"Does that cunning woman know of your abilities yet?" Ydric's voice cut through the forest's stillness. Datura, sword in hand, stepped over tangled roots and pushed deeper into the woods. "It's not like I'm hiding it," he replied, "But I definitely had not said anything about it."
Datura's fingers traced the hilt of the sword, and as if in response, his palm bloomed with delicate petals. He experimented, and a thorn bush sprouted from the earth—a memory of power he wielded in the heart of Verdant. With a stomp, petals erupted, suspended in midair until he flicked them, slicing through tree branches like a blade.
"This is a grant from Adhara, isn't it?" Datura's curiosity danced with the petals. Ydric's voice dripped with caution. "Hone it, King of Adri. Wield it confidently in battle. Soon, you won't need that woman's prowess."
Datura scoffed. "If you'd given me these overpowered abilities from the start, I wouldn't have needed anyone else." His sarcasm hung in the air, mingling with the scent of crushed petals.
Shock and wonder warred on Datura's face. Like a child discovering a hidden treasure, he grinned—a madman returning to the Zen house, petals trailing in his wake. The house exhaled warmth, tendrils of steam rising from the hot spring that kissed the chill air. Datura stepped across the threshold, eyes adjusting to the dim light. There, at the edge of the wooden patio, sat Sera—legs dangling, toes dipping into the soothing water.
Her head turned, and wonder danced in her eyes as they settled on Datura's satisfied face. "Why are you loitering flowers in my house?" she teased, her voice a honeyed melody. "Quiet romantic, if I hadn't known better, I'd think you liked me."
Datura's shock was a petal blooming within him. He hadn't realized he was conjuring flora throughout his walk. It wasn't that he'd hidden it intentionally; rather, revealing it hadn't been part of his plan. But here, with Sera's gaze upon him, he decided to bare the truth.
"There are many things you don't know about me," he began, "but you'll need to learn. I've been blessed by Adhara, granted the power of flowers and nature." His hand twitched, petals unfurling like secrets. "I discovered this gift after waking up in the Verdant forest."
Sera's words hung in the air like petals caught in a breeze. "You definitely had the blessing of Adhara, my King," she murmured. "It's not uncommon for a human to receive such a grant, but you're different. Perhaps you possess the blood of a divine."
Datura's jaw tightened as he shook his head. "A mongrel, a halfling," he echoed bitterly. "They say they have a higher chance of Adhara's favor. Her divine beings—no secret that they've bestowed their blessings." Sera's voice held no filter, only raw truth.
"But this grant," Datura continued, "it didn't save me. Betrayed, killed—a conspiracy by my own kin. Only after death did it awaken. How convenient." Sera's fingers moved through her hair, thoughtful. "Perhaps it was suppressed," she mused. "Dormant for so long, waiting for the right moment."
The possibility struck Datura like a thorn. Poison immunity, accidental and unexplained. Did he have to die to awaken this power? Or was there more to unravel in the tangled roots of his existence?
The roots of Datura's mother held secrets, their tendrils reaching deep into the soil of his existence. But unraveling Sera—she who seemed to know more than the whispers of leaves—was equally crucial. Had she gleaned her knowledge from news articles about Adri, or did her insights run deeper? Datura hoped she wouldn't mistake his mother for a witch, for the truth was far more intricate.
"The mermaid," Lucas inquired, shifting the conversation. "Where is she?"
"In one of the chambers," Sera replied. "Her wounds aren't grave, but fatigue and stress weigh upon her."
"Are you suggesting we offer her to Eldri?" Sera's curiosity danced in her eyes, her finger twirling a strand of hair.
"She possesses value," Sera continued, teasing. "A tempting choice for the King of Eldri, with his peculiar taste in treasures."
Datura smirked. "An adventurous and wild taste, indeed."
Sera's bitterness lingered in the air. "I don't like him," she confessed, "but I'll follow you, my King." In her words, loyalty and defiance wove a delicate tapestry, and Datura wondered how many thorns lay hidden within its threads. "Why the hate?" Datura's words danced on the edge of mischief, a playful revenge for all the times Sera had irked him. "Bet he doesn't fancy you, or perhaps you've been rejected? Did that wound your pride?"
Sera's eyes narrowed, but her tone remained light. "He has a champion," she admitted, "one I'd rather avoid. And that King—well, he enjoys playing sick games." Her words held a wary edge, like a blade concealed beneath silk. A puzzle, this woman, with secrets laced into her laughter.
The morning breeze caressed the salmon-haired mermaid as Datura carried her—a delicate burden—like a sack of potatoes. Her head spun from the upside-down position, and she clung to consciousness. A pristine cloth enveloped her tail, concealing its iridescent scales. Since waking, she hadn't uttered a word, merely nodding when breakfast was offered. Fear danced in her eyes—the yellow-eyed woman, a predator sizing up prey. The mermaid vowed not to provoke her; survival depended on it.
The journey through Seaport Market felt like a march toward doom. Would she be auctioned to vendors or ensnared by nobles seeking exotic pets for their vast mansions? But they bypassed the bustling market, the vibrant red district, and ventured deeper into the heart of the land. Past the mini forest, where sunlight filtered through leaves, they arrived at a swamp. Overgrown vines hung from bald cypress trees, their secrets whispered in the breeze.
And there, nestled by the murky water, rested a small boat. Its timeworn planks bore witness to countless journeys. A ragged man, teeth missing, extended a grubby hand, demanding payment. "Three gold nuggets, my precious passengers," he croaked. Sera obliged, placing the gleaming coins in his palm. In response, he produced a long pole—a conjuring act that defied logic, magic.
Sera led the way onto the boat, and Datura followed suit, gently placing the mermaid beside them. Her expression held a blend of fear and wonder—the unknown stretching before her like an uncharted sea. The ragged man, last to board, wielded his long pole, propelling them forward. The murky ride was a symphony of low growls and enigmatic sounds, each ripple in the water echoing the mermaid's trepidation. She peered into the dark green expanse, vines clinging to ancient trees like secrets whispered through time.
An hour passed, and they arrived at a peculiar village—a place where mushroom-roofed houses huddled together. This was no ordinary hamlet; it was a witches' den, a haven for alchemists and sorcerers alike. Valadri, hidden and nestled south of Verdant, harbored those with clandestine agendas and shadowed intentions. Datura hoisted the mermaid onto his shoulder once more, dread and worry intertwining. She lifted her head, her gaze drawn to a white-haired young witch. The witch's straw doll bore a striking resemblance to a fish—perhaps a twisted reflection of the mermaid herself. The air thickened with magic, and the mermaid knew: her fate hung in the balance on the thread of this eerie swamp village.
The purple mushroom house stood before them, its entrance a curtain of stringed beads. Each bead bore a symbol, etched with ancient chants. As they stepped inside, the air thickened with magic—a den of witchcraft unfolded. Books lined the walls, candles flickering like forgotten memories. A skull rested on the floor, its eyeballs fashioned from blue jewels. A solitary chair and a table draped in crimson cloth occupied the room. Upon that table lay cards inscribed with cryptic symbols and arcane knowledge. And at the heart of it all—a crystal, resplendent, cradling galaxies within its glowing core.
The witch awaited them—an embodiment of age and mystery. Her nose rivaled the doo doo bird's beak, her gray hair a cascade of unruly strands. Her voice, raspy and ancient, wove poetry and riddles. "What do you seek?" she intoned, eyes piercing their souls. Her question hung in the air,
"You think you could give her a spell? She needs feet." Sera said and unraveled the cloth that was covering the mermaid's tail, The mermaid's light blue tail, once concealed, now shimmered under the crystal's glow, casting kaleidoscopic patterns within the dark cove. The witch's grin revealed teeth akin to the ragged man's—checkered and worn. Her eyes, though, held a heat that scorched like the sun, piercing Sera's very essence.
"I think I know you, pretty face," the witch murmured, leaning closer to inspect Sera. The air thickened with curiosity and ancient recognition.
Sera stood her ground, unyielding even as the witch's breath—deadly and rank—brushed her skin. "I run the biggest courtesan house in Valadri," she declared, twirling a strand of hair around her finger—a habit not lost on Datura. The witch's expression shifted, a blank canvas before she smirked, dismissing it all.
"Boastful, aren't you?" The witch's voice dripped with envy and insecurity. "But then again, that's what a pretty face does, isn't it?" In her words, layers of magic and vulnerability intertwined, revealing more than mere vanity.
"But I like this boy," the witch declared, her gaze unwavering on Datura Lucas. "Give him to me in exchange for the mermaid's feet. I'll bestow upon her a ring imbued with magic—wear it, and her tail shall transform into legs. Isn't that a splendid bargain?"
Datura arched an eyebrow, unyielding. Sera's expression remained inscrutable, her composure unshaken by the outrageous demand. "Not him," she replied, her voice now frosty. "Choose something else."
The witch's eyes gleamed with ancient knowledge. "So you see it too, huh?" she mused. "I don't blame you. I'll take his shiny sword instead. Deal?" In her words, a dance of shadows and secrets—a pact forged in the murky heart of Valadri.
"Deal," Sera's voice cut through the murky air, her gaze unyielding as she locked eyes with the witch. "Give me the ring."
The witch, undeterred, gathered her materials—an ox tail, a silver ring, kraken's ink, toenails, and questionable blood. The cloying scent of dried herbs and a vulture's feather hung heavy in the cove. With practiced precision, she mixed the ingredients in the cauldron, chanting words from her ancient book of witchcraft. The brew simmered, dark and foreboding, until it evaporated, leaving only the silver ring behind.
Sera accepted it cautiously. "Let us try it first," she said, her skepticism palpable. The witch handed her the ring, and Sera approached the terrified mermaid. The ring slid onto the mermaid's middle finger, and the air shifted—a current of magic weaving through the cove. Her tail peeled away, melting like mist, until a pair of legs emerged. The mermaid clung to the white cloth, her newfound flesh tingling with unfamiliar sensations. Every touch felt foreign, every step a revelation.
"Real, right?" The witch's pride radiated. She had reshaped destiny. Datura was in awe, amazed at the transformation that happened before his eyes. "Your sword is a big payment, you might want to see your future in this orb." The witch offered. "Shall I see then?" Lucas asked, curiosity and caution warring within him.
The witch's gestures summoned the magical orb—a crystal that swirled like liquid glitter. Within its depths, a vivid tableau emerged: a storm, soldiers locked in battle, castles crumbling like ancient secrets. Fire ignited, consuming all in its path. And then—the datura flower, lethal and beautiful, its petals shattering like glass as a sword descended. The vision shifted, revealing a throne where a man in crimson sat, laughter echoing through the cove. Chills prickled Datura's skin, and he sensed danger lurking in the shadows.
But Ydric's voice, urgent and alarmed, cut through the enchantment. "King of Adri, this is a trap—run!"
A knife aimed for Datura's heart, but he deftly used his sword as a shield, stepping back to avoid the impact. Sera, equally swift, conjured flames toward the witch, only to have them extinguished with a wave of her hand. The witch grinned, her laughter echoing through the cove. "Blessed with the Fire of Adhara, incomparable beauty, and a body that could ensnare men and sailors in your bed," she taunted. "And you harbor this man. Aren't you a greedy little bitch?" Her wrinkled face twisted into a wicked smile.
Sera's resolve remained unshaken. "Greedy? No, I deserve all this!" She hurled another fireball, but it vanished before reaching the witch—a forcefield of invincibility. Datura, too, acted swiftly, summoning thorn bushes that gripped the witch's legs, binding her hands.
"Run!" Datura's command cut through the chaos. He carried the limping mermaid, fleeing the witch's cove.