The two alicorns moved side by side into the heart of the dense, shadowy expanse known as the Slitherroots Woods. Here, the forest was a labyrinth of twisting paths and tangled undergrowth. Over the years, Protectors and forest watchers had carved trails to guide travelers, for without them, the woods could consume even the sharpest of minds. Yet Velzael, as was her custom, favored the hidden routes where only the daring or desperate dared to tread. Her quarry, after all, rarely took the well-worn way.
But today, her steps were not hers alone. At her flank was her new Fulmenian apprentice. This journey was no leisurely foray or a lesson in the art of evasion. Their task was urgent: the delivery of the communication crystal Feyn carried to King Fulmen. The forest, with all its beckoning mysteries and perilous temptations, would have to wait.
Feyn trailed close, his gaze darting about like a dragonfly over a summer pond. His wonder was unhidden, for the Slitherroots Woods were unlike anything he had seen. When last he ventured to Pythonia with his father, they had taken a much safer road, skirting the forest's edge. But now, within its depths, the towering trees whispered ancient secrets, their trunks gnarled as their roots were eager to ensnare the unwary. Twice already, Feyn had stumbled, his paws catching on the sprawling roots that seemed to rise purposefully in his path. Yet he hardly noticed, so enraptured was he by the realm around him.
Velzael's wing snapped open, her fin-like limb brushing against Feyn's chest and halting him mid-step. Her gaze was sharp, fixed on the path ahead. The air seemed to shift, heavy and strange, as if the forest itself held its breath. "Be wary," she murmured, her voice low and edged with caution. "There's a spirit up ahead…and something about it is not right."
Her eyes narrowed, catching the faint shimmer of an aura—ethereal, unnatural—hovering just beyond the next bend. The forest grew silent, save for the faint creak of the trees swaying in a wind that neither of them felt.
This spirit was unfamiliar to her, its presence a shadowy unknown, and that alone set Velzael on edge. Her sharp eyes darted between the looming trees, every muscle poised, every chain ready to strike. Beside her, Feyn stretched his neck, standing on the very tips of his paws to peer over her outstretched wing. His curiosity glimmered like sunlight breaking through the canopy.
"Oh! I know this one!" he exclaimed, his voice breaking through the tension like the call of a jay in still woods. "My father wrote about them in one of his books—it's an Entomo-spirit!" His tone bubbled with excitement, and he practically bounced where he stood.
The young Fulmenian seized the chance to display his knowledge, as he often did, with a zeal that made Velzael suppress a sigh and a smirk in equal measure. Before she could stop him, Feyn ducked under her wing, his movements quick but heedless, and took a few bold steps toward the spirit.
"The aura," he began, gesturing with a paw as he studied the creature with keen interest, "it's from their chitin—their exoskeleton. That's what gives them this odd shimmer. They're harmless, though," he glanced back at her with a grin, "even if they look a little…repulsive." He chuckled, tilting his head as he peered closer, his eyes alight with fascination.
Feyn's gaze narrowed as he searched for the creature's magical signature, a peculiar phenomenon that lingered like a faint scent on the wind. The chitin disrupted its nature, making it seem to pulse with a duality—part Thunder, part Heroic—a contradiction that few could explain, and one Feyn was eager to unravel.
Velzael raised an eyebrow, her expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. "It seems," she began, her voice touched with dry humor, "that your father's books have their uses after all. But no amount of reading can prepare you for the world itself. Shall we add some practical knowledge to your growing arsenal?"
Feyn's smile was broad, his excitement contagious. He nodded vigorously and stepped around the spirit, careful not to disturb it as he rejoined Velzael on the path.
As they moved deeper into the forest, the shadows lengthened, and the air grew cooler, but Feyn's enthusiasm showed no sign of waning. Velzael cast a sidelong glance at him, her voice calm but firm. "Starting tomorrow, we'll train daily to sharpen your combat skills. The road will teach you the rest."
The young alicorn's face lit up with determination, and together they pressed on, the dense woods enfolding them once more. Velzael, ever the vigilant sentinel, kept watch over the path ahead, while Feyn, brimming with youthful curiosity, absorbed every sight and sound with eager eyes.
***
Deep within the shadowy embrace of the Slitherroots Woods, where twisted paths wound through ancient trees and dappled light danced across the forest floor, two alicorns moved along one such trail. The way had been carved for travelers, though its makers could not have foreseen the youthful exuberance now disrupting its quiet.
The elder of the pair—a Fulmenian alicorn in the prime of her twenty-eighth cycles—walked with steady grace, her strides measured and deliberate. Behind her, or sometimes ahead, or to the side, her young daughter bounded and darted with the restless energy only a child of four cycles could possess. The young one's every step was a flurry of excitement, her small paws kicking up leaves and her delighted squeals echoing through the wood as she staged mock battles against her bemused mother.
"Calm yourself, little Protector," the mother said, her voice warm and affectionate as she ruffled her daughter's wild mane. "If you keep at this pace, you'll be fast asleep before we reach the first city in Pythonia. Don't you want to stay awake to see your father?"
"I know, I know!" the child replied, her tone bright with laughter. She flicked her tail playfully, her eyes wide as they took in the towering trees around them. "But look at these trees! They're so strange, not like the ones at home. They don't try to zap us!" Her giggles were pure delight, the sound of innocence and wonder wrapped in youthful mischief.
It was not hard to guess that this was the child's first journey beyond Fulmenia's borders. Every sight, every sound, every breeze seemed to fill her with awe. Her gaze, sparkling with the light of discovery, darted from one marvel to the next. Yet her enthusiasm proved a hazard as often as not, for her mother was constantly pulling her back from danger—be it a spirit she nearly collided with, a high root she attempted to scale, or a mysterious object she was all too eager to touch.
The Fulmenian's laughter rang soft and low, her amusement mingled with the fatigue of long travel. Yet as she watched her daughter, she found herself remembering her own first journey through these woods. She had been younger, not much older than her little one now, and the wonder that consumed her then mirrored what she saw in the child's wide-eyed gaze.
The memory lingered like the faint scent of rain on the air, but her musings were interrupted. From a trail that branched into the clearing where they had paused, another figure emerged. It was an alicorn, a Virtusian. The glint of his scaly wings caught the light, and their presence, sudden and unbidden, set the mother's stance subtly on edge.
The mother's sharp instincts flared, and she immediately called her daughter close. "Isha, come here, next to me," she said, her voice low but urgent, wrapping care and command in every word. The young child, quick to sense the shift in her mother's tone, obeyed at once, darting to her side and nestling beneath the protective shelter of her wings.
The Virtusian alicorn lifted his head at the sight of them, his expression one of polite contrition as he stepped cautiously into the clearing. "Forgive me, ma'am, if I startled you and your daughter," he said, dipping his head in a gesture of respect. His voice was smooth, practiced, yet tinged with something beneath the surface. "I seem to have lost my way in this forest. Would you happen to know the path to the Fulmenian border? It is the way you've just come from. Am I correct?" His head tilted slightly, as if in genuine confusion.
Before the mother could respond, Isha spoke up, her excitement bubbling past her caution. "Yes! That's where we came from! We're on our way to—"
The young one's words were cut short as her mother's wing swept downward, her feathers curving protectively around her child. A shadow had crept into the Fulmenian's gaze, her body tensing as unease crept along her spine. Something about this alicorn's voice set her on edge—a note too careful, too probing. Her ears flattened instinctively as her eyes flicked to the surrounding paths.
They were fortunate to be in a clearing with more than one escape route. Two other paths led away from the space, though one was the way they had come. She took a deliberate step backward, positioning herself to shield Isha entirely. "You'll have to excuse us," she said carefully, her tone guarded. "We have pressing business ahead. I hope your journey proves uneventful."
Her mind churned as she spoke, piecing together small inconsistencies that screamed danger. This Virtusian could not have seen them approach the clearing—they had been resting there long before his path joined it. How could he know where they had come from? Suspicion burned brighter in her chest as she pivoted toward the second path, intending to leave swiftly and without further interaction.
But just as she began to move, another figure emerged from the trail she had chosen. Another Virtusian alicorn stepped into view, blocking her way forward. The Fulmenian's ears flattened fully now, her stance rigid with rising fear. Her voice, though steady, carried the weight of her unease. "Let us pass. We wish only to continue on our travels."
Her heart thundered in her chest, each beat loud enough to echo in her ears, but there was no response. The second alicorn simply stood there, her expression unreadable.
Then came a third. From the very path she had come from, yet another Virtusian emerged. His approach was slower, deliberate, and the tension in the air thickened like the gathering of a storm. This one was larger than the others, his frame broad and muscular, his wings carrying the weight of authority. His presence silenced all movement in the clearing, his voice deep and commanding as he finally spoke.
"I'm afraid your trip will have to wait."
***
As Velzael strode through the labyrinthine woods with her young apprentice, she seized the opportunity offered by the quiet of their journey to impart some lessons. Her tone was measured but expectant as she posed her question. "Feyn, what is the primary purpose of Protectors in this world?" She glanced at him sidelong, gauging his reaction, keen to see how much of his theoretical knowledge would serve him now.
In the brief time she had mentored the Fulmenian youth, she had noted his sharp intellect. His mind brimmed with facts and figures, the fruits of diligent study. Yet, it was the application of such knowledge—the forging of it into experience—that he sorely lacked. Still, she had faith in his potential. He was quick to learn, quicker still to adapt, and she suspected he would rise to the challenges ahead.
Feyn's ears perked at her question, and he grinned, eager to prove himself. "Protectors exist to keep alicorns safe," he began confidently, his words flowing as if reciting from memory. "They defend against wild spirits and gather essential resources—like the crystals from some spirits—needed by places like restaurants to prepare their food. Beyond that, they contribute to research, deepening our understanding of the world, and they make it possible for alicorns to settle in areas that would otherwise be too dangerous to live in…" His list went on, each reason spilling forth like a brook tumbling over stones.
As Feyn's voice filled the air, they rounded a bend in the path and emerged near a clearing where multiple trails converged. Velzael's steps faltered, and her ears twitched. With a sudden motion, she hushed Feyn, her wing brushing against him once again as she steered them behind a cluster of thick trees. The great roots sprawled outward, forming a natural screen that concealed them from view.
Feyn blinked, startled by the abrupt change in her demeanor. He watched as Velzael rummaged through her satchel, pulling out a small bundle of notes, seemingly showing drawings of alicorns and numbers under those. Her eyes scanned the pages with practiced speed, her brow furrowed in thought. Confusion flickered in the young Fulmenian's gaze, but curiosity quickly overtook it. He peered through a gap between the roots, trying to see what had prompted her caution.
His eyes widened. In the clearing ahead, a group of alicorns stood in tense formation, their presence foreboding. Feyn turned back to Velzael, questions on the tip of his tongue, but she had already stowed her notes and fixed him with a steady gaze.
"There's one reason you didn't mention," she said, her voice low and sharp, a blade hidden beneath velvet. "Protectors also safeguard honest folk from rogue alicorns." She tilted her head toward the clearing, her eyes narrowing. "And right now…it's time for some practice."