A search of the homely quarters hidden at the back of the hall turned up very little of interest besides a few stone tablets and pieces of intricate jewelry. The former had been carved into by a child, probably the chieftain’s own, and depicted crude figures prancing in the sun with a pair of tiny, winged humanoids.

  Seems things were going quite well between this village and the fairies, Prospero thought. But something opened a deep rift between them - enough for the fairies to consider murder. The impaled corpse we saw earlier implies there was also some bad blood between the villagers…

  There was nothing left to find, he determined. Every sign pointed in one direction.

  Grimhilde, he began. Can you lead me to where the fairies dwell?

  Expecting the question all along but still reluctant to answer it, Grimhilde placed both hands behind her back and averted his gaze. She wasn’t keen on the idea; whatever calamity had befallen the land, she was clearly in no mind to pay her kin a visit.

  I can go alone, Prospero offered. You don’t have to come with me. Only point me in the right direction, and I’ll deal with the fairies myself.

  She waved her hands feverishly, and he realised at once that he’d arrived at the wrong conclusion. The fairies are not to blame, is what he interpreted from her response. There was more to learn, and her presence along the way would be the key to reaching the truth.

  If you’re estranged from your kin, then let me act as a guardian to lend you courage, he proposed. We will get to the bottom of this. You’ve already helped me, so it’s only natural that I would return the favour.

  He had plenty of time to spare before the night was over, and more nights to hunt regardless. Grimhilde had been gracious enough to offer him a kindness, but it was clear from her apprehension that she had troubles of her own to settle. She offered him a small smile and nodded, curling her tiny fingers into a fist as the two of them left that ghost of a village behind, and set off once more into the unforgiving wastes of the realm.

  The landscape levelled on; the pine forests dissolved and regrew on their path. Rivers were crossed, hills were climbed, and Prospero made certain to collect morsels of essence wherever he could. It struck him as a tad strange that Grimhilde, a creature whom - by his own measure - had an intrinsic connection to nature, didn’t protest his senseless culling of the local wildlife.

  [Lupine Proficiency] + 7

  [Rodent Proficiency] + 9

  [Hoofed Ruminant Proficiency] + 4

  [Arachnid Proficiency] + 5

  [Arachnid] Form Unlocked! (Aptitude - Knowledge)

  Urgh…

  He spat out a curling, hairy corpse the moment its essence was absorbed. If my Beasthood wasn’t this high, I wouldn’t have been able to stomach eating a tarantula…

  With that said, its blood remained an exquisite delicacy. His sensitive nose picked up on wonderful, nostalgic scents whenever a wound was opened; freshly-baked bread, tarts, tender beef, hot buttered scones, roasted nuts - every treatsome meal he had ever enjoyed in Innsworm flooded back whenever he supped upon a creature’s blood. It was a stark reminder of his humanity, and all that he stood to lose if the thirst controlled him.

  Soon, there was no more time for hunting and feasting - a fog of supernatural denseness fell upon the pine forest as they went. The occurrence didn’t bother Grimhilde in the slightest, leading Prospero to believe that it was merely a feature of the fairies’ territory. His keen senses were disoriented by phantoms in the mist; creatures as real as any other, of tremendous scope and ferocity, but who would never offer more of themselves than a silhouette beyond the veil. For half an hour, Prospero felt as though they could be attacked at any time. His nerves were strung high, though the moment to spring them never arrived.

  The trees twisted and curled. Grimhilde led him in circles, but somehow never to the same place twice. Loose branches snapped underfoot in the distance, and quiet giggles leaked from the fog. He knew, for better or for worse, that he had strayed into a world not quite his own, and yet not entirely unfamiliar; the world that invited him into dreams as a child.

  A distant pine tree, standing yet rotted through, broke out from the fog. Clusters of parasitising ivy, mushrooms, and moss conjoined to create a trunk that seemed very much as though it would suddenly come to life. Sprites were huddled beneath the layers of bark and foliage - a tiny village for a tiny people, Prospero realised. Grimhilde hesitated to approach, but weathered her anxiety and fluttered on to greet the colony.

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  Prospero scanned his surroundings to spot other such ‘settlements’ half-obscured by the fog, otherwise ravaged and destroyed. Something terrible had befallen the fairies; perhaps the cause of their sudden aggression towards the human village. Expecting nothing short of hostility, he was surprised to see Grimhilde being hugged by another fairy when his gaze returned. They exchanged incomprehensible words, but he could tell that they were at least relieved in tone.

  Soon, the entire colony was out in force to reunite with Grimhilde. She was someone of obvious import, and her return had signalled a distant hope among her kin.

  Then their eyes were upon Prospero, and he could feel at once all of their wariness and hostility and curiosity. They were of a particular breed of beings that could tell at a glance that he was certainly no wolf, but struggled to understand his intentions. Grimhilde placed herself between them to dispel their worries, but even her words seemed to have little effect.

  I can only assume they understand me just as well as you do, he thought. The only thing I can say for certain is that I’m not here to harm any of you. I only wish to repay Grimhilde for helping me.

  A few elegant words from his fairy companion seemed to confirm his intentions. He was allowed to approach the pine tree, but suspicious glances remained glued to his hide all the while. Grimhilde disappeared into the bowels of the colony and returned with a tiny notebook, its pages so small and its print so fine that Prospero had to squint his eyes just to make out the faintest detail. She opened it to the most recent pages, about halfway through, where a series of skillful illustrations had been penned.

  Time spent with humans; laughter, festivals, gifts; a simpler slice of peace between the two races. The fairies blessed the soil for bountiful harvests, blessed births for the mother’s health, even blessed the air to influence the winds and the clouds. They were indispensable allies to the village - at least, until recently.

  A beast had risen from the wilds; serpentine, cowled, and fearsome. It struck in the dead of night, navigating the fairies’ impenetrable fog to attack their homes directly. For weeks, they endured and prayed for salvation. The forest’s greatest smiths forged a blade to slay the creature, but it was much too large for any fairy to wield. They requested that a hunter from the village take up their weapon and vanquish the threat, but no man was willing to accept the burden; the beast only had a taste for the flesh of fairies, and had left the village well enough alone.

  Betrayed by those for whom they had thanklessly offered blessings and jewelry, the fairies grew resentful of their hosts. Meanwhile, rows were observed breaking across the village between those who felt that the fairies were owed their rescue, and those who feared inviting the creature’s wrath. When next the fairies visited, they discovered those sympathetic to their plight butchered and exiled. As punishment, they offered the remaining villagers a final gift in the form of a feast prepared especially for the winter solstice - a fine stew of mushrooms and roots, which the villagers discovered all-too-late to be deathly poisonous for human consumption.

  Prospero explored the conflict’s history with a heavy heart. He had arrived at the apex of the fairies’ extinction; the beast was still alive and roaming the taiga. He assumed that Grimhilde, too fearful to remain in her own home, had departed to find residence elsewhere, and that was when the two had met.

  How tragic, he thought. Your kin didn’t realise their efforts weren’t appreciated until it was too late. The villagers had no intention of repaying you for your gifts and blessings - and when danger approached, they shied away in the selfish hope that this creature would leave when the fairies were exterminated.

  What was the next step? His answer, of course, was obvious.

  Prospero turned to the fluttering colony. I will slay this monster of yours, he declared. Not only to protect what remains of your home, but also to honour those who were punished for their valour.

  Silence. He wasn’t met with stark approval, but the fairies had already been scorned once before. Grimhilde hovered up to him, her expression guilty and worrisome.

  Seeking out strong creatures is exactly why I came here to begin with, he continued. I have plenty to gain by helping you. And… it’s not as if there’s anyone else who can solve the problem anymore. It’s either this, or your home is fated to be destroyed.

  Prospero didn’t doubt that a difficult battle awaited him, but that was precisely why he needed to act confident. Grimhilde would be beside herself with worry otherwise. With a cautious glance towards her kin, she offered a solemn nod to his request and parted to offer some farewells. Prospero was intrigued by the blade smithed to slay the creature, but he had no intention of requesting it. He would be battling in a form not quite suited for swordsmanship, after all.

  Once goodbyes were said, Grimhilde returned to his side, and the two of them set off into the mist.

  If this beast attacks during the night, it must be on its way here as we speak, he thought. Do you know where it makes its lair? What direction it might approach from?

  A shake, then a nod. They would meet the creature in the forest on its way to attack. Prospero had encountered a handful of adversaries since escaping from Innsworm, but nothing so terrible as the beast described in that notebook. He took in a frozen breath and readied himself for the trial ahead, scattering any forbidden thoughts as to whether he was truly prepared.

  The air thinned as they left the fairies’ domain. A moon of the realm had risen into the sky, so large that Prospero could imagine it crashing down and splitting the planet in two. His nose picked up the scent of something foul trickling downwind; blood and fury capturing the night in an air of madness. There were no critters foolish enough to wander in its presence.

  A tender quake was felt underfoot. In the moonlight of a clearing not far from the fairies’ pine forest, Prospero and Grimhilde awaited the oncoming disaster.

  It’s not safe for you to stay in plain sight, he warned. You should hide until this is over.

  She refused him. He was tempted to call her suicidal, but knew that there was no point in driving a wedge between them in that critical moment. If she thought she could help, he thought, then she was welcome to try; any aid would be welcome.