"You're not from here, are you?" Her voice, like sweet poison, wrapped around Lucas. It was soft yet sharp, enchanting and dangerous all at once. He wove a lie, a fragile thread to protect himself. "No, my colleagues left me here. I'm kind of lost, but I must thank you for saving me," Lucas replied, his words veiled in half-truths. The woman's magic had been impressive—killing the drake in a single shot was nothing short of incredible.
"You're hurt," she observed, her eyes assessing his tattered clothes and bleeding hands. "You can come with me."
Lucas hesitated. Stubbornness warred with survival. He needed answers, a second chance at life. "Fine, then," he said, as if granting her a favor. The forest enveloped them in silence, and Lucas's mind raced. He had been betrayed, murdered. His throne stolen. Now he stood in an unfamiliar place, the air thick with secrets. How had he returned from death's embrace? And why did an ancient heirloom sword now speak to him?
As they trekked through the forest, Lucas pondered his existence. Divine creatures were not mere myths; they were woven into the fabric of reality. His mother's tales and dusty books held fragments of truth. But here, surrounded by mossy trees and glowing eyes, he faced a new chapter—one where survival meant trusting the enigmatic woman in red.
After a journey through the tall, dark trees and the foggy atmosphere, the eerily quiet forest gradually transformed. Fruit-bearing trees, cornfields, and beat-up farmhouses emerged, signaling their exit from the mysterious woods.
"Do you know where we are?" The woman's hair bounced as she walked, her movements reminiscent of a lazy cat. "Oh yes, I'm sure we're near Adri," Lucas replied confidently. He surmised that he had been thrown south of Adri, perhaps into the Mistwood Marsh—a place rumored to be home to beasts and witches.
"Adri? We're two kingdoms away from Adri. It's Verdadri, if you mean," The woman corrected him. "Huh?" Clearly flabbergasted, Lucas's breath caught. He wondered, "How long does it take to travel from Adri to here?"
"If it's just me, I can reach Adri in a week. But if you're taking a cart, expect it to be at least five weeks," she explained. Her long robe billowed as she hoisted it up to avoid getting wet from the river they were passing.
"A month—I've been rotting for a month, huh," Lucas murmured to himself, the weight of his situation sinking in. "You're sayin'?" The woman inquired, her curiosity piqued. "I'm saying that you haven't cared to tell me your name," Lucas replied, his voice a sweet blend of fake amusement and intrigue.
"Aren't you going to do it first? I saved your behind, in case you forgot," The woman retorted, observing her wispy long lashes that could ensnare any grown man's attention. "It's Lucas—Lucas Devriel," he introduced himself. "And?" she pressed, her eyes unyielding. Lucas echoed, "And?"
"Your title," the woman stated matter-of-factly. "I don't have any," Lucas lied through his teeth."Perhaps you're a king," she mused, her gaze lingering on him. Lucas's internal monologue turned colorful. "And if I am? What would you do?"
The woman's laughter danced through the air. She led him through a wooden gate, into a zen house surrounded by gardens and an enormous pond. The polished floor reflected their images, and Lucas noticed that she wore no shoes. He stepped inside, heedless of his muddy footwear sullying the pristine surface. She gestured toward a room with sliding doors—an unfamiliar interior that intrigued him. Cushions replaced chairs, and they both settled on opposite sides of a low table.
Sera, the enigmatic woman, leaned right on her elbow, her figure accentuated by the falling robe. Smooth skin peeked from the fabric, and her eyes held a sweet yet sinister gleam. She plucked a grape from the fruit basket, her gaze never leaving Datura Lucas, the man who had been thrust into this bewildering world.
"Tell me, King of Adri," she purred, raising her eyebrows. "What can I do for you?"
Lucas laughed, a mix of disbelief and intrigue. "Of course you knew," he replied, maintaining his confident facade. "Why else would an ordinary man possess the Sword of Ydric, right?"
But Sera's response caught him off guard. "It's not because of the sword," she said, her eyes sticky with intent. "It's because of you, your majesty."
His name rolled off her tongue—Datura Lucas—and her teasing voice danced in the air.
He scoffed, recognizing her cunning. She was no ordinary woman. "You speak like a courtesan," he retorted. "And you dare say my name with no regard for my title. How insolent."
Courtesans at the castle had left a bitter taste in his mouth. Ambitious, scheming, and always aiming for the throne, they were dangerous creatures. Lucas knew better than to underestimate Sera, even if her allure was as captivating as her arrogance.
" Datura," the name hung in the air like a forgotten melody, a haunting echo of a past life. Lucas clenched his fists, the weight of his lost kingdom pressing down on him. "Your title holds no significance to me," She spat, eyes narrowing. "You're already dead, and the people of Adri are done mourning you."
He squared his shoulders, defiance burning in his gaze. "I was king," Lucas declared, voice low and dangerous. "You are! So act your status and drop all the nonsense. Tell me you need my help."Sera's laughter danced through the room, mocking and sharp.
"That throne was stolen from me," Lucas retorted, his words a blade. "I will get it back no matter what. So I don't need to be told how to act. This"—he gestured to himself—"this is my lineage. I'll climb my way up there, even by any means necessary, without you."
Sera leaned back, her eyes assessing. "Then? How?" she asked, her tone dripping with amusement. "You don't have an army. You're no commander. And you're dead. Your looks certainly aren't enough to entice a throng of people to believe you, no matter how pretty you are."
Lucas scoffed, anger simmering beneath his skin. He pondered for a minute, then spoke. "Speak your price, Sera."
"Your gold," she replied, her gaze unyielding. He gasped, disbelief etching lines on his face. A laugh escaped him, as if he'd anticipated her answer. "Of course you do," Lucas scoffed once again, his resolve unwavering. But then Sera leaned in, mischief dancing in her eyes.
"And your body," she continued, her voice a velvet whisper. Lucas froze, caught off guard. He stared at her, silence stretching between them. Her playful tone belied the gravity of her words.
"You can tell me your decision after you've recovered," Sera said, leaning back. "You seem disoriented, so I understand your little outburst."
Lucas couldn't help it—he laughed, a bitter sound that echoed in the room. She was getting on his nerves, that much was certain. But perhaps, just perhaps, she held the key to reclaiming his throne. And if it meant bargaining with gold and flesh, so be it. The game was afoot, and Lucas was ready to play.
The pond outside the zen house steamed, its vaporous tendrils rising like forgotten memories. The moon, a silver sentinel, cast its glow upon Lucas's weary body. The heat of the water contrasted with the cold shivers of the night, a paradox that mirrored his own conflicted soul. Rustling trees whispered secrets, their leaves brushing against his skin, coaxing him into surrender.
Sera—the epitome of annoyance—had finally left him alone. She claimed business elsewhere, but Lucas knew better. She was likely ensnaring men at the courtesan house, her cunning presence a lure for fools who thought with their bodies rather than their minds. Shallow creatures, he mused, their desires as fleeting as the morning mist.
"You don't seem to take my heed to heart," Ydric's voice cut through the tranquility, sharp as the blade it once was. The talking sword, an heirloom passed down through generations, had its own peculiar temperament. "I told you not to trust that woman and to run away from her."
Lucas groaned, his patience fraying. "You're useless," he muttered, glaring at the sword. "You choose silence in dire situations, yet you find pleasure in mundane matters like this." He gestured to the steaming water, its warmth seeping into his bones.
Ydric's response was unyielding. "I will help you, but it doesn't mean I'll spell everything out for you." Lucas clenched his jaw. "Fine," he snapped. "But tell me this, what is Verdant?"
The sword hesitated, its ethereal presence wavering. "Verdant," Ydric began, "is the forest from which you hail. It holds power—a significance that resonates through this world. Protect it at all costs, Lucas. Do not let sinister forces take it for granted or exploit its beauty."
"I almost got killed again because of that drake, if not for your stupid ability, my face would've been mushed right now, but that thorn bush was genious, almost as if you can read my mind at that." Lucas said before lowering his face underwater to soak his blond head.
"It wasn't my doing," Ydric's spectral voice echoed in Lucas's thoughts. "There is something more inside you, something divine. A blessing from the gods above."
Lucas resurfaced, water droplets clinging to his blond hair. Curiosity danced in his eyes. "Me?" he asked, incredulous. "But Adhara only granted me poison immunity and keen eyesight before my revival. If there's more, then—" He raised his hand, and petals bloomed from his skin, delicate and unexpected. "I'm not sure how sprinkling flowers will aid me in battle, but I'll take all the help I can get—even if it means leaning on thorn bushes."