Chapter 100
Written by Bayzo Albion
The days blurred together. I wandered the woods, trapping rabbits or squirrels, foraging for roots, lighting fires, eating in silence, and sleeping fitfully. The sun rose and set, time slipping by unnoticed.
Self-pity gnawed at me relentlessly. I replayed that encounter endlessly: her claws at my throat, her eyes boring into mine, her voice like frost. And my own pathetic whimpering, my tears. Me—a former god—reduced to a blubbering child.
I tried to rationalize it. What else could you have done? my inner voice whispered. You're weak, insignificant; against her, you're nothing. But the excuses only deepened the wound, amplifying my shame.
I gazed at the bracelet—now laced with that green shimmer—and felt I'd betrayed not just my mother, but her memory. Betrayed the faith that this gift would shield me. Because now, it belonged to her. The Forest Queen.
A week in the wilderness. Seven interminable days.
Only toward the end did I notice the fog in my mind lifting.
It started small. I'd catch a rabbit and think: I'm getting better at this than yesterday. I'd trek through the underbrush and feel my breaths steady, my body tougher. Lifting the skillet, my hands no longer quivered; my movements grew assured.
Then, my thoughts shifted. I started cracking jokes to myself by the fire, muttering aloud:
"Well, mighty hero who cries like a little girl? Fancy another bite of rabbit?"
The laughter was bitter, but it was laughter nonetheless.
On the seventh day, I woke at dawn. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in golden shafts. I sat by the embers and studied the bracelet. It still gleamed with that white-green fusion, but the horror had faded. Instead, I accepted it.
Yes, it carried her seal. Yes, it was no longer just Mom's gift. But it was still with me. It had endured her rage. And so had I.
I drew a deep breath. The forest smelled of damp earth, lingering smoke, and fresh grass. For the first time in a week, guilt didn't weigh me down.
I was alive. Stronger than before. And I knew: eventually, I'd return to the city. But not yet.
I needed one more day. A day to finally stop fearing my own reflection.
– – –
It took me eight days to claw my way back to the road. The forest released me without resistance—no mist to mislead me, no eyes watching from the dark. As if the ancient woods had finally accepted that I'd endured enough and let me go. I walked with my head low, but the fear that once ruled me was gone, burned out by everything I'd survived. What remained was a hard, steady resolve. No trembling, no scattered thoughts. Her claws at my throat still lived in my memory like a shard of ice—but now it held my spine straight instead of crushing me.
On my wrist, the bracelet glimmered with its white-green light. It didn't unsettle me anymore. It felt like a badge of honor—not only a keepsake from my mother or a mark of the Forest Queen, but proof that I'd lived through the impossible. And in that survival, I'd forged a weapon of my own.
The journey to the city dragged on for half a day. I moved deliberately, savoring the way each step infused my veins with renewed strength. The forest loomed behind me, but its essence pulsed within, a wild rhythm echoing in my blood.
As the first rooftops came into view, my heart skipped a beat. I dreaded facing people again, terrified that someone might peer into my eyes and see the truth: the boy who'd wept, who'd begged, who'd shown his weakness. But I pressed on, one foot in front of the other.
The city enveloped me in its familiar chaos—carts rumbling over cobblestones, vendors hawking their wares with boisterous cries, the air thick with the sizzle of roasted meat and the earthy tang of horse manure. It all felt alien now, like stepping into a foreign land rather than returning home. I'd changed too much; the world hadn't.
I navigated the streets with my gaze fixed on the ground, avoiding the jostling crowds, their laughter and curses brushing past me like ghosts. No one knew what I'd endured. No one sensed the power thrumming in my wrist or the forest's breath mingling with my own.
At last, the guild hall rose before me—imposing and solid, its stone columns etched with heraldic crests. I paused at the entrance, my chest tightening in a vise. A week ago, the thought of crossing this threshold again would have seemed laughable. But now, I took that first step. Then another.
I shoved open the heavy doors, the groan of hinges echoing like a thunderclap.
Inside, everything froze. The scratch of quills on parchment ceased abruptly. Every head swiveled toward me.
And then I understood why.
The stench hit them before I could even register it myself—a heavy wave of decaying leaves, fungal sap, campfire smoke, and the metallic bite of animal blood. It was the scent of the forest I'd carried for a week, mingled with the grim echoes of the cave where I'd sifted through bones. I'd grown numb to it, but to them, it was overwhelming.
The nearest adventurer quietly pushed away his mug of ale, as if fearing the odor might taint it. Another pressed a hand to his face, stifling a gag.
I advanced a few steps, the floorboards creaking underfoot like accusations in the silence.
Before, they'd eyed me as a naive kid, a lucky upstart who'd breezed through an easy quest. Now, their stares were different—wary, respectful, laced with a hint of unease. They saw it: I'd returned alive, reeking of death and defiance.
The weight of their scrutiny chilled me to the bone, but I held my ground.
Then, a woman rose from her seat. I barely caught her face—just the soft rustle of her dress as she approached. She stopped close, saying nothing.
In her hand was a small vial. She uncorked it, and a sharp burst of perfume assaulted my senses—cloyingly sweet, floral, utterly out of place in this rugged hall.
She lifted her arm and spritzed me once. Twice. No words, no smile, no eye contact. She simply turned and walked away, as if this were the most ordinary ritual.
I stood there in the center of the room, enveloped in silence and stares, my forest reek now battling an overlay of cheap, saccharine artificiality.
No one uttered a sound.
I made my way to the counter, each footfall booming in the hush. The registrar looked up, her usually stern, marble-like features cracking into an awkward smile—a forced mask that didn't suit her at all.
"Welcome back," she said, her voice uncharacteristically gentle.
I didn't respond. Instead, I reached into my pocket and pulled out three mushrooms I'd set aside—pristine white, firm and fresh, as if plucked moments ago. I placed them on the counter.
She froze, her eyes widening, breath catching in her throat. Leaning in, she examined them in disbelief.
"Impossible..." she whispered. "This mushroom... it hasn't been found in ten years. No one could. How...?"
She met my gaze, the mask slipping away to reveal raw curiosity tinged with apprehension.
"How did you manage it?" she pressed, louder now. "Where did you find them?"
I shrugged, keeping my tone even. "You gave me the hint yourself. The second quest... it pointed the way."
I offered no more—no tales of the fog-shrouded illusions, the Mushroom King, or the harrowing trials. Let them chalk it up to luck or coincidence.
She frowned, clearly itching for details, but I turned away.
"It's straightforward," I added calmly. "I just did what needed to be done."
With that, I stepped back modestly, leaving her alone with the three glowing specimens on the counter—a silent challenge to the guild's complacency.
The room stirred then, a murmur rippling through like wind through dry grass, growing bolder. Adventurers whispered, craned their necks, some rising for a better look.
"Is that really it?"
"No way..."
"Ten years... and this kid brings it back..."
Each word landed like a stone in my gut, but they no longer dismissed me as a novice. Now, there was caution in their eyes. A flicker of fear.
Without another word, the registrar retrieved a pouch from beneath the counter. She untied it, counting out the coins with deliberate clinks that hung in the air like the scent of fresh-minted gold—sharp and intoxicating.
"Thirty gold for the three samples," she announced formally, sliding the pouch toward me.
I furrowed my brow, feigning disappointment, shaking my head as if the sum were an insult after such an ordeal.
"Just thirty..." I muttered, loud enough for the eavesdroppers.
But inside, a warm thrill spread through me. If three fetched this much, what fortune awaited in the hidden glade stored within my bracelet? Hundreds more, untouched. Wealth thrived in secrecy, and I had no intention of sharing mine.
I pocketed the pouch, masking my elation with a scowl, my heart pounding with triumphant glee.
She studied me intently once more but held her tongue. I nodded and moved aside.
Behind me, the whispers swelled again:
"Thirty gold..."
"What if he'd brought ten?"
"He's hiding something... no way it's just three..."
I pretended not to hear, gripping the pouch tighter and deepening my frown.
In truth, I now possessed not just gold, but a secret worth far more.
I headed for the exit at a measured pace. The murmurs buzzed like bees, but no one blocked my path. Dozens of eyes followed me—watchful, almost reverent, as if I were no longer a boy but a predator they'd unwittingly invited inside.
I reached the doors and pushed them open, the hinges screeching like a final punctuation.
In that instant, words drifted from behind: "Better not mess with him," someone hissed, audible to all in the stillness. "He's got the mark of the Forest Queen. Don't joke around... and definitely don't rob him."
My heart plummeted, but I didn't turn. I froze on the threshold, absorbing the shift.
This was it—the moment everything changed. Not the gold, not the mushrooms, not even the bracelet. It was that phrase, echoing through the hall. The mark of the Forest Queen.
Everyone had heard. Everyone now knew: I'd returned not just alive, but branded by a power no sane person would challenge.
I stepped out into the street…