“H-Help! Someone help! It burns…It burns…

  ……….

  *Gasp* Oh my God…that dream. What the fuck was that? Why am I so…hot…”

  Ariel’s gaze snapped to Fornaskr, fear blazing in her eyes. His mouth hung open, words lost, horror written plain across his face. Her lungs seized against the vine, each gasp sharper than the last as it lifted her upward. Her body tilted back until she hung parallel to the ground, staring up at the canopy. Her arms and legs dangled loose, trembling, every ragged breath scraped thin. The forest blurred at the edges as her vision dimmed; her pulse faltering against the pressure in her chest.

  The grove fell into dreadful silence. In that stillness, a scream ripped through Ariel’s mind—not her own, yet as raw as if it were. It rattled her skull, made her chest seize, the sound twining with the familiar terror of a final breath leaving her. She fought against it, eyes wide, lungs burning, the memory of death itself brushing her soul as she wrestled with the darkness closing in.

  Then the wind came.

  It coursed suddenly through the trees, fierce and unrelenting, rushing past her ears in a roar. Leaves whipped into a storm around her suspended body, the sound swelling until it drowned out even her gasps. Her eyes flickered, her vision narrowing to a tunnel of shadow. She could feel the last breath coiling inside her, ready to slip free.

  And then a voice spoke.

  Soothing. Feminine. Familiar. The same voice that had whispered to her at the gate. It cut through the storm and into her mind like a lifeline.

  She who commands the forest,

  Her fire wakes the deep.

  The roots remember, whisper low,

  The vow they swore to keep.

  Her eyes flared open, green fire blazing within. The chant deepened, louder with each verse, vibrating through her bones.

  She who commands the forest,

  The ash shall guard her name.

  Through shadow’s grasp the flame endures,

  And none can quench its claim.

  The fire bled from her eyes, streaking along her veins like rivers of light. Her back arched, her mouth opening in a slow gasping exhale as the chant thundered.

  She who commands the forest,

  The boughs bend at her call.

  The hidden springs will rise for her,

  And stone itself shall fall.

  The vine slipped loose from her body, retreating as though scorched. Blood dripped free but did not fall. It lifted, caught in the blaze of light that now engulfed her. She floated higher, the chant surging to its crescendo.

  She who commands the forest,

  Her voice shall bind the sky.

  When silence seeks to smother all,

  Her fire will not die.

  The words repeated, louder and louder, until the air shook with them. The green fire consumed her, swirling in a cyclone of radiance until she was a figure of flame and light.

  Leaves unfurled against her chest, weaving into a bodice patterned with living veins of glowing embroidery. They tightened into form, strong yet supple, breathing with her as though alive.

  A skirt blossomed from her waist, layers of leaf and petal panels, knee-length and flowing, caught in the conjured wind that circled her like a storm. Each panel glimmered with green edges, trailing luminescence.

  Across her shoulders, a capelet unfurled and streamed outward, clasped at her throat by a brooch of intertwined vines, glowing faintly as if pulsing with her heartbeat.

  Around her waist, a wide belt shimmered into being, its centerpiece a violet gemstone that burned like a captured star. Lines of light traced from it, crawling across the fabric as if sketching runes anew.

  Her arms shone as leaf-patterned bracers coalesced, encircling her forearms with shifting green fire. Her boots followed, sturdy yet elegant, carved with rune motifs that glowed faintly against the dark.

  She hung suspended dozens of feet above the grove, engulfed in light as her hair whipped about her face in a storm of her own making. A figure reborn, radiant, her every breath aligned with the chant echoing across the forest.

  Slowly, the fire and light around her began to settle, dimming until her body shifted upright in the air. She floated there, high above the grove, her form steady but her chest heaving. At last, only her eyes glowed faintly, green flame flickering within them.

  She balled her right fist, the leather of her new gloves crinkling. A sharp cry tore from her throat as she thrust her fist downward. From the earth below, a massive vine ripped upward, coiling around her wrist. With violent force it yanked her down, rocketing her toward the ground. She struck with a thunderous boom, dust and leaves exploding outward, her body kneeling, fist pressed into the soil. Unharmed.

  Silence followed the crash. Fornaskr staggered back from where the shockwave had flung him, one hand braced against a tree, his eyes wide with disbelief as he struggled to steady himself. He stared at Ariel, awe and fear mingling on his face. Slowly, she rose to her feet, unsteady, the glow fading from her eyes. A dizziness swept through her, her thoughts spinning as she tried to comprehend what had just happened, while Fornaskr’s breath caught in his throat, still reeling from the force she had unleashed.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  Her fingers stretched open, the sound of crinkling leather startling her ears. She turned her hands over slowly, studying the gloves as if they belonged to someone else.

  “What… what is this?” she breathed, voice hushed with awe. Her gaze dropped to her chest, fingers brushing across the bodice, tracing the glowing embroidery that pulsed faintly like veins of living light. She lingered there, fingertips trembling, before letting them drift down to the layered skirt. It swayed around her knees, the leaf-and-petal panels brushing together in the breeze, soft and unreal.

  “This… this is on me?” The words cracked as though she didn’t dare believe them.

  Her hand rose to the brooch at her throat, vines intertwining around a clasp that glowed softly, warm against her skin. She pressed it lightly, half-afraid it would vanish. Then her palm slid lower to the wide belt cinched at her waist, where the violet gemstone blazed like a beacon. Its light spilled across her fingers as she cupped it, leaving her throat tight with disbelief. She forced herself to breathe, to keep looking.

  Her eyes fell to the bracers hugging her forearms, patterned in curling leaves. She flexed her fingers, the leather crinkling, green fire seeping faintly along the seams. Finally she lowered her gaze to the boots—sturdy, rune-carved, glowing faintly as if each step she might take would leave light behind.

  “How… how is this real?” she whispered, spinning slowly in place as though the outfit might vanish if she looked away for too long.

  “Minnidottir.”

  The word drifted across the grove like light through mist. Ariel and Fornaskr turned together toward the sound. On the far side of the plinth, something hovered—a gathered brightness without edges, a slow-breathing coil of pale glow and drifting motes. It was formless with a presence that could not be ignored.

  Fornaskr dropped to one knee at once, head bowed. “Guardian,” he breathed.

  Ariel stepped forward, the new weight of her belt and bracers grounding each footfall. “Are you… the Wisp of the Woods?”

  The glow inclined, as if nodding. When it spoke, the voice was the same that had held her above death. A tone woven of wind in leaves and the memory of warm rain. “I am what remains of something greater and unknown to this world.”

  Questions tumbled out of Ariel before she could hold them back. “What is going on? Why did I wake up on a giant flower? Why did the forest help me against that boar? And the place I saw… the home… I was in an apartment that only felt familiar. Why? What is all of this?”

  The Wisp was silent a moment, perhaps two. Its light deepened, as though drawing from a well. “This place you walk is a fading memory,” it said gently. “Once it was whole: root and river, hill and sky, thought and song bound together. But a force came across the veil. A hunger that names itself Gloymr. Oblivion.” The word shivered the air.

  “It tore open what should not be opened. Its acolytes went out like drought through a field, and where they passed, color thinned, light failed… and memory unraveled.”

  Ariel’s throat tightened. Images flared: the path parting at her plea, the flower’s heartbeat, the boar’s black eyes, the apartment’s familiar ache. She swallowed. “To what end?”

  “We do not know,” the Wisp replied, sorrow softening the edges of the words. “Only that unmaking breeds more unmaking. I was once part of something greater—kin to the winds that remember and the stones that speak. When Gloymr struck, I spent what I was to shield this remnant. The blow burned away my power… and with it, much that I knew. I have lost the strength and the memory I would need to fight alone.”

  Fornaskr lifted his head a fraction, reverent and stricken. Ariel’s fingers curled against her palms. “Then why me?” she asked, the question barely a breath. “Why did the forest answer me?”

  The Wisp’s glow brightened, kindness like warmth at a hearth. “Because you are not a stranger to this place, though your mind wears fog. The world turns its face to you. The flower heard you and opened its heart. The path parted when you asked for a way. The vines rose at your command, though you did not know you were commanding. The gate’s sign called you by an old name and the tablet welcomed your touch.”

  The light pulsed once, tender as a hand upon a shoulder. “You are important to this remnant. The threads here tighten around your presence in ways they do for no other living soul.”

  Ariel’s gaze dropped to the violet gem at her belt, to the leaf-bright seams at her wrists. “But I don’t remember any of it,” she whispered. “I don’t even remember me.” The word cracked.

  “The forgetting is the wound,” the Wisp said. “It is the shadow’s work and the price of our shelter. But memory is not only thought. It is also root and rhythm. Your feet found the path. Your breath found the fire. Even in absence, you are answered.”

  Ariel stood very still, the grove’s hush pressing close. “So what am I supposed to do?”

  “For now,” the Wisp replied, “listen. Walk. Let the land teach what I cannot recall. I feel the shape of your place in this, bright as a star behind cloud… but the hour of its naming has not yet come. Know only this: you are not alone, Minnidottir. Where others are unmade, you call things back to themselves. That is why the world turns to you.”

  Its light flared softly, then drifted toward the far edge of the grove where tangled vines and branches knotted thick around a cave mouth. “But listening alone will not hold this place. To reach the other islands, this one must be secured first. Already, entropy seeps in from the edges, color thinning… memory loosening. At the heart of this land festers a corruption. You must go there.”

  Ariel followed the direction of the glow, pulse quickening. The Wisp’s voice wrapped around her again, steady and kind. “Your gift is not only to bid the forest fight. It is also to mend, to heal, to bind broken root to broken stone. You carry the fire of command, but also the breath that restores. You must be prepared for anything that comes.”

  Ariel nodded slowly, her mind racing. Images surged unbidden: vines that could shield, leaves woven into bridges, roots that might draw poison from earth, branches bending into shelter. Possibilities flowered one after another, and the spark in her gaze grew sharper. Fornaskr bowed lower, breath shaking. Ariel closed her eyes for a heartbeat, fighting the surge of fear and the strange, aching relief that followed it. When she looked up again, the Wisp’s light held steady, patient as old roots.

  Ariel drew in a breath and stepped toward the cave mouth the Wisp had shown her. She lifted her hand and exhaled slowly. At her gesture, the vines and branches that knotted thick around the opening shuddered, then pulled away in curling strands until the cave yawned open, its darkness exposed.

  She glanced back. Fornaskr had risen and come to her side. His face was pale but determined. “I’m coming with you,” he said.

  Ariel’s lips curved faintly. “Thank you,” she murmured, warmth behind the words.

  The Wisp’s glow pulsed once more. “Take heed. The corruption within can be felt in close proximity. It will press on your spirit, whisper of despair, weigh heavy as stone. You must remember to move forward even when it feels too much to bear.”

  Ariel nodded solemnly at the Wisp, then turned her focus back to the cave. She extended her arm. From the soil, a vine uncoiled, winding itself around her forearm. With a firm pull she drew it free, wearing it like a living armlet. She swung her arm forward; the vine snapped outward, lashing like a whip before retracting in a fluid spiral back to her wrist.

  A smirk tugged at her mouth as she glanced at Fornaskr. His expression had shifted from grim resolve to something closer to awe, a spark of amusement softening his features.

  And together, without another word, they stepped into the cave’s waiting dark.