Chapter 35
Written by Bayzo Albion
My clone, ever the eccentric, had taken to chanting a bizarre work song as we labored:
"One-two... and... one-two, three-four!"
The odd melody intertwined with the creak of falling trees, the thud of axes against wood, and the alarmed chirps of fleeing birds. Suddenly, he paused, grinned wickedly, and blurted:
"Hey, let's borrow a ton from the internet! My head's empty as a library after a termite invasion."
I paused to catch my breath, wiping sweat from my brow, the salty tang mixing with the earthy scent of freshly cut timber.
"Seriously? You're suggesting we spice up our chats with intellectual theft?"
My clone tossed a handful of wood chips, the wind whisking them away in a swirling vortex.
"Stealing words is beautiful!" He spread his arms dramatically. "We're spiritual communists! No yours or mine—just ours. Even Shakespeare pilfered plots, so we're in good company."
The work progressed remarkably swiftly. With each felled tree and uprooted stump, this place became "ours"—my hands memorizing the rough texture of bark, my body the heft of tools, my subconscious sketching the blueprint of our future home. There was something primordially enchanting about it: reshaping the landscape, imprinting it with our essence, the forest yielding to our will like clay under a sculptor's fingers.
My clone drove his axe into a nearby log, wiped the sweat from his brow, and declared:
"That's enough for today. We'll pick up tomorrow."
His eyes mirrored the same fervor burning in mine. I grinned:
"What's this? We've lost our mad drive already? Just a couple hours and you're tapped out?"
He shook his head, sweat droplets flying from his temples.
"Don't be dumb. I'm as eager as you to see our house finished. But a master knows when to set down the tool." He paused, adding with a crooked smirk: "Even gods rested on the seventh day."
"Rest is for the weak," I countered, grabbing the axe and landing another resounding blow, just to spite him, the vibration humming up my arms like a defiant pulse.
– – –
Without further ado, I activated the teleportation. The space around us rippled like the surface of a lake disturbed by an unseen pebble. The world warped, stretched—and in a blink, we stood on the familiar rocky plain where we'd once vanquished the stone golem, the ground still littered with faint remnants of that battle.
My clone, swaying slightly from the abrupt shift, muttered:
"As Benjamin Franklin said: 'time is money.'" He met my gaze, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. "But for us, let's rephrase: time is pleasure!"
The air still trembled with residual magic from the teleport, a faint vibration underfoot mingling with the crunch of golem shards. It felt denser here, heavier—like a viscous fog pressing on my shoulders with invisible weight. Unsettling.
Was the stone golem more than a guardian? Part of the ecosystem itself, balancing magic, protecting something vital? Now gone, nature seemed to hold its breath, like a beast sensing impending doom, the wind whispering warnings through the leaves.
"You destroyed my stone pet?" a voice rang out, steel-hard yet melodic like a forest stream. "I've been waiting for this meeting... Oh, how long I've waited."
I barely processed the words before the stranger snapped her fingers. A crystalline chime echoed, and my teleportation marker shattered in the air like a smashed mirror. The way home—severed.
Perched on a massive boulder overgrown with emerald moss sat a forest nymph. Her slender legs crossed coyly, her eyes—deep as woodland pools under moonlight—danced with sparks of cold fury. Every gesture exuded haughty grandeur, an aura of ancient authority that commanded the space around her.
The forest queen was a sight impossible to ignore. Her elven features framed by a soft green aura, like sunlight filtering through leaves at dusk. Her beauty held primordial power—mesmerizing and terrifying in equal measure. Long, snow-white hair cascaded over her shoulders in silvery waves, glowing with each subtle movement, accentuating the flawless pallor of her skin and lending her an almost divine purity.
Yet beneath that majesty lay unabashed femininity. Graceful, almost feline poise, the curve of her hips, and her firm bosom barely concealed by intertwining vines seemed a deliberate defiance of modesty. In her presence, I felt the urge to bow in reverence... and reach out to touch this living enchantment, her scent—a blend of wildflowers and earth—wafting subtly on the breeze.
My clone, usually so brazen, dropped to his knees with a thud against the stone.
"Oh, radiant goddess!" he wailed, his voice dripping with exaggerated tragedy as he flung himself face-down onto the damp forest floor. "Have mercy on us wretched worms and grant us your forgiveness!"
The Forest Queen merely clicked her tongue in disdain—a sharp, dry snap that cut through the air like a whipcrack, louder than any barked command.
I, on the other hand, straightened up to my full height, refusing to grovel.
"What's this? Pity stirring in that heart of yours?" I asked, my tone as cold as the morning mist curling around our ankles. "Or are you just toying with us, like a cat batting at cornered mice?"
My answer came in a brutal crack of splintering wood. Without warning, a jagged spear of timber erupted from the earth, thrusting upward like a vengeful root. It punched straight through the gut of my double, his body igniting in a spray of crimson that painted the leaves overhead. In the blink of an eye, he unraveled—flesh and bone dissolving into the soil like ink bleeding into wet paper.
*Damn... that was quick,* I noted dryly to myself, even as the metallic tang of blood hung heavy in the air.
"Pity, you say?" Her voice was even, but a thread of irritation wove through it, like thorns hidden in silk. "Let's pretend that's it. And then what?"
I peered into her face, searching for any flicker of emotion beneath that porcelain mask—anger, amusement, something human to latch onto. But her features were as unreadable as ancient runes carved into bark.
"Maybe right now, the wrath of the Forest Queen is crashing down on me. And that's exactly what I'm feeling."
She tilted her head, her slender legs shifting with deliberate grace, as if weighing whether to tear me apart on the spot or indulge me with one more breath. The air grew thicker, charged with the scent of impending rain and crushed ferns.
"You're right," she said at last, the corners of her mouth curving into a smile that was equal parts alluring and lethal, like a blade wrapped in velvet. "You won't slip away from me that easily."
"And how do I make amends for my sins?"
A snide voice echoed in my skull—my double's, of course, ever the uninvited comedian.
*Oh, sure. Nothing a good roll in the hay can't fix. She'll drain you dry, trust me... and not just figuratively.*
In the next heartbeat, she was inches from me, materializing like a shadow given form. A cool finger, scented with the sweet petrichor of storm-kissed earth, traced my jawline, tilting my chin up to meet her endless eyes—pools of emerald so deep they could swallow souls whole.
"Do you want to live?" Her whisper rustled like leaves in a brewing tempest, sending a shiver racing down my spine despite the warmth of the rising sun.
Sweat beaded on my skin, trickling like traitorous tears.
"My life is yours to command," I replied, my voice steady even as my pulse thundered. "I don't get to set terms here."
Her lips twitched in approval, a rare glint of satisfaction warming those glacial eyes.
"I like a man who knows his place." She stepped back, and the air shimmered as fireflies swirled around her like living stars, their glow casting ethereal patterns on the mossy ground. "Find what my heart craves, and perhaps I'll spare you."
"Find what your heart desires? That's like hunting a needle in a pitch-black thicket."
"There's no escape but the grave," she snapped, her tone hardening like the crunch of brittle branches underfoot. "So stop your whining. Any more questions?"
"If our roles were reversed... what would you do?"
She let out a low, throaty laugh that echoed through the trees, stirring birds from their perches.
"What do you think? Pride—that's what drives me."
"Woman's riddles aren't exactly my forte," I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck.
Her expression darkened, the air thickening with the electric promise of thunder. Ozone prickled my nostrils, sharp and foreboding.
"You have eight days. Fail me, and you'll die just like my little pet." She leaned in close, her breath a cool caress against my skin, carrying the faint, intoxicating wildness of blooming nightshade. "Do we understand each other?"
"Yes."
"Then we'll meet again..." Her voice faded into a haunting echo as her form dissolved into the swirling dawn fog, "...exactly eight days from now."
The forest seemed to exhale in her wake, the tension bleeding away like sap from a fresh wound.