I had eaten wind, stone, ice, and now—fire.
And somehow, I still lived.
My shell steamed. The scarf I wore crackled softly, like leaves catching the edge of a flame. Inside, the system hummed with new echoes.
I felt full.
But more than that—
…I felt watched.
The clearing behind me was silent.
The pond rippled.
Slimes no longer attacked. No longer stirred.
But every movement I made sent something through the trees—a flutter of breath,a tremble of moss,the faint sound of wood shivering in place.
Then—
Something pushed me.
Not with a hand.Not with force.
With will.
Like a gust of intent.
My legs skittered back against the moss.
"W-What?" I whispered aloud.
A low wind curled through the clearing.Warmer than the fire.Colder than the ice.Older than either.
Then I saw her.
Not quite form.Not quite light.
A figure beneath bark and moss and silk.Slender. Tall. Ancient.
She stepped from behind a fern that hadn't been there before.Eyes like glowing sap, trailing ribbons of ash and web from her arms.
Not beast. Not elf. Not monster.
Not even a god.
She was a Warden.
"You've eaten too deeply," she said.Her voice cracked like a tree under snow.
"You were not born here. You were not meant to walk above."
I crouched lower.Not from fear.From instinct.
Like a hatchling in the presence of a nesting queen.
"Then where should I go?"
"Back."
"To the dungeon?"
"No. Back to slumber. To silk. To the hunger that birthed you."
Her voice was not cruel.
Just tired.
Like something that had seen too many things crawl too far.
I didn't move.
Not forward. Not back.
My scarf fluttered once in the wind.
And something in me—
—pushed back.
"I won't stop," I said.
"You will. Or the forest will stop you."
"You're the forest?"
"No."
She turned.
Her legs did not step—they floated.Like her feet never learned how to touch the earth.
"I am what the forest forgot."
Then I remembered the name the system whispered.
"Veyra?"
She paused.
Only slightly.
Like a shadow turning its head.
"That name is ash. Speak it no more."
The slimes pulsed once, as if in mourning.
The vines around the clearing twisted inward, as though to protect her.
And then—
She lifted her arm.
With a single motion, the path behind me vanished.
Only the path forward remained.
Up.Toward the surface.
Toward the unknown.
"Go," she said.
"Why?"
"Because your hunger will change this world."
"For better?"
"No."
"Then—"
"Because change is what we deserve."
She vanished.
No sound.No flutter.
Just the sudden absence of something watching.
I turned.
The roots above looked softer now.Sunlight peeked through cracks in the stone.
My scarf fluttered again.
"Syrri… did that really happen?"
"Yes."
"What was she?"
"What you might become.If you never stop eating, never stop forgetting."
I didn't answer.
I burrowed under a sun-warmed root, chewed a curl of moss for comfort, and crawled into the leaflight—
—into a new world.
The wind was different here.
It didn't echo in narrow tunnels or rustle through broken web.
It breathed.
Alive.
Heavy.
Listening.
Oukra Forest.
This was her name, whispered by that warden called Veyra—though she denied it.
The world that welcomed no gods, no men, and no thing born wrong.
And here I was.
A thing.
My legs pressed softly against the mulch of the forest floor.
It was too soft.
The moss here wasn't damp and glowing—it was thick and warm, touched by daylight and ancient rain.
Somewhere nearby, water trickled from a hanging vine.A squirrel-like creature, fur tipped in silver, blinked at me once, then scurried into a knothole.
Birdsong.
Leaves.
Life.
Too loud.
Too vast.
Too open.
"Syrri?" I whispered.
"Hm?"
"That warden… Veyra. Was she really part of the forest?"
"Yes. And no."
"Helpful."
"She's a Warden-Class Remnant. That's not her original body."
"Then what is she?"
"A survival instinct. Wrapped in a form the forest remembers."
I paused beside a root the size of a wagon.Above it, sunlight broke through the canopy in golden strips, landing on my scarf like lines from a dream.
"She said she was what the forest forgot."
"Because the forest chose to forget. And yet... it remembers enough to send her."
"To stop me?"
"To test you."
"Did I pass?"
"You survived."
A leaf brushed against my cheek.
It wasn't large, but it trembled when I passed.
The trees whispered to each other as I walked beneath them.My silk limbs were too quiet. My presence too new.
I didn't belong.
But I walked.
Roots twisted like bridges across narrow ravines.Ferns curled upward like hands reaching for sun.In the distance, I heard something roar—a beast I had no name for, whose shadow never reached the forest floor.
The forest didn't attack.
But it watched.
Always.
Then I stopped.
Something shifted.
Not the trees.
Not the birds.
The scent.
Like ash.Like damp straw.Like skin burned under sun.
And something else.
"Tamm?" I whispered.
The name came from nowhere.
From the thread in my scarf. From the warmth in my chest. From memory.
I turned slowly.
Bushes rustled.
A branch cracked.
I lowered my stance. Let the light dim. Felt the ground breathe.
"I know you're in there," I said softly.
Silence held its breath.Then came the smallest sound—Not the snap of a twig.Not the scurry of claws.
But the shuffle of feet unused to sunlight.
A figure emerged.
Small.
Ragged.
Green-skinned, yes—but not the sickly tint I remembered on Tamm.
This goblin was young.
Female.
Fur mantle half torn. Hair tied with old reed cord. One arm clutched against her side, wrapped in linen that had seen too many days.
But her eyes—
Her eyes were wide and flickering, gold flecked with forest brown.
Not hateful.
Not afraid.
Not entirely.
She looked at me like she'd been staring at her dreams for too long… and they finally stared back.
"You wear it," she said softly.Her voice was rough, like a river that had dried and tried to speak again."The scarf."
I didn't answer.
She took a step forward.
"We saw it. In the dreams."
"Not just me. Others too. The little ones. The sap-seers."
"They said the dungeon… cried."
I blinked.
"The scarf doesn't cry," I replied.
"But the dungeon did," she whispered.
"When?"
"Three days past. Something stirred below. A thread pulled tight. Then… a whisper."
She touched her chest.
"Tamm."
That name.
Even from her lips, it hurt.
"You knew him?"
"He left us. Said he'd find stone root. Something strong. Something glowing.""He never came back. The elder said forget him.""But I couldn't."
She walked slowly, her feet cautious as though the forest might vanish if she stepped too hard.
"Then, two nights ago… the dream came.""A thread. A memory. A scarf wrapped in silk.""A voice not his, but carrying his sorrow."
She stopped before me.
I tilted my head. Let the silk at my throat shift slightly.
Her breath hitched.
"It was you."
"I consumed him," I said.
"I know."
No fear.
Just acceptance.
Something about her made the wind quieter. As if even the forest paused to hear her speak.
"Why are you here?" I asked.
"I don't know," she said.
"Then what will you do now?"
She hesitated.
Then sat down.
Legs crossed. Hands in her lap.
Like a child at a fire.
"I'll wait."
"For what?"
"You."
And for a while…
Neither of us spoke.
Above, birds returned to song.
The trees whispered again.
And the thread between scarf and soul tightened—just enough to feel like home.