Wraithwood Botanist

"Lithco," I said, reading the tribute screen. "Can you help me really quick?"

A sudden thump and crash in the chimney made me yelp and stumble off my chair, and when I turned to the source of the sound, my face twisted into a nasty scowl.

Lithco crawled out of the fireplace, covered in soot, wearing a red and white Santa suit, hat and all.

"Seriously?" I asked as the lurvine looked at me like a paranoid schizophrenic.

"Seriously," Lithco said, pulling off his hand and pounding it on his hand to release charcoal. "Thank you for asking politely this time. Makes all the difference."

"I regret it."

"I’m sure you do." Lithco pulled out one of my chairs and sat down, surprised it didn’t snap under him. "Good work."

"Thanks…" I sighed, pushing myself up.

"What did you want to talk about?" he asked as I sat down.

"This tribute… This’s just to push north, isn’t it?"

Lithco smiled thinly. "What makes you think that?"

"Well, for starters, six out of the seven named plants aren’t alchemic. Four are mildly poisonous, and the other two are decorative at best. And the one that is alchemic has prolific alternatives pretty much everywhere."

"Then why does she want them?" he mused.

"Because they’re Fifth Ring plants," I said. "Mostly. They grow on the border between the Fourth and Fifth Rings. But the second requirement: twenty random specimens picked within Misty Row, even if they grow within the Fourth Domain, proves that she wants me to move north."

"Detective Hill strikes again," Lithco said. "Just curious, why’d you feel the need to ask me the obvious?"

"To complain," I said.

"Honesty doesn’t make things more agreeable—or charming."

"I don’t care if… whatever. Lithco, what’s Misty Row?"

"Now that… that’s an important question. Misty Row is a Bramble, of sorts. It acts as the challenge to move from the Fourth to the Fifth Rings."

"You got to be kidding me."

"I’m not." Lithco pulled a cup from midair and used a heated water sphere to make himself a cup of tea as he elaborated. "But unlike the Bramble, this one’s more familiar."

"What is it?"

"It’s a hollow. That’s an area where souls attempt to separate, resulting in soul fog. You’ve already experienced this, yes?"

"You mean like near the crypt?"

"Yes." Lithco sipped his tea, giving me an urge to make one myself. I had a tin of tea leaves following the trading during the Harvest, so I made myself one as I continued.

"So she saw me narrowly survive one hollow, now she’s been emboldened?"

"Emboldened? The way I read it, she wants you to show up and challenge it yourself. It seems silly to let you collect twenty random plants one foot into Misty Row unless she wants you to prioritize your safety if something goes wrong. She’s trusting you won’t skimp, but also accounting for your well being. If you ask me, this is a sign she values you."

"Oh… Now I feel bad." I whispered, boiling water for tea on a heating array.

"Don’t worry, she can’t hear you," Lithco said. "It would be chaos if gods could directly spy through the eyes of their disciples."

"I don’t care…" I said. "Elana’s been good to me. As long as she doesn’t fuck me over, I want to do her right, too. That’s the honest truth."

Lithco laughed breathlessly. "Just wait till you get there. No tribute’s ever free."

I connected my finger tips, took a deep breath, and smiled. "Just how dangerous is it? Misty Row?"

"Dunno. The Oracle can’t see in it, and the few people who survive it say think and report things that are too unbelievable and inconsistent to believe. It’s likely that something in the fog induces hallucinations, or at least create wide-scale illusions."

"Great…" I said. "Just great… And the area on the border? Rall’s Delta?"

"Dangerous. I recommend you up your game before you attempt it."

I exhaled and sipped my tea, mumbling threats about how I would cut Elana off if she ever pulled something like this again, but I think, deep down, I was excited for another adventure.

"Is that all?" Lithco asked.

"Yeah…" I said hesitantly, wondering if it would be weird just to ask him to chat. I thought it would be psychologically damaging to admit that I was already lonely, so I decided against it, opting instead to enjoy the night snuggling with my furry companions until I started my Mental Shielding training.

I wasn’t looking forward to it. The second stage significantly improved my Moxle Dilation, but it was proportionally worse, bombarding me with direct pain signals, piercing shrieks, and even tastes. But I committed that night, as always, pushing until the hell disappeared, leaving my mind clear and meditative until Kline licked my hand in the morning and we started the day.

It was a slow winter, but it was great to recharge, and I would enjoy it before spring hit and I’d have to worry about learning an epic spell, tribute, and training. I earned the respite, so I decided to enjoy it.

2.

Lysan was cold and miserable for the thirtieth time that month. It was now winter, and it was dangerous to leave her base camp. The poison soaked into the freshly fallen snow, and that made it through the cracks in her pants and boots, and she found herself burning through her cleansing elixirs and the Diktyo water she had collected. She would eventually run out, then it would be game over.

Her only consolation was that she had a backpack full of torok meat that she cooked over a week that would last her months, but one rip in her tent, one wrong step, one anything would kill her.

Lysan was desperate—

—and she had a radical solution.

She would kill Mira Hill and steal her home.

Lysan didn’t know where it was exactly, but she was within a few miles of it in The Divide, where the beasts were weaker. She had migrated there for that purpose but found tracks from the lurvine. She feared they would find her, but to her great relief, they always moved north to hunt as third-evolution beasts. That’s the only reason she had avoided confrontation.

But it seemed inevitable at this point.

Lysan no longer wanted revenge against Mira. She hated Mira and always would, but she didn’t want revenge. Mira was justified in what she did, and sometimes, people were just destined to hate each other.

That said, she didn’t have any problem killing Mira to survive. It would come as easily as breathing.

And she planned to.

It would all come down to one major attack.

Those lurvines were strong, but as long as she avoided their flames, they were third evolution pups against someone who took down a torok. She could easily take about three. That meant that if she killed or injured three at once, she could handle the next three and run away, prompting the cat out on its own. Then she would kill it before going after Mira and her gear.

It was all or nothing. The ultimate gamble that would determine whether she lived or died.

Everything was riding on this one fight for survival.

So she created enchanted traps for the cat and developed strategies for dealing with Mira.

Hit the lurvine with a massive strike, Lysan thought. Injure as many as possible. Then run. The cat’s the fastest, so I’ll lead him to the traps, alone. I can do this…

Lysan unsheathed her sword and lined the tip of her blade with a mana augmentor. It was an expensive substance called trayg, and it was famous for turning normal instruments into mana amplifiers. It would allow her to use her sword and spells simultaneously, and would increase their devastation. She would hold nothing back. She’d kill the cat, then run, picking off the lurvines one at a time. Even if she died, she would take the cat with her. She was determined to do so.

Mana swirled around the sword in whisps, and her breath released plumes of steam. Her feet were cold and wet, burning from the poison in the snow. She winced and drank some Diktyo water, healing herself. It was all or nothing.

The moon reflected over the snow as she approached, walking silently with a sound dampening skill, slinking silently, heart pounding as she got within a half mile, putting her in range of her divination pulse.

Lysan released a pulse and discovered a miracle:

Mira, Kline, and the lurvine were all in one location, sound asleep in their true forms. One good strike could kill them.

Lysan hope for the first time since coming to this forest—

—but it didn’t last long.

An icy spider crawled down her back, and she felt goosebumps freckle up her arms even within her jacket. She immediately activated a divination pulse, searching for mana signatures within half a mile from her—and found nothing of interest.

Trap? Lysan silently asked. But… what type?

She would see amateur mana traps and enchantments. Mira didn’t have enough skill to hide anything from her—but what if she weren’t alone? What if there was a hermit living in the forest, training her? Lysan was expecting as much, but Mira was alone and there were no signs of traps.

You’re just paranoid… Lysan thought. But the hairs on her arms still stood on end, and her body was locking up. And you can’t afford to turn back… tomorrow they’ll know… they’ll be hunting you. You have to do it. It’s her or you; she’s gotta go.

Suddenly, an icy chill approached from behind her. Her body locked up and she checked her divination pulse.

Nothing.

Yet she could feel a strong wave of aura, so she forced herself to turn—the last motion of her life.

A beautiful woman stood behind her, a wraith, blindfolded and wearing broken shackles as jewelry. Her body was slightly transparent, dripping with aura and malice.

By human reflex alone, she opened her mouth to scream from the fear and shock, but a blade of raw aura sliced through her throat and voice box.

Lysan grabbed her throat as she hit her knees, trying to keep the blood in her body. She looked down, expecting the ground to be soaked red, but her blood was flowing upward. She looked up and saw it bubbling in a Levisphere.

She panicked and tried to grab her Diktyo water, but the wraith kicked it out of her hand and then started dragging her through the forest as she choked on her blood. With every second, Lysan increasingly lost focus, but she was alive long enough to see her final destination.

It was a natural trench between two boulders, a natural grave.

The wraith threw the bloodsphere right into it, then she picked Lysan up by the hair, lifting her blindfold so she could look in her eyes.

What Lysan saw chilled her to the bone.

Her eyes were identical to Mira’s.

And the scorn in her eyes danced with feelings of betrayal. Betrayal… as if Mira would’ve invited her. What a joke. Mira was a killer. She had her cat slaughter people while she smiled and laughed and traded with people, then left camp to trap and kill her entire party. She was a psychopath.

The wraith’s eyes filled with indignation and she lifted her sword to finish her off, but before she ran the sword through her lungs, the wraith turned into the forest.

Lysan followed her eyes the best she could, and found her vision doubling. Six sets of paw prints imprinted in the snow from an invisible body, eerily silent, moving forward.

The part of Lysan that wanted to survive, did one last scan and found three large cats.

You… she silently declared, vision blurring, confused.

It was Mira’s cat—but there were three. And they weren’t illusions. Each had mana channels moving through an ethereal body.

What…?

Lysan activated soul sight as the cat paused, and she saw that only one had a soul core. The others only had a skeleton of nearan networks in its brain and nervous system.

These weren’t illusionary dopples.

They were ethereal clones.

The cat narrowed his eyes at her, and then meowed at the wraith. The wraith looked at her and then nodded, throwing Lysan’s body before the cat.

She hit the ground with a thud, gasping for breath while one cat pressed its palm on her lower spine, the second grabbed her hair and pulled her flat, and the third put its canines on the area where her soul core was located. Then she felt a piercing pain and she blacked out.

2.

I woke up one morning with a teal soul core on the table, in addition to a sword, a dozen vials, some equipment, a bunched up pair of pants, and some boots. The sight left me with a horrified sense of dread.