Chapter 89
Written by Bayzo Albion
The Forest Queen stood amid the trees, nature itself parting like a curtain to frame her.
My gaze betrayed me, drifting downward to her lithe, smooth legs—elegant, powerful, drawing me in like a siren's call. A knot twisted in my gut, my heart stuttering painfully. I wrenched my eyes away, heat rising to my face, as if staring too long might scorch my soul.
"Even without your divine powers," she said, her voice like the gentle chime of raindrops in a hushed glade, "fortune still clings to you like a stubborn pup, Geralt of Rivia."
"I've not always been so lucky," I muttered, striving for steadiness. "But today... yeah, today it smiled on me."
She tilted her head, a faint curve gracing her lips—an smile rare and precise, like a blade sheathed until needed.
"I watched you," she continued. "You ventured there seeking death. Why turn back?"
Her eyes pierced me, stripping away layers, exposing the raw truths I'd buried. It felt like she was unraveling me, thread by thread.
"Because I realized..." The words stuck, but they demanded release. "This world doesn't want me gone. I was the one chasing my end. It just... showed me that even in madness, chance has a say."
Silence stretched taut between us, vibrating like a plucked string.
"When we speak, you should look at me," she commanded, her tone cooling like a frost-kissed breeze. "Why do you avert your eyes?"
I clenched my fists, drew a steadying breath, and turned to meet her gaze. Honesty was my only armor. "Because you're... divinely beautiful. If I stare too long, I'll forget who I am. And why I even came to this world."
She weighed my words in silence, her expression unreadable. Then, for the first time, a true smile broke through—like a distant storm, carrying both warmth and warning.
"A fine answer, mortal. But remember: beauty often exacts madness as its price."
"Then add it to my tab," I grumbled. "I've got debts stacking up anyway—one more won't break me."
She cocked her head, a spark of intrigue flickering in her eyes. "You jest with me without fear?"
"Oh, I'm terrified," I admitted. "But if I don't joke, I'll just keel over with a straight face. And that's a pathetic way to go."
She stepped closer, silent as dawn's first light. Her bare feet left no imprint, her presence overwhelming—a embodiment of feminine essence, wild and untamed. For a heartbeat, I felt exposed, every doubt laid bare under her scrutiny.
"Observing you is... intriguing," she murmured at last. "You teeter between terror and defiance, and both suit you well."
"Glad I make for good entertainment," I replied with a wry grin. "Usually, folks just call me a vagrant."
This time, her smile softened, a dangerous allure in its subtlety.
Then she was gone, dissolving into the air like mist at sunrise. Only a faint scent of moss and meadow wind lingered, teasing like an unspoken vow.
I exhaled deeply, the tension uncoiling from my shoulders, and pressed on toward the city. But the forest wasn't done with me yet. Dusk fell swiftly, wrapping the woods in velvet shadows, and I knew I'd never reach civilization before night. I scouted a fallen oak, its gnarled roots forming a crude shelter, and curled up beneath them. Hunger gnawed at my belly—I'd missed my chance at that rabbit earlier. Sleep came fitfully, my stomach rumbling protests into the dark.
– – –
Dawn broke with mercy. Sunbeams pierced the canopy, rousing me before the birds stirred. Energized by necessity, I set out to hunt. Luck favored me this time: my snares had caught two plump rabbits. I skinned and roasted them over a hasty fire, the savory meat filling the void in my gut, restoring a flicker of strength. The crackle of flames and the smoky aroma clung to my clothes, a comforting reminder of survival.
Sated, with the fire's embers dying behind me and a faint smile tugging at my lips, I emerged from the thicket. The road to the city stretched long and dusty, but after the forest's perils, it felt like a gentle reprieve. The stone walls loomed on the horizon, gleaming like a beacon of refuge.
Even without a map, I navigated by instinct—the trees felt familiar, the path echoing like a half-remembered dream.
I clutched the lone white lily in my pocket, a fragile proof of my ordeal, and trudged onward.
The city assaulted my senses upon arrival. Shouts of merchants hawking wares, the creak of wagon wheels on cobblestone, the mingling scents of fresh-baked bread and horse manure—it all crashed over me like a wave. Apparently, the city's magic hadn't tidied up the stables yet; the pungent odor lingered stubbornly.
After the forest's eerie quiet, the chaos was deafening, vibrant, almost overwhelming. People turned as I passed, some wrinkling their noses at my woodsmoke-and-earth reek. Others gawked openly, curiosity etched on their faces. My clothes were caked in grime, skin marred by scrapes and bruises, as if I'd clawed my way out of a battlefield.
I caught whispers, half-mocking chuckles, even pitying glances. *Behold the hero,* I thought bitterly. *From mud to the guild. Prime entertainment for the idle masses.*
A glance in a shop's murky window confirmed it: hair a wild tangle, face smeared with dirt, a blooming purple bruise under one eye. I looked every bit the battered wanderer, fresh from tangling with monsters.
But I didn't falter. Let them stare. I had a destination.
The guild hall loomed ahead, imposing with its emblazoned crest—the same threshold where they'd handed me my quest and eyed me like a doomed fool. I pulled the lily from my pocket, gripping its stem tightly, and pushed through the doors.
The guild hall fell into a stunned hush the moment I swung open the door. Conversations sputtered to a halt, tankards of ale froze midway to parted lips, and even the creak of a chair scraping against the floorboards seemed obscenely loud in the sudden vacuum. Every eye in the room locked onto me, wide with disbelief.
In my hand, I clutched the white lily—a fragile emblem of my improbable survival.
My face was smeared with grime and sweat, my body a canvas of bruises and scratches, as if I'd been dragged through a gauntlet of thorns and fury. I didn't feel like a conqueror; more like a drowned rat washed up on shore, gasping and ragged. But to them—these hardened adventurers steeped in tales of glory and peril—I must have looked like a walking myth. The impossible made flesh.
*That kid,* I could almost hear their thoughts swirling in the air. *The weakling, the upstart, the fool with delusions of grandeur... And he's back. Alive. With the flower. Did he really pull it off? Or is this some trick?*
Skepticism hung thick in their stares. One man's mouth gaped open, words dying unspoken on his tongue. Another twisted his face into a grimace, as if I'd risen from the grave to haunt them.
And then, she glided toward me.
Tall and lithe, with legs that seemed endless, barely concealed by the hem of her short red skirt that fluttered with each confident step. The subtle floral notes of her perfume clashed wildly with my stench of earth, blood, and sweat, amplifying the murmurs rippling through the hall. She narrowed her eyes playfully, a mischievous spark dancing in them as she appraised me.
"Ew," she drawled, pulling a tiny vial from her pocket with theatrical flair. "I do love a bit of rugged charm, but this odor? It's absolute torture for my delicate senses."
Without waiting for permission, she spritzed the perfume generously across my chest. The sharp, sugary scent exploded outward, overpowering the reek of my ordeal in an instant. Her smile widened—not just mocking, but laced with genuine intrigue, like a cat who'd discovered her prey had claws after all.
Her gaze raked over me from head to toe, not with detached boredom, but with the keen interest of someone reassessing a puzzle. "Don't get lost in the crowd, hero," she murmured as she brushed past, her voice a velvet whisper meant only for my ears. "The dirt suits you, you know."
I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting the urge to watch her go. It was damn near impossible to ignore the way her skirt teased at the edge of propriety, hinting at what lay beneath. My pulse quickened—not from fear this time, but from a rush of something hotter, more primal.
*Get a grip, Baltazar,* I chided myself inwardly. *You just outran a nightmare beast. Don't let a pair of legs be your undoing.*
I drew in a deep breath, the perfume's sweetness mingling with the guild's ambient haze of ale and pipe smoke, grounding me as I struggled to regain composure.
I approached the counter and gently placed the lily upon it. Its pristine white petals glowed against the scarred wood, an ethereal fragment of light misplaced in this raucous den of shadows and ambition.
"How... How the hell did you manage it?!"