Barry walked quietly, slowly, following behind Lady Dagmar and followed in turn by the others. Their guide was a woman, an elf that wasn’t an elf, it seemed. Her hair was long and black, combed into a ponytail that reached all the way down to her calves. Her clothes were a simple set of green leather that had all the signs of repurposed foliage. She held a bow on her right hand, one that was twice her own height.

Barry didn’t see any quiver with arrows.

The maiden did not speak, she was feral apparently, but there was an air about her that didn’t feel wild. She felt… in control.

“Why… do they all look the same?” Barry dared break the silence after they’d been following.

The guide eyed him, and he felt movement in the corner of his eyes. But that was all.

Dagmar was the one to scowl at him. “Did my daughter not teach you how ferals reproduce?”

“I mean, I remember she made an offhand comment that young maidens could become pregnant on their own. Particularly ferals.” He declared defensively. “But that means they’re copies of one another?”

“Close enough. Now hush and follow, we are straining their patience enough already.”

Despite the vitriol in her words, the Warlock spoke with a calm gentle touch that Barry found equal parts reassuring and eerie. A part of him could probably prefer it over the more detached tone that always made him feel like she was speaking to a thorn on her side.

Though she was still doing that.

Barry was pretty sure it had to do with him being bonded to her daughter. Or maybe it was because he was human? The chiding tone never really felt that way. Always personal in some fashion, which he couldn’t really blame her much for.

A streak of color drew Barry’s attention away from the inner monologue.

They’d rounded past another of the behemoths of wood that made up the forest and entered somewhere… different. It was the woods, it was made of gigantic trees that stretched up into seemingly infinity, but it was different. The somber darkness was gone, now light streaked down all the way to the forest floor, beams that made the three large trees in the center seem that much more… surreal.

Where the forest of giants had grown tall, these trio of trees had grown wide. Their branches were thicker than buildings, spreading at least a hundred meters from the massively thick trunks if not more. They entwined with the taller trees at the very edge of the…

This is the grove. THE grove.

The realization feels like a physical force striking him.

Barry’s eyes widen and he realizes he’s not alone in this shock. Lush green thrives in every direction. The formerly chaotic and wild roots the size of small houses were spread evenly like spokes of a wheel. There are cottages on those very roots, small constructions that had seemingly been grown out of the very trees. And between the roots, where the ground was exposed… grass, flowers, and shrubbery. So much of it, a rainbow of colors that dots every available inch.

“Only walk on the roots.”

The warning brings a chill to the group, and everyone obliges, following, marching in a single line. As they approached, Barry began to notice something was… off. The shrubbery and flowers and grass were spread about in a way that appeared to have a design to it. Oblong shapes of vegetation that were spread uniformly with one another, forming irregular rows and rows. He could only frown at it as he tried to discern what he was looking at exactly.

They continued walking, marching up the root, each wide enough to work as a highway, and towards the massive trunk of the tree. And Barry’s eyes could not move away from the area that lay between the roots. Something about it felt familiar.

It didn’t click until they’d reached the trunk.

“It’s a cemetery.”

His eyes widened. Rows upon rows.

“They are alive, boy. That is why you are here.” Dagmar hissed at him as he stared.

How many were there? At least several hundreds, maybe more, definitely more. He was just looking at a fraction of the entire grove. What had Dagmar said? Hundreds of years of elves coming here whenever they started going feral.

“How are they alive?” Lala couldn’t help but ask, equally stunned as Barry had been.

“The plants keep them alive, it is part of their power. But these are the weaker elves.”

Dagmar gestured for them to continue, and so they did, marching. And Barry realized that each of the areas between the spokes of the wheels had different vegetation. While some had been shrubs, others had small trees, and a few even appeared covered in thick vines.

Each of them an elf, sleeping, slumbering, right under the vegetation, being kept alive, waiting… waiting…

Barry felt a slight shudder. The thought of it was depressing and morbid and exciting in equal measure. So many people just laying there, for hundreds of years. It was as if it had been plucked straight out of a fairy-tale.

If that was the case, what was he, then? He was no prince charming, and if he squinted at Dagmar, he was fairly sure she’d be a passable evil crone. That almost made him laugh, he made sure to keep quiet.

They circled around the trunk of the tree, walking over the roots, and walking down towards the tree closest to the center of the grove. It was much like the other three, but Barry couldn’t help feeling a sense of anticipation as they approached. The dark-haired protectors had emerged, on the branches, on the roots, atop the small huts built onto the trees.

Each of them looked at their group with those unfocused eyes that seemed to stare into infinity. They were staring through them as they approached, smooth treebark under their feet a clear sign these roots had been used innumerable times over the centuries. A place so old Barry felt like it was no different to one of those ancient cathedrals in Europe.

Except this was not dead stone. It was alive.

The air felt thick enough to leave a light taste in his mouth. Something that smelled of earth and tasted of wildberries. Barry’s body was tingling, his goosebumps ran over his body the closer they got to the main tree.

He saw their destination. It was a groove within the tree’s massive bark. Sunken like an alcove, and adorned in moss and flowers that were growing out of the tree itself. From a distance it seemed like a door, but the closer they got the clearer it became it was no such thing.

There was someone within the groove.

Her body rested into the tree, slightly inclined, the only thing about her that was visible was her face, the rest covered in moss and tree bark. It was a stunningly beautiful face that was just as severe. Her hair was a pool of gold, a wreath of red roses adorning her like a crown, her skin fair but healthy.

She looked like she were sleeping.

That she could, at any moment, open her eyes and stand.

“Who is she?”

“The first Elven Queen. A motherless maiden. Her name was lost to time.”

Gasps were heard all around, Barry could only frown. The question was apparent in his expression.

“It means she was amongst the first maidens created. Perhaps the only one left alive in this world overrun by humans and greed.” Dagmar nodded slowly at him. “It is our hope that you will wake her.”

“How?”

“Touch her and you will know.” The old woman’s eyes twinkled. “You must submit to her. Her power is great enough even in her sleep it should be possible.”

He gulped.

Suddenly all eyes were on him, and not just those of Dagmar and the travel companions. The dark haired archers were looking at him as well, there was something to that look that felt dangerous and… hopeful. However feeble, however distant those eyes were, there was a twinkle of light upon them as Barry stepped forward.

He looked upon the sleeping maiden, and reached out.

His skin was buzzing, jolts running through him as if he were being shocked by the very static in the air. Barry’s breath caught in his throat the moment he made contact with the bark covering the nameless maiden’s resting place.

The world spun around him.

He was suddenly not in a grove.

Barry stood upon a hill.

He looked down upon a city. It was not of stone and wood but of cement and steel and glass. A modern city, he saw cars and people, he saw pavement and street lamps. Barry could only gasp and stare as the city stood, smoke and smog mixing in with claxons and the normal bustle of civilization.

And the next instant something happened.

A singular massive tree sprouted from the center of the city, towering over everything else, its roots spreading like snakes. More trees grew, and suddenly there were explosions. Fire and screams as the roots kept growing, almost as fast as the cars could attempt to escape.

The concrete broke, the roots squeezed the buildings to powder, vines grew and bent steel. The people screamed, moss growing over their bodies like slick oil-stains, they’d fall, and the grass would swallow them whole.

“Well?” The word startled him, and he turned.

The woman, the Elf Queen, stood next to him. Eyes of green peered through him, she was beautiful and terrible all the same. In her hands was a collar. And in her eyes he could see the deep unwavering anger. Impatience, expectation, and unwavering determination.

Barry felt the grass under his feet reaching up, tensing around his legs, tugging him down to his knees.

He didn’t wait, he fled.

The illusion broke around him.

The world spun back into existence.

He was on his back, drenched and trembling, his mouth had opened in a silent scream that had never managed to escape his lips.

“Barry.” It was Lala, her voice was a hiss, tense. “Do. Not. Move.”

It took a moment to realize what was going on. The protectors had their bows at the ready. Every single bow tense, arrows ready. Barry lay on the bark, hands open and eyes wide even as the closest of the elves had been aiming at him specifically.

“We will leave now.”

Dagmar’s declaration startled them.

“Wait, I-.” Barry couldn’t just walk out, not like this, not when there were other elves he could try and wake up.

More reasonable Elves.

“This is not by choice. You are no longer a guest.” The Warlock declared, her face a mask of calmness but her eyes filled with fury. “We have failed.”