Mythril began to walk in the direction Jumin pointed out, but paused to pull out his scroll and, hoping that Jumin wouldn’t notice, equipped his sword again in the only way he knew how.

“I thought you were finally bringing out my ring,” Jumin said from behind him. “Will you hurry up and find it so that I can join your group.”

Mythril’s heart began to pound, the hammering of his pulse a drum to the beat of the singing birds that were hidden within the trees above. He moved quickly through his scroll, looking for anything that gave any indication of a group. On MAP all he could see was the option to click Selrah. He continued scrolling across until he found LEGACY and tapped on UNION.

A picture of Selrah and Mythril together took up the entire scroll. His portrait held a huge smile on his face, and in his arms in front of him, leaning back against him, Selrah was posed with the same expression. One of such joy he didn’t think, from the few hours he had known her, she was capable of possessing. Behind them an arch formed out of bent and twisted tree branches, the forest in which they stood lit with glowing wyrms and candles on the floor in front of them.

In the same dull white of the flames, the word SOULBOUND, was written beneath them.

Jumin leaned over to see what Mythril was looking at, letting out an exasperated sigh that drew Mythril’s attention to him and away from a portrait where he felt he saw his future. Only, hopefully without the pointed ears.

“You two are soulbound? Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t I figure it out?”

Jumin rummaged in his pouch. He soon pulled from it an even smaller one that fit in the palm of his hand. It clinked slightly as he rustled around inside it, and then pulling out a ring and placing it on his finger, the metal glowing white, he handed one to Mythril.

Mythril turned it over in his hand. It looked far too small for his fingers and the metal felt too sturdy to be flexible and take another form. Under Jumin’s watchful gaze however he pushed it onto the tip of his little finger, the same finger he’d noted Jumin place his, and pushed it down.

The metal loosened until it was pushed as far as possible and then tightened comfortably in place. A black glow surrounded it, to the point you could hardly see the metal at all. A black ethereal smoke encircled his finger, but upon touching it, Mythril could feel the cool metal beneath.

“All set?” Jumin asked, after pushing the small pouch back inside of the larger pouch.

Mythril gave a nod, and without thinking swung his sword up to his shoulder. The metal clanged against his chest piece and reverberated through his ear drums.

“Why would you do that?”

Although it was pointless, the sound having already happened, Jumin pushed his hands to his ears.

“Why would you attack yourself? I’d say put it away before you take my eye out but as you can see,” Jumin removed his hands from his ears and pointed with one towards the glowing sockets of his skull. “I’m fortunate enough to not be at risk from your foolery. You on the other hand… just put it away.”

Mythril wished that he could without pulling out his scroll again, but he didn’t have the slightest idea how. All he knew was that after a couple of attacks it would vanish from his grip.

“I like to be prepared,” he said, avoiding eye contact and instead continued on forward, ignoring how warm his cheeks felt.

They walked through the woodland in relative silence, Jumin every now and then talking about Love Yew Moor and their struggles at taking down even the most minor of Champions. At times it sounded like he was hinting to join Mythril’s guild, which thankfully Jumin has a number of times unintentionally reminded him was called Elder’s Chosen. To any of these comments, Mythril shrugged.

He knew that he would be coming across as rude, but only hoped he would also seem aloof, mysterious even.

It felt odd to be roleplaying as himself roleplaying a computer character based on himself.

“You didn’t hear it from me,” Jumin continued, a branch crunching beneath one of his bare feet, “But the last time we tried for Hexwood’s Haunt we ended up in our undergarments and little else. Everything was broken. I had to wait a week to get my robe newly enchanted because Deaf, that’s our Leader, didn’t want anyone to know how badly we had been defeated. We had to trickle in to Mystical Moor in pairs. It was ridiculous, and cost a fortune because we couldn’t use the guild reputation points, we’d built up precisely for this reason.”

Mythril nodded and said little more than an “mm,” in reply to most of what else was said. The woodland shouldn’t have been so different from what he knew these types of areas to be, but there were surprisingly few enemies. He had expected bandits, giant spiders, plagued beasts, anything really. Instead, it was quiet. Nothing crept or crawled over the earth and the only fight he had needed to engage in was when Selrah had been with him.

They stepped through trees that clung together and over mounds of rocks covered with moss. Mythril checked his map and saw that they weren’t too far now from where a mountainous region rose up in the distance. He wondered if the trees had been smaller and not so close together above if he would be able to see it in the distance.

The purple dot that represented Selrah was somewhere close by, but still ahead.

“If I can see Selrah on my map, then surely she can see me?”

“Not that I was in the middle of saying something or anything, Mythril, but yes, of course she can see you.”

Mythril tapped on her dot on the map and glanced over to Jumin.

“Then why would she be heading in the opposite direction of us?”

“Not us,” Jumin replied, a long and twig-like finger held up. “You. And maybe, it’s because your conversational skills are absolutely awful.”

The sound of flowing water, gentle and slow moving, reached them in a series of splashes and trickles before they saw it. A river being fed from the overflow of a waterfall that descended from a white rock face was ahead of them, visible through the parting of the more thinly leafed trees.

Sat upon a rock, large and flat with moss coating the majority of its face, were two creatures. They dipped their feet into the river and splashed them up and down again, playing with the water while having a conversation that was indecipherable.

Mythril could see little of them, but what he could see was that they looked at home within the forest. They were both dressed in robes that draped over their ankles, ragged at the end but of a material that shimmered iridescent. The one whose frame was more visible appeared to be male, the shoulders broad and voice that reached him deep. His skin was like the bark of a tree, lines painted across his cheekbones, leaves of deep green pushed against his forehead and bushy atop his head.

Laughter from the other, high and pleasant, Mythril assumed this one was female. The woman’s hair swayed in a gentle breeze at her waist, leaves of yellow and orange tumbled over each other.

Both of them looked human, but neither were.

“Dryads,” Jumin said, his usual jovial tone held low. “I swear if they start on about the upcoming festival… You handle this, I’m going to hover back here just in case.”

Had this been a game where Mythril were sat behind a controller and known what these creatures were or capable of, had this been a game where Mythril at least knew how to use his sword he would have been the first one to approach the dryads without question. Instead, he held back for a moment, and only stumbled forward from Jumin’s helpful hand.

Both of the dryads turned their attention to him in an instant. Neither rose, but both looked irritated at him disturbing them. The female, he noted, more so than the male.

“Hello, hello,” he said.

“Hello, hello?” replied the female dryad. She shook her feet above the river, some of the water dripping back into the stream, and some sinking into her skin.

Mythril held his head low and looked off to the side, why had he thought sounding like a friendly English postman would help matters?

“Maybe he’s just being polite and greeting us both,” said the male dryad. He beckoned Mythril forward with his hand.

Mythril stood before them, his eyes scanned over them. Both in robes, both with pouches similar to Jumin’s at their waists. He wondered if they were druids also, but it seemed too likely that dryads would be druids. Neither had a weapon. He knew that Selrah had a dagger at her waist and that she was a summoner of sorts, so neither of them shared her class, which given the spying giant eyeball, he found himself thankful.

“I’m Mythril. I’m looking for my partner,” he said. He thought back on what Jumin had said in the guild hall. “She’s a fey elf. Slightly smaller than me. White hair, pale…”

They were both shaking their heads.

“Hygg,” the male said, pointing to himself, “and Gydrel,” he added with a pat on the female dryad’s leg. “I’m sorry, I think we’d remember that. We’ve not seen anyone though, other than you and the noxiri trying to hide in the woods that is.”

Hygg waved at Jumin, who Mythril turned to see lift a hand in reply. He turned back to see the female dryad shake her head to emphasize what her partner had said.

“Okay,” replied Mythril, in seeing he was wasting their time and his own. “Thank you anyway.”

He walked no more than a few steps when the earth began to tremble beneath him. Hands reached up towards his ankles, a purple circle surrounding him. He screamed, slashed his sword in their direction, and screamed again when nothing happened. Only, nothing was happening to him, either. They reached up, but their fingers swept through his skin and only continued to waver a little longer before disappearing.

“Selrah,” he said, once the hands had gone. “Jumin, I think she’s beneath us.”

Together they began to dig at the soil.

“Step back.”

They did as the dryads had asked and shuffled away from the small hole they had begun to dig through. Together the dryads stood over it. At the same time, they appeared to fall silent and still, their feet firmly planted in the ground. Their fingers grew longer, spiralling to the ground and through the earth.

A quick nod signalled something, and then with a muffled cry, Mythril watched as Selrah was pulled from the collapsing earth and pushed towards them.

The earth fell beneath the dryads, yet both of them remained stable in position. Together they reached their arms forward and clung onto the more solid ground. Suddenly, both dropped a little, a small grunt coming from their lips. Together they pulled themselves up, their hands and feet returning to normal as they did.

“Why can’t I do something like that?” Jumin said in surprise. “What even was that?”

The dryads dusted themselves down.

“[Child of the Orchard],” Gydrel replied. “And you can’t do it because you’re a child of the swamp, not the earth.”

Mythril was busily helping Selrah remove dirt from her eyelashes and hair. He did so instinctively, seeing someone that looked so like his fiancée in danger leaving him unable not to. But now he glanced up and in the direction of Jumin, wondering if this was why he had wanted Mythril to handle the dryads alone.

“A bit more than just the swamp, but fair enough,” Jumin replied. He turned to help Selrah to her feet, and then offered a hand to Mythril.

“I’m fine,” Mythril replied.

Once he was on his feet, he walked over to the hole in the earth that had crumbled through. Below looked to be a tunnel, the earth a mound on the floor at the centre of the hole.

“I saw you on my map,” Selrah said from beside him. “Sorry about [Forsaken Grasp]. I tried to call out to you but the sound down there… it’s like the earth swallows it.”

“Why were you even down there?” Mythril asked.

Selrah, despite how calm she was attempting to appear, still looked slightly shaken.

“While I was picking King’s Bloom I saw a strange tunnel, made of arched branches. It looked shallow, as though there were daylight at the other end.” She glanced up to Mythril and across to Jumin and the dryads, all whom were now listening. “I checked my map and it looked in the direction we needed to go for the cabin. I thought that if I stepped through I might see something.”

“Let me guess,” Jumin interrupted. “The light went out.”

Selrah nodded, eyes wide. She sighed and taking grip of her dagger, tightened her hand around it. “The light went out ahead of me and when I turned to go back to where I knew there was light, I had just come from there, the trees blocked my way. The branches no longer an arch, instead they became a prison. I used [Gloam’s Vision],” at the mention of this Gydrel coughed, and looked across to Hygg. “It was in an attempt to see something,” Selrah continued, ignoring this, “anything, but it drains my mana so fast. I went through so many potions just to get to this point and all I saw the entire way here was mud.”

Jumin patted a hand on Selrah’s back. “It would appear our hunter friend is playing games with us.”

“What do you mean?” asked Mythril. He was trying to keep his attention on Selrah and Jumin, as well as being very aware of Hygg and Gydrel’s sudden strange behaviour. They glanced to one another, a nudge of one head towards Selrah, a shake from the others.

“[False Hope], places a light inside of, well, anywhere you want your prey to enter really. A nasty trap, one I’ve seen used only a few times. It doesn’t work well in any duel, when it’s expected, or in any raid. Capturing prey when solo, then it will work. Hubert set us up.”

“We don’t know it was Hubert,” Selrah suggested.

“We don’t, but he’s a hunter, so it probably was.”

“I don’t understand the point,” Mythril said. “He’s an NP…” the second the letters left his mouth he saw others look at him with curiosity. Not wanted to fall under suspicion should they not know the term he changed course. “And where are you going?”

The dryads, to his great relief, had started to turn when he began to speak. It gave him the opportunity he needed to steer the conversation in another direction.

Gydrel turned back first, Hygg remaining facing away from them. “I’m sorry,” Gydrel said, while looking at Mythril, and then to Selrah, “She plays with the dead. We’re really not interested in becoming even acquaintances with anyone like that. I mean what kind of person do you need to be to receive that calling?”

“Oh, come on,” Jumin exclaimed. “Don’t tell me you’re not only arrogant buggers towards noxiri, but you have something against warlocks as well?”

Hygg turned around, placed his hand on Gydrel’s back and said, “We respect and love the forest, all of nature. She is not natural, you are not natural. Not to mention, she’s a fey elf. Are we the only ones who remember the Fabled?”

Mythril, who had been looking to and from each person as they spoke, threw his hands in the air at this. “What is the Fabled?”

“The Fabled, is exactly that, a fairy tale, a nonsense,” Jumin replied before Hygg could. “That these two are using as a way of throwing around their prejudice remarks. Well go on then,” Jumin waved his hands in their direction. “Off you run then.”

“Who,” Hygg said, the emphasis of the word aimed at Mythril, “who is the Fabled. And that is something we would all like to know.”

They walked away with an air of not caring for Jumin’s words, but with a speed that showed they weren’t willing for the altercation to turn physical. Something Mythril hadn’t expected it would, until he glanced at Selrah’s hand, which was wrapped around the handle of her dagger.

“Really?” he said, his palms held up. “You wanted to fight them?”

“I imagine Selrah gets as tired of dryads and there more natural than thou rhetoric as I do.”

Selrah lifted her hand from her dagger and patted down her trousers which still showed signs of dirt. “Jumin is right,” she said, picking a clump of mud from her knee. “We’re lucky they weren’t druids, and trust me we’d have known about it if they had been,” Selrah added the latter part as Mythril’s mouth had begun to form a question. “They’d have been quick to show us. It’s nonsense, my minions are as part of the natural world as any other creature.”

At this Jumin tilted his head a little, as though about to ask really?

“Tell him Mythril,” Selrah urged.

Mythril had seen an imp and an eyeball, but he supposed there was no reason they shouldn’t be classed as being a part of the natural world. He couldn’t deny he’d had rather seen a rabbit or possibly even a small squirrel.

“She’s right,” he said.

“Of course you’re going to say she’s right, and they’re natural to the gloam, but not out here.”

“And forest creatures aren’t natural to towns but we still see druids and hunters hauling them around wherever they go.”

Jumin raised his hand to counteract what she said, but instead nodded his head and said, “Fair point. It’s not like I care anyway, especially when it comes to dryads.”

“The tunnel then,” Mythril said, peering back down into the dark and watching that his feet didn’t go too near the edges of the hole. Dirt was crumbling in without him even standing on it, he was sure it would collapse beneath him should he get too close.

“Well, first,” Selrah said, her voice close behind him. “What is an Enpee?”

“An empee?”

“Enpee,” Selrah corrected. “You said that’s what Hubert was.”

Mythril sighed. He was aware that the expression came across as agitated with Selrah’s lack of knowledge, which he was glad of. He would rather her be stood frowning at him, as she was now, than questioning him further.

“An enpee,” he waved a hand towards Jumin. “Surely you’ve heard the word before. You seem travelled.”

“Oh,” Jumin replied. He shrugged his shoulders and then looking to Mythril said, “Sure, I know what an enpee is.”

Selrah breathed out heavily. She adjusted the headband on her head and walked closer to the hole.

“Honestly, Selrah,” Jumin continued, “I’m surprised you don’t know what it means.”

Mythril had to hold back a laugh. He may not know the intricates of their world, but he was sure as hell going to add to them. “She can be a bit of an enpee herself sometimes,” he said, his lips held tight but his eyes revealing a glint of laughter.

Selrah didn’t turn to face them, but he could see that her shoulders tensed even as she pretended not to be listening.

“Always ready to lead folk astray rather than do the work herself.”

“I am not some layabout,” Selrah said, turning fast on her feet to defend herself. Too fast.

She slipped, falling back into the hole. Her fingers grasping at the mud but let loose before Mythril or Jumin could reach her.

She sat inside the hole, held up by bones that hovered beneath her, making the most macabre kind of magic carpet Mythril could have imagined.

“I guess we’re going in the tunnel then,” Jumin said, sliding himself in after Selrah and landing with a thud beside her.

Mythril didn’t hesitate to join them. He sat down on the ridge of the dirt and lowered himself down, calling out with an unf at the pressure of his feet hitting off the hard ground.

By the time he landed the bones were gone from beneath Selrah and she was standing.

He looked in both directions of the tunnel, both leading into darkness. “How are we going to do this then?” he asked and then thinking back to their earlier conversation. “And why?”

“I still want my griffon pet,” Jumin said.

“See? Typical druid,” Selrah said, but smiling as she did which only caused Jumin to laugh. “And we need our vials, Mythril.”

“Well I also want in on that griffon pet,” Mythril said, wondering at what pets he already must own but resisting looking at his scroll. “But how are we going to light up the tunnel?”

“I can use [Gloam’s Vision] and lead us but it means me using up all of my remaining potions and possibly needing some from you, too, Jumin.”

Jumin reached into his satchel and taking out the ring pouch handed one to Selrah, “First, take this,” he said, and then pushed it back in side. “Secondly, no need. My path branched to shifter, and I don’t get a good reason to use this form often enough.”

Before they could ask what he was planning, a hoot sounded and the tall and demonic looking noxiri was now an owl. At least, Mythril imagined from the shape of him that was what he was supposed to be. But, just as he was made of bone and branch as a noxiri, he was as an owl. Its wings spread out in a breadth of thin white bone, his legs dark branches dangling below as he took flight, his head, a skull and nothing more but sharp purple eyes glowing from the black sockets.

He hooted again and then flew off ahead of them.

“That’s all well and good for him but what are we supposed to do?” Selrah said, fishing into her satchel to retrieve a vial. “Times like this I wish you’d branched off into a Holy Knight and not Magi.”

Mythril’s attention was no longer on what else she was saying, or doing, a Magi Knight. That didn’t sound at all like the kind of path he would have chosen to have taken, although he knew that your calling didn’t take its shape based on what you wanted, but on what you were. What about his personality could have taken him down that path, of all paths. He didn’t get chance to think any more on this, a splash of liquid in his face interrupting any other thoughts.

“Why?” he shouted, rubbing his eyes from the stinging sensation.

“It was Jumin,” he heard Selrah call out. “He flew around my head as I was about to drink it and because the enpee came out of know where it surprised me and… I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

Mythril was grinning as he wiped away the liquid. Even in his own made up version of enpee he had no idea what it meant, but it looked like it was beginning to take on a new meaning of its own.

“I’m fine,” he rubbed his eyes clear and in the light from the hole above he could see Jumin hovering in front of them. “Let’s follow him then.”

They continued down the tunnel, following the direction of the calls in the dark. He had taken hold of Selrah’s wrist and she led him forward until they came to a sudden stop and he walked into her back.

“What is it?” he whispered, as it felt right to do.

“It stops here.”

It was Jumin’s voice and after it he heard a patting sound of wood on wood.

“It’s a trap door of some sort. Follow my voice and help me try and push it up.”

He felt a hand wrap around his own, he knew it to be Selrah’s because it felt of flesh and not wood. She pushed his hand upwards and the three of them counted down and then pushed hard on to the wood. It budged upwards, flooding the tunnel with light and allowing them to get a better luck at where they were, if only for a moment.

“Did you see that?” Jumin said, his voice tremulous. “Is that the work of…”

“It’s not a warlock,” Selrah answered before his question could be asked.

“Okay, again,” said Mythril, “push again.” His voice was as rushed as their movements became. The sight of what was in the mud of the walls around them one he knew they would have to see again once the trapdoor was fully lifted, and one he was hoping to be free from soon.

The force with which they pushed manoeuvred upwards, flinging it back. It attempted to swing back on its hinges but Jumin, being taller than the others, held his hand against it and more softly pushed. This time leaving it to bounce into place.

Collectively they drew in a deep breath and stared at their surroundings.

Faces, distorted and frozen in pain, pushed out from the mud. Hands held back by the roots of trees reached out in desperation. All were dead, not that Mythril knew how they would have been able to save them.

“We need to get into the cabin.” He tore his eyes away from the monstrous faces and looked for something to help them. “There has to be something we can use.”

“I’ll fly up and then pull you in,” Jumin said. He didn’t hesitate to transform, and no sooner had he been an owl again was he a noxiri, reaching down to take their hands.

Selrah went first, Mythril helping by pushing her up by her ankles. Next, he reached up and together Jumin and Selrah pulled him into the cabin.