was small and half-consumed by creeping vines, standing in the middle of a large clearing like a forgotten relic.

It might have once been a quaint refuge, a shelter for a lone traveler, but now it bore all the markings of a sorcerer's lair.

Wooden charms dangled from the branches surrounding it, swaying slightly despite the still air. Ruhad stopped and reached up to touch one. The carved sigils on their surface were familiar to him. Kurwanis warding glyphs, meant to drive back evil spirits and their dark influences. Theokles' eyes traveled to the doorway, where he saw a different mark smeared menacingly across the wooden threshold.

In dried, blackened blood was a jagged symbol like those scrawled on the sage's clothes, a glyph of unmistakable demonic origin.

Theokles frowned. "Should we enter such a place?"

"If we want to know how deep his machinations lay, we must," Ruhad said, already stepping forward.

Inside, the air was thick with dust and decay. Bookshelves lined the walls, sagging under the weight of old tomes, brittle scrolls, and strange liquid filled vials. A writing desk stood in one corner, its surface littered with open texts and diagrams. Clay jars of dried herbs, tinctures, and unidentifiable extracts laid open, most of their contents having long dried out. They looked to have been meticulously kept at one point, although there were signs of an incident that had cast much of the sage's instruments to the floor.

The most unsettling feature of the cabin were the walls, scarred with curving thorn-like symbols that twisted at all angles, sinking deep into the wood. The sheer amount of them suggested years of obsession, and the characters had further been smeared with blood, as if defiled quickly in desperation. Theokles swallowed hard, inspecting the stains. Looking at them uncovered a concerning pattern, where the further your eyes traveled, the more the deep maroon of dried blood began to shift to a foul, earthen black tinged with sickly green. The stench of rot clung to it, heavy and unnatural.

He turned away to scan a collection of drawings, his brow furrowing as he picked up a faded page. It depicted a sketched cross-section of an otherworldly plant, its long, sprawling tendrils weaving through the soil and entwining with the roots of nearby trees. Beneath this entanglement, an opening led into a vast, cave-like chamber. Was this something the Sage of Ashmoran was trying to create?

Concerned, he turned to Ruhad, who was currently thumbing through a leather-bound journal he had found elsewhere.

"He wanted to restore the wilderness," The older man muttered grimly. His face darkened as he flipped to the next page, paraphrasing. "He believed Mayko was salvageable, but that natural and elven magics were not enough to save it."

He shook his head. "... So he took the next step, and stole the chaotic power of sin."

As Theokles listened, his gaze drifted over the scattered implements, trying to make sense of Ruhad's words. His eyes caught on a toppled vial. Its contents seeped into the wood of the writing desk. Where it had touched, rot began to spread. Yet amid the decay, something had started to bloom. A delicate blue flower, eerily familiar, pushed through the crumbling surface. He reached over and carefully lifted the vial, watching the last remnants of a thick dark green fluid settle at the bottom.

The moment he raised it further, Ruhad's hand shot out, gripping his wrist in a vice.

"Put that down," he ordered, voice suddenly sharp.

Theokles frowned but obeyed, setting it back on the desk.

"What is it?"

Ruhad's eyes held an unusual severity as he answered. "I believe... It's the blood of a demon."

Theokles blinked in surprise, suddenly feeling as though the air in the cabin had become fouler, festering like an infection.

"The blood of a demon?" His voice was quiet, but not uncertain. "How did he get his hands on something like that?"

Ruhad didn't answer immediately. Instead, he shut the journal with a decisive motion, tucking it into his pack. His expression had darkened considerably since the time they had entered. Then finally, he said, "I have a very strong hunch. Come. Let's see if I'm correct."

He moved toward the back of the hut, and Theokles followed. Beyond a half-rotten door, a rarely trodden path led into the twisted thicket, almost entirely consumed by the forest's relentless growth. Above, more of the protective wards swayed in the trees. There was still no wind, but the air grew moist and more putrid the closer they came. If there was a way through the trees, it had long since been swallowed by thorns.

Ruhad stopped to light a lantern, its warm glow barely pushing back the gloom. Theokles adjusted his grip on his axe and stepped forward. "Give me your long blade," he said. "I'll clear the way."

Ruhad handed it over a large knife, heavy and curved at the tip for this exact purpose. Theokles began hacking through the tangled mess, pulling at vines and branches with his bare hands, cutting a path deeper into the woods. One of the brambles caught on his palm, drawing several thin lines of blood. He hissed at the sting but kept moving--until something in the darkness made him pause.

A blue flower.

Its petals trembled rhythmically, shifting as if stirred by an unseen force. Then the bulb slowly peeled open, twisting around to face where Theokles' wounded hand held the knife. Curious, he pulled his hand away.

The flower quivered as if agitated, which forced a chill up Theokles' spine.

He pressed forward before Ruhad made notice of it, stepping over a root as thick as a man's arm and pushing aside damp smelling moss. The deeper they went, the darker the world inside the forest became. It was as though this place didn't want anyone to find it. Every instinct inside him screamed at Theokles to turn back. Even with Ruhad behind him, stepping into this forgotten grove felt awful--wrong in a way he couldn't completely understand. It all reminded him of the kinds of cautionary tales one whispered over a fire. There were simply places in the world where men did not belong. Places that were meant for gods and spirits, where mortal trespassers were met with steep punishments.

It felt as though they were about to take a step too far. But now that he stood at the threshold of something unknowable within, some curious part of him urged him forward.

The canopy overhead thickened, swallowing the last traces of sunlight. Now the only illumination came from Ruhad's lantern, its flickering light fighting desperately to cast back the shadow.

Then at last, they emerged into an opening, wherein laid a hidden sanctum.

For a moment, Theokles could see nothing beyond the lantern's dim halo. Then suddenly the grove revealed its own secrets, one by one. It was more of those blue flowers. Dozens. No, hundreds. They littered the darkness like stars winking into existence, their faint glow the only thing keeping total abyss at bay. They pulsed gently, almost as if they were breathing. The sight was beautiful in a way that made Theokles' stomach churn.

He exhaled, uneasy. "Is this what we were looking for?"

Ruhad didn't answer right away. Instead, he stepped forward and raised the lantern high. Its light stretched across the clearing, creeping toward the center to reveal something massive and motionless.

Theokles inhaled sharply as he caught sight of it.

At first glance he could see a giant bud, as if some monstrously large flower had curled in on itself in its dying throes. But the closer he looked, the more intimidating it became. Its leaves were as thick as a man even drained of their water. They were pulled in tightly, their once-vibrant green drained to an ashen near-black. Its sprawling vine-like roots had stretched out over the ground, coiling overtop of the soil like grasping fingers in desperate search of sustenance. Though the bulb was tall enough to reach over his head, it was hopelessly withered.

Ruhad's jaw tightened as he examined it. He nodded, then said grimly, "we were lucky we didn't begin our expedition the day before."

Theokles glanced at him, not sure what he meant.

Ruhad turned slightly, meeting his gaze. "If we didn't carry these ivory talismans, even that might not have mattered."

A cold realization settled in Theokoles' gut. He looked again at the desiccated thing before them, the twisted husk slowly becoming something else in his mind the more he saw.

"... This is a demon, isn't it?"

Ruhad nodded.

"A rare and insidious type." He paused, eyes still fixed on the monstrous flower. "A mantrap demon."

Theokles stared in quiet fascination, struck by something both eerie and awe-inspiring in the sight before him. This thing... Was it clinging to life, in spite of the darkness and decay that swallowed this place? He felt a pang of tragedy in the grotesque union of natural beauty and death.

"Is it dead?" he spoke quietly, his voice becoming almost hesitant.

Ruhad shook his head. "Not yet," he said. "But she will be soon."

She.

Theokles frowned, remembering then what he had learned of demons, about how they took on the forms of women. Was there truly something inside that shriveled mass, something unseen, waiting behind those dying leaves?

Ruhad continued, voice steady. "Maziren... the Sage of Ashmoran, that is, planted this creature himself, although his journal never mentioned how or where he acquired the means to do so."

He stopped for a moment to glance down at the tortured roots at his feet. "His writings are more concerned with keeping her docile and controlling her, so that he could bleed her for his profane magic."

Theokles followed Ruhad's shifting gaze, eyeing first the curling thorns and then the blue flowers that glowed faintly around them.

"She must have grown these out of desperation," Ruhad pondered aloud. "The sage kept her buried here, where no sunlight could reach her. So she adapted to feed on blood instead. These flowers, and the barbs... they were her only means of sustaining herself, on lured prey."

Theokles swallowed. Everything about what he had learned horrified him, but one thing above all kept repeating in his mind. A man had done this. He knew that the humans of this world had suffered greatly. But for someone to sink so low--to become something as monstrous and cunning as a demon, or perhaps even worse. It was grotesque. He understood why Ruhad had called him out here, to show that even in death, the sage's evil still lingered. Theokles found himself loathing the man's cowardice.

He found that needed to voice himself, to expel his negative thoughts out into the open.

"Even if he did suffer at the hands of demons..." he started, "it's hard to imagine something worse than this."

His friend didn't argue, although something in his face told Theokles that he had him worried.

"You are lacking in experience with demons," Ruhad spoke instead, his voice level. "Ordinarily, a mantrap would lure men in with their distinct scent, calling them into her embrace. It's likely the sage used that to his advantage--making use of her namesake ability to guard his domain, sustaining her with any of the unfortunates who came too close to discovering what he was working on."

Theokles' hand twitched, wanting to reach for his axe. "... So she's killed humans before?"

Ruhad nodded. "Almost certainly. She is a demon after all."

Theokles' hand stilled suddenly, and a strange calm washed over him as he realized what he had been about to do. For a long moment he stood in silence, staring around the withered grove. Then, finally, he spoke again.

"Are you going to burn this place?"

Ruhad didn't answer immediately. When he did, it was not as his friend, but as a leader. "I'll gather the others. We'll dismantle the sage's home first. Those markings inside--" he shook his head wearily. "They're too disturbing to leave standing. And after that, fire will be the best solution. Then we can be assured this is over."

Theokles winced. It was barely a twitch, but Ruhad noticed his discomfort. The older man had always been perceptive when it came to reading him.

"You have a great respect for the earth, Theokles," Ruhad explained carefully. "I see that in you. It's no coincidence that your world bears a name that pays reverence to the goddess. But surely you must see that, in this instance, fire would be a mercy."

"I don't like that." Theokles spoke without flinching.

Ruhad blinked, turning to face him fully, searching his eyes for emotion.

Theokles unsheathed his axe, then placed it and the knife down on the ground slowly, clearly making a gesture out of the small act. Then after he rose, he took a step closer, ensuring he stood tall over Ruhad. With a firm but comforting tone, he folded his arms powerfully over his broad chest and implored. 'Let me handle this.'

Ruhad looked up at him unmoving. "And how do you mean to handle it?"

"I'll remove the corruption myself." Theokles' elaborated simply. "Even if I have to pull down every tainted tree with my bare hands."

Ruhad studied him. It was clear he was expecting him to say more. Theokles didn't know much philosophy, but he knew in his heart what felt right, and what felt wrong. He could speak to that.

"Fire is too easy." He said first, finding the words as they came to him. "We wouldn't be taking responsibility."

His eyes naturally wandered to the lantern still in Ruhad's hand, lingering there. "It's the same kind of thinking that led the sage to exploit this forest. He sought a shortcut for his goal--using a destructive force to bend nature to his will."

Ruhad raised his lantern as he listened, seeing the little ember inside the dirty glass enclosure waiting to be set loose.

"We need to be more careful than that. If we want to restore the land, then we should do it with our own hands, our own strength. Not by relying on goddesses to fix our problems after we were the ones that made them."

The old man swayed slightly, lowering his arm. "... Only the Goddess of Earth has the strength to safeguard the land. That is why we honour her and beseech her help."

Theokles look at him then with renewed steel in his eyes. "And I do intend to honour her. Let the fruits of my labour be the offering I give to her."

Silence hung between them. From the look in his friend's eyes, Theokles knew his words had reached him. There was something admirable--something old--about the way he spoke that appealed to Ruhad. Still, he was a practical man, and had lived a long life without seeing many miracles.

"You understand such a task would take months. Years, even."

Theokles nodded. "I expect it to be my life's work."

At that, his friend let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head in something like awe. "You almost sound like you intend to become the new Sage of Ashmoran."

He could smile at that comment. "No. I have no desire to exploit the land. Only to be its caretaker."

Ruhad studied him for a moment longer. Then he nodded too. "Very well."

He reached for Theokles' arm, but paused when he saw blood on his scraped hand. "... perhaps before you start your 'lifelong endeavor,' you would care to help me and the others dismantle the sage's cabin. After that, if you're still set on this path, I'll see that you have a tent, supplies--things you'll need to see your goal accomplished."

Theokles smiled unguardedly at that, then pulled Ruhad into a firm embrace, patting his back hard in a way a veteran like him would appreciate.

- - - - -

Theokles emerged from his tent with a lantern in hand, his breath visible in the dewy morning air. Not far from where he camped, the last embers of the Sage's cabin still smoldered. The acrid smoke stung his eyes, but it was an improvement from the overwhelming stench of rot that clung to everything here. He breathed it into his nose, getting used to its foulness, before shifting his gaze to the collection of axe blades he laid out the night before. They were not meant for felling trees, but they would serve.

Ruhad had left him with what tools he could readily spare: sharpening stones, oil, waterskins and a large bucket that could be filled at a nearby stream the Kurwanis' scouts had found. On top of that, he had food provisions to last the week, assuming he found nothing to forage.

It would be seven of Mayko's unusually long days before his comrades returned. He intended to make that time count, to prove his commitment, and justify the faith placed in him. The agreement he made was clear: Ruhad would check on him periodically, ensuring he was not lacking for supplies, but also to ensure he did not succumb to whatever powers still dominated Ashmoran. These were acceptable terms considering the unprecedented nature of Theokles' demand.

He touched the ivory pendant at his chest, to remind himself of the trust he had been given. Inhaling deeply once more, he steeled himself. Then without further hesitation, he took up one of the blades and set to work.

The hidden grove awaited; its darkened overgrowth still impenetrable despite the sun's early light creeping behind him. He retraced the steps he had taken the night before, frowning as he spotted new thorns and vines reclaiming the sections he already cut. Widening the path would be his first step, digging out the sickly plants by their ugly roots so they wouldn't return. It was dirty work, but nothing compared to what awaited him beyond.

Once he'd made it back to the inner sanctum, he sat his lantern down. Flickering shapes danced across the strange blue flowers which shrank away from his encroaching light. Theokles spared a single glance in the direction of the withered thing that still lay dormant in the near total darkness of the grove. No thoughts came to mind, other than a strange sense of pity. Then he turned away, and raised his axe in both hands.

He struck a blow against the nearest tree, the power of his swing rustling the canopy above. The sun needed to reach this place. Once its purifying rays reached this place, they would expose the evils that thrived in the shadows. Then he would tear them out, with his bare hands if he had to. That would be the next step in undoing the damage the so-called 'sage' left behind.

Theokles drove his axe back into the trunk, the blade biting deep into the wood. It was softer than he expected, although he supposed he was stronger now than the last time he'd done this. He adjusted his stance and swung again, quickly rediscovering the rhythm. He'd cut trees before, clearing land to make room for farms and pastures, making way for livestock. He had also burned entire forests away in military campaigns, but that was a past he preferred not to dwell on.

Supposedly, his homeland had once been covered in vast unbroken forests. It was hard to believe considering how far the cities and their influence had sprawled across the countryside. His father used to speak of an unseen cost to cutting down trees. There were nymphs and dryads--spirits that vanished as humans encroached in their realm. The gods, angered by their destruction, would send great fires and earthquakes as punishment. Those disasters were meant to be warnings to mankind, reminding them not to succumb to hubris. His father's stories seemed even more relevant here. Mayko itself was like a cautionary tale; a world that had been ravaged by excessive disregard.

But it wasn't beyond saving.

He would never lose faith in that idea.

The first tree gave way with a sharp crack, toppling forward--only to catch midway down, tangled in the branches of another. Theokles spat to his side to dismiss the bad luck. He had let his mind wander and failed to account for how frustrating this beginning part would be. There was little room to maneuver his axe, limiting his swing angles. He couldn't let the trees fall inward and disrupt the flowers, so his only option was to bring them down over the cleared path, then tediously break them down further before continuing.

No more thinking. Just work.

He raised the axe again, driving it into the rotted branch. In a single strike the fallen tree was released, collapsing before him. Theokles hissed through his teeth as he rolled the stiffness from his shoulders, then set to dividing it in two.

This was going to take time.

But he was still young, and healthy. Time and strength were things he had in abundance.

He continued to work until his lantern's wick burned out, and the last of the oil he brought with him was spent. By then, the path was clear of fallen trees, just as the light quit on him. He massaged his shoulders, feeling the ache settling deep into his muscles. It had been too long since he used them like this. Still, he had made good progress. But if he wanted to last to the end of the week, he would need to pace himself better.

As he left the grove, he lifted his waterskin for one last drink. Empty. Another reasonable excuse to take a break.

Theokles found his way to the nearby stream, filling the bucket from his camp first so he could wash the sweat from his body. The cold water ran over his skin, sharply punctuating the strain of the day's labour. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to listen as night approached. However, all he heard was the murmur of flowing water. Even the hum of insects one would expect was absent from this forsaken place.

Then he looked down at the bucket in his hands, and a thought crossed his mind. He turned, glancing back at the grove where the lingering stench of decay reached him even from this distance. With careful deliberation, he refilled his bucket, gathered a fresh wick and oil for his lamp, then made his way back to the spot he had been working. Inside, the blue flowers had regained their nocturnal glow, their petals gently stirring. His gaze settled on the withered pod at the centre, its thick dried roots twisting through the earth like desperate grasping fingers.

Without thinking, Theokles knelt and poured the water over the roots, watching with quiet satisfaction as the thirsty soil drank it in. Then he rose, with intentions to return to the stream. A part of him wondered if this sentiment of his would amount to nothing, but still, he mentally prepared to make the journey at least a few more times before bed.

- - - - -

The next morning was warmer than the last had been, but Theokles was slow to rise anyway. As he tried to move, every fiber of his body screamed in protest, punishing him for the previous day's exertion. He supposed it wasn't just yesterday, but the days he spent pushing himself during their group's march to Ashmoran. He lay still for a while staring up at the fabric of his tent, feeling the bone-deep ache settle into him. Perhaps he wasn't as strong as he thought.

Rolling onto his side, he caught sight of the remnants of his dinner: dried fish, grains, a bit of honeycomb. Good enough for breakfast as well, he decided. He chewed methodically, letting the food distract from the stiffness in his limbs, and eventually he forced himself to move. The motion was slow and painful, but necessary, and eventually he worked the elasticity back into his joints.

Stepping outside, he eyed the modest pile of ruined and cut logs. Not a bad start, but far from enough. With his tools he set off down the path but caught wind of something midway. There was a muted but sweet scent, piercing through Ashmoran's stagnant musk, almost imaginary, but there. He slowed as he tried to trace its origin. It was coming from deeper in the grove.

As he made it inside, his gaze moved first to the myriad blue flowers that waited in the dark. They were moving. Several had turned their heads toward him as if watching, but as his lantern's glow reached them, they recoiled as they had behaved before. Theokles stood still. Was it just his imagination, or were they reacting more vigorously today than previously?

No, it wasn't his imagination. Maybe she was still holding on. The spirit, he thought at first, but he forced himself to correct that notion. Not a spirit. A demon.

He wasn't sure why that distinction should matter to him, but Ruhad had been insistent. He wanted him to be wary of this creature. At full strength, she would have posed a threat even to the Sage of Ashmoran, whose magic was already beyond Theokles' understanding. Regardless of that, he could hardly entertain the thought of destroying the pod. To kill her simply for what she was, especially considering how much she had already suffered. That felt callous.

He frowned, allowing himself to stare at the massive pod, withered and unmoving. Helpless.

Demons, like people, had to be more than just their natures. That's what made sense to Theokles. They were intelligent after all, capable of learning and adapting to the world around them. At least to him, it seemed clear that was what she was attempting. He couldn't help but see her as yet another victim of the sage. She had been a seed once, according to that journal, left in isolation and nurtured only so that she could provide her blood for profane sorceries. It was a cruel and lonely existence. If she had harmed humans under those circumstances, then killing her would bring nothing but a hollow sense of security, and there was little good in that. If he had to judge someone solely by what they were capable of, he would need to turn his blade on himself first; or point his sword back at all of humanity. No. That wasn't acceptable.

He slowly recognized the familiar and dangerous pattern of his thoughts and kept himself from sinking any further. Perhaps it was better to think of her as a spirit, then. The true god of this place. He was merely passing through her domain, offering what little he could in tribute. All he could do was hope that his gesture of faith would be understood.

He looked up, unable to see the sky through the thick overgrowth. It was time to begin work on the inside of the grove. He tried to envision the tangle of branches as they came down overhead, allowing for sunlight to peek through. He wasn't sure if such a thing could purge the corruption here, but he let himself believe in the fantasy, using it as motivation for the difficult work ahead.

Only a few hours in and Theokles had broken his first axe blade. He had to spit three times to dispel such an ill omen. Though he had made a sizable dent in the clearing, the pain in his muscles were quick to remind him of his condition. A dull aching had spread from his shoulders to his forearms, with each collision sending a sharp sting through his worn flesh. A new kind of pain shot through his fingers as he reached down to retrieve his lantern by the metal handle. Glancing down, he saw the calluses on his hands had split, and thin red lines welling from the cracks. He exhaled sharply, then looked up as he noticed something shifting among the trees.

One of the blue flowers nestled against a nearby branch was stirring. Its petals slowly furled and unfurled, swaying in the stagnant air. He watched in growing fascination as it turned toward him, as though smelling something he couldn't. His blood. The bulb lifted slightly, its soft petals shifting as if peering up at him. Did it know he was here? Could it see him somehow?

With his good hand, he reached for the ivory talisman at his neck. his fingers brushing over the smooth surface of his protecting ward. He needed a reminder of Ruhad's warnings. And yet...

He began to see a purpose in this chance encounter. It was uncommon, but blood was considered fitting tribute for the gods. He wanted to make another gesture. An offering of goodwill, of worship. He had entered this grove without asking for permission, then had hacked away at the trees here without so much as a word of explanation. If he extended his hand, to offer his blood, as recompense--would she accept it?

Cautiously, Theokles lifted his reddened palm toward the outstretched flower.

Its petals reached out, quivering, grasping. Then it closed gently over his hand, settling against his skin. He watched it in quiet awe. It was cool and lighter than he expected. But when he shifted, the petals clung to him, stretching its stem slightly as though reluctant to let go. He could see that his blood, smeared onto the petal's edges, was being drawn away into the flower in delicate streaks of crimson.

A wave of nausea rolled through him. He fought the urge to pull away, fearing he might tear the flower in his haste. Instead, he forced himself to remain still, waiting. The petals lingered for a moment longer, then finally loosened their grip, retreating as if sensing there was nothing more to take. Theokles stared at his palm. As he suspected, the cut had already stopped bleeding. A creeping uncertainty told him that Ruhad would not have approved of the thing he had allowed to happen. With a slow breath, he shook off his unease and turned back toward his camp, searching for something to bind his sore hands.

At the stream, Theokles let the cool water wash the dirt from his cuts. He winced, rubbing the raw red skin before reaching for the strips of cloth the Karwanis had given him. They were clever, knowing he would need them before he did. Wrapping his hand tightly, he tested his grip, then sighed. After his brief rest, he took up one of his remaining axes and started back down the darkened path toward the hidden grove.

Then he stopped.

Black birds were now circling above, their wings stirring noises in the distance. They were the first signs of wildlife Theokles had seen near his camp, which seemed to ward off most creatures. Some disappeared beyond the canopy, while others perched among the gnarled limbs in the dense foliage, drawn seemingly to that one single place. A cold wind swept by, the first he'd felt since coming here, and it carried with it a pungent sweetness that was cloying and heavy. Theokles furrowed his brow, then stepped forward lantern in hand to investigate.

Shapes were difficult to make out even as his light carved through the shadows, but as he ventured deeper, he began to see them. The birds were there, their onyx feathers glinting at the edges of the illumination, barely standing out against the gloom. Not one turned toward him. Not one cared about his intrusion. Instead, it seemed their attention remained entirely fixated on the flowers that shimmered around them.

He moved deeper, seeing a single bird caught within a mess of thorns. It thrashed, wings flapping weakly as it pulled itself in deeper, heedless of the barbs raking its flesh. It did not cry out. It did not turn back. It only struggled forward, deeper into the tangle, called by something beyond its understanding.

Theokles lowered his lantern, watching as flowers at the edges of his vision began to wink into existence once more, relaxing their petals as the light retreated.

A tightness clenched Theokles' stomach. He suddenly felt like a trespasser. He took a step back. Then, without another glance, he turned and left. He had no desire to disturb the spirit further. For tonight at least, he would find another place to swing his axe.

- - - - -

The remains of Theokles' food provisions were laid out on a hewn stump.

It suddenly seemed like a meager amount. He had been rationing carefully, but it seemed his hunger never fully subsided now, gnawing at him no matter how much he ate. His body was quickly burning through everything he gave it, but at least the strain in his arms had died down. His muscles ached less, and despite everything, he felt stronger today.

There was an unease lingering in the back of his mind, even as he prepared to return to the spirit's grove. He didn't let that uncertainty guide him though, regardless of last night's strange spectacle.

To continue his gesture of goodwill, he decided to start the day by bringing her water. Carrying the first bucket, he kept his gaze low, unwilling to check the branches for ominous black birds or any signs of their lingering presence. The eerie stillness of Ashmoran had returned to the inner sanctum, heavy with the unseen presence lurking within.

Kneeling a small distance from the withered pod, he tilted the bucket, letting water spill over the sprawling roots. Then he froze as he noticed a shift at the edge of his lamplight. A thin crack had formed, barely the width of a finger, splitting through the dried leaves that encased the spirit. The opening looked into pure darkness, and the sweet scent Theokles was growing used to was emanating from within. His throat tightened with realization.

Was she... watching him?

The massive leaves shifted with a dry creak, furling closed. Theokles kept looking before slowly rising to his feet, unsure what to think. He hesitated a moment longer, then turned away, returning to fetch more water. A dozen more times he returned with a full bucket, pouring it over the roots, but the pod never opened again. It didn't matter. Somehow, he felt more certain of his actions. She at least had not rejected his presence. Reassured by the thought, Theokles turned back to his task.

The day went by, and tree after tree fell beneath his strength, each swing of his axe cutting deeper into the dense, tangled wood. The inner grove slowly opened; the once-unbroken thicket now ringed with uneven stumps. Some of the blue flowers had unfortunately been lost in the process, but in their place, he hoped he had brought something far more precious.

Thin and fleeting, yet unmistakable, a shaft of light had broken through above him.

For the first time since his arrival, sunlight pierced the canopy, casting a pale glow upon the top of the spirit's withered pod, revealing in part its true size and majesty.

Theokles exhaled, staring at the sight. His lantern's wick finally burned out, but he didn't need to rush to find another. The grove was no longer entirely dark.

Satisfied, he went to leave, then stopped mid-turn as he saw that the pod's leaves had parted again. It was just a crack, but it was facing toward him. Had she been watching him work? How long had she been looking? A strange awe settled over him, humbling in its quiet intensity. Then he found himself bowing his head toward her.

"My name is Theokles."

His voice came out rough from disuse, as he hadn't spoken aloud in some time. Yet, the words left his lips instinctively, carrying a reverence he hadn't expected. For a long moment, nothing happened. Then, almost hesitantly, the mantrap's leaves curled inward again, sealing the sliver of darkness away. He lingered, staring at the place where the opening had been. Then with a final bow, he turned and made his way back to camp. He was hungry and his body ached, but at the moment neither of those things felt real.

Tonight, he left with something else: a warm and inexplicable sense of fulfillment.

And he returned the next morning, still invigorated by that same feeling.

As the days passed, his routine took shape. Each morning, he brought her water and pouring it gently over her roots before taking up his axe. Day after day he toiled beneath the thinning canopy, hacking through blackened trees and stubborn thorns. And each day, without fail, he felt the weight of unseen eyes upon him.

At first he did his best to dismiss it as his imagination, not letting it distract him. But inevitably when he turned, he would catch a glimpse of movement--the faint parting of the spirit's pod that revealed an opening into darkness. It made him uncomfortable for a while knowing she was watching his every move. The sound of trees crashing to the ground suddenly felt too violent of a disruption to the grove's normal serenity, their impacts making him wince. To ease that anxiety, he started to give out warnings before each one, his voice breaking the silence like a ritual. He even found himself spitting less once he began thinking of the ground beneath him as part of her, and he bit back his frustrations, resisting the urge to hiss or grunt with his exertions.

Then he found himself speaking to her more often.

He let her know when he was leaving to fetch water, when he needed to refill his lantern, when he stopped to rest or to call it for the night. And when he returned, he always paused at the grove's edge before stepping in, announcing himself as if entering a sacred place.

Sometimes, he could smell her fragrance, curling through the air like a whisper. Other times the scent was absent, and he wasn't sure if she had withdrawn it or if he had simply grown used to it.

A strange thought took root in his mind--was that her way of responding to him? Her way of communicating, or stepping out of her shell? It was probably just wishful thinking on his part.

Still, the air around his camp had changed. The reek of rot and burned wood was all but extinct, replaced by something softer and more alive. He no longer felt alone in the forest.

And that was how it should be. No place of nature was ever truly empty.

He only hoped the Kurwanis would find the change to be a worthy one.

- - - - -

"This isn't good." Ruhad muttered, staring down at one of his men laid out on a cot in the dim infirmary tent.

His infection had spread suddenly overnight. Visible blackened veins now crawled beneath the skin of his chest, radiating outward from a small wound--a mere nick from a fouled spear he picked up during the battle with the Sage of Ashmoran. It had seemed benign at first. Days passed before the sickness took hold, appearing at first like an ordinary fever, followed by weakness. Now the man lay in a state of near-catatonia, his breaths coming in shallow, and blood seeped from his extremities. Bleeding like that was often the telltale sign of an encounter with demonic magic. The Kurwanis healers had done all they could, but their medicines had no greater effect beyond dulling his suffering. Such unnatural infections required excision to fully purge, with the risk becoming greater the longer one waited. He wished he had acted sooner.

The past five days had been relentless. After parting ways with Theokles, the caravan made its slow journey back to the settlements, burdened by loss. The dead had been burned, their names spoken with honours around a circle of their kin. Yet grief offered no reprieve. They still had a duty to uphold, traveling between the scattered desert villages to gather and distribute supplies, ensuring no settlement endured shortages for long.

Then came the demon attack. In the dead of night, a spider demon sprung a trap on their traveling caravan. She struck with such precision and power that they could barely threaten her. After all was told and she had vanished back into the dunes, the damage had been mostly negligible. Wagons lay broken with split wheels and axles, but they could be replaced, and most of the men were left unscathed. Despite her ferocity, she had stolen only one thing. A young man. A boy, in truth, from Earth. Just like Theokles and Aristide. For some reason, this bothered him more than she had wrecked total devastation. The kidnapping stung of his ineptitude as a guardian. Worse, he started noticing a disturbing pattern to the recent events.

Ruhad spent much of his long life inundated with myths and stories of demon behaviour, and so he knew when things were off. It was almost as if these men, these summoned outsiders, were being singled out. It was already unusual that so many of them had appeared in such a short time, but now demons were pursuing them beyond the protected borders of the desert. The idea that something larger was at work plagued him. Perhaps it was due to the corruption seeping from Ashmoran that made such breaches possible. Yet this did not feel like mere happenstance. It felt deliberate.

As much as it killed him, the search for the missing man had drained more time than he could afford. The scouts found nothing more than a broken spear and an uninhabitable expanse of sand. There was no trail to follow, no sign of struggle beyond that single, eerie clue, left in the open to discover. It was as though the demon didn't care if they pursued her or not.

However, once his man showed signs of sickness, Ruhad had no choice but to call off the search and wait, to see if others would be similarly affected. His responsibilities were pulling him in too many directions at once. Now, he had one more promise to fulfill, to return to Ashmoran in two days' time. And he was going to fail in that duty as well.

He muttered a quiet prayer to the goddesses, beseeching them to protect those of his flock who were lost or sick. Then, he turned to his men outside the tent.

"Gather supplies. We leave for Ashmoran within the hour. Bring any medicines that we can spare."

As the orders were carried out, Ruhad cast one last glance at the dying man.

"Hold on," he murmured in assurance, though the words felt hollow to him.

He cursed himself in his thoughts. Why had it taken so long for this infection to show itself? His mind raced, trying to recall if Theokles had been wounded in the battle. Had he taken a cut from one of those tainted weapons? If so, they would have to hurry...

He shook the thought away. No, Theokles was different. Stronger than ordinary men, like the brave heroes of old. If anyone could survive this world, it was him.

Still, as Ruhad mounted his camel, he found himself making another prayer that when he reached Ashmoran, Theokles would still be well enough to hear an apology.

- - - - -

A dull weight pressed down on Theokles' limbs as he woke that morning. His head swam as he pushed himself upright, the motion sending a sudden warmth trickling down his lip. A single crimson drop landed on his chest--then another. He exhaled slowly, tilting his head back, willing the bleeding to stop. It took longer than he wished.

When it passed, he wiped the last of the blood away with the back of his hand, irritation prickling at the edge of his thoughts. He hadn't left his comrades just to be slowed down by something as mundane as fatigue. He had a duty, to the Kurwanis, to Ashmoran, but mostly to the quiet expectations that no one voiced, but that he felt all the same. He couldn't afford to falter now, when his work had hardly begun. His ego wouldn't allow it.

He made his way to the stream, kneeling at the water's edge to see himself for the first time in weeks. His reflection wavered in the current; dark, sweat-matted hair, the starts of a beard, and weariness in his eyes. He lingered there for a moment, trying to force the tiredness from his features. But it clung to him, like a shadow of his own stubbornness. Then a cool wind stirred the leaves, carrying with it a familiar fragrance that pulled him from his melancholy.

Curiously, it seemed to spin around him, and when it sunk into his lungs, he momentarily felt a weight being relieved from his chest. He exhaled, letting his thoughts drift, drawn away by the scent coming from the waiting grove.

Was this the spirit of the forest attempting to reach out to him?

He realized he was considerably late. The sun was already high above, and he hadn't brought her any water yet. He pushed himself to his feet, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten, and hauled a full bucket back down the path toward the grove. He stopped as he reached the threshold. The bucket dropped to the ground with a muted thud as he stared ahead, and his breath caught in his chest.

The spirit's colossal green leaves had unfurled, spreading wide in the midday light like great, verdant sails. They stretched outward, vast and vibrant, drinking in the sun. Where before stood the withered and closed pod, there was now an enormous flowery bulb, its thick petals a deep, lush shade of reddish-pink, their edges curled faintly inward as though still shy of the open air. The aroma rolling off of it was dizzying, weaving through the forest like a beckoning murmur. Theokles' fingers flexed at his sides, slowly curling into a fist.

Had his efforts been the height of hubris? Had he, in his arrogance, nursed a monster both vast and perilous back to strength?

A soft, muffled presence, nearly lost in the gentle rustling of leaves, whispered to him. It was a voice.

"Coming in?"

Theokles stiffened. He hadn't imagined that, had he? It was faint, almost too faint, yet undeniably there. His mind scrambled to place it, to make sense of the sound beyond its sheer impossibility. The air was thick with floral sweetness, trailing over his skin like curious fingers. He remained still, uncertain. Then, the colossal flower stirred. Its thick petals shifted, like lips parting just slightly to reveal a small gap.

"... Coming in?" Again the voice came. Softer this time. Apprehensive.

Then it struck him. What he was hearing was an echo of himself. Theokles had said something similar each morning upon stepping into the grove, announcing his presence before entering her domain. And now she was speaking it back to him. Not perfectly. Maybe not even with full understanding. But there was intention.

He kept hold of his breath as his eyes adjusted to the dim space between the petals. A faint shimmer emerged from the shadows, soft and diffused like a faded star. A single eye, glowing faintly pink, gazed back at him from within the flower's depths.

That was her, he thought. That was the little spirit.

Theokles realized that he'd just been staring, and so rose to his feet, heart pounding. Clearing his throat he finally spoke, voice quieter than he intended.

"I'm coming in."

It felt different now that he was speaking in response to her, but he wouldn't let it bother him. He had made his choice to help her, and had yet to fulfill his obligation. He bent to retrieve the bucket, relieved that none of it had spilled. Then slowly, reverently, he approached the giant bloom.

He stepped carefully, mindful of the roots stretching outward--fresh and supple, their bark a rich, earthy green-brown. They bore none of the sickly deformity of the ones he had worked so hard to clear; no sign of decay or taint. This was all new growth, vibrant and alive.

The space felt much smaller now, dominated by the spirit with her leaves fully extended, stretching nearly as far as the first ring of stumps. He was surrounded by her presence in a way he hadn't been before. Theokles stopped just short of too close, unsure why he suddenly felt the need to be so cautious. He had been tending to her for days. But now, with the leaves parted and her watching him, the act of simply approaching felt difficult.

Theokles knelt, looking up to meet her eye. He wanted her to see, to understand, that he wasn't just a disheveled giant. Even if he looked intimidating, he meant no harm. That's who he tried to be, at least. He never meant to do harm, and yet those self-defeating thoughts were never far from his mind. With effort, he tried to banish them.

He let out a sharp gasp, standing abruptly and jerking his gaze downward, realizing too late that the water had pooled around his knees, soaking through his clothes. He shook off the cold, cursing under his breath. "Damn it--"

Then there was a rustling as the petals snapped shut. Theokles stiffened, looking up hopelessly for the spirit's eye, feeling his heart sink into his stomach. You fool, he thought, wanting to kick himself. She had only just emerged, and now he had scared her back into hiding.

Why had he recoiled like an imbecile, like some startled boy caught sneaking into a temple to leer at the statues? He had never been one to fumble over himself. He had faced hordes of enemies, stood before the altars of vengeful gods without flinching--so why did one timid spirit unnerve him so? He let out a pained sigh, running a hand down his face. Standing around feeling sorry for himself wouldn't change anything.

Heart still pounding, Theokles turned on his heel and strode toward the stream, moving faster than before. He didn't know what he was expecting, only that he wanted to return as soon as possible.

This time, he lingered just outside the grove's edge, bucket in hand once again. The flower remained furled in on itself.

Still, he felt hesitation.

Steadying himself, he spoke. "I've returned, with water."

Silence.

His grip tightened on the bucket's handle, but he stepped forward anyway, refusing to let his doubts slow him. Near enough to one of her leaves, he knelt and poured the water with greater care. Looking down instead, he found his eyes drawn to the way her roots shifted lazily, curling and uncurling like earthworms in the dampening soil.

A twitch of movement caught his attention. The leaf before him twitched, its surface laced with pale gold veins that subtly tightened and loosened, as if excited by the nourishment to come. Then he noticed nearly invisible prongs, no larger than hairs, concealed along the stiff green skin. Before he realized it, his finger hovered above one, as if moving on its own. He wanted to know how it felt. He had never touched the flower before--and he wondered, would it be warm or cool? And could the spirit even feel as humans did, or was she more like a plant?

Theokles jerked his hand back, burying his face in the crook of his arm to smother a sudden cough. His body lurched with the effort, and he turned away, stumbling a few steps from the flower before his throat could betray him further. He didn't want to startle her a second time. The grove's moisture eased his breathing, but still, a few muffled coughs escaped into his sleeve.

"... I apologize, spirit. I am not well this morning," he admitted, his voice rough but sincere. "I'll fetch more water."

"No."

Theokles blinked, uncertain if he had heard correctly. He looked back to the closed bloom, where the sound had come from, then froze mid-turn.

From the tip of its furled petals to its very base, the flower began to unfurl. The waxy petals slowly peeled away, like silk drapes revealing a long-held secret behind them. As the gap deepened, he began to see her, starting with her eyes.

Wide and innocent, they glowed with the same soft pink he had glimpsed through the crack before. Now unobscured, he could see how they were framed by thick, dark lashes that cast delicate shadows against the whites. They were strikingly human, yet something about them felt more vivid, more haunting, yet full of life.

Long hair spilled over her shoulders in cascading waves, its floral hues paler than her irises. Damp from the humid air within her chamber, the strands clung to her form, veiling her with an almost deliberate modesty, their silken sheen catching the light. As striking as its colours were, his gaze was drawn to her skin--a deep, velvety green, softer in tone than the leaves that sheltered her.

Cradled within the heart of her massive flower, she seemed like the very essence of the forest itself, a spirit woven from nature and flesh. It was as though he had just witnessed the birth of a goddess, blooming from her verdant sanctuary as Aphrodite from the sea, an immaculate pearl unveiled from its shell.

"You will stay." Her voice reached him, clear and unmistakable, her lips shaping the words before his eyes.

She leaned forward, bending at the hips as she shimmied on long legs through the soft bed of her flower. Unfolding her arms from her sides, she laid her hands against the red flesh of an outstretched petal, her fingers sinking effortlessly into its pliant surface.

Theokles swallowed, eyes widening. She was no 'little' spirit, not small or fleeting by any means. The withered thing he had absently tended to was nothing compared to the unmistakable fullness of the figure before him, more robust than any idol of fertility. He felt sweat begin to form.

Her eyes remained half-lidded, her expression wavering between careful hesitation and wonder. Yet as if to betray a deeper longing, a potent, heady perfume released into the air alongside her, an unspoken plea for Theokles to remain here. It worked in part to break down his barriers, to help him understand that she wanted to communicate, but what should he say to her?

"Are you... feeling better?" Theokles finally asked, his voice steadier than his nerves.

He wasn't sure why he spoke to her as though she were a simple mortal, but he needed to understand how she felt. He needed validation that his decision to stay here was the right one to make.

The green woman tilted her head. For a moment she only watched him, then realization flickered in her softly glowing eyes.

"Warm," she eventually murmured, almost distractedly. "This light... feels good."

Theokles exhaled, feeling a deep sense of relief. Then he noticed the way that she kept staring at him. Her fingers curled slightly, as though testing their strength against the soft flower beneath her. A hazy mist of pollen was drifting upward, rich with her scent, as though the grove itself were breathing along with her.

The sight of it made him shift uncomfortably, which in turn made the spirit's body tense, as if ready to jump at a moment's notice.

She really doesn't want me to leave. There was a sudden intensity in her gaze, a faint crease of worry in her brow, and that perfume. That was how mantrap demons drew in their victims. At least that's what Ruhad had said. He should have been more on edge, worried that the demon's charm would soon take hold of him. Or perhaps she already had him? He did feel a warmth inside of his chest, and despite his better judgment, he didn't want to be anywhere else.

"Are you upset that I destroyed your flowers... the blue ones?" Theokles found himself asking.

The spirit's concentration faltered. She blinked once, then again, as if searching through his words. "Blue... one?"

"The flowers that were growing around the trees and thorns."

"Mmm..." She hummed softly, her fingers absently testing the petal beneath her. "Do not need. I will grow new flowers."

"That's good," Theokles let out with a breath. "I was worried I was hurting you."

After a moment, he continued. "You know, I might end up destroying a few more while clearing the rest of the corruption from the woods."

At that, the crease in her brow deepened. "What is... corruption?"

Theokles could only think to turn and point at the many remaining blackened trees and twisted thorns he had yet to remove. "The corruption... it's the evil left behind by the Sage of Ashmoran. The sorcerer--"

Before he could say more, the air shifted. There was a sharp rustling, the sound of dry leaves stirring in a windless grove. Theokles turned back just in time to see the first group of vines drawing out from the core of her flower, sinuous and slow. They drifted bonelessly around her, moving with a natural grace the Sage's magic could never have mimicked. At his feet, more tendrils slithered out from between the roots, coiling toward him, hovering just shy of his ankles.

She was staring at him now, eyes full of fire, her expression unplaceable. With a voice thinner and more urgent than before, she asked: "Do you want to kill me?"

Theokles didn't move, nor did he panic. He had already witnessed this once before--the woodland stirring, twisting in obedience to the one who commanded the forest. But this was different. There was no emotion behind the sage's attack, as nothing but a husk of him had remained. But in her, he could sense deep-seated fear.

Keeping his voice steady, he spoke to calm her.

"Do you remember the first night I arrived? Did you hear my voice, and my friend, Ruhad, speaking with me?"

The vines at his feet wavered, their creeping advance slowing as the spirit narrowed her eyes at him.

"Maybe..." she admitted.

Theokles smiled patiently. "I convinced my friend to let you stay." He took a slow breath, gesturing again to the dying trees. "I'm only here to remove the corruption, like the blackened trees the sage grew to block out your sunlight."

At that, her head tilted again. The aggression in her posture casually melted away as she turned her face up to the open canopy. For a long moment she remained still, just watching the light filter through. A wistful expression softened her features as the tension in the vines fading.

"I remember... dying. Dry. I have never seen this... Sun and light." She nodded, each word spoken like a sigh of relief.

Theokles listened in silence as she traced her memories aloud, her pink eyes blinking heavy, unfocused.

"And... I remember... Tasting something very good."

Slowly, her gaze drifted down, eventually finding Theokles' hands, lingering on the bandaged one in particular. Seeing it seemed to make her frown.

He shifted, flexing his fist, feeling the raw cuts rubbing against the rough strips of cloth. "My blood... you mean when I let you drink from your flower, don't you?"

Her eyes widened in revelation. "This was you? You did this for me?"

"At first... I was just curious." Theokles confessed to her. "But now, considering what I've already done, I would do it again. Willingly this time, if it would help you trust me--to let me return to my work and help restore you."

She studied him for a long time, searching his face as if peeling back the layers of his intent. Slowly, her vines began to withdraw, slithering back into a hidden place beneath her as they retracted out of sight.

"No good," she whispered at last, shaking her head.

Theokles blinked, unsure how to react to such a passive refusal. When her eyes settled on him again, this time she found the ivory pendant resting above his chest. Her expression shifted, recognition flickering across her face.

"I know this," she said, reaching out towards it with grasping fingers despite the distance between them.

"My necklace? It's a ward. A charm meant to protect me from demons."

"Demons?" She looked surprised by the word.

He tilted his head, unsure how best to describe them. "Demons... such as yourself. From what I understand, you are known as a mantrap demon."

She cocked her head in an almost birdlike manner, as if not quite hearing him. At first it seemed as though the information bounced right off of her, but then with sudden enthusiasm she started crawling forward. A thick vine emerged with her. Extending from her back, it unraveled from a small hollow at the centre of the flower bed, hinting at a hidden depth below. He realized that she was physically tethered to this place, both trapped and a part of the Ashmoran Woods. What a lonely existence, he thought.

He tried not to stare at how her body swayed as she eased forward, settling at the very edge of a petal. They were closer to each other than they had ever been.

Before Theokles could react, her fingers shot out, gracefully plucking his necklace and pulling it over his head. He reached out reflexively but stopped, seeing her eyes widen with joy, marveling at the small trinket in her palm. She turned it over, studying it as though it were impossibly precious. Then, to his bewilderment, she slipped it over her own head, letting it settle between the rise of her chest.

What was he supposed to do about that?

"Can I have that back?" He said with a start, surprised by how petty he sounded.

She shook her head again, smiling faintly. "I will give you... something," she promised, "... but only if you return."

His worries faded as he saw her grow preoccupied, no longer paying him any mind. Quietly she slid back toward the heart of her flower, guided by the thick vine connecting her to it. The petals curled inward to cocoon her once more, but even as they did, she remained captivated by the pendant, turning it in her fingers.

He supposed he was being allowed to go.

Theokles left the grove, his thoughts on the necklace now in her possession. While he wasn't familiar with the powers that ruled Mayko, surely it should repelled her. The Sage of Ashmoran had lined his domain with similar such wards. He believed they worked, and certainly they had for a time, as he supposedly lived in his cabin unmolested for years.

As Theokles retrieved his axe and waterskin, he noticed the sweet scent in the air now stirred something in his blood. Was this how it felt to be here without any protection?

He wondered, not for the first time, if he was a fool for returning to the spirit's grove. But as the day unfolded, things turned out much the same as they had before. He announced himself, receiving no reply save for the ever-present fragrance, and then set back to work widening the ring of stumps. He warned her each time a tree was felled, but this time he would occasionally catch glimpses of her peering at him from between the petals. It seemed she had reverted back to her same shyness as when they first met. That was fine, he supposed. He found it difficult enough knowing she was watching. However, that was a good kind of difficult. Never in his life since he had held an axe could Theokles assure himself that he was restoring, rather than destroying.

When it was time to leave, he called his usual farewell over his shoulder. Only this time a soft voice answered, barely louder than a breath.

"... Come back soon. Theo-koles..."

He smiled at the mispronunciation, remembering that he had introduced himself to her once before. It made him realize that he didn't know what to call her, though that could wait until morning. For the first time since beginning this work, he was eager to sleep--to wake up and come back tomorrow.

- - - - -

Theokles' veins were turning black. He saw it that morning as he went to change his bandages, his fingers hesitating over the cloth as a deep unease settled in his gut. Carefully, he unraveled the linen, revealing dark lines snaking beneath his skin, creeping up his arms from the cuts on his palm that had never truly healed. His breaths came shorter today. Most disturbingly, as he flexed his fingers he could feel no pain. He tried to wash the sickness away at the stream, but the darkened veins remained, uncleansed by the cold water. He stared at his hand for a moment longer, then sighed, looking up to see the sun trickling in overhead.

Ruhad and his people knew about these kinds of afflictions. He decided he wouldn't lose heart until he heard what they had to say about it.

He stood with his feet in the creek, trying not to feel unsettled, but before he could fully push the thoughts aside, he caught a glimpse of strange movement further downstream. Crouching low as he went, he quickly spied something pale and pink, bobbing gently at the water's edge. It was not a colour he expected to see, and it possessed him to look further, stepping along the current quietly as to not startle it.

It was not an animal as he had expected, but a flower. A bulb, plump and full, was dipping its head into the stream. He swore he saw it drinking, the petals trembling slightly with each individual gulp. Then his foot made a splash in the water as it caught on a rock beneath the surface. In an instant the bulb recoiled, its leaves snapping shut over its face as it retreated into the ground. Theokles quickened his pace forward, scanning the silt where it had been. A small hole remained, dark and narrow, like the burrow made by a snake. He stared at it, skin still damp as he shivered, not sure if he should be put off by the discovery.

Theokles returned to the grove soon after, carrying the spirit's water as he always did. Nearing the entrance, he called out to announce himself. But before he could step forward, something jostled his bucket. He looked down.

Another pink bulb, its leaves slick with moisture, had dipped its head fully into the water, drinking greedily like a man dying of thirst. Theokles froze, watching as the liquid drained at an inhuman speed, siphoned down a sinuous, vine-like stem that trailed off into the undergrowth. He could feel the weight of the bucket lessening in his grip, the water pulled through the flower's twisting length toward the spirit's main body.

His brow furrowed. Was this how large she had grown? He should have recoiled, should have dropped the bucket, but his confusion held him still. It moved with such speed. It was as though the flower had simply appeared, guided by unnatural dexterity that let it slither without a sound. He had seen the mantrap's many extremities shift and writhe before, but this was a startling improvement.

"... I'm going to have to fill another bucket," he muttered, still half-stunned.

Before he could turn, her voice called out, soft but certain.

"No more water."

He glanced back toward the heart of the grove, back at the great flower as its thick petals slowly opened. There she sat within, her green skin aglow with the morning light, eyes filled with quiet satisfaction.

"What do you mean?" he asked in turn.

"No more leaving for water," she started to say, then raised her hand enigmatically in the air. "... I will make things like this now."

At her behest the pink flower responded, raising itself to Theokles' eye level, then began to slowly unfurl. Its outer petals peeled back like the hood of a cobra, revealing a glistening fleshy interior. Beneath the thin layers of soft pink, something deeper pulsed. There was a dim passageway, smooth and damp, narrowing into a hidden throat that led into the stem. It reared toward Theokles, its petals flexing in a way that almost mimicked breath, letting out something invisible that was saccharine sweet.

Theokles found himself staring at it as though it were alive. Of course, it was alive. It was a part of her, something new that she had crafted to perform this task. She watched him, expectant, her lips curving faintly. This was clearly something she was proud of.

Swallowing, he nodded his approval. "That's... very good," he said carefully. "If I don't have to bring water every morning, I can focus on my work here, with my tools, if you don't mind."

She nodded back, pleased with his response. The bulb withdrew, its leaves folding shut over its head as it slithered back toward her, vanishing into the earth.

"Go and come back," she allowed, then slowly shut herself inside of her petals, humming contentedly.

He did as she asked, and as he made his way back, he began to hear her voice drifting through the trees from within the flower.

"Theo-koles... Theo-koles..."

The spirit was repeating his name over and over, almost like a song, her voice light and lilting. He smiled, shaking his head. "It's Theokles."

The petals shifted, peeling apart just enough for her to look at him, blinking in muted confusion. "Thee... klees?"

He nodded. "Better."

She tried again, her lips shaping the syllables carefully, but there was still a clumsy pause in her delivery.

Theokles chuckled. "If it's too difficult, you can call me Theo. A friend of mine sometimes calls me that."

She tilted her head, considering the sound before pointing at him, repeating, "Theo." The name seemed to please her, and she gave a satisfied nod.

Then, after a beat, she asked, "And Theo's friend?"

"Ruhad," he said. "The one you heard me speaking with."

At the name, her expression darkened slightly, as though recalling their discussion from the first day.

"He's a good man," Theokles assured, sensing her unease. "Kind. Understanding."

"Theo is more kind."

He forced a smile, but he found himself staring at his hands. "I don't think that's true."

As he looked up again he saw the pendant still resting against her chest--the symbol of the Kurwanis people, worn as though it had always belonged there. A spot on his brow between his eyes twitched as he battled an uncomfortable truth.

"... As for Ruhad, his people have suffered at the hands of demons," he admitted after a pause. "... It may be difficult for him to trust you."

At this, the roots near his feet gave an uneasy twitch, writhing slightly against the soil. Her hands clutched at the petal she sat upon. "This man will try to hurt me?"

Theokles hesitated. He could not say no with full honesty, not when Ruhad and his people were among the few humans with the intention and knowledge to hunt demons. If they saw her as a threat, there was no telling what they would do.

There was a grim possibility that their meeting would end in tragedy--that they would try to destroy each other. He wouldn't let that happen. He had to prepare her, to guide her toward trusting others and ensure a better outcome. And, most likely, he would have to do the same for Ruhad.

"My friend will be returning in a day or so, bringing me more supplies so I can stay here longer."

He phrased it in a way that seemed to ease some of her nerves. Once she realized he would be staying, her roots stilled, and her fingers loosened their grip.

He took a step closer into the grove. "I'd like to introduce the two of you," he said. "How would you feel about that?"

She blinked, clearly confused. "I only want to see Theo."

He exhaled, unsurprised by her response. "I understand," he said gently. "But meeting others will be important for you. If you respect humans and their boundaries, they will respect you and your forest. You could have peace."

She hesitated at the words, her lips creasing with effort.

"... My forest?" she echoed, uncertainty flickering across her face.

Theokles' lips parted slightly, realizing then that he had unintentionally spoken of his own ideals. His mind leaped forward, imagining a future where the Ashmoran Woods thrived once more. He saw it restored, green and vast, with generations of humans living nearby. Occasionally they would visit her grove with offerings: baskets of food, cups of wine, and all the jewelry and gifts she could ever want. They would build shrines and statues in the image of the peaceful deity who watched over the bountiful forest.

The itch on his brow subsided as he pushed the fantasy aside, remembering something important.

He straightened, then took a step back and bowed. "Forgive me. I've been rude."

She regarded him funnily, still bewildered by the strangeness of his new behaviour.

"I never asked for your name," he finally asked. "What should I call you?"

Her confusion only deepened. She hesitated before gesturing toward herself, repeating the words she had heard before.

"Mantrap... demon."

Theokles frowned. "You were never given a name?"

A small shake of her head was all the answer she gave.

Something in his chest tightened. But then, like a spark catching fire, an idea took root inside him.

"If you would honour me," he said, "I could offer you a name."

At that, her eyes lit up with childlike excitement. Her petals unfurled fully, and without hesitation she crawled closer, guided by her curiosity.

"A name?" she echoed.

Theokles smiled, as the name had already taken shape in his mind. It wasn't one this land, but from his own. He had once spoken to Aristide about it in a moment of reflection. Here, 'Earth' was the name of a deity, a maternal personification of nature. Mother Earth was a name that existed in his world too, supposedly, a concept that was not unfamiliar to him. Yet in his time, long before men learned that one name, there was another, older one.

"... How would you like the name Gaia?" he asked. "It's the name of a goddess where I am from."

She seemed to turn the name over in her mind, tasting its sound before murmuring, "Theo... and Gaia?"

Though it was spoken as a question, there was the warmth of acceptance to her voice. She smiled, deeper than ever before, the corners of her lips curling into her cheeks as she settled down against her petal. She sighed with satisfaction, and the air around them shifted, causing the scent of the grove to stir and wrap around Theokles like an embrace.

It wasn't just the fragrance that moved, but a cool, comforting breeze that shifted through the trees, rustling the leaves in a distant chorus. The wind had returned.

His heart quickened at the revelation, making an unusual feeling of faintness sink into his bones.

Then suddenly, his knees buckled.

The sensation struck without warning, a wave of weakness crashing over him and dragging him down before he could resist. His vision swam, darkening at the edges.

He barely registered a rush of movement before everything faded to black.

When he stirred again, it had only been mere moments. Consciousness returned to him in slow, unsteady waves. He'd had an episode of something, he was sure of it, but had never experienced its like before. His thoughts were muddled, heavy, like they had been steeped in honey. It took him a moment to register his surroundings, to remember where he was and what he had been doing.

He was propped up against something warm and damp, his body held in place by a gentle but unyielding grip. Something soft cradled the back of his neck, and around his limbs too. He felt the firm yet delicate hold of some unseen presence woven around him. As he focused on the feeling, he started to hear her voice.

"Theo... Theo-klees, don't die... Theo..."

The voice was soft, trembling with sorrow. Beautiful, yet thick with fear.

"Gaia."

The realization cut through his sluggish mind, and his lips parted before he even thought to speak.

"Gaia?" he croaked.

His head lolled to the side, vision still unfocused, and he felt damp fingers fumbling with the bandages on his hand. Slowly, the world sharpened. He was lying on top of Gaia's flower. His limbs were entangled in long, sinuous vines that had dragged him up and into her grasp. He could feel warmth and wetness seeping in from the petal beneath him, its fleshy surface cradling his body as though he had been pulled into the beating heart of her body.

Gaia was hovering over him, her face etched with open, childlike worry as she carefully unraveled the cloth around his arm. The moment her gaze fell upon the blackened veins beneath, her expression darkened, her lips parting slightly in alarm.

"Corruption...?" she whispered, the word sounding more like a discovery than a true question.

Theokles grimaced as he tried to push himself upright, but his body betrayed him. His head swam, his strength a ghost of what it had been even moments before he fell. Though he felt no immediate pain, an undeniable fatigue weighed down his every movement. He forced himself to remain still, unwilling to fight her when she was this close to him.

He felt disarmed, yet what unsettled him most was not his own weakness. It was her touch; light, and impossibly delicate for something as large and overwhelming as her, and for the first time. The way her fingertips ghosted over his skin, the way she examined his wound with unspoken distress... no one had worried about him like this.

Was he worthy of such treatment? She was something pure, something divine, and he feared that even his presence alone might taint her. His thoughts would have been enough to paralyze him, but it was too late for that--his body was already here, yielding within the gentle embrace of her vines. Theokles, the soldier, had fought and killed. He had bled for causes both just and selfish, and had laboured like a man seeking a place among the stars. Yet now, in her arms, he was too afraid to even move.

"It's alright..." he murmured at last, forcing himself to say anything to reassure her. "When Ruhad returns, his people will know how to treat this... this burden."

Gaia's gaze flickered back to his, but she did not look convinced. She reached out again, her fingers brushing against his darkened veins. Theokles should have flinched. But instead he watched her, awe-struck.

Her skin was impossibly smooth, like velvet brought to life. Her touch was cool but not unpleasant, and the thought of her voice lingered in his mind like the echo of a song. He tried to focus on anything that wasn't her, but found he couldn't. A distant, rational part of him whispered that this was dangerous, but he could not heed that voice. Instead he watched her, waiting until her hand reached his palm. Then, when the opportunity rose, he curled his fingers carefully around hers.

The moment stretched. One second. Then another.

And then a sharp jolt of awareness snapped through him, making him let go. Theokles clenched his jaw, shame washing over him like frigid water. His fingers twitched as if to touch her again, but he willed them still.

"... I'm alright," he said again, firmer this time. He needed to leave. Needed to be away from this comfort.

Gaia watched him closely, her expression curiously unmoving.

"I will pace myself," he continued, pushing against the petal beneath him, trying to get his body to obey. "... I am strong enough to work, thanks to you."

"Do not move," she said suddenly.

Theokles stopped. He tried to shift, to look up at her properly, but the angle of his body left him utterly at her mercy. His head rested against something soft, warm--he realized, with no small amount of embarrassment, that he was cradled against her lap. Pale pink hair cascaded over his face, and the curve of her naked chest loomed above him. Her presence was as enveloping as the vines still curled around his limbs.

Then he felt a faint pressure against his wounded hand. He turned his gaze and saw one of the pink flower bulbs pressing against his infected palm, its petals nuzzling against the blackened veins. Theokles winced at the contact, although the pain was dull, almost imaginary.

"What are you doing?" he asked, voice tight.

Gaia's response came softer, calmer than before. This time, she spoke with certainty.

"You give me something... so I will give you something."

He furrowed his brow, watching as the flower at his palm began to stir. Its centre slowly peeled open, revealing a darker core within. Before he could react, its petals pressed firmly against his palm, as though it were sealing over his wound. His breath hitched as something shifted within the flower. Thin, bright green tendrils emerged, slithering over his fingers. They curled around his knuckles, binding his hand in their delicate grasp. Then there was a sharper sensation. He couldn't help but flinch as the tendrils probed at his infection, brushing against the tainted flesh. Warmth spread over his skin, slick and strangely soothing, lathering over the wound like a salve.

"Do not move," Gaia repeated, and this time, she held him tight.

Her arms curled more securely around his shoulders, pressing him against her. The vines coiled more snugly around his limbs. Then came a pulling sensation. There was still no pain, but it felt uncomfortable, invasive, as though something deep and solid within him was being drawn out by her flower. His breath hitched, and a quiet gasp escaped his lips.

Then, just as quickly as it began, it was over.

The flower withdrew. Its tendrils slipped away and retreated into the bulb, leaving behind a thin trail of sticky, golden nectar that clung between its petals and his palm.

For a long moment, Theokles stared at his hand, disbelieving. The bruising had visibly faded, reduced now to an angry red shape around the wound, a mere shadow of what it had been. Some of the blackened veins along his wrist remained, but the warm tingling sensation beneath his skin told him something had changed for the better.

Slowly, the vines wrapped around his limbs slackened, rustling as they receded under the bed of the mantrap's bloom. He exhaled, his mind struggling to keep up with what had just happened.

"You... healed me?" he murmured, mostly to himself.

His thoughts raced. She healed me. A demon did. There were so many stories of demons, of their trickery, their cruelty. He had fought alongside men who believed they were nothing but devourers and destroyers; monsters to be slain without hesitation.

Yet Gaia had saved him.

She was not dangerous. She was something else--something this world needed, and needed more of. For the first time since he had set down on this path, Theokles allowed himself to fully believe in the truth that, deep down, he knew all along.

Demons could be more than just their nature. Gaia was a force for good.

Carefully, Theokles extricated himself from her grasp, which she didn't fight. He moved slowly, although it wasn't because he was afraid he might startle her. That fear had died along with the birth of his newfound purpose. The moisture of her petals lingered on his skin and clothes, the memory of her touch still fresh as he pulled away.

He stepped down from her flower, then turned. Slowly, he lowered himself to the ground, pressing his forehead to the earth in deep reverence.

"Thank you, Gaia," he said, filled with conviction. "I have no words to express what you've given me."

Words were indeed unnecessary. In that moment, his devotion was complete. He had already made his choice to remain here, to protect her, and to see her thrive. This forest, this fragile, forgotten piece of the world, was now as much a part of him as it was part of her. Gaia seemed to sense his change, reading his intent even as he remained prostrated before her. She tilted her head, petals shifting slightly as she studied him.

"... You will go to continue working?" she asked at last.

Theokles lifted his head. "If you would allow me."

She nodded, though a faint frown crossed her face, a hint of worry still there.

"Go and come back, Theo."

He nodded. It was a promise.

And so he returned to his task, but this time he paced himself for her sake, no longer driving his body to the brink of exhaustion. He allowed himself to slow, to rest, and to listen. As he cleared the grove and cut away the tangled underbrush, he spoke with her--not just to ease her fears, but because he wanted to, and because she did too.

Yet a new worry began to take root in his mind.

When Ruhad came, how would he prove that his new feelings were real?

- - - - -

Ruhad hadn't come. Not the next day, the day after, nor the day after that.

Theokles tried to assure himself that delays were inevitable. Perhaps the Kurwanis had found reason to linger, or maybe Ruhad had simply misjudged the time it would take to return, not accounting for the fickle weather patterns of the unforgiving desert. But as those days passed, his reasoning soured into doubt. Something must have happened. Had the caravan been attacked? Was Ruhad lying dead on the road, with his people scattered and slain? Meanwhile Theokles had chosen to stay here, thinking only of himself.

The idea gnawed at him, turning bitter as spoiled fruit. They had arranged their return trip because of his guilt and ideals. He had, in essence, asked them to risk their lives for his sake, and he hadn't even realized it until now. And if they had died, because of him--

He shook his head, but the anxiety did not leave him so easily this time.

He still had his own problems to contend with too. His supplies had dwindled, lasting just a while longer than he had planned for. But now his food was gone. He tried to forage, but the Ashmoran Woods offered nothing edible. Only twisted or poisoned things that oozed filth and smelled of rot. Hunting fared no better. He had once thought the forest lifeless, but he understood that some beasts had found this place, although they didn't last long. The only animals he saw frequently were those drawn in by the scent of Gaia's flower, and that was too recent of a change to have a lasting effect. Even insects had only just begun to return, flitting uncertainly over the piles of dead vegetation he left behind, as though touching it might infect them.

He could feel his strength beginning to wane. It wasn't enough to stop him, not yet, but it would not be long before the lack of food carved its toll on his body and mind.

And there was still his growing affliction to contend with. He had worked through part of it, but only with Gaia's help. She had healed him before. Could she do so again, or would it be selfish to ask?

He turned the thought over in his mind, wondering what else she could do. If she could lure in prey animals--just once, like she had those birds, it would be enough to keep him going. If she could bring them permanently, it would be a tremendous step toward healing this place and returning Ashmoran to what it once was.

He decided then that he would go to her to explain his need. She would understand.

However, when he stepped outside, he knew something was wrong.

The air was too still. The wind had vanished, just as it had the day he and the other men first arrived. But worse than that was the smell. It crept into his lungs with every breath, thick and pungent, the unmistakable stench of decay. Theokles muscles stiffened as his instincts flared to life.

Something was here.

Without realizing he was moving, his hand had found a handle, the last axe with an unblemished blade. Then he had set off toward the grove, blood pounding in his ears.

He spotted the first abnormality before he reached the clearing. A fallen tree blocked the path. Not rotted, not dead, but broken in two. Snapped like a twig. At first glance it seemed incidental; but as he stepped closer, he saw the splintered wood at its base, and the deep, ragged gouge where something had crushed it in twain.

His gut turned to ice as his pace quickened. Gaia's flower should have been visible through the trees by now. It was the beacon he always looked for. But the grove ahead was devoid of colour. Dull and lifeless.

He breached the threshold without stopping.

The devastation inside the grove was absolute. There was a wreckage of broken branches and torn vines, and fresh roots from the ground laid in splintered heaps. The earth itself bore several scars, and deep trenches were dug in the soil. It was as though a storm of thunder and lightning had raged through here last night; but there was no such storm. The air reeked of everything from crushed leaves, to split bark and damp mulch, but Gaia's scent was not among them. At the centre of it all, her flower lay closed.

Theokles stood frozen, staring at the massive pod where she had once bloomed so freely. The leaves were mangled, drawn in tight to protect what remained from the outside world. Whole sections had been torn open in places, and there were deep wounds that rent all the way through to the petals. The flesh beneath was raw, leaking thick green ichor that ran in rivulets down their ruined canvas. Where it touched the ground, flower bulbs began to sprout, too afraid to fully bloom.

His hand clenched around the handle of his weapon, feeling as though it might split the haft.

"Gaia?" Someone said using his voice. A moment later he realized it was him.

He stepped closer to the sealed flower, placing a hand against the cool surface, feeling a faint quiver beneath his palm.

"Are you alright? Please, speak to me."

For a moment, there was only stillness. Then there was a shift from within. A soft, distressed whisper answered.

"Theo... must not work today... Go back."

She sounded weak.

The flower began to unfurl, the movement reluctant, like a wounded animal bearing its belly not in trust, but in giving up. As the petals peeled away, Theokles witnessed the full extent of the damage. Gaia lay within the heart of her bloom, slumped, her body curled fetally inward. Claws had torn her verdant skin, the sight making his instincts flare wildly. Flowers sprouted from the lacerations, small and numerous, their thin roots collectively working to tug and knit the ends of her wounds back together.

She lifted her head, unable to meet his gaze, but still she tried.

"... The corruption is here... Theo must go. Not safe to stay."

His knuckles went white with the pressure he squeezed into them.

She was so resilient. He had watched her bloom and recover from death itself. But right now she looked as weak and fearful as when he first spotted her, before she had the courage to open her flower to him. He could not bear it.

He did not think, only acted. He brought the axe to his palm, dragging the blade across his skin, reopening the once infected wound he had earned through days spent toiling in this same grove.

"Please, accept this." Was all he offered in explanation.

Dark blood welled up, slipping between his fingers. Before Gaia could muster any form of resistance, he reached out over her petals and let the drops fall, sliding down the slick flesh toward her core.

The whole of the flower shuddered, sending a tremor out beneath him.

"Theo..." she cried, shrill and desperate. She sucked in short breaths, writhing in confusion. "Must not... You..."

But even as she spoke, the petal facing him relaxed at his invitation, and tendrils at the heart of her bloom quickly stirred, stretching outward. They hovered out and around him, trembling with uncertainty as the way was opened for him. He laid his axe down as he crawled onto the flower, feeling the slick living interior shifting beneath him. The tendrils followed him inside, hovering like an aura, curious and hungry.

"I give this to you," he said softly. "It will help you, will it not?"

Gaia hesitated. She tried to focus, but her eyes were clouded with weakness, and flickered with unknown to him.

"You give... too much... Theo..."

Her body betrayed her words as she inched closer, hypnotically drawn to his ebbing life. He brought his hand lower, and her lips brushed his open palm, tasting the blood.

The air immediately changed. The sweetness of her nectar returned, full of dew, like the scent of a storm about to break. The tendrils coiled around him, winding around his arms, his shoulders, his back. Gaia's hands grasped his arm, and small claws began pushing out from her fingertips, digging into his skin. Her lips pressed firmly to his wound, her breath hitching as she sucked greedily, making vibrations run through her body. Her remaining roots writhed beneath them, the entirety of her flower quivering in excitement as his limbs were squeezed tight. There was hunger in her now, raw and untempered. It was beyond need. It was a pull, a temptation.

Then, a single drop of blood spilled from her chin, touching the ivory pendant at her chest.

Gaia stiffened.

Her eyes widened, sudden and sharp, and in an instant she pulled back. The tendrils flinched away as if struck. She deftly seized his wrist, holding his cut hand away from her. With a fluid motion, her other hand reached down to the bed of the flower to gather something sticky, then she smeared it across the wound, sealing it shut.

"This taste again..." she whispered, although her voice had changed considerably. It held a new clarity, an awareness he had never heard her exhibit before. She looked at him then, truly looked at him, as though waking up from a dream.

"... You could have died." She said, her voice cold and distant.

"I trust you, Gaia."

Her lips parted, eyes widening as if she were searching for the duplicity in his words. Whatever she saw in him, it softened her gaze, making her face look closer to what he remembered. Her grip on his wrist relaxed, and a slight flush had darkened her cheeks.

But the moment could not last.

"What did this to you?" Theokles asked.

He reached his fingers over to touch her chin, tilting her gently to look at him. His urge to protect her was overwhelming. At that moment he only saw a woman, not the untouchable forest spirit.

"What happened here?"

"It's... corruption," she whispered, eyes fluttering as she looked at him fearfully. "Fang and claw... dark and full of hunger... it will smell us."

A cold weight settled in Theokles' chest. Her scent was now all around them.

This morning, he noticed its absence and thought it was strange. Now he knew why. She had been holding it back, suppressing it with effort, and he hadn't even realized. In feeding her and tempting her instincts, he had broken that conscious restraint.

The air was thick with her fragrance. It unfurled in waves, rich and intoxicating, seeping through the grove like an open invitation. It called out to whatever lurked beyond the trees, urging it to return.

A warbling cut through the stillness. There were deep, unsettling crunches approaching. Even from a distance, Theokles could feel how heavy it was by the sounds of crunching earth and breaking dry wood. It was not the telltale signs of an ordinary predator, but something far worse.

Theokles pulled away, slipping from Gaia's flower as his mind washed away anything but his immediate surroundings. His foot found solid ground, and he reached down to retrieve his axe, finding it uncomfortably heavy in his grip. He spared a single look to Gaia as he raised a hand to ward her off, not wanting her to be present for what came next. Then his eyes flickered over the treeline, only for him to realize he was already seeing the thing that was coming.

The undergrowth stirred. Trees bent, not from any wind, but from the shear size of it forcing its way through. The canopy rustled as shadows bent and shifted. And then--

It emerged.

This thing had never been human, nor was truly a beast or even a demon. However, it perhaps might have been the unfortunate product of all three.

The only word to describe it was 'monster.'

Theokles had never seen its like before--its shape only familiar in the way it stirred primal fear in mortals, like something from the old stories. This was a creature that guarded the Underworld, set loose to take its toll on whatever crossed its path.

It moved low to the ground at first, loping forward on four thick limbs, its blackened fur matted with Ashmoran's filth and rot. Weapons jutted from its hide--arrows, blades, and broken hafts embedded so deep they had become part of its body. They were a collection of trophies of those who had failed to end this thing's miserable existence. The wounds did not bleed, nor did they heal. In Theokles' heart, he knew this was because it was already dead, like the husk of the sage that had come before. It was bitterness made manifest, the very corruption he had sworn to rip out with his bare hands.

It rose, towering high.

Gaia's ragged breaths caused its torn and ripped ears to twitch. Its hollow eyes, choked with thorns, fixated on her, and a disgusting froth began to pour from its long mouth. Its lips pulled back, revealing jagged reddened teeth as it roared, frightening even the wind as the air trembled.

"Theo, go!"

Gaia's voice was strained, and a section of her pod curled inward just as the beast lunged. It crashed against the plant's thick, fibrous walls, biting, raking deep trenches into the living barrier. Theokles saw sprays of green ripped from Gaia, and suddenly he was moving.

He hadn't spared a thought about what he needed to do, because he was incapable. He too was not a man; not at that moment.

The only things he felt were the muscles in his arms and legs, and his axe--its uncomfortable weight dissipating with each breath he sucked in. His feet pounded against the earth, every sense narrowing down to the monster in front of him and the violence he yearned to inflict on it.

His first swing bit into its side, but not nearly deep enough. The creature's hide was denser than any tree, its flesh like packed earth, gnarled and unyielding. It barely registered the strike, shaking its body like a mountain shifting, catching him in the wake. Theokles staggered back, but before he could regain his footing, the thing turned. Just the motion of its massive frame was enough to send him sprawling.

He hissed as a tangle of broken weapons snapped against his face and chest, but his hand found something to grab hold of--an old, rusted sword, wedged deep into the beast's shoulder. He grasped it to hold on, but tore it free with a sickening wet snap, sending him and the freed blade to the ground. The breath was knocked from his lungs as he hit the ground hard without the chance to brace himself.

Then the monster rounded on him, seeing him in his weakened position and quickly lunged.

Theokles barely had time to think. With luck, his fingers retrieved his fallen weapon, lifting the rusted sword just as the full force of the creature came down on him, driving the blade hilt-deep into its throat. The immense weight crushed him, driving its pommel back against Theokles' ribs with an audible crack. He choked, unable to breath or do anything except use his futile strength to push back. The monsters' massive paws were free to maul him, and curved dagger-like claws shredded his arms and legs all at once, cutting as easily as though he weren't there.

He registered the pain, although slowly. Time stood still for Theokles has his body became an engine for survival. The only thing he saw at that moment was his axe, laying just out of reach.

Jaws gnashed above him, desperately wanting to take his head. He could smell fetid breath washing over him, heavy with death and the perfumed sweetness it had stolen from Gaia.

"Theokles!"

He heard her familiar voice, although sharper and more urgent.

Suddenly, Gaia's thick vines snapped around the creature's neck and arms, wrenching tight with all of the strength she could summon. The monster was forcibly reared, bellowing its frustration as its teeth snapped shut just shy of Theokles' face.

It resisted her vines fiercely, but she had already created his opening.

He reached out and grasped his axe, then slammed it upward, pressing the blade firm to the undying thing's neck. Then with both hands, he began to saw. Black ichor spilled over his hands as roots from the ground surged forward, wrapping more firmly around each of its limbs, pulling it back. Theokles shouted, pushing at it from underneath, blood weeping from his wounds as he put all of himself into this final act of defiance. He braced his legs and heaved, driving the creature off-balance. He fell to his knees as his power waned, watching as Gaia began to drag it onto its back.

Arrows from its hide cracked as it fell. It thrashed violently, wrenching itself free for just a moment--just long enough to right itself. In the blind flurry of its motion, it struck out with its claws. Gaia's eyes went wide as she saw the danger, but not fast enough to react as two of them caught her along her neck and arm. Her head snapped back from the force of it, and she slumped immediately after.

"No!" Theokles shouted, staggering to try and stand. He couldn't, and he had to look down at the bloody ruin of his legs to learn why.

The vines wavered, and he could see the colour drain from her petals. Something inside of him broke.

Roaring, he scrambled onto Gaia's flower, using his fingers, his shoulders, his chin, anything that would respond. One hand remained inexorably locked onto his axe as though fused with his skin, becoming an implement for climbing as he found his way onto the monster's back. His elbows hooked onto the broken weapons lodged in its body as he fought for inches, rotted spears bending as he found his way up. He grasped at its rotted mane, fingers slick with filth and his own running blood. Raising his axe, he swung down with all of his strength, directly onto the back of its skull.

Then he swung again.

And again.

And again, each time peeling away fur, loosening the bone and pounding it into fragments. But it would not die.

The monster's roar rang out like thunder as it tried to shake him off, but before it could, the grove itself shifted with a quaking of its own.

A wind that was not wind churned the air, thick with something both acrid and sweet. Theokles barely had time to look before the ground beneath them moved. Except it wasn't the ground that was moving. It was Gaia.

The flower, the great living thing that was her body in truth, was yawning opening. Gaia's unconscious form rested upon one of its petals, carried with it as the center of the bloom parted, fibres peeling open to reveal a cavernous maw. The scent pouring from it was overwhelming, hot and hungry. It was not the soft, inviting fragrance she used to lure creatures in--it was something more primal and dangerous. There was a void, waiting to be filled. Roots from deep within the hollow lashed around the creature, dragging it forward, its feet gliding along the slick interior as it struggled against the pull.

Theokles relaxed and let himself fall, landing on torn soil and roots and gasping as his vision blurred. He looked up, just enough so that he could watch as the monster lost its fight. Drawn headlong, it sank into the writhing depths of Gaia's flower, the entirety of its hulking form vanishing into that fightful, living chamber. Then the maw closed, swallowing it into the earth.

It was over.

Theokles tried to move, driven by some instinct to push himself up, but he realized he couldn't feel his legs. His breathing involuntarily slowed as the rest of his body became unresponsive. He knew then that he wanted to see Gaia, but could hardly make himself focus on the task. Then his thoughts started to become oddly serene. He managed to turn to his side, and watched with fascination as his blood seeped into Gaia's roots.

He blinked slowly, fingers sinking into the dirt as his vision darkened. Somehow, this felt right.

And then--there was nothing.

- - - - -

Ruhad and his people had arrived too late.

When they returned to the Ashmoran Woods, he and the other Kurwanis were stunned by how quickly it had changed. The cursed place he had left not long ago--dense with twisting thorns and the stench of decay--had undergone a transformation. The occasional pale pink flower had started to bloom along the path, their delicate petals swaying in a warm breeze. As miraculous as it was, he couldn't allow himself to be comforted by that sight. Not yet, as Theokles had yet to be found.

A deep unease settled in his gut. He already knew where their search would take him, though he dreaded admitting it. The clearing stood abandoned, with nothing but an empty tent and cuts of rotted tree in piles. His eyes drifted toward the path that led into the hidden sanctum, the one he himself had discovered in the sage's writings. Crude wards still hung from the branches above, but for the most part it had been cleared of debris, thorns no longer presenting themselves as a barrier. It allowed for a scent to trickle in from on ahead. Sickly sweet, and as thick as honey.

He clenched his jaw and reached for the talisman at his neck, fingers tightening around the worn ivory. Then forcing himself forward, he ordered his men to follow. Each held a glowing lantern with a spear at the ready as they followed their leader through the column of trees.

Ruhad stopped suddenly upon entering the grove, his men filtering in around their leader to see what had given him pause.

A shaft of light pierced through the canopy above, illuminating the heart of the lair inside. The demon's pod loomed ahead, no longer withered and dying, although its surface had been marred with fresh wounds. Beneath the floral perfume that permeated the area, he could smell the reek of blood and rot. Behind him, his men hesitated, their eyes drinking in the extent of the devastation.

The ground was torn apart, with deep trenches carved into the dirt, littered with broken weapons, blades, and arrows. They were splattered with something black and unnatural, like blood, but far fouler. Somehow, a battle had taken place here.

And still, Theokles was nowhere to be seen. Ruhad's heart hammered in his chest.

"Ruhad..." a voice whispered behind him.

The youngest of his men stepped forward, staring at the pod with wide, fearful eyes. "The mantrap... she's alive, isn't she?" he said, giving a nervous swallow. "You don't think... she ate the Earther, do you?"

Ruhad didn't answer right away. He was still examining the wreckage, his gaze drawn to a familiar shape laying sideways in the dirt. It was one of their axes, and the blade was fully drenched with the same foul blood that edged the other weapons. The scars on the mantrap's leaves were deep and brutal. They were not the marks of a crafted blade. No, these had been left by something much larger than a man, with long claws. Theokles had fought here, but he didn't strike at the demon. Why?

A few of his agitated men inched forward with their lanterns, but Ruhad raised a hand to halt them.

"No. There is no need for that--yet." He warned. He would have answers first.

The men glanced between each other before looking back at him, not understanding his hesitation.

"She hasn't attacked--likely because she is too weak to resist the lot of us. If we wished, we could kill her here and now, and she knows it."

He took a moment to let his truth sink in. "More importantly, she can speak to what happened here."

Then Ruhad stepped forward, this time addressing the pod directly.

"You can hear me, can't you, demon?"

There was a long, tense silence.

Then, with great reluctance, the mantrap unfurled her leaves. A collective gasp rippled through the Kurwanis men, and several had to step away to make room for their descent. Everyone stared with rapt attention as the bloom within was revealed, its radiant petals glowing red in the overhead sun. Ruhad in contrast remained unflinching, his eyes locked on an imaginary point within the flower.

Slowly, the bloom itself parted. A single petal lowered to the forest floor, peeling away like the entrance to some sacred chamber, revealing the darkness within.

Ruhad raised his lantern. The flickering light spilled into the depths of the flower, illuminating a figure within--Theokles.

His body lay limp, wrapped in living vines, his skin bare save for the wounds that marred him. Gaping cuts like those on the leaves had dug flesh out of each of his limbs. Blackness had also seeped beneath his tissue, spreading like ink through his extremities. The vines that bound him were not merely holding him--they were doing something to him. On the tip of each one were unusual pink flowers. They had latched onto his injuries, dousing them with their nectar-like secretions, while others seemed to draw something out. His blood? No...

Another vine hovered just above his face. The bulb at its end dripped with a similar golden liquid--pooling against his lips as it slipped into his mouth. Ruhad's gaze tracked its movement, but his fingers twitched around his spear as he finally spotted the demon.

Arms the colour of deep green curled around Theokles' battered form, the rest of her body hidden as she pressed close to him. At first, Ruhad had mistaken them for more vines. But then she shifted, revealing the truth--she was holding him. Possessively.

Her eyes had been on them the entire time. They quietly burned with an intensity that spoke to the tumult within her.

"Don't..." the demon breathed out, her voice little more than a whisper. And yet, with that single word, a warm wind swept through the clearing, setting the leaves quivering and snuffing out unguarded lanterns. A few of the Kurwanis men cursed, but none immediately moved to raise their weapons--because their leader had not.

"Don't what, little one?" Ruhad asked, projecting a cool head. Internally, however, he struggled to grasp the right course of action. There were too many discrepancies at present that distracted him. But one objective was clear. He had to save his friend.

"Don't take him!" The demon shrieked.

Then she hissed at him, baring her fangs as she extended herself over Theokles, her pale pink hair draping and clinging to his limp form.

Ruhad stiffened, but remained unperturbed.

"... What are you doing with him?" he pressed on, continuing with conviction. "Are you killing him?"

"No!" she snapped, as if the accusation itself was an attack. The roots beneath Ruhad shifted in response, an unmistakable warning. He glanced down, realizing--perhaps too late--that he had underestimated the potential danger they posed.

Stubbornness wasn't the answer here. Someone was going to get hurt if he didn't change his approach.

"Then what, little one?" he asked again, this time with a softer and more understanding tone.

He bent down, making sure she watched as he carefully set aside his lantern and spear, then stayed on his knees to get a better look at her. The movement made her shrink back, but the lantern light revealed something curious as it gleamed across something on her chest. An ivory pendant.

Ruhad froze.

"... Where did you get that necklace?" His voice was quieter now, weighted with disbelief.

"... Theo," she murmured, and she too sounded suddenly very small.

Her petals began to close as if to retreat.

"Wait--," He called quickly.

'She had said Theo's name', repeated in his head over and over.

"Theo is our friend." He started to say, "we came here to help him."

The petal halted partway, yet the vines around Theokles pulled tighter.

"I know..." she whispered. "... But you will kill him."

Ruhad's bewilderment turned to ice in his veins. "Why would we do something like that? We have medicine, healers. We can treat his wounds."

The mantrap shook her head.

"You will fail." She spoke, and then her eyes began to glow. "This is something I can do. I will... eat this corruption."

He looked back at the flowers pulling at Theokles' skin. Truthfully, Ruhad had little faith in their cures. Yet, could she truly understand what was afflicting him? Was she using those vines to purge it from his body?

"What about his injuries?" Ruhad asked, his voice tinged with his growing feelings of powerlessness. "... Even if you stop the sickness, no man can survive with wounds like these. It's a miracle he's even still alive."

"... Not a miracle."

The hoarse voice cut through the tension like a blade.

Theokles stirred weakly, sputtering as his trembling hand rose to guide the looming flower-vine away from his lips.

"Theokles..." Ruhad breathed, unable to hide his shock. Something about the surety in his friend's interjection made a flicker of doubt come to life. "What did you do?"

Had he been wrong about him all along? Had Theokles--beneath his ageless manner of speech--been just another young man waiting to succumb to a demon's allure? Or was there still something else going on?

"It was Gaia..." Theokles rasped, shifting, though the movement was clearly agonizing. He hissed through clenched teeth. "It was her... and we... saved Ashmoran."

"Do not move!" the demon whimpered, forgetting everyone else for the moment to turn to him.

Ruhad blinked at the unexpected shift. She was afraid... for him? The image was incomplete, but their wounds told a story--two against many, fighting alongside each other against a force that had nearly claimed them both.

"What is Gaia?" Ruhad found himself asking, the name tugging at a distant memory--something Theokles had mentioned before.

Theokles nodded faintly. "Her name..." he managed before a fit of wet coughs wracked his body, and dark phlegm dappled the corners of his mouth.

"Save your strength, son." Ruhad's voice was gentle, edged with urgency. "No need to speak if it hurts this much."

He hesitated, torn between stepping closer to help him or holding his ground for the men behind. The petal that separated them felt like a chasm, one he wasn't sure he could--or should--cross. But he couldn't let another one of his men die. Not him.

"Demon--" Ruhad started, but after hesitating quickly corrected himself.

"Gaia. Can you save Theokles?"

Her glowing eyes flickered between him and the man she cradled, her expression too mixed with emotion to read, much like his own. Beneath her, Theokles fought to stifle another coughing fit, his body trembling with the effort.

She hesitated for some reason. "I... can... I think..."

"You do not lie?" Ruhad's voice hardened.

He wanted to believe, but knowing what she was, he had every reason to doubt her. If the mantrap wanted to survive the day while keeping hold of her prey, she had only one path: to convince him she was telling the truth. He was keenly aware of this scenario, and so would not so easily trust his friend's life to her.

Gaia seemed ready to explain herself, but then hesitated. She looked down toward Theokles as his trembling hand slowly lifted between them, forcing all present to become silent. His finger rose, then pointed right at the other man's chest. Ruhad looked down, seeing the pendant hanging from his neck.

"Ruhad..." Theokles rasped. "Make a pact with her. She... will keep her word. I promise."

"A pact?" Ruhad asked, his voice skeptical. "For what purpose?"

Theokles' hand fell back against the petal with a heavy sigh, his strength fading fast. His next words came weaker, slower.

"Protection... We protect her... and she protects us..."

After that, he lay still, his ragged breaths the only sound filling the empty air.

Gaia tensed. Panic flashed across her face as her arms bundled him up, and her lips parted to whisper something in his ear. It was his name, Theo, over and over again--repeated like a worried song.

Ruhad watched, his heart twisting at the strange innocence in her behaviour at that moment. Truly, she looked as though she were a child being confronted with the concept of death for the first time. Then, as if coming to a decision, Gaia turned away from the wounded man and gave a small nod.

Carefully, she eased Theokles down at the center of her flower, laying him out with the Goddesses' own grace. Then, to Ruhad's astonishment, she crawled forward onto her petal, her focus shifting solely on the myriad men who surrounded her.

Spears. Lanterns. Hardened warriors, prepared to do violence. Yet she did not cower. She did not run, despite all she stood to lose.

Instead, Gaia lowered herself.

She placed her hands on the petal, then bowed her head in submission.

Ruhad barely had time to register the meaning behind the gesture before he saw something peculiar begin to push out from the top of her head. Two horns, brown and gnarled like a coil of tree roots, emerged from behind her hair, parting it as they extended. They curved upward as they grew, spiraling until all were struck by their awe.

Then, while keeping her head bowed low, she reached up and grasped one--And with unseen strength, wrenched it from her head.

A sharp, wet snap echoed through the grove as one of the horns tore free, and a new one began growing in its place, rimmed with dark green blood.

Gaia hissed in pain, her mouth parting just enough for Ruhad to glimpse sharp, predatory teeth beneath her lips. No matter how soft she tried to appear before, there was no mistaking it now. She was a demon--through and through.

And yet he watched her return to prostrating before him, her incandescent eyes filled not with malice, but with something softer. Worry, and not for her own sake.

A demon had lowered herself willingly, on behalf of a human. This, when she could have fought back, or taken Theokles' life at any moment before their coming here. She had chosen this path. And in that choice, Ruhad realized they shared a common goal.

Gaia, the mantrap demon, extended her verdant claws to proffer her broken horn.

Ruhad hesitated, staring at the object in her hands. A relic like this was worth a fortune to the right buyer--merchants who dealt in arcane curiosities, supplying practitioners who, like the Sage of Ashmoran, ventured too far into the occult. A demon's remains carried immense power, but trading in such things only spread their corruption. Even still, he knew what it meant for Gaia to break off a piece of herself. This horn contained part of her soul.

"You are giving this to me?" he asked, his voice cautious.

Gaia looked up at him then nodded once.

Slowly, Ruhad reached out and took it from her, surprised to find it warm, unlike the ivory at his neck. Something pulsed within it, still alive. It felt powerful, but it was not overbearing. It was a generous offer, but now he had to make good on his half of the bargain.

"Then... on behalf of my people, Gaia," he said, his grip tightening around the horn, "I will accept this gift--and your protection. And in turn, we will protect you."

Gaia interrupted him with a shake of her head. Then, she turned slightly and gestured behind her, to the man still cradled within her flower.

"... You must give me him," she said softly. "Or, he may not survive."

Murmurs rippled through the gathered warriors, lamplight flickering between them as they exchanged wary glances. Some took unconscious steps backward, suddenly unwilling to stray too close to the demon's roots.

Ruhad frowned. "How can I give you him? He is his own man."

Gaia said nothing, merely watching him with those strange, luminous eyes. Then, slowly, understanding settled over Ruhad.

"... You mean to give him--to bind him to you?" He hesitated, then spoke the word aloud, almost disbelieving. "You mean in marriage?"

Gaia nodded solemnly.

It was an ancient idea, older than mythology. Ruhad had heard tales, whispers among his people, that unions between humans and demons held great power. Some even believed such a bond was responsible for protecting their homeland from the ruination that had consumed so much of their world.

But this man; Theokles, was not originally of the Kurwanis nor even of this world. Ruhad did not have the authority to speak for him.

Yet, before he could voice his doubts, his familiar voice rasped from within the flower's embrace.

"... It's okay."

Ruhad's breath caught.

Theokles shifted, weakly pulling himself to his knees, his movements slow and trembling. He barely managed to crawl beside Gaia before his strength gave out, but as he faltered, she turned to catch him.

His weight slumped against her, unconscious now.

She held him gently, resting him across her lap. One of her hands brushed over his face, careful and reverent, before she lifted her gaze to Ruhad, still waiting.

He felt something inside of him letting go.

In Theokles' face, he saw something that had never been there before--a quiet peace, a contentment that went beyond mere survival. He didn't understand it, but he couldn't deny the change. He wanted to see more of this side of his friend, and he didn't want this moment to be his final memory of him.

"... I accept," Ruhad said at last. "Your protection--for him."

He held the horn in one hand, while he extended the other toward Gaia, palm outstretched.

She almost looked confused, but then a smile broke across her lips. It was a bright thing that unfurled slowly, like the first touch of sunlight over the horizon.

Then she delicately placed her cool fingers over his.

"You will come tomorrow..." she intoned, her voice full of quiet certainty. "I will save Theokles."

Then, just as gently, her fingers slipped from his grasp.

A rustling filled the grove as thin tendrils began to emerge, hovering out from the depths of the flower. They tugged at Gaia and Theokles, pulling them inward, back into the heart of the bloom.

As they were drawn away, Ruhad saw Theokles' eyelids flutter softly open. He looked up from Gaia's lap until his gaze met hers, and a faint, weary smile graced his lips.

Gaia's own expression softened, and without a word, she raised her hands to cradle his face, her fingertips brushing his temples. From her touch, new growths began to sprout--slender vines weaving themselves into a wreath, with tiny pink blossoms unfurling along its length. With infinite care, she placed the wreath upon his brow, her touch lingering for just a moment longer. Then, as his smile deepened, his eyes slowly drifted shut once more.

The petals of the great flower rose and folded in, sealing the two away in the quiet sanctuary of their own private world.

Ruhad watched in silence as it closed, swallowing the last glimpse of Theokles and Gaia. A beam of sunlight broke through the canopy, making the leaves shimmer as a gentle breeze whispered through the grove.

With a quiet exhale, he finally turned away, carefully tucking the broken horn into his bag. He bent to retrieve his spear and lantern, paying heed to his men as they cast uncertain glances at the great flower. Seeing their hesitation, Ruhad straightened, his voice calm but resolute.

"Come," he said, motioning as he stepped past them. "We need not intrude on this place any longer. We'll make camp until tomorrow."

- - - - -

Theokles' mind buzzed, his thoughts sluggish and untethered as cool fingers cradled his face. His breath came shallow, his body sinking into a strange yielding softness beneath him. When he finally forced himself to look up, he found himself staring into the most beautiful pair of eyes he had ever seen--soft pink, luminous in the dimness. They were the last only things he saw before the last sliver of golden afternoon light vanished, swallowed by the flower's embrace. Gaia's large petal had curved shut, sealing him in with her.

Inside the air was thick with sweetness, humid and heavy, laced with the scent of rich earth and blooming life. It was dark, yet not wholly so. Faintly glowing tendrils curled along the flower's interior, their filaments pulsing with a warm, impossible radiance--stirring soft hues of green and yellow from within. The ground beneath him writhed with feathery feelers, subtly alive, as if breathing with him. They clung to his torn skin with an unusual warmth. He should have felt trapped, like helpless prey in the jaws of a great beast--but he didn't.

Because this was Gaia. He had named her, nurtured her, and he had defended her with his own life; and part of him still worshiped her as a goddess.

"Such beautiful eyes..." His voice was hoarse, barely more than breath.

Her gaze softened. In the dim glow, her features were cast in shades of pale pink and gold, shadows moving like rippling water across the delicate planes of her face. Slowly, the light inside the flower grew, as if responding to his need.

Theokles inhaled sharply as he watched the change take place. Flowers--like her others, but small and glowing--bloomed along the ridges of her newly formed horns. They unfurled in deliberate succession, forming a crown of living blossoms born from her touch. It was a mirror to the wreath she had placed in his hair, which responded to her by adding their own light to the constellation within her. It was beautiful.

He wanted to touch her, but the moment he lifted his arm, pain flared through him like a spear driven into his ribs. He sucked in a sharp breath, but it caught in his throat, forcing him to stifle a cough. Pain wracked his every fibre, and when he drew his hand back, he saw dark droplets of blood smeared across his palm. The sight sent his head swimming.

Gaia reacted in an instant.

Vines tipped with delicate, pale flowers had unfurled from the petals around them, moving with her preternatural precision. They latched onto his countless cuts, adhering as they had before--cool, clinging, and thrumming with life. A shudder ran through him as something passed between them, the same strange force that had purged the corruption from his wounds before. Her body acted on instinct, responding immediately to the distress in his, as though the two were one.

And then, as if sealing the moment, Gaia took his trembling hand in both of hers. Her fingers interlaced with his as she carefully pressed them back into his chest, keeping him close, grounding him. He shuddered at the feeling of her claws as they delicately touched his palm.

"Theokles..."

Her voice bathed the intimate space, soft as the living fuzz that held them both.

"You can hear me?"

That odd manner of speech. Despite the changes he had seen take place in her, to her demeanor and her appearance, he was glad she could still be herself.

He managed a weak nod.

She smiled then, small, yet radiant. It made Theokles smile too, which almost made him forget how weak he felt.

"Theokles... To heal you... I must do something that may hurt... Is this okay?"

His mind was sluggish but aware. Even through a fever clouded his thoughts, he understood what she meant--if not the details, then at least the direness of the implication. He was dying.

He remembered Gaia's conversation with Ruhad, the determination in her eyes as she spoke on his behalf. He was proud of her for that. She had come a long way in so short a time.

More than that, he had been subjected to her power firsthand. Even now he felt the pull of the flowers against his skin, fighting to purify the taint left by the monster's claws. Only days ago, she hadn't understood the concept of demon's and corruption. Now, using the unnatural instincts given to her as a demon, only she had a chance to reverse his fate.

"... Do what you must," Theokles croaked, forcing a smile. "I still have work to do."

Gaia's expression softened at his attempt at levity. Her lips parted slightly, but there was something else behind her smile--quiet melancholy, she didn't want to worry him. He wished he could comfort her, but for her own sake, she needed to focus.

The vines cradling him stirred, shifting with careful precision, lifting him upright until he sat facing her. His body protested the movement, but the pain was dulled now, numbed by mental exhaustion and the strange, soothing warmth of her flower's sucking remedy. His breath came shallow, uneven, as Gaia leaned in.

Before he knew what was happening, she had wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close.

His eyes went wide.

Her warmth pressed against him, soft and cool where her skin touched his fevered body. He felt the weight of her, the strength in her embrace, the shape of her breasts molding to him, the silk of her hair, and the slow rise and fall of her breath. His heart pounded, his mind racing at the realization--Gaia, his goddess, his paragon of womanhood, was holding him.

Then, she kissed him.

It was not hesitant. It was not questioning.

It was deep, full, and unrelenting, as if the very essence of life itself poured into him through the meeting of their lips. He gasped against her, but she did not pull away. Her hands cradled the sides of his face, anchoring him, holding him steady as something slipped from her mouth into his--something warm, thick, and unbearably sweet.

It was like the nectar she had once fed him in careful drops, the taste of it otherworldly, rich with the scent of blooming flowers and summer rains.

Heat blossomed in his chest, spreading through his limbs like liquid fire, curling into the very marrow of his bones. His body, worn and broken, melted under its influence. The pain he had lived with for what felt like days--sharp, gnawing, endless--faded into something distant, something that barely felt real. His muscles loosened, his body grew light, his breath coming through his nose low and slow. And all the while, Gaia did not let go.

It wasn't until Theokles felt something cool brush his cheek that he realized Gaia had started to cry. Her lips parted from his, her breath trembling as silent tears traced shimmering lines down her face.

"Don't cry," he tried to say, fighting to get his voice above a whisper. He wanted her to understand the peace he felt in that moment, the closure she had already given to his life.

"Even if I die, my body will return to the earth. When that happens, I will be with you."

"I do not want you to die, Theokles," she said, her voice hollow from the remnants of her tears. Then, as if something in her shifted, her tone hardened. "I will not allow it."

Theokles' breath caught. There was a certainty in her voice that felt unfamiliar--so unlike the Gaia he had come to know. He thought of the way she once hummed absentmindedly within her flower, how she had stumbled over the syllables of his name to his amusement. Now, that lightness was slipping away, crushed beneath the weight of something far heavier.

"... When you said it would be painful, I thought you meant for me," he murmured, grasping for the warmth in her voice. "Why do you cry, Gaia?"

She touched her cheek, as if only now realizing the tears were there. Her glowing eyes flickered with shock.

"I did not think it would hurt this much..." Her voice wavered, breath shaking.

"It hurts because you love," he said gently, his voice steady despite the weight of his words.

"You fear what you might lose. But Gaia... you've already given me more than any mortal could ever ask for." A faint smile touched his lips. "A kiss, from a goddess."

His words seemed to churn something within her. She leaned into him. Her fingers curled against his scalp, claws threading into his hair. When she spoke again, her voice was as soft as ever, yet it was filled with that eerie certainty.

"... I am a demon, Theokles. And, I have captured you within my body."

Even in his delirium, her words were sobering. There was a gravity to them, a presence of mind that made it seem as though Gaia had aged half a century without him noticing--like she wanted to frighten him on purpose.

He answered her, "... do you fear for me?"

The light in the chamber dimmed as the tension in her fingers eased, letting them drift down from his hair. She traced the sides of his face before following the lines of his arms, fingertips brushing against a shallow cut. He felt no pain--only a dull pressure.

"... I am nourished by you, Theokles," she whispered back. "When you are near... I can feel myself grow hungry."

She shuddered, her fingers absently kneading his arm as she looked down to where a flower was drawing out his sickness. "Thoughts keep coming to me... Telling me what to do to save you. To have you all to myself. To make you mine, forever."

He nodded slowly, feeling a creeping darkness coiled at the edges of his awareness, pressing in like sleep. Even as his mind faltered, he began to understand her fear. She was coming into her own, as a demon. She wasn't just afraid for him--she was afraid of what she might become upon reaching the end of her path.

He felt his time was running short. He had to speak, and say something meaningful to comfort her, before he lost the strength to do so.

"... I will always be yours. Forever, if you will it."

Gaia's eyes turned back to his, her lips opening in awe. For a fleeting moment, he saw her again--the little spirit he had first become enamoured with, wide-eyed and innocent, fearful but full of curiosity.

Then his body gave out. His limbs slackened as he sank into the embrace of her vines.

"Theo," she whispered, cradling him. Then, with infinite tenderness, she bent down and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"... I cannot heal your wounds with my flowers alone. For you to survive, you must become joined with my body." Her lips hovered over his skin, her voice trembling but resolute. "I will now consummate our bond."

Theokles could only nod. A part of him grieved--not for himself, but for her, for the innocence she was leaving behind. But he knew that, ultimately, what lay beyond would be worth it for both of them.

He tried to reach up to touch her, but his muscles barely obeyed. His fingers grazed her arm before falling limp.

"Do not worry, Theokles..." she soothed, slowly drawing her face away from his. "I will take care of everything. All you need to do is stay awake, okay?"

With smooth grace, she reached and lifted something over her head. Then she carefully wrapped the ivory pendant around Theokles' neck.

She felt his cheek one last time, her glowing eyes fierce with determination. Then, she began.

The air inside her flower grew thick with sweetness, and the walls wept with glistening nectar as if they too hungered for what was to come. A heady warmth settled over Theokles, his skin tingling where the velvety strands beneath him stirred to life. They crawled around his legs, slow and sinuous, like the gentle grasp of anemone arms drawing him deeper into their embrace.

Gaia raised her hands to her hair, sweeping it back in a languid motion that revealed the full splendor of her form. The shifting hues inside the flower illuminated the curving contours of her unchaste figure--at once sinful and divine.

Then, guided by her otherworldly instincts, she leaned over him, her presence filling his vision. And once more, she pressed her lips to his.

As she kissed him, insistent and deep, Theokles became aware of an unsettling change in the sensations coming from the flowers tending his wounds. At first, it was only a subtle shift in the rhythm of the tendrils moving within. Each bulb had begun to press themselves closer, spreading their petals wide in the effort. They exerted a subtle pressure, and then he could feel a writhing movement just beneath his skin.

His hazy vision drifted downward past Gaia, where he saw something that his body had yet to register as pain.

The flower on his thigh clenched stiffly. Its tendrils had slipped into the wound, visibly pressing against his flesh from within, gliding deeper with slow, methodical purpose. It was happening all across his body. It should have hurt--he knew that--but his body remained eerily numb to the invasion. He could only watch, transfixed, as her growths took root within him.

Then, suddenly, the pain came alive.

A sharp, lancing agony cut through the fog, signifying that the tendrils had finally hit their mark. His breath hitched, his body tensed--but before he could make a noise, Gaia's hands found his face, her fingers turned his jaw. She pulled him back into focus, her pink eyes luminous and unwavering as she whispered:

"Look only at me."

Theokles exhaled shakily, then braced as she took him again. She narrowed his world to the warmth of her lips, the intoxicating taste of her tongue, and the soft pressure of her body against his. He nodded into her, surrendering to her command as he let himself be drawn back into her embrace. He would only focus on the sweetness.

Only of her.

Nectar entered his mouth, working its magic to numb his pain and fill him with a sense of euphoria. The heat of Gaia's passion also had an effect on him, and he could no longer ignore the stiffening of his loins.

As if summoned by his growing arousal, Theokles' felt a cool pressure curling around his waist, but his thoughts were elsewhere. His mind drifted in and out of lucidity, his limbs becoming heavy, but somewhere beyond the haze, he could feel something moving--coiling, reaching. It was neither alarming nor intrusive, but purposeful as the thing rounded itself to where it needed to be.

A vine had made a slow ascent up his body, winding around his hips before coming to rest over his groin. There was a soft pulse as the bulb at its tip breathed out, its petals slowly unfurling to reveal the slick, fleshy interior within. Theokles could feel something happening, and a wave of anticipation washed over him as he waited for what would come next.

He tried to pull away from her kiss, to ask her what she was about to do, but Gaia held him fast, sending more vines to wrap around his torso and legs, keeping him in place.

A soft whimper escaped his lips as he felt the first tendrils leave the questing bulb, extending out to brush against his thighs. Sparks of pleasure coursed through him as his body prepared for the thing it knew was coming. Gaia smiled knowingly against his lips, her eyes glinting with desire as she drew back just an inch.

"Do not be afraid," she whispered, her voice like honeyed wine. "My body was made for this... It will not hurt."

With a gentle tugging, several tendrils had wrapped themselves around his manhood, eager to coax him to full hardness. Theokles gasped as he felt the tendrils tighten their grip, applying gentle pressure that made warmth radiate from his groin. His eyes widened in shock, his breath hitching in his throat as they began to slowly draw him inside the flower's warm, wet interior.

"Gods..." he breathed, his hips bucking involuntarily as he felt the first sensations of the bulb's slick walls enclosing around him. Between the petals, tendrils continued their tender ministrations, making Theokles' manhood to throb with need.

His lips parted for a moment, but both of them were breathing hard as they soaked in the moment.

"... Gaia. Are we...?"

"Yes," Gaia whispered, her voice heavy with pride.

With a final pull, Theokles felt himself fully enveloped by the warm, sucking embrace of Gaia's unique flower. Pleasure exploded through his body as the fleshy petals contracted around him, trying to urge him deeper anyways.

His hands were possessed to move on their own, looking for purchase on the grassy tufts beneath him. As he absently stirred the wispy feelers, they began to adhere to his fingers, which for some reason made him smile like a boy again. That thought was followed by a wave of tiredness. His eyes fluttered closed, and without realizing what he was doing, he let his head dip down toward Gaia's breasts.

"... No," Gaia whispered urgently.

Her fingers dug into Theokles' shoulders as she felt him start to slip away. "Stay with me. You must stay awake."

Theokles' eyes fluttered open, meeting Gaia's gaze with a hazy mixture of desire and exhaustion. He tried to speak, but his words were slurred and unintelligible. He didn't even remember what he tried to say.

Claws sunk into his scalp as he was suddenly pulled against her chest, the force of it dragging a hardened nipple against his cheek.

"Drink," Gaia commanded, her voice firm but gentle. "Then think only of me."

'Drink from a goddess? How could he?' He thought, even as his mouth opened for her, feeling her smooth skin slide along his lips. Ambrosia dripped from her, leaking onto his tongue. It was sweeter than the ripest fruit, and more intoxicating than the richest wine, yet smoother than honey--an indulgence that left warmth blooming in his chest.

Her arms held him as he nursed from her, keeping him captive as her sucking flower sought to draw out his very essence. With each pull it made, Theokles felt himself growing weaker, his energy being siphoned away into Gaia's hungry appendage. But with each swallow of her sweet milk, he felt a renewed surge of strength and clarity. He wasn't sure how much longer he could last.

The flower gulped relentlessly, its inner walls contracting around him in a sensual massage that had him wincing. The thick stem wrapped around his waist pulled, forcing his hips deeper into its exquisite folds. At the same time, tendrils from within had slipped out, gliding along his length to eventually reach his testicles, gently massaging and caressing them. The effect was instant and intense, a mixture of pleasure and vulnerability that left him gasping. Gaia held him fast, crooning softly to him, her voice a soothing balm against the backdrop of his ragged breaths, escaping from his nose into her bosom.

She would feed on his own essence soon. He would nourish her. It made him smile. Theokles shuddered, the state of his body locked between unknowable pain and heavenly satisfaction. His vision blurred, a dizzying array of colours and lights dancing before his eyes as he surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure.

"Don't fight, Theokles," Gaia whispered, her breath hot against his ear. "... Let it out."

And so he did.

Theokles felt his seed surge forth, spilling into the pulsing flesh that enveloped him. Wave after wave of intense ecstasy washed over him as he emptied himself into the flower-vine's waiting length, feeling it eagerly swallow his offering. His body convulsed with each release, muscles tensing and relaxing to its rhythm.

Gaia held him close throughout it all, her glowing eyes filled with love for him. She whispered his name into his ear, over and over again. Theo. Theo. Theo...

He suddenly felt his strength wane, exhaustion sinking into his bones. His head lolled to one side, seeing the tendrils embedded in his skin retract. His pain withdrew as well, becoming nothing but a half-remembered dream. In its place, a strange numbness crept over him, and his vision blurred once more. The last thing he registered was an odd weightlessness--the ground beneath him gave way, and vines shifted as Gaia gently drew him down into the depths of her body.

- - - - -

Theokles awoke to warmth.

A tangle of vines suspended his body, yet he was submerged up to his chest in thick golden liquid, his feet not quite finding the bottom of wherever he was. Humidity clung to him, cloyingly sweet, and with each breath, a strange, soothing weight settled over him. His fingers strained to move beneath the surface, but the fluid resisted--dense and slow-moving, it held him in place. Slowly, he had begun to recognize this place, having seen it only in a passing glimpse.

This was Gaia's stomach, the cavernous chamber that had once been the final resting place of the monster that nearly killed she and him both. He could see there was nothing of it left. No bones. No remnants. Only the syrupy warmth of her undisturbed secretions.

An intrusive thought flickered through him. Is this what is happening to me? Am I to fade away as well?

But there was no pain, and no fear as well. If this was what death was, he found that he did not mind it. To become part of her, to nourish her as she had nourished him--it felt right.

The sap around him rippled as a presence stirred.

From deep within the golden depths, something coiled and unfurled, rising in slow, sinuous motion. A thick root emerged--not gnarled, but smooth like the body of a great serpent. Theokles followed its movement as it twisted free, dragging a shape with it. A bubble swelled at its base, the fluid distorting the figure inside, until at last, Gaia was pulled free.

Her body broke through in slow motion, her silken hair unfurling in long, dripping strands, each rivulet of gold tracing the curves of her form. The thick sap clung to her, pooling in the hollows of her collarbones, running in shining streams down her arms and settling at her navel. She was radiant, otherworldly; a goddess birthed from the depths of the honey sea.

The chamber trembled, a low, rhythmic contraction rolling through its walls, as if it too was humbled by her presence.

Gaia opened her eyes, and the root that held her aloft slowly allowed her to descend into the mire to reach his level.

She moved her arms as she waded toward him, the syrupy resistance making the movement slow, almost hypnotic. When she reached him, she did not hesitate. She pressed her slick body against his, encircling her arms over his shoulders to let her warmth seep into him, sending it deep into his bones.

He felt his blood surge, the fire of life reigniting within him. It didn't matter if this was a dream, his death, or something stranger still. He reveled in his need for her.

His arms moved before he could think, muscles flaring, dragged vines along with him. His hands found her waist, then gripped and pulled, crushing her against it in a desperate, instinctive embrace. She let out the softest breath, her eyes fluttering as she melted against him.

"... You are so strong..." she hummed, her voice resonating in his chest.

He answered her the only way he could--by kissing her.

Her eyes opened, wide and innocent. Moisture ran down her face onto his, as her nectar mixed with fresh tears. "I... Theokles. You are..." She stumbled on her words as she started to tremble.

His heart clenched at her words, at the raw vulnerability he felt in the creature he was holding. He reached up, cupping her cheek. "Gaia..." he breathed. "I'm not going anywhere. You saved me, do you understand?"

He knew that now for himself, even if he wasn't sure what transpired after he faded. Somehow his wounds had closed, and although they tingled with irritation, that only meant he was alive. He was really here. With her.

Gaia buried herself into the crook of his neck, one of her horns coming to rest alongside his cheek.

"I... I couldn't. I couldn't lose you," she whispered.

Her vines caressed him gently, soothingly, as if trying to reassure herself that what he said was true, that he was okay.

He held her tight, stroking her hair, her back--anything he could reach. Then, in a voice rough with emotion, cracking on the words, he murmured, "I'm married to a goddess."

He spoke it like a prayer, like a vow. Gaia lifted her head, eyes still sparkling with moisture.

"Theokles?" She whispered breathlessly. "What are you saying?"

He lifted his hands to cradle her face, his calloused thumbs brushing away her tears. His voice was raw, unguarded.

"I'm saying... I love you, Gaia. My heart is a wound that only you can mend."

She softened at that, her lips parting slightly as she echoed, "Love..."

Theokles exhaled, overcome. Not just with love, but with the sheer, aching relief that she was still her--his Gaia, tender and guileless despite all that had changed. His heart swelled, full to bursting, as if it could scarcely contain what he felt for her.

"You are hurt, Theokles?"

He shook his head, smiling at her. "Not that kind of hurt. A good kind of hurt."

His words seemed to confuse Gaia for a moment, but then understanding dawned in her eyes. She blushed, ducking her head shyly. "Oh... This kind." She murmured.

Her tendrils continued their gentle caresses, soothing the tension from his muscles. He sighed contentedly, relaxing into her touch. But as he did, he felt his desire grow, filling his every extremity like a cup overflowing.

With her soft body so close to his, her scent mingling in his head, he couldn't help but feel manhood swell with need, for her. She was still a goddess to him, but she had chosen to bind her fate to his. He needed to show her that she had chosen well.

He put a firm hand on her waist, pulling her hips flush against his own. Gaia gasped softly, her eyes widening as she felt his hardness press against her stomach.

"Make love to me, Gaia." Theokles whispered, his voice rough with desire. "I want to show you what I can offer."

Gaia's breath caught in her throat at his words, but the rest of her body thrummed with excitement. Vines squeezed, hot air churned, and the walls of the chamber drew closer, more intimate.

She nodded slowly at first, then more confidently. "Yes."

That sent a thrill running through him. Gaia smiled shyly up at him, her pink eyes glowing with love and desire. She reached down between their bodies, her delicate fingers wrapping around his length. Theokles let her feel him, her lips parting in awe as stroked him gently, her thumb swirling experimentally over the sensitive head.

"This... Feels nice."

He wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her upward, her body gliding through the sap as if weightless--yet only because she allowed it. Gaia wrapped her legs around his hips, her vines coiling around his arms to help support her weight. The fluids that filled her chamber slid between their bodies, adding to the delicious friction building between them.

With little guess work needed, his senses allowed him to position himself at her entrance, feeling the heat radiating from her core. He locked eyes with her, seeing the passion and trust reflected there. He slowly pushed forward, breaching her lower lips with the tip of his rigid length. Gaia gasped, her claws digging into his shoulders as she felt him stretch her open. He in turn groaned at the exquisite sensation of her deepest parts enveloping him in slick heat.

He thrusted forward gradually, allowing her body to adjust to his size. Gaia whimpered and mewled with need, her hips writhing against his. He sank deep into Gaia's welcoming depths, her velvety walls gripping him like a lover's embrace. The stomach churned around them, heightening every sensation as their bodies joined. Gaia threw her head back, ecstasy written across her features as he steadily sheathed himself up to the hilt.

"You are incredible..." Theokles rasped, his fingers digging into her hips. He started to move, slowly at first, revelling in the incredible sensation of being one with his goddess. She was amazing, her delicate folds rippling and clenching around his manhood with each thrust.

Gaia moaned wantonly, her vines wrapping tighter around his arms as she met each of his thrusts with her own. "Yes, Th-Theo...!"

Theokles lost himself in the exquisite, otherworldly nature of their joining, his hips sliding in and out as he pushed, eagerly stealing inside of her. The sweetness in the chamber swirled around them, its scent heightening every touch and emotion within them. Every part of Gaia, and her flower by extension, could sense that their climax was coming.

He drew close to her, lips hovering over hers as he whispered,

"Gaia... I love you..."

She keened high in her throat, her insides clamping down almost painfully around him as his seed erupting from his body in powerful surges.

She screamed in ecstasy as she felt her mate's warm, sinful essence filling her, raking her claws down his back, leaving bloody lines that only added to the reality of the moment. Theokles grunted in pain, but didn't stop pulling her against him, prolonging their shared bliss. They both eventually collapsed into each other, panting and heaving, with only the vines holding them aloft.

Gaia reached for his shoulders, then slowly drew her hands back, her eyes widening as they alighted on the crimson streaks marring them.

He suddenly felt her horror, and so before she could even speak, he grabbed her hand and pulled it to his lips. There, he kissed her tenderly over her knuckles, headless of her claws or the blood.

"You can't hurt me, Gaia. I trust you."

Gaia stared at Theokles in wonder as he carefully brought her hand from his lips to hers, raising her bloody fingers like an offering. She resisted for only a moment, feeling his reassuring strength restraining her.

Her tongue extended out, slowly tasting the blood on her fingers. Her eyes fluttered closed as if savouring his taste. When she opened them again, their glow had softened considerably.

"I am tired, Theo... kles." She quietly stammered, her voice fading with exhaustion.

The chamber trembled again as the walls of the digestive sac began to loosen, the thick sap thinning and draining away. With the last of her strength, Gaia willed the vines to carry them upward, guiding Theokles and herself out of the depths of her body. He felt a damp rush of air as they emerged, the petals of her great flower parting just enough to allow their passage. As they closed, a silken bed slowly pulled itself underneath to cradle them, fibres knitting together and settling under their weight.

Gaia barely stirred, her eyes closing as the lights within her flower dimmed. He could feel the fatigue settling in her body, the slow rise and fall of her breath as she sagged against him. He tightened his arms around her, his hands finding their way to the small of her back, letting the warmth of his body soothe her.

"Rest," he muttered, lips brushing against her temple. "I will watch over you now."

- - - - -

It was morning by the time Gaia's flower opened again.

The great bloom shuddered once before finally unfurling, its petals peeling away to reveal the world of open air beyond. Light poured through the canopy, golden beams splitting through the lush green of the grove. The forest had changed--while there were still scars in the land, it was clear they would heal in time. The sunshine reached them, casting a gentle glow over Gaia's sleeping form, her verdant skin bathed in warmth.

She lay curled against Theokles, peaceful, her expression free of the fears that had weighed on her since even before she revealed herself to him. He held her close, an arm draped over her waist, his hand stroking through the damp silk of her hair.

For the first time since arriving in this forsaken land, Theokles felt no urgency. There were no future battles to be fought, no great labours that needed completion. The goddess in his arms had given him peace--and he would give her the same.

A gentle wind made its way through the trees, and for the moment, he felt content to bask in it.