People who enclose themselves from society and into the desolate wilderness of the forest are people not to be taken lightly.

Whether it'd be because of misanthropy that had led them here into isolation or ambition to become something even greater than the great, the people who are willing to walk out of the comfort of public security are prepared for what's not going to be there to save them. They're saving themselves, in some sense.

Therein lies a possible answer for why the woman who was guiding him had literal fungi growing out of her skin and clothes. The roots of the foreign mushrooms were hanging off her pointy hat, swaying gently among the cold breeze of the night. Her hair had jaded away in colour, from that cherry red hair to a murky brown and finally the graying at the end of her hair.

And that smell, that rather confusing smell that she exudes. It could just be the spores that he's accidentally inhaling every now and again which in itself, was a cause for concern but there's no such thing as mushrooms that can infect a living human. Then again, the woman in front of her exists, so what's to say?

"How far away are we?" The man hidden behind the cloak asked.

"The lake. Isn't. Faaaar." The fungus woman answered. Her voice was cracking and breathy, unable to speak more than two to three words at a time before having to stop. Possible fungal growth inside her throat.

Their footsteps trod through the overgrown roots and the ever so growing forest mushrooms. The man had himself a lantern before he left but it was unlit. His guide was not too privy to light so it was better not to. That also meant he needed to keep close to her so that he doesn't lose her in the dark. He covered his nose as he did.

For a while, they trek. Every now and again, the woman would cough out the spores in her throat. Her body would shrink and slouch as her hand would clench her heart. And every time she did so, the man would gently rub and pat her back out of sympathy.

"'Tis but. Nothing." The mushroom witch said. "Your. Majesty. I am. Not dying."

"I worry much so myself. You don't usually cough this badly." He replied.

"Careless. I was. Didn't. Clean. Thrrrrroooat." She was struggling to even cough out the words too. "A month. Then it will. Be gone."

"I pray it does, Alga."

And they moved forward.

Alga had no need for light in her forest, for she knew even the smallest corners like the back of her hand. Where to pick, where to stop, and where to cough to spread the spores appropriately in the forest. In the loose sense, she was the one who had to manage the ecosystem. People didn't like her still, and she couldn't care less.

But the man behind her, the majesty. He was not a guest she was expecting in the dead of night. His castle was far from here, his kingdom, his people. All of them were miles and miles away. What was he doing so far from home?

"Bring me to the Lake of Disparity." He'd requested of Alga when they met. The Lake of Disparity is a lake hidden in the Fungal Forest. A lake that supposedly glimmers brightly, especially under the moonlight. Of course, such a thing would be tied with many tall tales spoken from person to person.

Legends of a sword buried deep beneath the lake that can vanquish all evil, a charming lady in white who offers you two items when you drop something into the lake or perhaps a dragon who guards the mythical lake that can grant a wish to anyone who seeks it out. All of the farce that you'd expect from a drunken old man in a pub.

The king casts all doubt upon these hoax stories meant to pull wool at life, because he knew what the lake really was in truth.

They reach upon an opening in the gloomy forest, away from the oversized mushrooms and eyes that lurk in the dark. The lake they seek was smaller than what stories would imply. No less bigger than the diameter of a wooden hut, it was more akin to a large pond than a lake.

"This. Is it." Alga uttered behind the tucked scarf that hid her mouth.

The man of supposed royalty nodded. "Indeed."

The surface of the water was indeed glowing, but it was hard to tell. From a single glance, most people can just immediately dismiss it as reflecting the moonlight that shines from above but, there was no moonlight to mirror upon. The clouds forbade it.

He placed his lantern gently upon the edge of the lake, delicately removing his boots and placing his feet upon the luminescent grass. Before he could even dip one toe into the water, a hand was placed upon his broad shoulder.

"Wait." The witch said. "Not yet. Moon must. Be seen."

"But the moon is already upon the lake." He pointed out the ever so waving yet calm image of the moon. The fungus woman shook her head.

"Cannot. Else, consequences."

Her finger that had intertwined with the roots of a mushroom directs itself towards the dark firmament.

"Wait. Until clouds. Gone."

The king stared at the witch for a moment, her face was illuminated for once. Through her messy hair were mushrooms poking out, jutting out from where her right eye would be. He could barely see it through the fungi, the eye socket in which they grew out from. Biologically, she shouldn't be alive but this world already defied logic or rather, a different standard of logic.

Slowly, Alga lets go before she herself rests upon the grass as well. Stand as she could, she wasn't the most physically adaptive.

For a while, the Lake of Disparity brightened the dark woods. No words to be shared, only the mingling silence accompanied them for that few minutes stretching onto what felt like hours. Hours of just staring at their own reflections. Alga wasn't staring at hers, she was staring at his majesty's.

Ill-content, the look in his eyes was ill-content at his own face. As if he himself was a criminal who wrongly murdered his own mother in a fit of rage and now laments his actions. It was strange, knowing that the king himself was the hero who saved the world from the vile Demon Lord.

The hero, yes, the hero. Alga could remember the first time they met. It was like meeting a shining beacon of hope. That smile that can wash away any worries, the might that can surmount an army and the will that can never burn out, even in the bleakest of nights. It stung her eye, her skin and soul but, it was a pleasant feeling during the brink of nightmares.

But every man is not absolved from the sins that they have done in life. As heroic of a hero the king was, he was not an exception surely. Perhaps his guilt had come to eat his heart out to the point he could not smile as he once did. Worn down from life, too many scars, Alga knew how it all came to be like that oh so well.

Although, she has one question.

"Why?" Her sore voice broke the silence. "Why, here?"

His majesty's lips tightened for a moment before a dry chuckle escaped. "Why indeed."

Then, hushed again. A pause.

Was it a terrible secret, the witch of the Fungal Forest thought to herself.

Alga willed herself to harken to dread as she placed her decrepit arm over her chest. "I promise, thee. I will. Not. Tell."

The king's figure shrinks, ashamed most likely. Alga remains patient. If she could lift some burden off the hero that saved the land from certain doom, then she herself can die quietly with content knowing that she has served a purpose besides growing mushrooms in and out of herself.

Slowly, the man raised his head.

"I am not your king."

The witch turned her head over rather quickly, perplexed. "What do you. Mean?"

"I am not the hero that you met. He's gone."

Confusion, that was the main thing swirling inside the witch's fungal infected brain. Has her eyes faded out so much she accidentally thought a random person was the hero? No, it couldn't be. No normal person would walk this far in and be willing to talk with her. A woman who was less human than the Farblights.

Blinking, Alga speaks. "Do you jest?"

"I wish I was."

The thought of the hero dying, it made her subconsciously growl.

"Then. Who. Are. You?"

And the hoax king breathed in before carefully choosing his words.

"Not from here. Not from this world. I'm homesick, and I want to go home." His eyes darted towards the moon lake. "This lake is my only chance."

The clouds finally move on. The light finally shines above the Lake of Disparity. Somehow, the lake glimmers even more than it did.

The witch looked ahead. The true purpose of the Lake of Disparity was naught of all the woven fairy tales people made up. The Lake of Disparity is a gate, the entrance and the exit. The pathway to leaving, the pathway to entering. It wasn't the only one, but it was the quietest.

Then, was the man she was sitting with a summoned hero? No, he wasn't a hero, then how did he come to be here? Why does he look so similar to the hero who slew the Demon Lord? Why is the Hero of Hope dead?!

"I apologize sincerely, Alga." He stood up. "But I'm afraid that if I tell you more, then you won't let me go."

"Just. Tell." She swiftly grabs his leg, the rising anger forthcoming through her voice. "Tell. Me!"

"...I'm looking for my family."

"Family?" The witch almost scoffed. "What family?"

"My husband. My son." He said. "I miss them so. I miss them so much. So if you would please, let me go find them."

Once again, Alga was perplexed by this strange man. He has a husband and son? Was he attracted to the same sex? The hero was married to a woman and she herself had bore his child as well. If news came out that he was also attracted to the same gender then… Wait, could it be?

"Pray tell." She lets go rather roughly. "Woman?"

To her assumption, the 'man' laughed rather half-heartedly.

"Ahahahah… I thought I'd need to explain it to you. Fortunately, not, I suppose."

Confusion swirling into anger to then confusion again.

"Explain." The witch barked.

"I wouldn't be able to, Alga." The woman trapped in the body of the hero said. "Only hazy memories left during the time when I had somehow found myself looking through the hero's body. I could not move, I could not speak. I could only watch and feel all the gruesome pain and triumph of the Hero of Hope."

The 'man' took one step into the shallow lake, his pants trudging through the crystal waters.

"One night, I had somehow taken control. Next to his lying wife, cold sweat poured down my pale face. The idea of being able to move willingly, scared the living hell out of me."

One more step closer to the center, one more step closer to the waiting moon.

"I know I am not the hero who saved the world, the king who should govern a kingdom, that is why I choose to leave. I am not him."

"Running. You are. Running." Alga said, not wasting anymore time as she also walked into the shallow lake as well, her long overgrown skirt drenched as well.

A pathetic laugh. "I know. But I have my right to live too."

Upon the reflection of the moon above, the false hero sat. The water had risen up to his chest, calm ripples of breathing as he watched the more fearsome waves caused by the witch. He was fine with it.

Just as when she was standing in front of him, the witch only stared. It was hard to tell beneath the twilight. Whether it was contempt or pity that was looking at him.

"How. Long?" She asked.

"Since he was born. About twenty-four odd years, if memory serves me right." Somberly, he answered. "He was a young king, fit to rule for decades lo--"

"Speak. No more..!" The witch glared.

"...I understand."

A silence only shed through mourning. Accidental or not.

The wind blows through the dark forest once again.

"Do you. Even remember. Name?" Alga had suddenly asked. The 'man' lowered his head and closed his eyes, as if trying to remember the old name he was supposed to have.

"Ah… my name…" He whispered. "...Leah. I was Leah once."

"Leah." The witch said. "I will. Remember."

The moon watches as the Witch of the Fungal Forest started ripping apart the mushrooms from her body and spreaded it all across the lake. The waters grew brighter in colour, lighting up the entire surrounding of the forest in succession.

To open the gate, there must be a catalyst. Something strong in mana, and the odd mushrooms of the Fungal Forest were dense with them, especially the ones attached to Alga.

Incoherent words fell from the witch's mouth, each spelling making the air denser and harder to breathe.

Leah knew of this rite. The Rite of Passage, something that the hero discovered along his journey to summon or return another hero back home. Innumerable ways to perform such, all of them required some sort of altar to execute. The Lake of Disparity, lies above an old buried altar to perform such a ceremony.

The final words have been said. Leah closes her eyes as the darkness leaves every corner of her eye. But before she could be enveloped, Alga shoved the false hero's head inside the body of water. From shock, Leah struggled for a moment beneath the lake.

"Close. Your. Eyes. Calm. Do not. Open."

Were the muffled words of the witch before the darkness dimmed the false hero's eyes again. The blotches spread before all that was left was the incoherent darkness.

Darkness, yes, darkness. Floating, floating so far away from the world. Absorbed, swirling, tunneling darkness. Was she flying? Was she falling? Awake? Or asleep? One can only know, until one opens their eyes.

The surface. Leah gasped for air above the lake. The short golden hair of the hero she killed was soaked, green eyes desperately looking left and right to gain altitude over where she was. She was swimming in a much wider and larger lake.

Trees gathered around the edges of the lake, appearing more like standing black toothpicks from the distance. There seems to be an odd structure among them but it was hard to make out. Either she was in the literal wilderness or she was in some national park somewhere and that's a watchtower.

But one thing was for certain.

The moon was still there, but it wasn't the same moon surely.

Leah was home. Drenched and not in her original body, but she was surely home.

Suddenly, floodlights shined upon her face.

"Hey! Who's there!?"

And that was definitely the park ranger.