Chapter 20: Chapter 18: Willow

I strolled through the forest with Hunter, seeking various supplies. From patches of grass, he plucked herbs I didn’t recognize, humming quietly as he sorted them into neat bundles. Meanwhile, I drew water from a nearby pond to soothe the ache in my shoulders. Closing my eyes, I guided the water into my body and felt it spread through my limbs like cool silk.

Next to me, Hunter’s heavy steps stilled. His silence lasted long enough for me to know a question was coming.

What is the water being used for?

I smiled faintly. “Hydrokinesis. I can draw water into my body to ease pain and quicken healing. It’s a natural bond for Water people — being surrounded by water strengthens us, but absorbing it accelerates recovery. Though it’s safest to do it ourselves. If someone else tries, they could make things worse.”

Why so? Hunter tilted his head, the gesture oddly human.

“When we heal, we have to picture our own body clearly. If another person tries, they visualize theirs instead of yours. The energy gets confused, so it can backfire. It takes a lot of precision.”

Fascinating. Similar to how certain plants mend their wounds through shared roots, Hunter mused.

“Really?” My voice lifted, eager despite myself.

Both draw what is needed from outside to heal what’s within. It is a shame I cannot do the same, but my regeneration usually suffices.

“Yeah,” I said with a small grin. “You’re tough enough already.”

Precisely. Such methods would have helped after the plant leopard fight—speak of the devil.

I followed his gaze and froze.

We had returned to camp, and Flint was sprawled across the forest floor, his armor shredded, his body slick with blood. His chest rose and fell in shallow, painful gasps. A pile of mangled leaves lay beside him, impaled by his sword, and his trembling hand clutched a faintly pulsing fragment of the Nature shard.

“Flint!” I rushed to his side.

He blinked rapidly, focusing on me through the haze. “Please,” he rasped, forcing a grin, “heal me. I’d rather not die tonight.”

Hunter pressed a pouch of herbs into my palm, and Flint chewed obediently while I applied the healing salve. The bleeding slowed, the flesh knit, and color returned to his face, but my hands still shook. I checked him again and again, ignoring his laughter until I was sure he was truly stable.

He sat up minutes later and immediately reached for food. Hunter gave him a flat look, but Flint was already gnawing on dried meat like a starved wolf. Predictably, he started coughing halfway through. I rolled my eyes, patted his back roughly, and tried not to laugh as he glared at me between gasps.

Riley watched him the entire time, tail flicking.

“Riley, stop staring. You’ve had your meal,” Flint muttered.

The wolf huffed and laid his head down in dramatic defeat. Hunter made a deep chuff that might have been laughter.

“Flint, how do you feel?” I asked once he finally slowed down.

“Hungry,” he said through a mouthful.

“That’s not new,” I said, smiling despite myself.

While Flint devoured the rest of the meal, I examined the pieces of the Nature shard we had gathered. After rearranging them several times, the fragments clicked together and fused. No matter how I pulled, they refused to separate.

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“Hunter, look at this.”

It has joined, he observed, crouching beside me. Yet… something is absent.

He was right. The shard was dull, lifeless compared to the others. No pulse, no warmth — just silence.

“The glow’s missing,” I murmured.

Before I could think further, Flint frowned. “Wait. Where’s the Steel shard?”

He tore open his pack, rummaging frantically through maps and supplies. The fear on his face said enough. “We’ve never had it to begin with. How did we forget when we were still journeying through Steel?”

“Maybe the path loops back,” I offered. “It’s not like we’re done yet.”

He nodded, though uneasily. “Yeah. Maybe.”

***

The forest quieted as we pressed deeper into Nature’s lands. No more ambushes, no snapping twigs or predator calls: only the hum of insects and the whisper of leaves brushing against one another. The air smelled sweet, almost protective. It was unsettling.

That night, we made camp beneath a massive tree blanketed in vines. Its roots coiled like sleeping serpents, thick enough to walk on. The air was warm and damp, heavy with the scent of moss.

Flint volunteered for first watch, still eager to prove himself after his earlier injuries. I lay awake for a while, listening to the crackle of the fire, until my eyelids grew heavy.

Then came the sound — a sharp whoosh, followed by a crackle far louder than our campfire.

I sat up, heart pounding. The clearing glowed orange.

“Flint?”

He turned, guilt and panic written across his face. A small fireball hovered over his hand, flickering wildly. “I-I was just testing control! I didn’t think it’d be-”

“Water!” I cut him off, scrambling to my feet. I drew from my necklace, hurling the water at the flames. It hissed and steamed, but the fire only grew angrier, climbing the trunk like a living thing.

Hunter stomped at the edges, his tail lashing.

Move back! He roared mentally. The fire was spreading too quickly, fueled by the dense undergrowth.

Then Luna stood.

Her white fur shimmered under the firelight, and a low hum filled the air around her. Coils of mist began to curl from her pelt, faint at first, then dense and cool. The fog rolled outward, swallowing the flames. Every ember it touched hissed and died until the blaze dwindled to nothing but smoke and glowing ash.

For a long moment, none of us spoke. Only the sound of dripping water and the faint crackle of dying embers broke the silence.

Flint dropped to his knees, breathing hard. “I… I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” I said quietly, though my pulse still raced. “You stopped it before it spread.”

But the words barely left my mouth before the forest itself seemed to respond. The air grew heavy again - not with smoke, but something older. Deeper.

Hunter’s claws flexed.

The Guardian.

Flint’s head snapped toward him. “What?” His voice was barely more than a whisper, but in the breathless serenity of the forest, it reverberated, sharp and frightened.

Before Hunter could answer, the ground heaved. Roots tore upward from the soil, curling like claws, dragging with them something vast and ancient. Bark cracked like bones breaking. The vines that had once smothered the tree (we had camped under) now wound themselves into limbs — thick cords of green and sinew wrapped around a core of pale wood and stone.

I stumbled backward, pulling Flint with me as the thing rose higher, shedding dirt in great clumps. It wasn’t just a creature. It was the forest — shaped by it, fed by it, angry because of us.

Roots twitched beneath our feet. The charred earth shuddered, sending small clods of dirt tumbling down the slope.

Then came the deep, groaning, ancient rumbling.

The ground split. Vines writhed like snakes. A tremor ran through the grove as a shape began to rise from the burned soil — massive, skeletal, and alive with green fire pulsing in its hollow eyes.

Flint took a step back, gripping his weapon. “What… what is that?”

Hunter’s reply was low, grim, and certain.

Nature’s guardian.

The forest held its breath.

And then, the earth opened wider.