[Realm: Álfheimr]
[Location: The Great Forest]
[Elfa]
It had not taken long for them to leave the tavern behind, though the shift was as imdiate as it was palpable. One mont there had been noise—laughter that echoed too loudly, mugs clattering, wings brushing tables—and the next, they were descending back toward the forest floor, everything growing quieter with every step.
Soon enough, they were walking through the forest proper once more.
Grimm’s stride was unhurried as he mapped the ground beneath him. Puck floated a short distance behind, slower than before, her energy subdued by thought. Cobweb led without looking back, clearly expecting them to follow.
"I am curious," Grimm said after a while, breaking the silence naturally, "as to how large this place truly is."
Puck tilted slightly in the air, considering the question herself. She had lived here long enough that the answer felt instinctive.
"Very," Cobweb replied, not bothering to elaborate.
The word was unhelpful. Grimm recognized it imdiately for what it was—an answer ant to end the question, not satisfy it.
So he stopped pressing and observed instead.
Elfa was busy. Not in the orderly sense of marching troops or bustling streets, but in the chaotic, self-directed way of creatures who answered to no rigid structure. Fairies of countless kinds filled the space—so darting through the air in looping paths, others perched upside-down on branches, so wrestling in the grass, others engaged in animated conversation. A few lugged odd, half-living objects whose purpose Grimm could not begin to guess. Everything was saturated with color: wings like colored glass, hair like blossoms in impossible colors and structures seemingly having been grown rather than built.
It was vibrant. Overwhelmingly so.
To Grimm, it bordered on hostile—not through intent, but the sheer excess. An environnt that demanded attention whether one wished to give it or not.
An eyesore, he concluded quietly, without malice.
"Uh..." Puck finally spoke, clearly deciding soone needed to ask. "Where exactly are we going?"
Cobweb didn’t slow. "Soone who can help."
Puck waited for more. None ca.
"They’ll give you information you don’t have," Cobweb continued after a beat, as if begrudging the clarification. "And they’re holding onto sothing important."
Grimm’s took note of that. ("Soone I’ll need repeatedly,"), he reasoned. ("Or soone she intends to tether to .") He said nothing aloud, committing the thought to mory.
The trees ahead began to change. Their roots spread wide, forcing the path to open into a broad clearing. Grass grew high and dense here, untouched by trampling feet. Several imnse trees dominated the space, and built into their trunks and branches were rough, makeshift dwellings—logs stacked and bound together, platforms lashed into place with rope and vine rather than any careful craftsmanship.
Cobweb ca to a stop near the largest tree at the center.
Built into it was a small structure: thick logs stacked to form uneven walls, a solid roof weighed down with stone and creeping plants, a thin door set slightly crooked in its fra.
Cobweb tilted her head up and raised her voice.
"Oi! Bird! Get down here!"
"Oh!"
The response was imdiate—a high, startled squeak from within the structure, followed by frantic shuffling. The door burst open, and a figure stumbled out, clearly unprepared for the sudden summons. She fell fast, wings flaring instinctively, her descent slowing just enough to avoid injury as she landed awkwardly in the grass.
Grimm’s head tilted slightly in assessnt.
She was not human. That much was obvious at a glance.
Where arms should have been were broad wings, grey-feathered and powerful, attached at human shoulders and folding with awkward restraint. Her head was unmistakably that of a woman—black hair framing a soft, round face, large blue eyes drooping with nerves as they darted between the three newcors. She wore no clothing, yet her feathers layered naturally over her body, covering chest and lower regions with an almost intentional modesty. Her legs ended in taloned, birdlike feet that sank slightly into the soil as she shifted her weight.
"Y-you called, Hēafodmann Cobweb?" she asked, lifting one wing in what might have been a salute before stopping herself, clearly rembering the lack of fingers.
Cobweb barely spared her a glance.
"Look," she said flatly, jerking her chin toward Grimm and Puck. "These two are going to beco regulars of yours."
"A-a human!" the girl shrieked suddenly, all composure evaporating as her gaze locked onto Grimm’s ominous armored form. She stumbled backward, wings half-spread in reflexive panic. "W-what is one doing in the Great Forest?!"
"Stop shrieking," Cobweb snapped. "You sound like an idiot."
The feathered girl flinched hard, wings snapping back to her sides.
Cobweb finally looked at Grimm. "This is Gier. A harpy. One of the Deseruit Beasts our generous Queen decided to take in." Her tone made her opinion of that generosity abundantly clear. "She’s decently versed in the outside world. Trades. Peddles. Collects information. Unfortunately—" her eye turned back to Gier, "—she’s also one loud breath away from wetting herself."
"B-but Hēafodmann Cobweb, a human—I-I can’t—" Gier stamred, eyes never leaving Grimm.
"He’s not human," Cobweb cut in.
"H-he isn’t?" Gier whispered.
"That’s what I said, isn’t it?"
"O-oh..." Gier swallowed hard, forcing herself to look up properly this ti. "I-I’m Gier. N-nice to et you."
"I am Grimm," he replied evenly, then turned back to Cobweb. "If I’m expected to acquire information through her, I assu you’ll grant reliable access back into Elfa."
Cobweb’s mouth curved slightly. "You catch on quickly."
She reached out and plucked a feather from Gier’s wing without warning.
"Eep—!"
Ignoring the protest, Cobweb raised the feather and spoke in a foreign tongue. "Á tulë ontien i taura tauri ná Grimm ar i hleryaneryo." Pale light wrapped around it briefly, pulsing once before fading. "Harpies are unique creatures; apparently, they shed feathers in locations of interest and rember where they shed them via the lingering presence of it. I suppose I ’engineered’ the prospect so that the ’presence’ is potent here and that you can find your way back." Cobweb said. "Imagine Elfa—the hos, the forest, the fairies, the sll of sap and magic—and the feather will lead you back."
"You’re placing a lot of trust in ," Grimm said quietly.
Cobweb snorted. "Don’t flatter yourself. This is desperation, not trust."
Grimm accepted the feather. "I have no intention of harming your ho. Not out of sentint—simply because there are more interesting things elsewhere."
"At least you’re honest," Cobweb muttered. "Now go."
"Wait, I still need to—" Puck began.
Cobweb snapped her fingers.
The world twisted and blurred.
The change was imdiate.
One mont, the world had been alive—oversaturated with color, sound and movent—and the next, all of it was simply gone. Gone, as though soone had peeled the vibrancy away and left only the husk behind.
The sky above them was a flat, exhausted gray. No light filtered through it in any way. The ground beneath their feet was dry, brittle grass that crunched with even the slightest movent.
The air felt thinner here.
Puck blinked once. Then again.
Her floating form stilled as she slowly turned in place, taking in their surroundings with a growing crease between her brows. "Huh...?" she murmured, confusion slipping into her voice before she could stop it.
Grimm had already begun to survey the area. His head moved slowly, gaze sweeping across the land with thoroughness.
"Hm," he said after a mont, tone thoughtful. "That wasn’t magic."
Puck glanced at him sharply. "It wasn’t?"
"No," Grimm replied. "There was no casting, no interference with local structures, no residue. Whatever moved us, it wasn’t thaumaturgical."
His attention shifted behind them.
A forest lood there—if it could be called that. The trees were dead, their bark split and pale, branches clawing upward. A low mist sat between their trunks, thick enough to obscure depth, thin enough to suggest sothing waiting just out of sight. It carried no scent at all.
An entrance, he concluded. The edge of the Great Forest.
He turned forward next.
The trees ahead were fewer, scattered irregularly across the land, too sparse to form anything resembling a true woodland. They felt placed rather than grown, as if the land had failed to decide what it wanted to be. Cutting through them was a single path—narrow and worn. It didn’t branch, nor did it ander. It simply went forward.
Puck followed his gaze, then let out a frustrated sigh, folding her arms as she hovered near his shoulder.
"Ugh," she muttered. "She’s so rude."
Grimm shifted slightly, the movent small as he reached within his armor and secured the feather Cobweb had given him, ensuring it was properly stowed before responding.
"She seed to hold a particular distaste for you," he said matter-of-factly.
Puck shot him a look. "Wow. Thanks. I hadn’t noticed." Her eyes lingered on him a mont longer, expression changing from irritation to sothing more uncertain. "You know," she continued slowly, "you’re... weirdly okay with all of this. You didn’t argue. Didn’t push back. Didn’t even hesitate when she started telling you what to do."
Grimm considered that as he turned his gaze forward again.
"It’s a mutually beneficial agreent," he replied. "Cobweb is abrasive, but not foolish. She understands leverage. At the very least, she has a functional grasp of priorities." A pause. "And she provided with two sources of information."
Puck blinked. "Two?"
He glanced at her. "You," he said plainly. "And the harpy."
"Oh." Puck’s flying slowed slightly as she processed that. "Right. ... and Gier." Her voice softened, turning thoughtful. "Still... I don’t know how I feel about this. About traveling with you, I an."
Grimm didn’t stop walking.
"I will not harm you," he said, tone steady, devoid of reassurance or warmth. "I have no interest in doing so."
Puck grimaced. "That was... not comforting." She drifted a little lower, closer to the path. "And I don’t even know how useful I’ll be. Like Cobweb said, I only have general knowledge. I don’t know the outside world the way Gier does."
"That is sufficient," Grimm replied without hesitation.
She looked at him again, surprised by how easily he said it.
He stepped forward then, sabatons pressing into the dry earth as he committed to the path without pause.
Puck hovered there for a second longer, watching him go.
("I really shouldn’t be doing this,"), she thought, unease curling in her chest. She followed him anyway, her flight carrying her forward. ("But he’s so... interesting,"), she admitted silently. ("And I can’t stop wondering what he’ll do next.")
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